CHAPTER III

THE 29TH BRIGADE AT ANZAC

“Then lift the flag of the Last Crusade

And fill the ranks of the Last Brigade;

March on to the fields where the world's remade

And the Ancient Dreams come true.”

— T. M. Kettle.

ON August the 4th, as the Division were bemoaning the fact that the first anniversary of the war had arrived without their having heard a shot fired in action, the 29th Brigade received orders to send three officers and approximately 180 men from each battalion to the newly formed Divisional Base Depot. These were intended to remain at Mudros and to act as a first reinforcement when needed. As a rule, the officers and men selected for this duty were those who were in bad health, as it was hoped that a few days' rest might make them better acclimatized. They were, however, highly disgusted at being left behind, not knowing that they would re-join in less than a week. They marched over to their new camp on the afternoon of the 4th, and those who were left packed up in earnest. That evening, definite orders were received: battalions were to hold themselves in readiness to embark for the Peninsula at 9 a.m. the next day, and C.O.s were permitted to inform Company Commanders in confidence that the destination was Anzac. At that time, no one had ever heard of the place, but diligent search on the numerous maps, with which units had been supplied, at last revealed Anzac Cove marked a mile north of Gaba Tepe. "The Australian place," the best informed called it. So the Brigade were not destined to make a new landing. That, at any rate, was something to know, and we had to content ourselves with it, for nothing further was divulged. Subalterns and the rank-and-file did not even know what the destination was: all that they were told was that we were to embark.

Before dawn, each of the two chaplains attached to the Brigade held a service. The Church of England Chaplain, the Rev. J. W. Crozier, celebrated Holy Communion in the operating tent of the 30th Field Ambulance, while Father O'Connor said Mass in the open air just outside the camp. It had been decided that the Chaplains were not to come with the Brigade, but were to remain with the Field Ambulance. This decision caused much regret, not only to the Chaplains themselves, but to all ranks in the Brigade. The Roman Catholics in particular disliked losing Father O'Connor even temporarily, for he was personally loved by the men, and in addition the Irish soldier faces death twice as cheerfully when fortified by the ministrations of his Church. Never were more reverent and solemn worshippers seen than at those two short services at Mudros, as the well remembered words were murmured, and the grey twilight shone faintly on the faces of many who were soon to die.

As the last prayers were uttered, the dawn was breaking, a grey dawn fretted with many clouds. The congregations dispersed and took up the burden of work and war again. A hasty breakfast was swallowed, valises were strapped up and carried by fatigue parties down to the pier, while the men rolled up their blankets and ground sheets and fastened them to their packs. In the deserted lines, officers were endeavouring to prevent improvident soldiers from eating or leaving behind them part of the three days' rations with which they had just been issued, while bands of predatory Greek children, who were on the look-out for anything that they could pick up, were driven away with threats and sometimes with blows. Then between eight and nine o'clock the battalions fell in, ready at last for the great adventure.

It is often difficult for the historian, writing years after the event, to ascertain the exact dress worn by those who took part in the events portrayed in his page, and so it may be well to put on record the outward aspect of the Irish Division when it left for Gallipoli. Officers and men were dressed alike in thin, sand-coloured khaki drill. Shorts were forbidden, and the men wore their trousers tucked into puttees of the darker khaki shade that is worn in England. Except for the metal shoulder titles, there were not many marks to distinguish the different units, since England had been left at such short notice that there had been little time to procure badges of coloured cloth to sew on the big mushroom-shaped helmets. The Royal Irish Rifles had improvised a green and black patch, however, and the officers of the Hampshires had mounted a claret and yellow one. The Colonel of the Leinsters had with infinite ingenuity procured ink, and stencilled an enormous black “L” on the side of each helmet. The Connaught Rangers had ordered shamrock badges with the device “5 C.R.”, but their ambition was their undoing, since these elaborate decorations took so long to make that they did not reach the Peninsula until most of those who were to wear them had been killed or invalided. The 7th Munsters were more fortunate, and went into action with a green shamrock on each arm just below the shoulder. A few Fusilier officers sported a hackle of the regimental colour, but this conspicuous ornament drew too much attention to the wearer to make it safe in Gallipoli. It mattered less what the men wore on their bodies, since it was almost impossible to see it, so heavily were they laden.

