Trooper Bluegum at the Dardanelles / Descriptive Narratives of the More Desperate Engagements on the Gallipoli Peninsula

by Oliver Hogue

Now and then the English home papers blew in and we eagerly scanned the pages of the dailies for news of the war. We were astounded at the tone of the criticism hurled at the Government. So much of it was Party criticism, captious criticism. So little of it was helpful constructive criticism. In Parliament and in the Press the critics were "agin the Gov'ment" rather than against the Hun. We felt wonderfully proud of our Australian papers, the Herald and Telegraph and Argus. Also we were rather proud of the commendable restraint of our politicians. Not one word of captious criticism had there come from responsible Australian papers and people. We knew that mistakes had been made. We knew that it was a big gamble sending the fleet to hammer their way through without the aid of an army. But we did not slang-wang the Government. In the dark hour when everybody was blaming everybody there was only one message from Australia. Press and politicians struck the same note. It was merely a reiteration of the Prime Minister's message that the last man and the last shilling in Australia were now and always at the disposal of the Empire.

Then came talk of evacuation. It staggered us. In the House of Commons and in the Press columns were devoted to discussing the Dardanelles question and evacuation was freely recommended. The Australians rose in wrath and exclaimed, "We're d——d if we'll evacuate. We are going to see this game through." It was unthinkable that, having put our hands to the plough, we could turn back. The Turks and their German masters were kept well informed of the discussions at home and it made them tremendously cocky. England had practically admitted failure. The great Dardanelles expedition—the greatest crusade in the world—was an admitted fiasco. Then the Turks reasoned together. And they agreed that even "the fool English" would never talk so much about evacuation if it were even remotely likely. But it was worth an army corps to Abdul, and it did not make General Birdwood's task any easier.

Then Kitchener came. Many of us had seen him in Australia and South Africa. We had confidence that he would see the thing through. He landed on the beach and soon the word buzzed through the dug-outs, up the gully, and along the firing line. "K. of K." was on Anzac and the boys off duty congregated to give him a rousing welcome. He went round the Anzac defences with General Birdwood, saw everything and then started in to weigh the pros and cons of a knotty problem.

Ever since the day of landing, we had discussed in an offhand way the possibility of "getting out." Not that we had ever considered it remotely possible that we should ever turn back. But just as a strategical and tactical exercise, we had figured out how it might be done. And it seemed that the job of getting out was fraught with more potentialities of disaster than the job of getting in. The landing on April 25 was responsible for some slaughter. The evacuation, we reckoned, would be carnage. At a most moderate computation 25 per cent. of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps would have to be sacrificed to ensure the safe withdrawal of the remainder. But of course this was only a theoretical exercise. It was really outside the sphere of practical politics.

Then like a bomb came word that in very surety we were going to evacuate. In the House of Commons members had asked in an airy way why the troops were not withdrawn from Suvla and Anzac. To them, in their ignorance, it was merely a matter of embarking again and returning to Egypt or Salonica or France. So simple it seemed to those armchair strategists. They did not know that the beach at Anzac, our main depôts, and our headquarters were within a thousand yards of the main Turkish line; that the beach had been constantly shelled by "Beachy Bill" and other batteries for eight solid months on end.

However the powers that be had so ordained it and that was sufficient. The Australians had talked about "never retreating," but that was only a manifestation of the unconquerable spirit that animated them. They might talk, but they never yet disobeyed an order. It nearly broke their hearts to leave the spot where so many thousand gallant young Australians had found heroes' graves; but they knew how to obey orders. The only kick was for the honour of being the last to leave. So many wanted to be amongst the "die-hards."

It was to be a silent "get-away." Absolute secrecy was essential for its success. It sounds just like a wild bit of fiction. Just imagine the possibility of withdrawing an army of 90,000 men with artillery, stores, field hospitals, mules and horses, and all the vast impedimenta of war, right from under the nose of an active enemy, and all on a clear moonlight night. One single traitor could have queered the whole pitch. But British, Indians, New Zealanders and Australians were loyal to the core.

The final attack of the Turks on the right of our line had been repulsed by the 2nd Light Horse Brigade, though the enemy in determined fashion had pushed forward with sand-bags right to within a few yards of our trenches. There were half a dozen spots in the Anzac firing line where we and the Turks could hear each other talking; Quinn's Port, Lone Pine, The Neck, Apex, Turkish Despair, Chatham's Post. It would be fine fun sticking it out here while the army made its get-away. Men clamoured for the honour of being the last to leave....

It is the night of December 19; the fatal night which will see the evacuation of Anzac. Men talked cheerily, but thought hard. Had the Turks any idea of our projected departure? Two nights ago, a little after midnight, there was an unrehearsed incident. A fire broke out in a depôt near the North Beach. Soon the whole sky was reddened with the glare and the rugged outline of Anzac was brightly illuminated. Bully-beef and biscuits blazed merrily. Oil drums burst with terrific force. Then we wondered if the Turks would deduce anything from this. Would they guess it was a preliminary to the "get-away." It was hardly likely. The "fool English" would never burn the stores till the last minute. So the accidental fire did no harm. Maybe it did good. For during the past month the Anzacs had tried by all manner of tricks and subterfuges to induce Abdul to attack. But Abdul knew how costly a business it was attacking the Australians, and after a few abortive attempts he remained on the defensive....