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MEDICINE AND BIOMEDICAL SCIENCES IN
MODERN HISTORY

The Irish Medical

Profession and
the First World War
David Durnin
Medicine and Biomedical Sciences
in Modern History

Series Editors
Carsten Timmermann
University of Manchester
Manchester, UK

Michael Worboys
University of Manchester
Manchester, UK
The aim of this series is to illuminate the development and impact of
medicine and the biomedical sciences in the modern era. The series was
founded by the late Professor John Pickstone, and its ambitions reflect
his commitment to the integrated study of medicine, science and tech-
nology in their contexts. He repeatedly commented that it was a pity
that the foundation discipline of the field, for which he popularized the
acronym ‘HSTM’ (History of Science, Technology and Medicine) had
been the history of science rather than the history of medicine. His point
was that historians of science had too often focused just on scientific
ideas and institutions, while historians of medicine always had to con-
sider the understanding, management and meanings of diseases in their
socio-economic, cultural, technological and political contexts. In the
event, most of the books in the series dealt with medicine and the bio-
medical sciences, and the changed series title reflects this. However, as
the new editors we share Professor Pickstone’s enthusiasm for the inte-
grated study of medicine, science and technology, encouraging studies
on biomedical science, translational medicine, clinical practice, disease
histories, medical technologies, medical specialisms and health policies.
The books in this series will present medicine and biomedical science
as crucial features of modern culture, analysing their economic, social
and political aspects, while not neglecting their expert content and con-
text. Our authors investigate the uses and consequences of technical
knowledge, and how it shaped, and was shaped by, particular economic,
social and political structures. In re-launching the Series, we hope to
build on its strengths but extend its geographical range beyond Western
Europe and North America.
Medicine and Biomedical Sciences in Modern History is intended to
supply analysis and stimulate debate. All books are based on searching
historical study of topics which are important, not least because they cut
across conventional academic boundaries. They should appeal not just to
historians, nor just to medical practitioners, scientists and engineers, but
to all who are interested in the place of medicine and biomedical sciences
in modern history.

More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/15183
 David Durnin

The Irish Medical

Profession
and the First
World War
David Durnin
UCD Geary Institute for Public Policy
University College Dublin
Dublin, Ireland

Medicine and Biomedical Sciences in Modern History

ISBN 978-3-030-17958-8 ISBN 978-3-030-17959-5 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-17959-5

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
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 Acknowledgements

This book began as a PhD thesis and I am very grateful to several soci-
eties and funding bodies for their financial support, including the Irish
Research Council, the Women’s History Association of Ireland, the Lord
Edward Fitzgerald Memorial Fund Committee and the Society for the
Social History of Medicine. I wish to thank my academic supervisor
Catherine Cox, University College Dublin, for all her help, sound advice
and encouragement. I am also thankful to Erica Charters and William
Mulligan who examined the thesis on which this book is based. Their
suggestions helped me to prepare the manuscript for publication. I owe
a debt of gratitude to all the staff of UCD School of History, particu-
larly those who read sections of this work and expertly advised, includ-
ing Mary E. Daly, Lindsey Earner-Byrne and Tadhg Ó hAnnracháin.
I have benefited greatly from the knowledge and friendship of those
at the Centre for the History of Medicine in Ireland, UCD. Stephen
Bance, Anne Mac Lellan, Alice Mauger, Ian Miller, Kirsten Mulrennan
and Peter Reid provided an atmosphere of collegiality and practical sup-
port. I am especially indebted to Fiachra Byrne and Laura Kelly who read
large sections of this work and offered critical judgement and invaluable
suggestions. Thanks also to those at the UCD Geary Institute for Public
Policy, including Emma Barron, Susan Butler and Philip O’Connell, for
their patience and support while I completed this book.
This work would not have been possible without the expertise of the
staff at various archives and libraries including the National Archives of
Ireland, the Royal College of Physicians of Ireland, the National Library