They hardly looked like fighting, and would have run a poor chance if they had had to swim. On their backs they had their greatcoats, rolled in their packs, on top of which they carried two blankets and a waterproof sheet. Their haversacks contained three days' rations; in their pouches, and festooned round their necks, were two hundred rounds of ammunition, and in addition to rifle, bayonet, entrenching implement and water-bottle, every man carried either a pick, shovel, or camp-kettle. The signallers and machine-gunners were loaded up with their technical equipment, and the effect of the whole parade, topped as it was by broad-brimmed sun-helmets, suggested strength rather than mobility. Heavily the columns swung down to the beach, and there waited, for embarkation proved a slow process. The sun was hot, and there was no shade, so that many of the men emptied their water-bottles before they had been there long, though fortunately it was possible to refill them at a neighbouring well. Many more bought water-melons, and the far-seeing laid in a stock of as many eggs and lemons as they could carry, to take to the Peninsula. The loads that the naval pinnaces could carry were small, and it was only after repeated journeys that at 3.30 p.m. the whole Brigade embarked. The infantry were not accompanied by either the Field Company Royal Engineers, or the Field Ambulance, which were usually attached to the Brigade. They were to accompany the remainder of the Division.

The ships used as ferries between Mudros and the Peninsula were not large, and the men found themselves tightly packed fore and aft, with only just enough room to squat or lie on the decks. The boats had, however, seen plenty of service, and their officers and men were able to supply abundance of good advice. As soon as night fell, no lights of any kind were permitted and, consequently, it was necessary for every man to remain close to his kit, or fearful confusion would follow at disembarkation. It was evident that landing was likely to be somewhat of a trial, as even the numbers of changes of station that the Brigade had had at home had given them no practice in disembarking in pitch darkness. No food was obtainable on board, but there was plenty of hot water, so that the men were able to make tea in their mess-tins to wash down the bully and biscuit taken from their iron ration.

All ranks had settled down pretty comfortably by the time the boats approached Imbros, and the sun sank in a dark bank of clouds behind the Lemnos hills. A few slept, but most were too excited to do so; for as the ship approached the invisible coast the flashes of the guns became visible, and a broad searchlight beam stabbed the sky from the summit of Achi Baba. A little further up the coast, a destroyer had focussed her searchlight on a path down the face of a cliff, and the round circle of light looked for all the world like a magic lantern in a village entertainment at home. On they steamed, leaving all this behind, and most dozed off, only to be awakened by the stoppage of the boat. By straining one's eyes one could see a few more ships anchored close by, but the only other sign of life was a couple of dim lights, which seemed to be high overhead.

This was Anzac.

The Brigade was soon, however, to discover that the Turks were vigilant, for a sniper, hearing the rattle of the anchor-chain of one of the boats, fired at a venture and wounded a man of the Leinster Regiment in the chest. A Connaught Ranger was also wounded in the hand. Clearly the warnings against lights and noise were justified. However, nothing could be done but to get the men into their equipment and wait. At last the lighters grunted up alongside and disembarkation began. The darkness was intense, and it was impossible to speak above a whisper. Men of all companies were crowded together; N.C.O.s were quite unrecognisable, and no previous rehearsal had been possible. However, good will triumphed over these obstacles. One by one the men and their burdens were hurried into the lighters, the specialists unloaded their technical equipment, and disembarkation proceeded smoothly, if not quickly.

