Gallipoli and the Australian Homefront

Gallipoli and a country town – Yass

Roy Denning, 1915

Private Roy Howard Denning landed at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915. He was wounded on 16 June and sent to Malta to recuperate, where he wrote to his mother describing his experiences at the landing. Reproduced with the permission of YDHS.


I was justified in being proud of being an Australian.


[Letter, Private Roy Howard Denning,
213, 1st Field Company Engineers,
Malta, 23 July 1915, to his mother,

YDHS has recently published the
full twelve page letter from
Roy Denning: My dear mother:
a letter from a soldier after Gallipoli,
ed Jane Nauta, Yass, 1998]


Roy Denning was born at Marulan, New South Wales. The family moved to Yass, and Roy attended the Yass District School. He was working for the Clyde Engineering Company, Sydney, when, on 7 September 1914, he joined the AIF. Private Roy Denning landed on Gallipoli on 25 April 1915 and served there until he received a severe gunshot wound in the back on 16 June. He was evacuated to Pembroke Camp in Malta four days later and after his recovery he went on to fight on the Western Front until the end of the war.

By 1918, Roy's war weariness was evident from this diary entry.


Digging trenches through forest. God give me back the day joined this blood sucking unit who are never satisfied.


[Diary, Private Roy Howard Denning,
1918, France.
This diary is in a private collection]

In October 1918, because he was an original Anzac, Private Roy Denning received the so-called 'Anzac leave', and he was on the high seas when war ended on 11 November. Roy Denning's family did not live in Yass during the war and he never returned there himself to work. The town, however, for commemorative purposes, claimed him as one of their own and his name is on the Yass Honour Roll at the Soldiers' Memorial Hall and on the Yass District School Honour Roll.

As Roy recovered from his wound on Malta in 1915, he had much time to think about what he had seen on Gallipoli. He wrote at least two letters to his mother on that subject, the second of which has survived. It is a remarkable document. Roy was one of the first Yass men to land on Gallipoli and his description of that day tells us much about why it was so special to Australians of his generation:


For an hour or more I struggled on slipping every now and again right down the side where the earth was very loose, making my already wet and heavy clothes still heavier with the mud that hung to them. I found it very slow work my pack and rifle and shovel etc. catching every few minutes in the thick scrub, I had at times hard work to extricate myself I seemed to have handles sticking all over me, but what we accomplished that day we ourselves marvel at now. In spite of the dirty and in some cases ragged uniform covering tired bodies the men were cheerful and laughed at their plight, some jokingly saying "Oh, if only my girl could see me now".

Roy Denning - 1918

Private Roy Howard Denning at war’s end in 1918. The stress of four years on the battlefields is reflected in his face. Reproduced with the permission of Lorna Lancaster.


All day long the fire of the big guns was terrific, the crack of rifles incessant. All day stretcher bearers carried away the wounded down rugged paths hastily cut by the pioneers and men struggled up the same paths carrying ammunition. The food that fed the only weapons that prevented us being overwhelmed by the superior numbers of the enemy. I was very thirsty, but dare not drink, not knowing when I would get a fresh supply of water, eating I never thought of until the long day was drawing to a close.

I had given up hope of finding my company at the firing line and was prepared to spend the night in the bed of a dry creek running down from the ridge, where with several of the reserves we endeavoured to keep ourselves warm by squeezing up close together.

About 8pm or perhaps later, it came on to rain, although not heavy it added to the darkness and misery of the already miserable state of affairs, particularly in the case of the wounded. Men struggled through the wet scrub, groping their way and slipping down every few steps, but only to struggle on again without a murmur. All night I sat half dozing and half wondering what the cost of this ceaseless fire would mean to our men, and not being an old warrior, I could not imagine so much ammunition being expended at random.

In the early hours of the morning I heard the Officers going along amongst the men, saying "Stick to it lads, don't go to sleep", and the cheerful reply would be "No Sir; we won't go to sleep", and my heart swelled with admiration, I knew what the ordeal of the strenuous day before had been, and knew what pluck and determination was necessary to keep awake and alert through the long weary hours of the night, therefore I thought I was justified in being proud of being an Australian and after that night I had no fear as to the result of our operations eventually. Give me Australians as comrades and I will go anywhere duty calls, and I hope to be pardoned for saying so, being one myself. Thus it was the Australians passed their first day and night on the battlefield, Sunday, April 25th. What a difference to the Sunday spent at home, I wondered often through the day and night if the loved ones at home had any kind of a presentiment of what we were doing.

