PeteBlog

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Well a bit of a hangover to greet the dawn but a power shower, breakfast and the tender ministrations of Dr Alka Seltzer soon restore my physical equilibrium. Off we go again: this time to the ‘Big Country’ that is Suvla Bay – an area that swallowed up British troops and spat them out. The mood was slightly ‘tired’ in the coach but we gradually revived.

Our first stop was at the Turkish big guns from the 1870s located near Anafarta. They were definitely ‘big’ and although of archaic design even in 1915 were ideal for harassing fire onto our major corps depot on the beaches at Suvla. Then on to Scimitar Hill and after a bit of ground orientation we had a briefing on the outline of the campaign. The staggering incompetence of the British commanders at all levels was evident. The plans had been watered down from the ‘coup de main’ as originally planned by Hamilton whereby the newly created IX Corps was to seize the heights, establish a viable corps base and if possible to assist in the efforts to seize the Sari Bair range by the assaulting columns driving out from Anzac. However Hamilton had been given an entirely unsuitable and totally incompetent commander for his brand new shiny IX Corps in the august figure of Lieutenant General Frederick Stopford – one of nature’s scapegoats but a man who thoroughly deserved the censure. But Stopford was not alone in his inability to grasp Hamilton’s intentions. It is fair to say that most of the senior officers demonstrated once again the default setting of the British Army at Gallipoli: when in doubt - do nothing! We discussed the irony of Hamilton, so often criticised for his laissez faire attitude, provoked disaster when he finally intervened after a couple of days to insist on an immediate attack on the Tekke Tepe heights. The orders were passed down until the battalion holding Scimitar Hill was removed and sent off on the task of taking the Tekke Tepe Ridge – where they duly failed as the massed Turkish reserves arrived from Bulair. Several of the team members could not believe that such a key tactical position could be so casually and voluntarily abandoned.

We then made the short journey to Green Hill where we first looked at the cemetery and then walked over Chocolate Hill. Here we encountered a mercifully friendly swarm of bees and some notably unfriendly gorse – ouch! We looked at the ground lying in front of the troops and the problems that developed over their route to their first day objective at Chocolate Hill. Stopford was worried by the prospect of Turkish defences to the south of the Hills so he wanted to avoid the option of sending troops on the obvious route straight from the landing beach round the southern border of the Salt Lake. But then as he wasn’t sure of the surface of the (actually dry) Salt Lake, then perforce he had to send the troops on a crazy route swinging all the way round the northern boundary of the Salt Lake. And it is a ‘Big Country’ so that meant a lot of marching in the broiling sun. Then there were the Turks fighting a truly classic delaying action: providing a stiff resistance to troops blundering to contact and then melting away to reform and strike back hard. It reminded us of similar problems at both Helles and Anzac. The delays built up: the generals prevaricated and blundered. No leadership, no mission command, no hope!

We then went by bus to the very end of the Kiretch Tepe Ridge. Here there was a deliberately provoked (by me!) practical demonstration illustrating the difficulty of keeping a group together in a terrain featuring fractured ridges and gullies when you don’t know where you are going! Then we climbed onto the ridge proper and marvelled at the view whilst trying not to break our ankles – medivac did not seem likely to be a comfortable process from that benighted ridge. We looked at the terrain, stretched before us, the landmarks of the campaign, the various posts, sangars and built up stone trenches that criss-crossed the ridge. It was quite a walk but the views were breathtaking and it was with a considerable sense of achievement that we finally reached the bus.

Almost finished (literally and figuratively) we moved on to look at the Cut, the small channel that links the Salt Lake – now wet – to the sea proper. We had considered a swim but deterred by the stench we moved round to Brighton Beach, just south of Anzac, where we both swam and played volleyball. (I am it appears not good at volley ball and at times brought shame to the ranks of military tour guides) Some of us also took the opportunity to look at the remnants of a beached lighter (which was much more visible than in the past) and also saw the trace mark echoes of the holes dug in the sand bank cliffs for shelter from machine gun fire by Leane’s raiders. They had tried to surprise the Turks with a commando style raid and had been comprehensively surprised themselves by the scale of The Turkish reaction. Then it was back to the hotel for a well-earned rest. The team went off for an orgy of food and drink over the straits in the sultry fleshpots of Chanakale, but I had a couple of pints with Bill Sellers – as ever a mine of information and an early(ish) night.