By the time the last ship began to unload her troops the first traces of the dawn were appearing in the sky, and the sailors on the lighters became very anxious. Not only was it undesirable that the Turks should learn that large reinforcements were being sent to Anzac, but the whole of the harbour was exposed to the fire of the enemy's guns, and if the slow-moving lighters were detected by daylight, they would have to pass through a storm of shrapnel, and would have suffered many casualties. Most of the men did not realise this, and were inclined to be deliberate in their movements, but, bustled by sailors and officers, they got ashore safely. They found themselves in the grey dawn standing on the shores of a little bay. Above them towered broken sandy slopes, at the foot of which stood a narrow strip of beach, covered with sand-bagged dug-outs and piles of forage and rations. They massed under cover of these; officers and company-sergeant-majors hurriedly checked their numbers as far as it was possible to do so, and then they were led away by New Zealand guides to a dangerous position.

A certain amount of cover had already been prepared by Australian and New Zealand digging parties, in what was very rightly known as Shrapnel Gully. Battalions followed the guides up a low ridge of sand hills, through a short sap, and past a row of water-tanks, on to a path which wound up between two high hills. It was, as we discovered later, wider than most gullies in Gallipoli, and if anything the slopes were gentler; but it was a fair specimen of its kind. On the southern side the formation was regular; to the north a smaller gully running into it formed a sort of bay about two hundred yards in circumference. Both slopes were covered with low prickly scrub, rising at its highest to about four feet; in between were patches of sand and the dug-outs prepared for the brigade. To the south these were arranged regularly in rows, something like the galleries of the model coal-mine in the South Kensington Museum, and these were allotted to the Hampshires, Rifles, and Leinsters. On the northern slope they were arranged irregularly on the side of the small bay, and were occupied by the Connaught Rangers. Brigade Headquarters were established in a sand-bagged dug-out close to the road that ran down the bottom of the gully.

The men were distributed among their dug-outs, and the officers sat down to take stock of the situation. We had arrived, but that was all that we knew. There was any amount of noise, but nothing to look at, and as the noise of firing seemed to come from every point of the compass, including the sea, it hardly enlightened us as to where in particular the fighting was going on. It was impossible to try and see anything, as all ranks had been warned that to go up to the top of any of the hills would probably be fatal. Standing orders, however, had been issued to company commanders, who sat down in their dug-outs to study them. No fires or lights of any kind were allowed after dark, and green wood was never to be used for fires. These were obvious precautions, as light or smoke would be certain to cause heavy shelling.

An order was also issued that every man was to wear a white band six inches wide, on each arm, and a white patch eight inches square, in the middle of his back. The materials for these had been brought with battalions from Mudros, and all ranks set to work at tailoring. It was clear from this that we were likely to take part in a night attack, and this impression was confirmed by the warning soon passed round that men were to rest as much as possible during the day. Absolutely nothing more was known, not even where the remainder of the Division were. It was not until a conference of Commanding Officers was held at Brigade Headquarters at 4.30 p.m. that it was discovered that the brigade was on its own. We also received orders that the men's packs, great-coats, blankets, and waterproof sheets, together with all the officers' valises, were to be left in our present position, one N.C.O. and eight men per battalion remaining in charge of them. Units were instructed to hold themselves in readiness to move off at 1 a.m. the following morning.

Though we had been told to rest, the heat and the flies made sleep impossible. Just before leaving Mudros, a mail from home had arrived, so there were a few three-week old English papers to look at, and the rest of the time was spent in watching the Australians passing up and down the road at the bottom of the gully. They were the first Australians that we had seen, and one could not help admiring their splendid physique and the practical way in which they had adapted their costume to the conditions prevailing on the Peninsula. Some were stripped to the waist, and few wore more clothing than boots, a slouch hat, a sleeveless shirt, open at the breast, and a pair of the shortest shorts that ever occurred to the imagination of a tailor. As a result of this primitive costume, they were burnt to a rich brown by the Gallipoli sun. They were splendid men, but quite different in physique from the European, for their sloping shoulders, loose-knit limbs, and long thin legs suggested an apparent reversion to the kangaroo type as the result of climatic conditions. Above all, they seemed absolutely devoid of nerves; three months of constant shelling, which had left its mark even on the veterans of the 29th Division, appeared to have no effect of any kind on the Australians. Clearly, they were very good men to fight side by side with.

