THE NEW ZEALANDERS ON GALLIPOLI

Evening Star, Issue 15914, 21 September 1915, Page 5

THE NEW ZEALANDERS ON GALLIPOLI

! . CONTINUED TRENCH 1 WARFARE. STILL HOLDING THEIR GROUND. (Frpijj Malcolm Ross, War ■ Correspondent with the New Zealand Forces.) 24th July, Since my letter was despatched : has beep P0 matefial change in the situation, and Turks and Australasians are §till facing each other In the trenches they have occupied for some time past, The operations at Quinn’s and Courtney’s continue to bo the most interesting. In-, deed, they are fascinating, for, as has already been stated, they are really unique in warfare, As you walk through trench after trench and sap after sap at Quinn’s, or creep doubled up along the dark mining galleries, your interest is quickened, and though you never quite know when a bomb will come “hurtling over the parapet, or when a mine may bo exploded above or below or at the side, you become so interested that, fear vanishes, The e.mial colonel who is in charge and who shows you round was a welj-known Taranaki barrister, and his motto is that the art of war lies in the cultivation of the domestic virtues. Therefore be is transforming Quinn’s into a model workshop and dwelling-place, wherein you can even dnnk a cup of tea in peace! Seriously speaking, he has worked wonders at Quinn’s, and the Quinn’s of to-day is safer and more habitable than was the post of earlier days. It is only when the gallant colonel gets one of his men to throw a bomb across the very few yards of inter-veping-space between you’and the Turkish firing line, and there is a loud explosion, the while yon wait 'expectantly for a like favor from the Turks, that you realise you are “up against it,” It is a still stranger sensation at the end of a narrow, - dark tunnel to listen to soma solitary Turk working industriously with hi§ pick only a few, feet away from where you are crouching. As you hear him tap-tapping Hke_ a woodpecker in a hollow tree you begin to wonder what ho is thinking about end what will be the end of all his hard, uncomfortable labor. Generally speaking, It is the miner, and not the counter-miner, who wins out in the end in these attacking operations. This particular fellow has had his tunnel blown in upon him three times, yet here he is again picking away in the hope of undermining our position. ■ —Dead Turks.— Another important post that is interesting is held hy the New Zealanders and a section of the Australian Light Horse. Here_ you find yourself in a perfect labyrinth of deep trenches, with, at intervals, sand-bagged parapets. The position is in charge of a brigadier-general well known in the Hawke’s . Bay district. Deeply-carved shelters are cut into the eartn from the trenches, and in these the men can rest and sleep in safety, if not in comfort. The “ shelters ” are all numbered. Along the trenches also are little niches, such as you might see in a church wall for sacred images. These, with their blackened clay, are the little recesses ,where, under tiny fires, the men do their cooking in their “ dixies.” You come upon Main street,” and “ Broadway,” and “ White lane,” and one sign points to “ Happy Valley,” which is, no doubt, a haven of rest for weary troops. All this is on Russell’s Top—a prolongation of Walker’s _ Ridge, Telephone wires and barbed-wire and wire netting enter into the scheme of defence. The trenches are clean, but smell of the dead killed in the last Turkish attack still hangs about them. We have come to a place where we are within a few yards of the enemy’s rifles, and you dare not show an inch or two of yopr head above the parapet for fear of being sniped. Our friend the enemy lias to be equally careful. We take a periscope, and, putting the top glass above thetrench, carefully examine the Turkish position. Between our trench and theirs are .a number of empty tins that the Turks have thrown away, and’in-amongst these, and quite near us, are some strange little heaps that look like the discarded clothes of a number of tramps. Looking at them more intently, you note that some of the ra S6 e d bundles have just a suggestion of human shape. They cover the bodies of dead Turks, the attentuation of which in this everlasting hot summer sun proceeds somewhat rapidly, if unpleasantly. They are the remains of Turks shot down in the last attack, and neither side dare go out to bring the bodies in or to bury them. In the end they will become skeletons, and eventually one side or the other, after an advance, will gather the little heaps together, and consign them to a common, shallow grave. A WOUNDED TURK. It was at this spot, some few davs ago, that one of our Staff—-a member ‘of the Hpuse of Commons—did rather a daring thing. A wounded Turk had lain foxsome time in front of; our trench, and our men dared not go out to make him prisoner, nor his friends to rescue him. The M.P., who speaks Turkish, essayed the task, and brought tho man into our lines. A BUGLER BOY. The other day sonic of our men came Upon a small skeleton beyond one of our trenches. The identification disc showed that tho khaki uniform contained the mortal remains of a bugler of the Canterbury Regiment. He had been posted as missing. Tho remains were gathered together, and New Zealand soldiers gave him decent burial on the hills of Gallipoli, far away from bis home and his native land. It vyas strange that this, hoy”had not been discovered before, especially during the armistice. Poor lad, he must have fallen nobly in the front line during those critical days when our men gained a footing and held their ground, ° From another position we gain a "lorious view across a bit of level land and a beautiful curving bay to Suvla Point. The sea is a deep blue. Irnbros and Samothraee ha not far across the water in the haze of a summer noon. Here, for the first time, our Maori friends have come into the firing line. They look fit and well, anq their discipline is good. At any moment they may. be called upon to defend their lines or to make an advance against the enemy. The colonel in command is confident that they will fulfil the traditions of their race.