So that was the end of a typical tour. Military history lessons incorporating plenty of reference to modern doctrine and I hope great fun for everyone on the tour – I certainly enjoyed it. Tomorrow it’s Istanbul but that’s another story not for blogging! 

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Come the dawn and no hangover. This was going to be a toughish day as we were doing Anzac. We set off in high spirits and soon found ourselves whisked by charabanc to Ari Burnu Cemetery. This was the third most beautiful cemetery I’ve ever seen in the world, beaten only by Ramparts Cemetery at Ypres and the Beach Cemetery at Hell Spit just a few hundred yards away. After the usual briefings and syndicate contributions we walked along the Anzac Cove beach – truly an underwhelming experience after the depredations of various Turkish road builders (sanctioned by the Australian and Turkish governments), which have turned it into a travesty of its original shape. Still it was the shallow beach that once acted as the base for a corps – amazing in itself – protected from the guns of Gaba Tepe by the aforementioned Hell Spit.

Then we entered Beach Cemetery. Swiftly I found my favourite grave stone inscription ‘Well done Ted’ and moved to look at the grave of John Simpson – the Man with the Donkey. We pondered on this most Australian of heroes: a larrikin, a rough diamond, a man careless of rank or authority. A man who truly ‘made the difference’ for a few weeks in Shrapnel Valley rescuing the wounded with the help of his trusty donkey. A man who summed up much of the modern values that training establishments still struggle to din into recruits. Yet although an Australian he was also born, bred and raised in South Shields, County Durham.

Then the fun began. We climbed up the path from Shrapnel Valley, MacLaurin’s Hill onto Plugge’s Plateau. As ever the views were staggering and so were some of the less fit members of the party! More briefings and ground orientation followed before we set off to descend by the most difficult route possible into Rest Gully. Men and women stood defined by the choice they made, but it is pleasing to relate that we picked the worst route and that our Turkish guide Ikud wore a look of unrestrained disbelief when he saw us set off down. Many stumblings and scratchings followed until we got to the bottom and climbed straight up onto Russell’s Top. The whole exercise was an object lesson in how vulnerable the Australians were as they advanced on 25 April. Turkish snipers took out the officers first, then the NCOs, then the influential privates. Soon men of lesser character would be helping the wounded – and each other back to the beach in the absence of authority, clear instructions and any idea in the rough scrub and tangled ridges of where they were and what they were meant to be doing. If they did advance, then if they stuck to the easy route along the ridges they would be shot, but if they went into the gullies they would soon be lost. We got to the top of Russell’s: gasp, pant, must get fitter – and walked alongside the huge deep communication trench that is still a pretty big construction. Then on to gaze at the Sphinx.

Now it was down Walker’s Ridge, once a fearsome prospect, but now quite tame as the paths have become clearer and less narrow. Quite, but not completely, tame and it was a pleasure to watch the progress of a young RAF servicewoman who had decided that the WAG look would be ideal for a day at Anzac. Thin white cotton trousers, flimsy top, flip-flops and a large designer handbag completed a fetching, but staggeringly inappropriate attire. What a sight it was to see her, struggle down some of the near vertical scrambles, a drop of 80 feet inches to her left, wearing borrowed trainers and clutching onto her precious handbag for dear life. Happily they both made it safely to the bottom. She was of course uncomplaining throughout – a true credit to the RAF.