About eleven a.m. the Turks began to shell the gully with shrapnel. Most of their shells were badly fused, and burst too high, but one "blind" shell knocked off the head of a Connaught Ranger. A man in the Rifles was also killed, and these catastrophes had the effect of inducing the men who had been watching the bursting shells with great curiosity, to take cover in their dug-outs. In spite of this pre- caution, each unit had several men wounded, Lieutenant Mayne of the Rifles also being hit. About noon the bombardment slackened for a time, only to be renewed about three in the afternoon and continued till dusk with re-doubled intensity. Many men were grazed or bruised by spent bullets or fragments of shell, but refused to report themselves to the Doctor. Though we were unaware of it at the time, we were suffering from Turkish retaliation for the attack on Lone Pine, which was going on half-a-mile away, for the Turks knowing that Shrapnel Gully was about the only spot in the Anzac area where reserves could be sheltered from their view, were systematically searching it with their fire. Had their fusing been more accurate, and had dug-outs not been prepared in readiness for the brigade, its losses would have been heavy. As it was, the Turks hardly got value for the shells they expended, and the men were encouraged by the result of their baptism of fire.

It was impossible to cook the men any dinner, and after a few mouthfuls of cold bully and lukewarm water they fell asleep in their dug-outs as soon as it became dark. At 12.30 a.m., on Saturday, the 7th, orders were received to fall in, but the order was easier to give than to execute. “Falling in” presupposes a parade ground of some sort, and on a steep slope covered with bushes and dug-outs it was not easy to discover an assembly post. Even when it had been chosen by daylight, it was hard to find it in the pitch darkness, and the men scattered in many little dug-outs were slow in coming together. In some cases a company commander thought that he had been left behind by his company, only to discover that it had not yet been awakened. The innate perversity of inanimate objects, too, had full play; watches stopped, electric flashlights refused to flash, and lanyards attached themselves to every bush in the neighbourhood.

Eventually, however, the men were collected, their numbers checked, and the brigade moved off in single file down the road at the bottom of the gully in the direction of the sea. The Leinsters led, followed by the Irish Rifles, Connaught Rangers and Hampshires in the order named. Progress was slow, which was fortunate, as the numerous halts made it possible for men who had been late in waking to join their units. At last, however, the head of the long column reached the bottom of Shrapnel Gully and turned northward, moving up a subsidiary gully in the direction of Russell's Top. At that time, however, we knew nothing of where we were going or what we were to do, though we could see the Great Bear hanging low over the hill tops, and knew that we were going north. The night was very dark, and only the outline of the hills against the star-lit sky, and the faint white line of the path were visible. Here and there an officer came hurrying up. “Are you the South Lancashires? Where are the 13th Division?” It was impossible to answer these queries, for we knew nothing of anybody's whereabouts, and the noise was so terrific that the words would have been inaudible.

From every hill-top came the rattle of musketry, but the dominant note in the symphony came from the guns of the monitors drawn in close to the beach at Anzac. They sounded as if they were only ten yards away, although it must have been a full mile. To this accompaniment, the long line traced its way up the gully for about an hour, halting every five minutes. While doing this, three miles to the northward, the assaulting columns were working up the Aghyl and Chailak Deres to the assault of Sari Bair, but we knew nothing of this at the time. At last, the order came to turn about and retrace our steps, leaving the 6th Leinster Regiment to act as support to the Australians. The remainder of the Brigade slowly returned to Shrapnel Gully.

