May 11th.
Rather cloudy to-day, and much cooler. Rode up to Brigade H.Q. with Hyslop, to the same place as yesterday. Saw Australian Supply Officer. As I was talking to him a few shells came over our way—not singly, but by twos and threes. I have got used to the sound of them passing through the air now, and know by the sound whether they are coming my way or not. Again, as yesterday, the Australian officer gave me the warning “Look out!” and we dived for a dugout. The Australians get awfully amused when they see people doing these dives out of the way of shells, and it certainly does look humorous.
My Brigade is moving back to the reserve trenches for a rest, and they need it. The reserve trenches are those by the white pillars, occupied at present by the Lancashires and Manchesters (Territorials). I meet General D’Amade and his Staff, including the officer that I knew on the Arcadian. They are all riding. He stops me, asking if I have seen General Parish, the Australian General. I express regret that I have not, at which he appears annoyed. One of his Staff asks me to point out 29th D.H.Q., and I direct him to Hill 138, in rear of us. I point out the Australian camp to the General, who goes off then to inquire for General Parish.
I leave Hyslop, who has another job on, and start to ride back across country, having a few jumps over the new rest trenches. I am overtaken by an officer who is the Adjutant of one of the Lancashire Fusiliers (Territorial) Battalions, the 6th, I think. Lord Rochdale is in command. He tells me that they have been in Egypt training for a long time, and cursing their luck at being seemingly sidetracked, with not much opportunity of seeing any active service. Suddenly they were wired for, and in twenty-four hours left Egypt for here. On arrival they marched straight up to the trenches, and at 5.30 p.m. the next day went into action and lost heavily. As I was being told all this I heard a most weird noise, as if the whole of the sky were being rent in two, ending in a deafening explosion, and looking over my shoulder in surprise, I see twenty-five yards to my left, over a little mound, a spout of smoke and earth and stones flung into the air. I say to my companion, “I think we had better trot,” which we do. It is strange, but my old horse did not seem to worry much when the shell burst. It must have been a 6-inch, and is the first big one that I have had near me so far, and may it be the last. Its sound is unlike that of any shell I have heard up to now, and far noisier in its flight; I think that if they chuck these sort about on the beach I shall be jumpy in a very short time. I only hope the beaches are out of range, or will be before very long. Evidently they have a new gun. At times I feel very optimistic, looking forward confidently to our trip over Achi Baba; at other times Achi Baba looks so forbidding that I feel we shall all spend the rest of our lives hanging on to this tiny bit of land. I can canter to Brigade H.Q. from the beach in fifteen minutes, and walk from there to the front line in another fifteen, and that gives an idea of how far we are on. I ride over to the aerodrome—we are fortunate in finding such a perfect one—and over to “V” Beach, which the French have got into a much more shipshape order than ours. I count seven battleships and seven destroyers up the entrance as far as Morto Bay; the “packet of Woodbines” is still off the Asiatic coast and touches up Yen-i-Shehr and Kum Kale with 10-inch shells. From the high ground overlooking “V” Beach the Fleet at the entrance makes an imposing spectacle, waiting for the Army to open the gates of the Straits before they dash through to the Marmora. The Goliath and Prince George fire odd shots now and again at Chanak. Late in the afternoon we get a few light shells over on “W” Beach and a few men are slightly hit. In a little gully between “W” Beach and “X” Beach preparations are being made to start a field bakery, and we are promised real bread in a few days. One of our mares has given birth to a foal; my mare, much to the mother’s annoyance, is much interested.
Our train is in camp now on the high ground on the left of “W” Beach looking inland, and have made very good lines. All the men have built little shelters out of wagon-covers, sail-cloths, and tarpaulins, in rows opposite their horse lines, the whole looking like a well ordered gipsy encampment. I made myself very unpopular there to-day by saying, “You won’t ’arf cop it in a day or so when John Turk finds you out.”
Saw General Hunter-Weston making a tour of the beaches to-day. He appeared in very good spirits. Our trenches in the front line are now getting quite deep, and sand-bagged parapets are being rapidly built. The Gurkhas do not like trench warfare at all, and cause much anxiety to their white officers by continually popping their heads over to have a look round. The Turkish line has crept much nearer to ours since the last battle, and they are also rapidly digging in. A party of Gurkhas were ordered out to capture a machine gun in an emplacement on an advanced knoll in front of the Turkish right and our left. The gun was captured, and one little Gurkha brought back a Turk’s head, and it was difficult to make him part with it. Heavy firing broke out at eleven o’clock to-night and lasted an hour or two.
May 12th.
It is raining hard this morning, and very cold as well. I visit the Senegalese camp at “V” Beach. They are physically very well built men, well up to the average of 6 feet in height. They are as black as coal, with shiny faces, like niggers on Brighton beach, and very amusing in their manners. At the last battle they charged magnificently with horrible yelling, frightening the poor Turk out of his wits. They are equipped with wide, square-bladed knives about 14 inches long.
Wireless news is now typed and published nearly every day. To-day we hear that the Lusitania has been sunk and that Greece and Italy are likely to come in. An extract from a Turkish paper says that we have been pushed into the sea, and almost in the same paragraph that “the foolish British will persist in attacking.”
We have quite a comfortable little house now at our Supply depot on the beach, made out of boxes with a sail-cloth overhead.