Now and again a dead mule or horse is buried on land, but we still, after over three months’ effort, are holding such a small bit of land that room is very scarce and a burial-ground for animals is out of the question.
July 29th.
A hot day, rather gusty and dusty, and of course not a cloud in the sky.
My Brigade is back from Lemnos, and is along the cliffs of the West Coast with H.Q. at the mouth of the gully or the now famous nullah. West Coast cliffs now absolutely honeycombed with dugouts, arranged in terraces as far as possible. The whole tip of the Peninsula is alive and teeming with troops and followers of all nationalities—British, French, Senegalese, Greeks, Arabs, Sudanese, Hindus, Gurkhas, Punjabis, and Sikhs.
13th Division now moving off the Peninsula.
Poor old Findlay up to his eyes in ordnance; fortunately he was away when shell burst in his compound yesterday. He says, “Gott strafe the Kaiser!” from morning to night.
Only half a dozen high explosive shells come over our way to-day, but inland Turkish artillery has been fairly active, but nothing much doing on the front. Aeroplanes busily humming overhead. Beaches very busy, with all kinds and manner of work day and night.
Meet Fulford, pal of Birmingham hockey days, a few years ago, and again of Salisbury Plain days of 1914, now a chaplain in the 40th Brigade, 13th Division. Having tea with him to-morrow. He tapped me on the shoulder on “W” Beach, saying, “Thanks very much for the gloves, Gillam.” I borrowed a pair of gloves from him on November 14th, had lost them, had sent him another pair, and he had forgotten to write and thank me. I had not seen or heard from him until to-day.
Observation balloon up, captive to a steamer off the Gully Beach, but little or no artillery firing on our part.
13th Division of Kitchener’s Army have had their baptism, but in defence, not attack; Turks had a taste of what Kitchener’s Army is like.