Diary extract - April 1915
23 April
Flag practice.
24 April
Studies – Flag practice. Bitterly cold at night – continual booming of guns.
25 April
In the distance one can just discern the Dardenelles opening up – the thunder of the guns is much clearer – the weather this morning is beautiful; what will it be to-night? Studies. I have eaten well. I can now see fire from the guns. I wonder which of the men round me has been chosen by Death. I do not feel the least fear, only a sincere hope that I may not fail at the critical moment.
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The Last Assembly
, from Silas' book,Crusading at Anzac
5.30 pm. We are on the battlefield, well under the fire of the enemy – it is difficult to realise that every burst of flame, every spurt of water, means Death or worse. For days before we reached the final scene in the ‘Great Adventure’ we could hear the ceaseless thunder of the bombardment, we have been told of the impossible task before us, of probable annihilation; yet we are eager to get to it; we joke with each other about getting cold feet, but deep down in our hearts we know when we get to it we will not be found wanting. The Assembly is sounded – I have never seen it answered with such alacrity – there is a loud cheer as we gather together in the hold. Here for last time in this world many of us stand shoulder to shoulder. As I look down the ranks of my comrades I wonder which of us are marked for the land beyond. Perhaps I shall fly through the side of the ship to answer my question. I don’t think I can carry my kit – I can scarcely stand with the weight of it. We are descending on to the destroyer Ribble which is along side us. Noise of the guns simply frightful. Colour of the sea beautiful. We are packed very tightly on the destroyer. One of the boys just remarked:
‘Mind where you are stepping, Silas.’
I looked down – there at my feet are three silent forms half covered by a tarpaulin – one of them a Signaller. I have often been told of the danger of signalling – that few signallers last more than three days. Now indeed is this brought home to me with considerable force – once more I pray that I may not fail the Battalion in the hour of need – I know full well that the miscarriage of a message may mean the lives of hundreds of men. The destroyer alongside us is signaling, but the Navy men are to quick for me – please God the others won’t be. The sailors are very kind to us, I think they know what we are going to face – can see boat-loads of wounded being towed from the shore – shrapnel just burst over our heads, thank God no damage – getting nearer the shore, Turks pelting us like anything. The ships are keeping the top of the ridges under a continual line of fire – am just told that we have landed 20,000 men. We are transferring into the boats – it is raining lead – Turks firing wide.
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The Landing
from Silas' book,Crusading at Anzac
It was relief to get ashore; we are packed so tightly in the boats and moreover so heavily laden with our kit that, had a shot hit the boat, we should have no chance of saving ourselves – it was awful the feeling of utter helplessness. Meanwhile the Turks pelted us hot and fast. In jumping ashore I fell over, my kit was so heavy; I couldn’t get up without help – fortunately the water was shallow at this point, otherwise -. It was a magnificent spectacle to see those thousands of men rushing through the hail of Death as though it was some big game – these chaps don’t seem to know what fear means – in Cairo I was ashamed of them, now I am proud to be one of them though I feel a pigmy beside them. Wish there wasn’t quite such damned noise with the guns, it is sending me all to pieces – don’t think I shall ever make a soldier.
The beach is littered with wounded, some of them frightful spectacles; perchance myself I may at any moment be even as they are. Indians bringing ammunition mules along the beach – the scene of carnage worries them not all. It is commencing to get dark – we are now climbing the heights. I am given a pick to carry – half way up I had to drop it, it was too much for me. The lads on the top of the hill are glad to see us for they have been having an anxious time holding their position on the Ridge – ‘Pope’s Hill’ – they had scarcely time to throw up more than a little earth to take cover behind. The noise now is Hell. Cannot find any Signallers of my Station – I will look for my Captain, Margolin, they are sure to be with him. There was no time to wait for orders; I must work on my own initiative – in any case the Captain will want a Signaller with him. Now some of the chaps are getting it – groans and screams everywhere, calls for ammunition and stretcher bearers, though how the latter are going to carry stretchers along such precipitous and sandy slopes beats me. Now commencing to take some of the dead out of the trenches; this is horrible; I wonder how long I can stand it.
‘Signaller’ - I just had to get a message to Headquarters – it had been raining a little, I found it almost impossible to keep my foothold, I kept slipping down all the way along. Colonel Pope seemed very worried and tired; have just heard that our Signal Lieutenant Wilton and Sergeant Major Emmett badly wounded in abdomen. Turks playing funny bugle calls all night long and yelling out, always in English. Bursts of fire from our men – officers doing all they can to stop it as we are getting short of ammunition – more bugling by Turks, makes me think of a Cairene Bazar; the idea of the bugles is supposed to impress us – the Turks would be vexed if they knew what we really thought. I have been running dispatches all night and in between endeavouring to make a dug-out –I couldn’t lift the pick so had to use my trenching tool. Wonder what I am going to do for rations – I had to throw mine out, it was too heavy for me to carry. Feeling very weak and tired.