There throughout the day they waited at the side of the road, never knowing when they might be called on to move. Every staff officer who came near was cross-questioned, but they knew little more than ourselves. Rumours, of course, were manifold, and for some curious reason they all centred round a position known as Prussian Officers' Trench. Twice we heard that it had been taken, and twice that the attack on it had failed. To us it seemed as if the capture of this position was vital to our success, although as a matter of fact, it was purely a subsidiary operation. We knew nothing of the fighting at Lone Pine, we had then never heard the name of Sari Bair, we were completely ignorant that our comrades were at that moment landing at Suvla; all our interest was centred on this one name caught from a passing Australian. They were passing pretty frequently now, some on stretchers, and others limping down unattended from the fight at the head of the gully, but they were not communicative. “Pretty tough up there” was as a rule their only response to the volley of queries that came whenever a man looked strong enough to answer.

The wait lasted all day, varied by shrapnel fire. No doubt, the three battalions were retained there, as the position was central and covered from view, while if the Turkish counterattacks on the recently captured Lone Pine position should be successful, their services would be badly needed. At 7 p.m., however, General Cooper was instructed to send a battalion into the Southern section of the Anzac area, to act as Reserve to the first Australian Brigade. No attack had been launched from this part of the defences, and it was feared that the Turks might retaliate for the attack on Sari Bair by attempting to crush Anzac from the South.

The Connaught Rangers, who were selected for this duty, reached the position allotted to them at 8.10 p.m. They detached one company to Brown's Dip, where they were employed in burying the Turks and Australians who were killed in the Lone Pine fighting. The unpleasantness of the task was increased by the fact that the position was being heavily shelled, and several men were wounded. On the following day (August 8th) the Connaught Rangers were again moved, this time to Victoria Gully, about three-quarters of a mile nearer Anzac Cove. The detached company at Brown's Dip was relieved by another from the same battalion, which carried on the duty of burial party, and also sustained a number of casualties. The rest of the battalion remained in reserve at Victoria Gully throughout the 9th of August in dug-outs, which had been hastily constructed, and which they did much to improve.

By this time the Battalion were becoming something of connoisseurs in the qualities of dug-outs. Dug-outs are of two kinds, those you dig for yourself and those you dig for somebody else. In the former case, you collect as many sand bags, pieces of corrugated iron, pit props, and other miscellaneous building materials as your ingenuity or your dishonesty can achieve, and then proceed to dig yourself an eligible residence. The depth dug is usually in inverse proportion to rank: the higher, the deeper, though to go too deep was considered to exhibit a somewhat excessive desire to be safe at all costs. The Australians had a story of an officer whom they did not like, and on whose courage they (probably unjustly) reflected. They declare that he was severely wounded, as the rope broke while he was being lowered into the dug-out, and he fell the remaining eighteen feet.

The dug-out that is dug for another is not so elaborate. You burrow into the vertical face of the hill until a cavity large enough to contain a man is created, and leave it for the occupant to make the best of. Before he has learnt to do this, he has probably bumped his head several times and filled his hair with earth. At the same time, however small it may be, it is unwise to forsake the burrow constructed for you by the experienced inhabitant and strike out a line for yourself. Two officers who attempted to do this were quickly disillusioned. Their first effort installed them in a cemetery, where a corpse was awaiting burial. Their second reopened a recently filled in latrine, while the third found them in the midst of buried Turks. Then they gave it up. It is now necessary to return to the doings of the 6th Leinster Regiment, and since this battalion was detached from the 29th Brigade throughout the battle of Sari Bair, it will be simpler to give an account of all its actions in this chapter. Though it played a distinguished part in the fight, yet its deeds were performed in a separate theatre and can not be understood without a detailed description of the operations elsewhere. At about 3 a.m. on August 7th, the Leinsters were detached from the 29th Brigade and allotted to the 1st Australian Division in order to act as General Reserve for the Northern sector of the old Anzac Defences.

