August 19th.
Before breakfast this morning I ride up the West Coast road, my mount being fresh and lively, enjoying to the full the canter I give him up to Artillery Road. The ride along that road beats so far any ride I have ever had for enjoyment. The soft going, though it may be rather dusty; the view—the sea on the left, Imbros shrouded at her feet by blue-grey mist, the sound of the waves gently lapping the shore on the road below; the view in front, of stately and formidable Achi Baba and of the mountains of Asia, with now and again a glimpse of the blue waters of the Dardanelles on the right. All is quiet; I might be miles from war, and yet I am in the centre of war on a large scale, concentrated in an area that would be lost on Salisbury Plain. To obtain an idea of on how large a scale the war on this little tip of land is, as far as fighting is concerned, one has only to compare our casualties here up to now with those of the South African War. And now we have Suvla Bay, where six Divisions are on shore.
Passing the road leading down to Gully Beach, my horse shies badly as two 60-pounders in action on the cliff overlooking the beach fire over our heads. These 60-pounders have moved forward from their original position on the cliff by the beach, much to our satisfaction, for they were too near our bivouac, and a 60-pounder is a noisy toy.
I ride down from Artillery Road, and turning to the right, ride up the foot of the beautiful gully, now more honeycombed than ever with dugouts and terraces and flights of steps. Leaving my horse at a small camp near Bruce’s Ravine—named after the gallant Colonel of the Gurkhas, who sailed on the same hospital ship in which I went to Alexandria in July, because of the gallant and victorious fight the Gurkhas made for the capture of Gurkha Bluff, in the early days—I walk up this ravine, used as a mule-track, to the trenches up on the high ground on the left of the gully, forming the extreme left of our line. And after a short walk through a series of trenches forming our support line, I turn down a communication trench, which after a while brings me out on to a long and wide terrace overlooking “Y” Beach. “Y” Beach was the scene of a terrible fight between the K.O.S.B.’s and the enemy on April 25th, in which the K.O.S.B.’s were successful in effecting a landing, only to evacuate a day after. But how they landed there at all is a feat to be marvelled at, for the beach can hardly be called a beach. It is a narrow ravine, widening slightly at the water’s edge to a width of not more than a hundred yards, and flanked by steep, almost precipitous gorse-covered slopes to a height of 150 feet. Troops attempting to land on such a beach from small open boats could not be expected to even reach the shore; yet by the night these Scotsmen had conquered the heights and penetrated inshore. But their position was too precarious, and it was a wise move to order them to evacuate.
At the end of the terrace on the north side of the top of the ravine, my Brigade H.Q. is comfortably dug in, and it is a pleasure sitting there talking, with such a picturesque view to enjoy from the position. It is far the prettiest site our Brigade has had up to now for their Headquarters, and also convenient, for they are situated but a few hundred yards behind the front line.
As I am about to take my leave, four shrapnel shells come over from a Turkish battery on our extreme left, which burst low on the opposite slopes of the ravine, with the trenches of two regiments in reserve for a target. They are followed steadily by several salvos, one or two of the shells bursting in the air near our H.Q., and one in particular throwing a few bullets onto the ground at my feet, as I stand at the door of the General’s mess. The General invites me to step inside, saying, “Unless you want to get shot,” and gives me a topping breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast.
After breakfast I go back with Mathias and Arnold to Gully Beach and see 86th Brigade H.Q. and Sinclair Thomson, and then ride with Arnold to “W” Beach. Mathias and Arnold came to lunch, as a parcel had arrived, and we enjoyed the luxuries thereof.
After lunch I receive orders to go with 88th Brigade and 86th Brigade to the new landing. Way also under orders to go. So after nearly four months of hanging on to this tip of the Peninsula the poor old 29th Division is to leave and try its luck at the new landing, and Achi Baba still remains impregnable.
I look forward to the move with mixed feelings—relief at getting away from this end, and new feelings at the prospect of being more heavily shelled than we ever were here.
However, perhaps the move may be a successful one, and the end of the campaign in this area nearer than we think.