From the time we settled down on that point until my last day on the Peninsula, when I was wounded, each day was very much the same, there being only a day now and again to be marked by anything worth reporting. Shrapnel poured onto the beach each day, picking off men every now and again. Terrible sights of suffering were seen at the hospital near our quarters, each day. The usual line of dead were to be seen waiting for sunset to be laid to rest on the hillside, when it would be safe to hold the usual burial service. And so things went on, day after day, we getting more accustomed to it each day.


Later, in this same letter, Roy Denning provides a memorable description of death and burial on the peninsula. He ponders, too, on the devastation the news of death will bring to family members. Despite his resort to fairly conventional imagery and sentiment, it none the less reveals a capacity on this soldier's part to see the tragedy of war as it reaches out far beyond the battlefield:


That night [May 1] we were working until 9 o'clock in pumping water, and were returning to our dugouts when we came up with two stretchers on each one lay the remains of an Australian. The stretcher bearer of one, having a bad hand, asked my friend and I if we would take some of the weight for him and willing did so and continued on to where the big grave waited for its prey. We laid the stretchers down gently, the bodies were lifted into the grave, then we stood with bowed heads while the Chaplain, with the aid of an electric torch read those memorable lines set apart for the burial of the dead. The graves being dug to take three side by side, I just threw enough earth over them to cover the bodies leaving one place vacant for another of our number. I wondered who would fill it, death seemed so close to us all, it may just be the click of a rifle and one of us may make the third to fill and thus satisfy the yearning of that open grave.

The service over, we returned to our dugouts, but in my case not to sleep. The sad proceeding we had just been through seemed so impressive and although only two in hundreds, made me picture the homes of the two departed. I wondered if ever the loved ones of the two deceased would hear or know how they were quietly laid to rest on the slope of the lonely Turkish hillside, where, when men ceased to slaughter and annihilate each other, there would be nothing but the gentle lap of the water at its foot and the nightingale's solitary note to break the silence.

I pictured an aged couple waiting for news of their son, dreading to answer the door bell for fear of what may be there, scanning the casualty list with trembling hands and aching hearts lest the dreaded news be found there. Perhaps it may be a young wife with a babe in arms, another little chubby face pressed against the window pane watching and waiting for that familiar form we just laid away To those dear ones the sad news of what we had just taken part in, had to be borne. Perhaps a young maiden waits for one of them living her life in a mingling of pride and bitter dread at what the morrow may bring with it and into that bright young life, blighting all hopes that had been so bright and promising, would be thrust that awful news, leaving as the only star to brighten the dark firmament of the future, the thoughts of valiant deeds in a strange land.

Is it any wonder I could not sleep, but rather prayed that God would be merciful and heal the broken hearts and that all mourners would fully realise the true meaning of the words, "Oh grave where is thy victory; oh death where is thy sting", and I felt that God would be good to men who had so nobly given their lives in such a cause for they had given their lives for their friends.




He died nobly in action.


Second Lieutenant Wilfred Emmott Addison, 18th Battalion, was one who anticipated his own death. 'I daresay I shall be one of the first to fall', he is reputed to have said after he had been briefed on the impending attack on Hill 60 at the Suvla Bay end of the Anzac position on Gallipoli. Charles Bean, Australia's official historian, described Wilfred Addison’s behaviour on 22 August 1915. As the attack progressed in the ground towards the Turkish positions the 18th came under heavy fire and Addison was described as one:


who, with dying and wounded around him, and machine gun bullets tearing up the ground where he stood, steadied and waved forward the remnant of his platoon until he himself fell pierced with several bullets…


[Charles Bean, The Story of Anzac,
Vol II, Sydney, 1924, p743]


Wilfred Addison was born in Yass on 28 March 1887. He was working as a bank accountant in Sydney when he joined the AIF on 23 December 1914. Along with his unit, the 18th Battalion, he landed on Gallipoli on 19 August 1915. Three days later he was dead. On the 18th he had written what was to be his last letter to his mother:


Just a line before picking up. I will think of you and pray for you all tonight ... Don't send too many things for me as I will probably never see them. Things have a marvellous way of disappearing unless we nail them down and sit on them.