In framing his plans, Lieut.-General Sir William Birdwood was compelled to take into account the possibility that instead of concentrating their forces at Suvla or on Sari Bair, the enemy might decide to make a desperate attack on Anzac, in the hope of breaking through there and cutting the columns operating on Sari Bair off from the sea. It would, no doubt, have been possible for us to obtain supplies and ammunition from Suvla once the landing there had been effected, but the organisation of new lines of communication must inevitably have taken time, and the position of the force would have been a critical one. Two battalions from the General Reserve were, therefore, placed at the disposal of the 1st Australian Division, and of these the 6th Leinsters was one.

The dispositions adopted were as follows: ‘B’ Company, under Major Stannus, went to Courtney's Ridge, and ‘C’ Company, under Major Colquhoun, to Quinn's Post. The other two companies and Battalion Headquarters remained at the end of Shrapnel Gully. This disposition was adhered to throughout the 7th and 8th, the detached companies earning the praise of the Australians to whom they were attached by the keenness and alacrity with which they carried out the duties that fell to their lot. Naturally, like everyone else in the Anzac area, they suffered from shrapnel and snipers, but the casualties during this period were not heavy.

At sunset on the 8th, the detached companies were withdrawn to Battalion Headquarters, and the whole unit was warned to hold itself in readiness to move at five minutes' notice.

By this time, it was clear to the Higher Command that little danger was to be apprehended from Turkish attacks on Anzac, while the struggle for the Sari Bair ridge was still in a doubtful state, and the presence of a fresh battalion might make the difference between victory and defeat. Accordingly the men of the Leinsters lay down formed in close column of platoons, girt with all their accoutrements and tried to slumber.

Sleep does not come easily when one is wearing full equipment and another man's boots are within an inch of one's face, while an increasing bombardment rages all round; but, at Anzac, men were tired enough to welcome any possibility of rest. During the night they were not disturbed by fresh orders and, at dawn, there was sufficient time to cook tea and refill water-bottles. At 8 a.m. on the 9th, the battalion marched off making its way northward in single file until Number 1 Post was reached. Here there was a halt and a long wait, during which the battalion crowded up behind such shelter as was afforded by a small knoll. Water-bottles were again replenished, and the provident forethought of Colonel Craske procured a number of petrol tins filled with water, which were carried by the battalion as a reserve. After a midday meal of bully and biscuit had been eaten, the battalion received orders to proceed to the relief of the New Zealand battalions holding Rhododendron Spur. This ridge, which was an outcrop of the main Sari Bair range, had been seized by the New Zealanders at dawn on the 7th, and was still held by them.

On the way there, the Leinsters met with an experience similar to that endured by the 31st Brigade at Suvla on the morning of the 7th, for in order to reach the gully leading where they wanted to go, they were compelled to traverse 400 yards of open country, which was exposed to heavy hostile fire. Not only were snipers hidden in the scrub on the hillsides doing their worst, but the space was also covered by a machine-gun high on the slopes of the Chunuk Bair, and shrapnel was continually bursting over it.

Little spurts of dust continually rising where the bullets had struck made the prospect of crossing this area an unattractive one, but the Leinsters doubled briskly across, half a platoon at a time, and luckily did not incur severe losses. They then entered a gully which was not much safer than the open space, as every corner was under machine-gun fire, and during half the time the men were bending double to avoid observation, and during the other half racing forward to avoid its consequences. Somewhat exhausted by this, and by the great heat, the Leinsters reached the foot of Rhododendron Ridge at three in the afternoon.

Here they remained till dusk in order to carry out the relief after dark but, while they waited, the enemy's shrapnel again found them out and one officer and several men were killed. At nightfall, ‘A’ and ‘D’ Companies relieved the New Zealanders, the two others remaining behind the crest in support. The ridge was joined to the main chain of the Chunuk Bair ridge by a col, and in front of this the shallow trenches, which marked the furthest point gained by our advance, had been dug. They were not deep and had not been well sited, but at any rate they served to indicate the line to be held. On the right of the Leinsters, the 8th Royal Welsh Fusiliers held a line extending back to the old Anzac position; while on the left, the 6th Loyal North Lancashire Regiment were in possession of the crest of the Chunuk itself.

