Gallipoli Tour Day Two - Anzac
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!