[Letter, Second Lieutenant Wilfred Emmott Addison, 18th Battn,
at sea near Gallipoli, 18 August 1915,
to his mother, Mrs H Addison,
Sydney: AWM DRL, 9,
12/11/45]


Wilfred Emmott Addison

Lieutenant Wilfred Emmott Addison, killed in action at Hill 60, Suvla Bay, Gallipoli, 22 August 1915. Reproduced with the permission of YDHS.


The attack on Hill 60 has been described as hastily conceived, poorly arranged, and undertaken with raw troops not up to dealing with what confronted them. The newly arrived 18th suffered severely. Half of them were made casualties, and half of these casualties, Wilfred Addison among them, were killed. Their sacrifice achieved little, if anything, in military terms. Charles Bean's description of Wilfred's death says nothing about the overall failure of the attack, his only criticism of its conduct being the lack of support which led to an Australian position having to be abandoned. His chief concern was to ensure that the family saw Wilfred's death as one that would reflect well on his memory:


He went into action next morning at daylight and was killed, his company "D" being chopped to bits and half his battalion lost. Yesterday, I went to the position and saw McDonald, A J, an old client of mine and Wilfred's Major. I also went over the ground fought over. There is a gully opening on to level ground for about 200 yards to the foot hills of a big mountain, the troops had to run across the open to seize the Turk's trenches and occupy them; this was done but owing to lack of support had to give up one line and only hold the first one which we do now and are snugly entrenched in. McDonald told me that on the order to advance WA led his Platoon 13 across the open and then jumped out of the first trench with his revolver drawn called out "Come on boys the next one" and backed up by his company who so far had lost only 3, ran across the next intervening space, but he had only gone a few yards when machine gunfire got him, the trench was taken, but, as I say, had to be given up and a retreat made to the first line. Both McDonald and the Colonel A E Chapman (of WR Beaver's Office) told me that Wilfred acted with the greatest bravery and if he had lived would have been mentioned in despatches – he certainly brought credit to us and must always be remembered as a highly courageous man. Tell Glent and Ettie [Wilfred's parents] how sorry I am and I shall write them when I get more particulars. Percy is well his battalion having been in reserve.


['Hill 60', Chris Coulthard-Clark, Where Australians Fought, Sydney, 1998, p.110]


In 1916 Wilfred's mother, Harriet Addison, who founded the 18th Battalion's Comfort Fund in Sydney, tried to get for her son a posthumous promotion to the rank of Captain. She was motivated in this by the family's strong military tradition dating back to a Captain Addison who had fought in 1775 against the American insurgents at the Battle of Bunker Hill. Brigadier General William Holmes, who had commanded the 18th at Hill 60, wrote to her from France to say that this request was impossible to grant. Whatever he knew about the reality of the sad attack on Hill 60, Holmes placed Wilfred's death firmly in the context of bravery and sacrifice:


Your son gave good service and no one regretted his death more than I did except of course his own family. He died nobly and in a good cause bravely doing his duty and after all in which better way can one go. I sometimes wonder whether a splendid death like his is not more a matter for congratulation than of condolence, but of course it is hard for the loved ones left behind to see it in this light.


[Brigadier General William Holmes, General Officer Commanding, 5th Brigade, AIF,
France, 9 October 1916, to Mrs H Addison, Sydney: AWM 1DRL 9, 12/11/45]


Another account of Wilfred's death came from a Sergeant Roberts, clearly a member of the 18th Battalion, who survived Hill 60. Roberts sent a much more mixed message to the family. He is the only correspondent to indicate that the Hill 60 situation was a disaster and that those directing the war were, perhaps, throwing away the lives of ordinary soldiers. But Roberts, in the knowledge perhaps that he is addressing Wilfred's mother, nevertheless reinforces the sentiment, conveyed by others, that Wilfred Addison did not die in vain:


And as died another of Australia's heroes, because someone blundered, we, the pawns in this great game of war, must pay the price… What ever memories you cherish of your son add this one to them... He died nobly in action leading his men to victory for we took the trenches, though he was not there in life to see us, already passed from this world into the next.


[Letter, Sergeant Roberts, Estaples, France, undated to Mrs H Addison, Sydney: AWM 1DRL, 9, 12/I 1/45]