On to the bus and up to Lone Pine, another briefing and on to our lunch by the tunnels and trenches on 400 Plateau. It was a surprise for out modern soldiers to see the width of No Man’s Land, essentially marked out by the width of the modern road and about 20-30 feet across. It was even closer at Quinn’s Post our next stop, where I played them my old recording of Private Harry Baker who was wounded on Bloody Ridge, across the Bloody Angle and just a few feet from where we were standing listening to his voice 90-odd years later. Spooky! Then on to the Nek. We had had a briefing on this and we looked at the old Australian front line trenches, which although renovated with wooden stakes are still the real thing as evinced by recently collapsed dugouts. To look out from there at where the layered ranks of Turkish trenches and machine guns waited for their desperate series of pointless charges was quite moving: not of course the fault of the British at Suvla (who were engaged in a quite different cock-up), but of the New Zealand column which had failed for a variety of reasons to get up onto Chunuk Bahr and behind the Turkish lines facing the Nek. Once again there was comment on the complexity and lack of realism of Hamilton’s plans for the August offensive. Then the bus lifted us onto Chunuk Bahr itself and we considered both the New Zealand defence of the sector on its capture, but more importantly the success of the mass counterattack launched by the Turks on 10 August. And at last we got a well deserved ice cream! Restored by this it was decided to retrace that desperate charge by thousands of Turks wielding rifle and bayonet down the near vertical slope to the Farm. It was pretty tough going at the start and I was nearly permanently ‘finished’ when our giant Australian lost his footing and began running pell-mell down the hill, completely out of control and flailing his arms like a lunatic! I am proud to report that not a single member of the team attempted to in any way stop or slow his descent.  (I neatly sidestepped up the slope as he neared me!) His seemingly doomed progress was eventually brought short by a solid – it had to be – tree! Excellent!

After a quick look at the Farm Cemetery we walked round the fire track road along the contour to join Rhododendron Ridge. Then a very steep climb passing past the Apex and passing holes leading to a recently collapsed tunnel system. Gasp! Wheeze! Pant! Of course one of our more foolish members crawled in one entrance to emerge dusty but proud some 20 feet away and 10 feet down at the next hole. Then up the last steep drag to regain Chunuk Bahr. Onto the bus for the slightly dodgy road/track to Hill 971 Koja Chemen Tepe the highest point in the area. At least we didn’t have to climb and after a briefing from the Turkish point of view our day was done.

Just one event worthy of comment from the general banter on the bus was when a cheery cove announced to the multi-service group that “The Navy had Heritage; the Army had Tradition and the RAF had Bad Habits!” General mirth ensued although our RAF contingent seemed a little put out!

In the late afternoon the rest of the group went swimming at Brighton Beach but I, dear reader, knew my duty and wrote my blog for Day One while I could still remember bits of it! What a mug! That evening after a lovely Turkish cultural display, featuring male and female dancers we went to the Boomerang Bar. This noble establishment had been slightly cleaned since my last visit and was now merely dirty, but for the sake of visiting historians they still left the latrines in true 1915 style with the authentic stench of dysentery and covered liberally with the filth of the trenches – nice! 

And so once more to bed: slightly drunk this time I fear!

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Tired, footsore, a bit exhilarated. The perfect end to a perfect day. Today was the first day of my tour with the Combined Services, Northwood Headquarters Staff. Fifteen of Britain’s finest Royal Navy, Army and RAF men and women banded together and bolstered by the addition of one Australian colossus for our three day tour of Gallipoli. We had travelled out by plane to Istanbul on Sunday and then had a fairly tedious journey on a small bus to Eceabat where we are staying at the TJ’s Tours hotel which is very popular with the army battlefield tours.

We started Day One bright and early leaping aboard our little coach and heading for the forts just along the Straits at Khilid Bahr. We looked at the renovated lower fort, then climbed up onto the Kilid Bahr Plateau to get a perspective from the massif that was the British objective overlooking the Turkish forts. (see below)

We had to crack on though and drove then to Backhouse Post en route to Sedd ul Bahr. We didn’t stop in quite the usual place so there was a little confusion in

finding it tucked away in the side of Achi Baba Gully. When we did it was evident that someone was camping out there, that or a suspiciously modern phone had been left by our brave lads in 1915. We then moved on to board the boat at Sedd ul Bahr  in the little port where the Camber had been. The boat trip round the Sedd ul Bahr Castle V and W Beaches was a spectacular as ever: 

We all get a clear view of why attacking the strong Turkish defences in these natural amphitheatres was an overconfident move. Then we anchored off W Beach and it was swimsuits and and the race into the water. The first man in took a huge leap from the stern but the most spectacular ‘bomber’ entrance was made by a large Australian who later repeated the jump from the top deck in an effort to recreate the impact of a Turkish shell close to the boat. He did! Strangely many of our clothes were a little damp afterwards!

