"The Hallowed Host"

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22402, 24 April 1936, Page 3 (Supplement)

"The Hallowed Host"

By E. C. McKAY Specially written for the New Zealand Herald

IN writing of the last days on Gallipoli, I do so with some trepidation, knowing that each phase of the Great War has been dealt with from all angles, and knowing too that the mere word " war " is anathema to many people. At the same time the viewpoint of the man jn the ranks is less well known than the bulletins of the higher commands, so I hope my simple tale will fcot be devoid of interest. It is perhaps an old story. To the babe of stirring days who is How a grown man or woman it is ancient history, but ancient history, together with the things of to-day, has its lessons for us. The Gallipoli campaign has, so to speak, come of age, and so I tell you of one phase iof it, the phase I went through, the final few weeks before the evacuation. 1 offer you glimpses—it is for you to fill in the gaps in the narrative.

of us. Lemnos was at this period in late 1915 the advanced base for all units of the allied armies operating on Gallipoli Peninsula. Finally we left it on November 10, 1915, and embarked for Gallipoli in company with veterans discharged from the hospitals in Lemnos. We landed at Anzac Cove after dusk in the same lighters as thoso valiant ones, our predecessors had used, but under very different conditions. We were not called upon 1:o pit our untried flesh and blood against the enemy steel. The heavy fighting was over, we were there to hold on and defend, not to attack. Landing, wo heard the crackling of machine-guns at hand, and the occasional whine of s;n errant shell, but few of the missiles came our way. That night we dug in, in a gully near the shore, and if any felt laggard, the noise of the gun-fire gave the necessary stimulus to ren€iwed activity. Next day we moved into Waterfall Gully, which served as our base for most of our term on the peninsula. As every ex-soldier knows, one side of a gully is safer than the other under oblique fire, so we chose- our positions in Waterfall Gully with this fact in

I served with the Auckland Mounted IRifies, leaving New Zealand with the fifth reinforcement, and when I tell that in three years of active scerI rose froiii the obscurity of a trooper to the dizzy eminence of a corporal, you will realise my military attainments.' Lemnos and Thieves i*our months strenuous training in ffrentham Camp was followed by a few weeks at the base camp at Zeitoun, tear Cairo, and this was capped by a further interlude on that barren land thieves—Lemnos—before we were Adjudged ready for whatever lay ahead

view, and dug ourselves in on the side nearest the Turk, so that most of his shells found a home on the far side, over our heads. The old hands among us were able to give us many tips about digging in, and soldiering generally. Personally I needed no instruction in the art of dodging trouble. At an early stage I had acquired the habit of hugging the ground lovingly, and to this I have no doubt my present immunity from honourable scars is largely due. From the outset we became human beasts of burden, and spent much of our time collecting stores and ammunition from the supply, dumps. Qn

V Last Days of Gallipoli Campaign A TROOPER PAYS TRIBUTE TO HEROES LEFT BEHIND

journeys to and from these dumps on Anzac Beach for stores and supplies, we used the trenches already dug, although they were always being enlarged and repaired. On such occasions coming back from the dump laden with stores, one often met a string of laden mules with their Indian drivers going in the opposite direction. The wriggling that then ensued would have delighted a professional contortionist. Each mule with his load took up practically the full width of. the trench, and yet somehow or other one had to squeeze oneself and load between the mule and the side of the trench (a theoretical distance of nothing), nor was the excitement lessened by the expectation *of getting a hefty kick from each mule as one passed it. I salute the memory of those mighty men, who by their privation and sweat, and agony, dug the trenches in almost open country, and so enabled those who followed to move in a safety they did not then appreciate. Shells Stop Church Service We had a church service in Waterfall Gully one Sunday morning—surely the shortest on record. It had been going perhaps 10 minutes when the

shells began to find us, and wo scattered after a very hasty Benediction. I have listened to a few reverend gentlemen whose discourse would have been improved had a machine-gun or field battery opened an occasional burst to hurry them, and I commend the idea to the long-suffering congregations of these worthy gentlemen. Our chief duty at this particular time was the supplying of fatigue parties both day and night —water fatigues, ration fatigues, and digging fatigues at various points. Some of us judged (wrongly as it happened) that another big attack .was pending, and

