Howitzer shells are dropping along the road, and as I want to go up to 86th and 88th Brigade H.Q. with Horne, we go along the cliff’s edge by the Greek camp, still in the same place. The two Brigade H.Q. are in a delightful spot, dug in on the side of the cliff just this side of “X” Beach. I have a chat with General Williams and Sinclair Thompson. I enjoy going there. It is absolutely off the target, though, as things are now, one would think that there could be no spot on this tiny tip of land where one could live at all for long. Back for lunch. At three o’clock we are shelled badly in our quarter by howitzers from the hill and by Asia’s “Quick Dick,” which is on you before one can duck almost.
General Birdwood has been here and had a look round. As before mentioned, the 29th are to be last. It is rather a lot to ask of the 86th and 88th after that storm and the strain of one evacuation, but it shows G.H.Q. put a great value on us. Up to midnight I am at the Main Supply depot drawing the remainder of reserve supplies for six days for the Division, which are being put up in Leith Walk and Clapham Junction respectively for the 87th and 88th Brigades. As in the case of the evacuation at Suvla, the 86th Brigade leave shortly. Officers and men on “W” Beach are falling sick fast, with the continual strain of shelling, and in view of the evacuation are being sent off at once. There are one or two cases of men losing their reason.
January 2nd.
The sea was very rough last night, and in consequence the evacuation was very much delayed. We are now being subjected to very severe shelling. From three o’clock yesterday to nine o’clock this morning three howitzers, two from behind Krithia and one on the right shoulder of Achi, have been throwing big high explosive shells over to us on the beaches steadily. This is the severest spell on record, and it is evident that they are expecting us to go soon and are making it as hard as possible. Afterwards we were shelled in jerks to midday. At seven o’clock to-night Horne and I go up to Krithia Nullah or Clapham Junction. It is very dark, and the road is pockmarked with shell-holes. I miss the familiar landmark of the white pillars. I remember now that they told me while I was at Suvla that they had been demolished by our Engineers. We have a forward reserve dump at Clapham Junction, which we start eating into to-morrow. 88th Brigade H.Q. is just near by, dug-in in trenches, and on calling there we are invited to dinner. We have a Christmas pudding, which is brought in alight with brandy. It seems strange following this old custom in a dugout, with bullets zipping over outside and within eight hundred yards of the Turks.
Coming out of the dugout on to the road, I notice bullets flying about much freer than usual, the Turks being more energetic over their practice of firing their rifles at night than they ever were before. All the time, as we walk back, we hear the Turkish howitzers sending over their consignment of high explosives to “W” Beach. After ten minutes’ walk we hear a shell coming bang at us, firing at a battery close by; but it is a small dud, and it goes “fut” into the ground. As we approach nearer and nearer to “W” Beach we hear their “hows” whining away overhead. They sound so harmless, and seem to take quite a time sailing through the air, but the sound of them crashing on the beach rather inclines us to slacken our pace. On approaching the Main Supply depot, however, we quicken our pace, and passing through it, arrive at the wood-stacks, when we hear one of their whiners sailing over. Quickly we duck behind the wood as it bursts short of the Supply depot. We get up and walk briskly to our dugout, and just as we descend the steps on the cliff-side we hear another. We dive into Hyslop’s dugout precipitously as it bursts with a crash forty yards behind us. Afterwards a pinnace alongside No. 1 Pier is afire, set ablaze by a direct hit from a shell. Bed, and we go to sleep hearing the shells explode in various parts of the beach at short intervals. Fortunately these shells do not reach the water’s edge and cannot impede the final stage of the evacuation. It is only Asia that upsets this.
January 3rd.