26 April
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- Cigarette card from Wills cigarette packet c. 1915 – Life in Shrapnel Valley. [State Library of NSW, ML Safe 1/145]
Pope’s Hill – daybreak – down in the Valley, in the midst of this frightful hell of screaming shrapnel and heavy ordinance, the birds are chirping in the clear morning air and buzzing about from leaf to leaf, placidly going about its work, is a large bee – to think of what might be makes me weep, for fighting is continuing in all its fury. Our signallers have been nearly all wiped out – I suppose I’ll get my lead pill next. It has now been a ceaseless cry of, ‘Stretcher bearers on the left’ – they seem to be having an awful time up there – one poor fellow has just jumped out of his dug-out frightfully wounded in the arm; I bound it as best I could, then had to dash off with another message. All along the route, scrambling along the side of the exposed incline, my comrades offered me a dug-out for me to take cover as the snipers are getting our chaps every minute, but as the messages are important I must take my chance. All along the route I keep coming across bodies of the poor chaps who have been less fortunate than I.
27 April
Still fighting furiously – now all signalers have been wiped out of A and B Companies except myself. Just had a shell each side of my dug-out – I felt in a real panic as it is a most horrible sensation. Our ships have missed the range and sent eleven shells into us in a minute; I do not think anyone has been hit – the Turks’ trenches are so near ours that it is marvelous how accurately the ships find the range. For three days and nights I have been going without a stop, occasionally having a go at my dug-out which, up to the present, is nothing more than a hole – the continual cry of ‘Signaller’ never seems to cease. While going up to the Captain’s dug-out with a message from Headquarters I nearly got pipped by a machine-gun; fortunately one of the lads pulled me down into safety – I don’t seem to feel it’s any use worrying; if I’m to get hit nothing can stop it, and to keep dodging down into dug-outs gets on my nerves – I can’t stand being cramped into small spaces. The Turks have now got hold of the names of our officers and keep giving messages purporting to emulate from said officers. All night long the Turks have been harassing us heavily – ever and anon ‘Enemy advancing on the right,’ ‘Enemy advancing on the left’ – all messages now have to be whispered along the line. There is a pale moon – any minute we are expecting the enemy to rush the trenches – we have no reserves. I ask Captain Margolin to let me make his dug-out more secure, as every time he has to give a message he has to expose himself – after some persuasion he permits me to do so, though at the same time asking me if I had completed my own dug-out. However, after having made his position apparently secure and arranged the bushes the better to make it less conspicuous, I had no sooner vacated the position and he had got into my place, than he was struck in the mouth by a bullet.
‘Good God!’ I exclaimed, ‘have they got you Sir?’
‘My God!’ he yelled, ‘they have caught me at last’.
But, after the first shock, he said to me, ‘I thought they had got me then, Silas; what shall I do? I mustn’t let the boys see I have been hit’.
However, I said he had better have it attended to. Just at that moment a shot struck the parapet close to my face; I thought my turn had come; although it was nearly dark the snipers seemed well on to this particular dug-out. A body was lifted out of the trench; I thought it was a wounded man; I asked if he was dead – then I saw the top of his head – oh God! The Turks seemed to be going to rush us – Margy grabbed hold of a rifle; I asked him if he was going to use it – ‘My word, yes,’ he said, ‘I want something I can fight with.’ Margy tells me to try and get a little sleep, but I cannot do so – Turks seem a bit quieter, all the same the position is very critical.
27 April
Morning. Facing our extreme left, on the ridge opposite where there is a single fir tree the New Zealanders are advancing – they are nearer the enemy than they suppose – they may get cut off – from our positions we can see the enemy and their danger. From Captain Margolin – ‘Get a signal through to them, Silas’.
I get up so to do, and receive immediate attention from the Turkish snipers; some of the boys told me to take a less prominent position – if I do so the New Zealanders will not be able to see my signal – it is hardly necessary to state the course I had to take; the position is too serious, I must take my chance. God, this is awful, my sight is going; I wonder if I can get my message through or will the snipers get me first – I keep giving them ‘NZ’ – ‘NZ’ but cannot see if they are getting me – it is too awful, will they never see me? At last the N.Z. signalers see me: ‘The enemy immediately in front of you, go with caution, look out for snipers, they are everywhere’ – my sight is getting dimmer – (to Captain Margolin) ‘Send somebody to read Sir, my sight is going’ – (to NZ) ‘Look out for our men, they are right in front of you’ – (from Captain Margolin)’Signal to our men to come in’ – (from the Sergeant Major) ‘Signal to them slowly’. Snipers getting very busy – don’t think I can last much longer – everything now quite blurred – signal our men ‘Come in’ – can’t see them at all – thank God, message is through. I drop down, have gone all to pieces; the lads think I have been caught. I told Captain Margolin ‘I am done; send to Headquarters for more signallers’ – cannot remember his reply, but anyway it was couched in very kindly terms. The stretcher bearers have been doing splendid work, poor chaps, along this precipitous ridge where it is difficult to gain a foothold, and under incessant fire from snipers for at this the Turks spared nobody, they shot at anything that moved.