that it was intended that we should winter on tho peninsula. We had grounds for our erroneous beliefs. In Waterfall Gully itself wo were making huge dugouts to hold many men, and wo constructed a bomb-proof regimental headquarters of heavy rafters covered with sheet Iron overlaid with 18in. of earth. However, one day to our intense delight, tho whole fabric collapsed at dinner time, with no greater harm being done than the spoiling of a few dimmers and the fraying of a few tempers. First Gas Masks One huge dugout in a gully near No. 2 outpost gave us plenty of excitement. Tho digging was very hard, the hillside being rocky, and we laboured long with but little progress. In addition, tho Turk (or Jacko, as he was always called) had the range of tho gully to a nicety, and peppered all working parties with shrapnel, so we preferred digging underground to emptying the barrows in the open. Soon after our landing wo were issued with gas masks, and crudo affairs they were —simply a chemically treated flannel hood, with a mica visor —the idea being to don tho hood, tuck the end inside tho tunic or shirt, and button the latter. They were very elementary compared with the elaborate helmets of a year or two later, but no doubt would have been effective. Owing to tho rugged country tho uso of gas would have'been rather a problem for both armies to solve, and wo were not called upon to put our masks to tho test. Much of our water was drawn from tanks on the so-called beach, and our rations were man-handled or mulehandlod from tho big dump at Anzac. In drawing these items a fatigue party was usually shelled as soon as it got on to the beach. Under Fire Continually Headers will understand that although we neither attacked nor were attacked in these last days of the campaign, yot there was no spot above ground where ono could say one was safe from shell fire, or even, in most cases, long range machine-gun lire. With the enemy holding the higher ground all around this was inevitable, so it made little difference whether you were in tho front line, in support, or in what the staff facetiously called a " rest camp,"

In the big attack on Sari Bair in August I had lost a brother, who had been killed on the crest of Chunuk Bair ridge, almost within sight of the Narrows. From the head of Waterfall Gully I used to gaze over toward these ridges and long for a chance to visit his resting place, yet oceans might have rolled between us, so inaccessible was the spot, although but a short distance away. Sunset Over Imbros In the quiet of the evenings when duties permitted we used to sit outside our dugouts and view the sunsets over Imbros —some with colours so vivid and contrasting that, seen in a painting, one would have scoffed at them as being unreal. Anon, we would watch the British monitors standing out a few miles, shelling the Turkish lines behind us. It was reassuring to see tho earth and dust that flow skywards as each shell landed. Best of all wo liked gazing at tho blue Aegean Sea. It seemed to show us the way to a different world —to tell us that when the strifo was over it would bear us on its gently rolling bosom to some land where war and its turmoil were unknown. In the Front Line Although most of our time was spent in Waterfall Gully wo had our turn in the front lino trenches. One cold, wet morning, just at dawn, we filed away through trenches kneo deep in mud, to occupv a position at the foot of Gloucester Ridge, toward Anafarta V illaga. Wo were there about a fortnight, relieving some Australians, and in between spells in the trenches wo dug and carried, carried and dug. Many of us were still of tho opinion that a' big battle was ponding, basing our belief on the preparations we wore making and saw others making all around us. But tho opposing armies, like sorelv-stricken gladiators, rested, nursing their wounds and preparing for tho final struggle which appeared imminont. Had tho British beon well supplied with shells, had tho call for more troops been heeded, had tho blizzard not come, what a wealth of conjecture and might-have-beens, tho thought of Galliopli brings to the mind. A Raging Blizzard We were dug in at the foot of Gloucester llidge when the blizzard came. It raged for a week and soon the whole country as far as the eye could range was buried in a snow mantle which gleamed and sparkled as the fitful light fell upon it. • The whole scene suggested a Christmas post-card of rural England, but instead of a quaint farmhouse with a cathedral