Some of the staff of the Main Supply depot have now left. Last night some animals, including the A.T. cart-mules, were evacuated. They are led, coaxed, and whipped on to the lighters from the piers. The lighters are then towed out to the waiting ships, which have come in under the cover of darkness, and the animals are slung on board. It is strenuous work for those detailed for the job, especially with a heavy swell. The personnel are sent off from “V” Beach, and they do not waste time hanging about the open spaces of the beach, but make for the cover of the River Clyde and the fort as soon as possible. The man with the trumpet is kept busy giving warning against Asia’s shells. Weakly men are being hurried off. Surplus kit, office records, also. Forward reserves of ammunition are being placed in the Eski Lines, which run across the Peninsula, and each man and machine gun has a reserve of small ammunition. Also a reserve is kept on the beaches. On the last day our Division will have about three thousand men left. We start eating into our seven days’ forward reserves to-day. The Egyptian shepherds, who provided meat for the Drabis of the Mule Corps, with their sheep, have left to-day. The casualties from shell fire are becoming more and more frequent on the beaches now. The 86th Brigade leave to-night, and the balance of those men who were prevented from getting off by the rough sea of last night. In fact, many men had to leave by daylight this morning, risking the Turks’ observation. The French try a very clever ruse by lighting a stack of hay, which, smouldering only, causes heavy columns of smoke to drift over Sed-el-Bahr and away out over the Straits, which enables them to ship quite a lot of animals under its screen in broad daylight. Enemy aeroplanes are busy trying to get over to the beaches all day, but are successfully kept at bay by our anti-aircraft guns and aeroplane patrols. A strong wind is blowing from the north-east, and it looks like a change in the weather, causing anxiety to us all. As usual, all to-day and continuing to-night, the beaches and their approaches have been heavily shelled. Our Monitors have been energetically replying.
January 4th.
This morning we have intermittent shelling, in twos and threes and in fits and starts. Just before lunch, while standing at the door of our dugout on the top of the cliff, I see a destroyer come right in shore, and swinging round quickly, she anchors. I see a group of Naval and Military officers on deck, who climb down the companion into a pinnace, which takes them to No. 1 Pier. I turn my glasses on to them and see that the party consists of General Birdwood, the Army Commander, an Admiral, two Naval and two Army officers. They slowly walk along the pier, and I cannot help feeling anxious for them, for Asia has put one of her beauties close to No. 1 Pier a short while before. They turn to the left and walk along the road at the foot of the cliffs. Just as they are passing immediately beneath our “bivvy,” two howitzer shells burst with a deafening report on the beach. General Birdwood never turns his head, but I notice that the two other officers following behind look anxiously over their shoulders. They go up to VIII Corps H.Q., and after lunch a conference is held. Afterwards General Birdwood sends over to the Mule-cart Corps on the high ground between “W” and “V” Beach for an old Native officer whom he has known for many years in India. He is a fine old man, and a splendid type of the loyal Native soldier. Of course, he was overcome with delight at meeting the General once more, who told him to assure all the Native drivers and their N.C.O.’s with the Mule Corps that our evacuation was a strategical move, made for the best, and not in any way to be interpreted as a disaster. The Native mind is so different from our own, and though they are as loyal as any of our troops, one feels anxious to prevent them from losing their confidence.
As a result of the conference, the progress of the stages of the evacuation must be speeded up. Personnel and animals must at all costs be dealt with first, and as the sands are running low, it will now be necessary to begin evacuating animals by day and risk the shelling. This morning the sea has been dead calm and perfect for our purpose, but the Navy say that they expect a southerly gale. We, of course, dread a southerly gale. It is a very trying and anxious time, and the shelling is now almost continuous. Certainly only a few guns are turned on to the beaches, but sufficient to upset and impede our work. Six shells may come over from the howitzers on Achi at ten, three from Asia at eleven, four from Achi at 11.30, then from twelve to one probably twenty from Achi and Asia, all on to the camps and depots in the confined space of “W” Beach. All the while casualties occur. As a contrast, the evacuations of Suvla and Anzac were child’s play to that of Helles. The Monitors are busily replying, and I think cause their guns to stop now and again. All the afternoon the beach gets shelled. Asia now and again puts some very nasty ones near our bivouac, and once we all had to take cover in two tunnels in the side of the cliff to our left, where they have been quarrying for stone. At 8 p.m. a gale springs up and the embarkation is greatly hampered. They found it impossible to embark the mules on the transport when the lighters arrived alongside. One lighter, loaded with mules, carts, and drivers, breaks away and quickly goes drifting out to sea towards Asia, becoming lost in the darkness of the night. All night we get shelled every quarter of an hour.