Throughout the night, the Turkish artillery kept up a continual fire, and at daybreak their counter-attack was launched. The general course of these operations will be described in greater detail in the following chapter. For the present, it suffices to say that a Turkish force, estimated at more than a division, came rolling over the crest of the Chunuk Bair against the three battalions holding it. The main force of the attack fell on the Loyal North Lancashires, and to use Sir Ian Hamilton's words, “overwhelmed them by sheer force of numbers." On their left, three companies of the Wiltshires who had only just arrived on the hill were caught in the open and annihilated. But on the right the Leinsters stood their ground. At last, the moment had arrived to which they had so anxiously looked forward. Turk and Irishman, face to face, and hand to hand, could try which was the better man. Modern warfare is so much a struggle of moles, of burrowing and creeping and hiding that it is with a thrill of joy that the soldier looks on the face of his enemy at close quarters. In spite of the odds, the two companies in the front line succeeded in checking the attack, and at the crucial moment they were reinforced by ‘B’ and ‘C’ Companies from the support line. It is said that the alarm was given to the latter by a New Zealander, who ran down the hill shouting, “Fix your bayonets, boys, they're coming!" and that, on hearing this, the men seized their weapons and rushed up the hill without waiting to put on their puttees or jackets. It is certain that Colonel Craske led them into action with a cheer, and that their arrival was most timely. Shouting, they flung themselves into the fray, and drove the Turks back after a desperate struggle at close quarters.

It was impossible that such success could be gained without loss, but the Leinsters were fortunate in escaping more lightly than the English regiments on their left. They had, however, three subalterns killed and several officers wounded in this fight, among them Colonel Craske himself, who received a bullet wound in the arm. He was a gallant soldier, who had won the D.S.O. in South Africa, and his men long remembered the way in which he had led his battalion into action. He carried on for a time, but the wound proved serious, and he was obliged to hand over his command to Major R. G. T. Currey. Another officer of the Leinsters who was wounded in this action was Captain J. C. Parke, who was also hit in the arm. Before the War he was one of the greatest, if not the greatest, lawn tennis players in the British Isles, and had represented the United Kingdom in the Davis Cup. Now, though the injury he had received threatened to incapacitate him for his favourite game, he took misfortune with the same smiling composure with which he had been wont to confront all the chances of life.

But while the Leinsters were collecting and bandaging their wounds, on their left the soil was carpeted with dead. The main Turkish attack, after overwhelming the Wiltshires and Loyal North Lancashires, had pressed onward to try and drive the British off Rhododendron Ridge. As they came over the ridge, they were full in view of our fleet, and every gun in the ships as well as the bulk of the artillery at Anzac was turned on to them. They fell by thousands, and as the few survivors struggled on, they were met with the fire of a concentrated battery of New Zealand machine-guns. Line after line fell, and those who had the good fortune to escape hastened to place themselves in safety on the further side of the ridge.

The western slope of the Chunuk became No Man's Land, and Rhododendron Ridge remained in our hands, but the price that both sides had paid was terrible. In a land of dry bushes and stunted oak and holly like Gallipoli, the great shrubs that give the ridge its name must, in Spring, present a feast of beauty to the eye, but they stand in the midst of a cemetery, and are but the adornments of the grave. Around them, Turk and Briton and Anzac lie side by side in glorious fellowship, in a graveyard bought at a great price and made lovely to the eye by the bounty of Nature. To the soul, the spot is made holy by the memory of what passed there and of the courage and self-sacrifice of those who lie under its sod.

The fact that we had been driven off the Chunuk made a modification of the line necessary in order to join up with the position on Rhododendron Ridge, which now marked the boundary of our gains. The Leinsters rested for a little and began to dig in on the new line in the afternoon. The work proved difficult, since whenever the working parties showed themselves the enemy opened with shrapnel, and in consequence as long as daylight lasted very little headway was made.