Then it was back to the Camber and across the barbed wire, (what was that doing there?) and into the lower Sedd ul Bahr fort. We walked round the lower area, then climbed up onto the wall to enter the main courtyard. The group then ascended the somewhat dodgy steps to stand on the tower roof immediately overlooking where the River Clyde ran aground. What a superb view! Gingerly back down the stairs, pout of the castle and onto the spit of rocks where so many of the troops from the River Clyde died. We had a syndicate presentation and I played a recording of Private William Flynn describing struggling through the water under heavy fire onto the very spit where we were standing. Then across to V Beach Cemetery and up into Fort No 1 which has been renovated in true Turkish style - removing almost all its historical integrity. Up then to the Helles Memorial - always a sobering moment as you look a the thousand of names of those killed who have no known grave.

Then it was off to W Beach. Here the winter storms had exposed an old lighter parallel to the shore that I had never seen before. We looked at the seen of the 1st Lancashire Fusiliers landing, walking along the beach and examining the remains of the old cave which had been stuffed full of ammunition and exploded on the early morning of the final evacuation on 8 January 1916. Stones and boulders shot up into the air still covered the local area. Then back across the beach to follow the footsteps of Brigadier Stuart Hare up the cliffs just round the corner. En route we looked at the huge interconnected dugouts that lie just below the cliff top. As ever I enforced our rule that we all had to go in so that if they collapsed there would be no faffing on with rescue attempts and we could be the ‘Missing Northwoods’! Onto the top and a look at both the reservoirs left from 1915 and the myriad of defensive and communication trenches - on the hill. Then to Lancashire Landing Cemetery where there was a presentation in memory of Private William Keneally VC.

 The coach lifted us from there to the path leading down to the very beautiful Gully Beach at the exit of the Gully Ravine. We could see the remnants of the abandoned lighter still int he sea and the well supposedly dug by Joe Murray the well known Hood Battalion veteran whom I had interviewed back in the mid-1980s. Back on the bus and up to the Nuri Yamut Turkish Memorial. This marked the British furthest point and was also a mausoleum for all the thousands of dead bodies collected by the Turks in the 1940s. The skulls are supposed to have littered the fields on Gully Spur and the upper Gully Ravine like a melon field. Then the walk through the upper reaches of the Gully. A fantastic walk; sometimes extremely difficult physically true, but dead easy in the summer. The front lines, the bones up a side gully, the unexpected pools that had to be circumnavigated while idiots threw stones close by in the water, the threat of a difficult exit through the maze of prickly bushes if the party got too out of hand. Eventually we emerged from the lowering cliffs of the ravine at Geoghagen’s Bluff. From there a fairly dull walk up Gully Spur back to the bus at the Turkish Monument.

Now it was time for something vital to any unit’s morale - an ice cream! And where better to get it than the village of Alcitepe or Krithia as it had been. Not really an objective at all it had attained a ludicrous importance in the mission creep of the campaign in 1915. Then on the bus up to the summit of Achi Baba. From the upper slopes of the hill we pondered on the obvious tactical importance of Achi Baba at Helles - it loomed over everything and from there Turkish artillery observers could accurately direct the fire of the concealed batteried on the reverse slopes. Then to the very crest - now we would see our reward a view of the Narrows! Oh no we wouldn’t! All we could see was the Straits where the French and British Fleet had manoeuvred on 18 March. We couldn’t see the Narrows Forts at all! Once again we realised that the Kilid Bahr Plateau was everything; Achi Baba was just the first day’s objective - just a stepping stone - to the real objective of dominating the Narrows Forts.

What a great day. Then back to the hotel, a shower a meal and a few pints with an Australian historian called Bill Sellars. And so to bed!