behind it, one saw dugouts everywhere, as if the whole hillside were pitted with smallpox. Instead of the pealing of an organ and the voices of a carol singing choir, one heard the ominous swish of a heavy shell, the quick hiss of the lighter field batteries, and the stutter of machine-guns. Soon every creek became a foaming torrent of yellow water, and conditions were far from pleasant. No longer was the sea calm and placid—grey billows rolled angrily on the shore, and some of the smaller shipping was swamped, including a launch bearing our mail. English Brothers In Arms One day during the blizzard some of us saw a dozen English soldiers sitting miserably in the open, soaked to the skin and plastered with snow. We asked them why they did not use some dugouts close by, and they said that their officer had told them to wait where we found them, and there only would they wait. This incident, I think, illustrates the main differcnco between the Tommy and the colonial soldier. A dozen colonials similarly placed would have dived headlong into the dugouts, made themselves at home, and started a twoup school on tlio spot. The Tommy was a likeable little chap, but ho was more depondent on leader-

ship. This was no fault of his—his early environment did not tend to develop these qualities in him to the same degree. Remember, I am merely giving my own opinion for what it is worth, but, all in all, I believe we were better officered —chiefly because we knew our officers. Before the war they were " Bill " and " Jim " to us, so we held them in no awe, while respecting their rank. They, knowing us, did what they could for us. The English officer seemed more the stern headmaster, and less the protecting big brother. In speaking of the Tommy, I mean, of course, men of Kitchener's army. High as was the colonial morale, he would be a btrild critic who averred that the colonials were in any way superior to those wonderful regulars who fought at Mons and on the Marne; or that they roso to greater heights than the 29th Division which achieved such deeds of valour at Cape Helles. These Imperial regulars may have been equalled—they were never surpassed. Frost Takes its Toll As the blizzard progressed hundreds of frost-bitten men passed our quarters, en route to the hospitals. Some limped, some passed on stretchers —all showed sigus of Jack Frost's relentless attack. The only ray of comfort we got was

the news that the Turks were feeling the storm even more than we were.

Undoubtedly the blizzard hastened to finality the vague question of the evacuation, but the secret was well guarded. Without guessing why, I began to wonder what was in the mind when we were given milk and rations in abundance, and when at the beach dump even the quartermasters were being generous. I reasoned that there were only two theories to account for this prodigality. The War Office was getting liberal with the rations (which was unthinkable), or we were leaving the peninsula. About the middle of December, or a few days later, our turn came to leave I can still visualise that scene —it was a still and almost cloudless night, with a young moon that hid more than it revealed. We were lined in silence on the beach, gazing across to where Imbros, like a slumbering giant, lay a£ rest. The few furtive whispers only seemed to emphasise the all-pervading silence. We packed like sardines on the waiting transports and drew awav from the pier, heading for Lemnos. A Long, Last View Gazing back on Gallipoli was, in some ways, the saddest sight I have ever seen. To the old hands who had so nearly tasted victory the pill was a bitter one indeed. We later ones felt that our spurs were yet unwon. Here and there the sound of distant firing showed that the British forces were still bluffing, and that the Turk was still swallowing the bluff. The whole success of the evacuation depended on no apparent cessation of the usual routine, and although some of us may have had our doubts, the years between have produced no evidence that the enemy knew we were retiring from the peninsula. As we gazed back the whole seashore was illuminated with a gigantic sheet of flame. The dump on Anzac had been fired. As the flames faded, so faded our last view of the peninsula. Fight for an Idea! We had a few days in Lemnos where we got our overdue mail, and about New Year were back in our old lines at Zeitoun camp. In evacuating the peninsula under the guns of the enemy we had achieved a success unparallelled in warfare —so say the critics; but bigger things were done by the gallant men we left behind on those rugged hills. They died imbued with the belief that they were fighting in a just cause. 1 know the men ancl I knew their feelings —to them it was not adventure, it was a fight for an ideal. In truth, a gallant, a deathless army. Past they go with their measured .tread: These are your victors, these your dead Ah! sink the knee and bare the head As the hallowed host goes by.