28 April
Fighting still continuing with unabated vigour – will this frightful noise never cease? I wonder what this valley will be like when there is no longer noise of fighting, no longer the hurried tread of combating forces – when the raw earth of the trenches is o’erspread with verdant grass. Perhaps here and there equipment of War will be lying with fresh spring sprouts of grass threading through interstices – underneath the sad little mounds resting sons of a great nation – in the clear sky overhead, instead of the bursting shrapnel, little fleecy clouds – the scream of shrapnel, the Hell noise of the firing, giving place to an unbroken stillness save for the chirping of a bird or the soft buzzing of the bee! I wonder would it be thus!
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Dead Man's Patch
from Silas' Book,Crusading at Anzac
A rather amusing experience happened to me – there is one particular open space so well set by snipers that few men have been able to get across it – a stream of dead marks its length, it is called ‘Dead Man’s Patch’ – I had to cross this space many times; it would have taken too long to go a more circuitous route for all messages were very urgent – upon this occasion, I crept in the bushes which fringed this bare patch and took my breath ready for my dash across – I lunged forward – the seat of my pants caught in the bushes, and I hung by them! I was in a terrible funk, for then the snipers got busy – I felt as if I had been hanging there for ages, though I don’t suppose it was very long – at last I tore myself off. When I got to the other side of the Patch, My now unseemly garb sent the lads into roars of laughter – certainly it was more hygienic than comfortable, and it was some days before I had a chance to dock for repairs.
29 April
After four days and four nights without a rest, at last I am relieved and go back to the rear for a few hours’ rest. All the way along there is always that stream of wounded coming from the Firing Line. Despite my recent fatigue, now that I have the leisure I cannot sleep – thank God it is quieter here, though in the gully we get the full benefit of the blast from the guns of our ships – however, they are doing the Turks some damage, otherwise we should have been swept into the sea ere this. I have just been told by Signaller Ashton of the Signallers that I have been mentioned in dispatches for a military decoration – hope to God I haven’t bungled things, though it’s a funny kind of a joke on a battlefield. Am told by Sergeant Paull of the Signallers that I have been mentioned in dispatches for a military decoration, at the same time saying that I have earned for the Signallers a good name – hardly know how I feel over the matter – I can scarcely express it in words; to have won through so successfully when my one great fear had been that I should fail lamentably fills me with a great peace and sense of satisfaction that at least I have not given up all in vain. It is curious on the battlefield how unconscious one is of having accomplished anything exceptional; for my part I do not feel that I have done anything more than my duty – where so many men are doing fine things I do not see what utter use it is giving medals, for I have seen many things that strike me as being infinitely finer than anything I have done or, I fear, would have the nerve to do, and yet nothing is said of them. I don’t regret my receiving this distinction, for at least it has shown the lads that Signaller Silas, the Joke of the Battalion, was able to do his bit with them, and also to show a somewhat sneering world that artists are not quite failures on the battlefield, though I would admit that we are not quite cut out for this sort of work. I don’t think I can stand much more of it, my nerves seem to be going; what little I did have.
Sundown. I go to Headquarters to see if there any further messages, as I’m returning to the firing line after a five hour’s spell. Colonel Pope to Captain Margolin – ‘If you’re not busy, get your trenches a bit deeper.’ On my way along I’m told to take cover, snipers have got much worse; one man, Ibbotson, pulled me into his dug-out, at the same time remarking ‘For God’s sake, take cover; two men have just been hit within the last two seconds within a yard or two of where you are standing.’ I saw the proof of this; their faces turned to the sky, the sand splashed with scarlet.
I wait in his dug-out two minutes, but feel I must get back to the Captain, he may be wanting me so I start forth again. All the way along the lads keep calling from their dug-outs ‘Get down, take cover, snipers are getting us in dozens!’ – however I continue my journey and reach Captain none the worse. It is true things are getting merry, but the snipers don’t seem to get the strength of me. I find that the signalers have been relieved, that I was not supposed to have returned until the following morning. ‘ Stretcher bearers on the left’ is the ceaseless cry.
30 April
I cannot write – it is all too terrible, too sad – later, if I’m not killed, I shall write these experiences. More dispatchers to run to Headquarters – one chap named Toc said to me, ‘Well done, Silas, I must try to get a VC myself.’ He is such a good-natured fellow and very keen to distinguish himself. Fighting still continuing with unabating fury – the men are commencing to look very weary, they do not look as if they can last much longer – how long will this Hell continue? To Battalion Headquarters – when I get there, Lieutenant Curlewis pulls me into the Headquarter’s dug-out, saying ‘Come in, Silas you’ll get killed.’ On the way back I guide Lieutenant Geddes to Captain Margolin – ‘You’re going too quickly for me, Silas; I am very weak’ – I then discover the poor chap has been wounded. I hear our losses have been very heavy.