After dark, however, a fresh attempt was begun and 'B’ and 'C’ Companies of the Leinsters were sent out to dig themselves in. The men had had practically no sleep since the uneasy slumber snatched on the night of the 8th, and had fought a stiff action in the morning, but they worked with a will. Progress was, however, slow, as under cover of darkness the Turks were creeping forward, and soon every bush contained a sniper. For a while, work went on by fits and starts, advantage being taken of every lull to make headway with the trench until heavier firing compelled the working parties to take cover. At the end of two hours, the hindrance to the work was found to be greater than could be borne. It seemed not unlikely that the annoyance was caused by a comparatively small number of snipers, so No. 9 Platoon was sent out in front of the line to drive them away, and then act as a covering party. The officer commanding this platoon (Lieutenant Barnwell) soon discovered, however, that the Turks had advanced in considerable force, and that his men were outnumbered. A grim struggle was waged in the darkness, and when the platoon at last extricated itself it left nearly half its strength killed and wounded behind it.

Work on the trench now became quite out of the question, and the Leinsters had to fight hard to hold their ground against the repeated attacks of the enemy. At last, matters looked menacing and ‘A’ and ‘D’ Companies who had been in support were called up into the firing line. In this fighting Major Stannus who commanded ‘B’ Company, was wounded. It was stern work, for the night was pitch dark and the tired men could see but little except the flash of the hostile rifles. Again and again a wave of shadowy figures pressed forward in close ranks only to be driven back by rifle-fire at close range and bayonet charges.

At last, as the sky grew pale with the dawn, the Turks massed for a final effort. They came on with determination, and the Leinsters, knowing that there was hardly another formed unit available as reserve in the Anzac area, resolved to meet the attack with a counter-charge. With a ringing yell, the line of grey bayonets surged forward against the foe, to prove once again that to attack is not only the best defensive policy but is that best suited to the Irish temperament. The Turks faltered as the charge swept against them, and the Leinsters were at last able to take their revenge for the losses of the night. Fatigue and thirst were forgotten and men, after much suffering, exulted in the taste of victory at last. The pursuit became almost too eager. At one point Captain D'Arcy Irvine and Lieutenant Willington at the head of ‘D’ Company pressed after the enemy so hotly that they were cut off and have never been heard of again. Probably they were surrounded and killed, and their bones still lie with those of many another brave fellow on the slopes of the Chunuk Bair.

All ranks acquitted themselves well in this charge, but the courage displayed by Captain Lyster who commanded 'A' Company was so conspicuous as to earn for him the Military Cross. Rewards of this kind were not very freely bestowed in Gallipoli, and to have gained one in a battalion like the Leinsters, which never failed to hold the position allotted to it, was an indication that the officer who won it was a man of exceptional distinction. In addition to this honour, Colonel Craske received a C.M.G., while the whole battalion were thanked by General Godley for the good service done on this occasion.

The charge achieved its object, since the spirit of the Turks was temporarily broken and their snipers were driven back. As a result, the battalion spent a quiet day on the 11th. The arrangements for supplying water initiated by Colonel Craske had worked well on the whole and, though the men were often thirsty like everyone else in the Peninsula, they did not suffer so much from thirst as some other units. The petrol tins proved of great assistance, as they enabled a reservoir to be formed for each company or platoon which could be easily controlled. When the whole water supply of the unit is contained in the water-bottles of individual soldiers it becomes impossible for officers and N.C.O.s to check the improvident use of it, and so in times of dearth a central reservoir becomes a necessity.

On the evening of the 11th, the Leinsters were relieved and marched back in the direction of the beach. They had well earned a rest, since they had been fighting hard for thirty-six hours and had been going for two days without sleep. They had, however, acquitted themselves well and were in good spirits.

Source: The Tenth (Irish) Division at Gallipoli by Major Bryan Cooper, 1917.