v
vi    Acknowledgements

of Ireland, the National Archives (Kew), Trinity College Dublin’s

Manuscript and Archive’s Library, the Royal College of Surgeons in
Ireland, the Wellcome Trust Library, the Imperial War Museum and the
Public Record Office of Northern Ireland. I am especially grateful to
Brian Donnelly (NAI) and Harriet Wheelock (RCPI) for being generous
with their time and advice. Sincere thanks also to the team at Palgrave
Macmillan, especially Molly Beck and Maeve Sinnott, for their profes-
sionalism and guidance through the publication process. Many thanks
also to the series editors and the anonymous reviewers for their invalua-
ble comments.
Finally, I would like to thank all my friends and family for their sup-
port. A special thanks to my sisters Maria and Molly who continue to
inspire in their own pursuits. Thank you to my parents, Mary and
Paul. Their support, advice, constant encouragement and above all,
their friendship, are of the utmost importance to me. Finally, Carol
Faulkner has lived with this work for too many years. She has shown
an extraordinary level of patience and understanding. Without her love
and guidance, I could not have finished it. In a completely inadequate
acknowledgement of your support, this book is dedicated to you.
 Contents

1 Introduction 1

2 Recruitment and Irish Medical Personnel, 1914–1918 21

3 Irish Medical Personnel: Motivations and Wartime

Experiences, 1914–1918 47

4 The First World War and Hospitals in Ireland,

1914–1918 93

5 British Army Medical Personnel in Post-war Ireland,

1918–1925 151

6 The Impact of the First World War on Irish Hospitals,

1918–1925 181

7 Conclusions 209

Appendices 215

Select Bibliography 225

Index 249

vii
 Abbreviations

BMA British Medical Association

BMH Bureau of Military History
CCS Casualty Clearing Station
CMWC Central Medical War Committee
FA Field Ambulance
IMS Indian Medical Service
IMWC Irish Medical War Committee
IRA Irish Republican Army
KOSB King’s Own Scottish Borderers
LGBI Local Government Board for Ireland
MC Military Cross
MO Medical Officer
MOP Ministry of Pensions
NUI National University of Ireland
POW Prisoner of War
QAIMNS Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service
QAIMNSR Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service Reserve
QUB Queen’s University Belfast
RAMC Royal Army Medical Corps
RCPI Royal College of Physicians of Ireland
RCSI Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland
RMO Regimental Medical Officer
RN Royal Navy
SJA St John’s Ambulance
TCD Trinity College Dublin

ix
x    Abbreviations

TFNS Territorial Force Nursing Service

UCC University College Cork
UCD University College Dublin
VAD Voluntary Aid Detachment
 List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Enlistment rates of Irish doctors who served in the First
World War 23
Fig. 3.1 Age profile of Irish doctors and medical students who
participated in the First World War 60
Fig. 3.2 Marital status of Irish doctors who participated in the First
World War 62
Fig. 3.3 Religious affiliation of Irish doctors who participated
in the First World War 65
Fig. 3.4 Educational background of Irish doctors who participated
in the First World War 67
Fig. 3.5 Portion of a battle line, outlining casualty clearing stations
diagram showing the position of casualty clearing stations 70
Fig. 4.1 Number of operations carried out at King George V Hospital,
1914–1918 102
Fig. 4.2 King George V Hospital beds, 1914–1919 103
Fig. 4.3 Sick and wounded soldiers transferred to RAMC northern
district 104
Fig. 4.4 Number of wounded soldiers arriving in Britain from
the battlefields, 1914–1918 109
Fig. 4.5 Sir Patrick Dun’s Hospital income, 1912–1918 (exclusive
of bequests) 113
Fig. 4.6 Sir Patrick Dun’s Hospital expenditure, 1912–1918
(exclusive of building accounts) 115

xi
 List of Tables

Table 3.1 Medical war committees’ preferred candidate for service

in the RAMC 59
Table 4.1 Sir Patrick Dun’s Hospital expenditure on provisions
and light and heat, 1913–1918 114
Table 5.1 Number of registered doctors, 1914–1918 162
Table 5.2 Salaries for medical officers of the Irish National Army
Medical Corps, 1923 173
Table 6.1 Income from War Office and MOP to the Dublin House
of Industry Hospitals, 1920–1925 186
Table 6.2 Sample of Dublin hospitals that received funds from
the Red Cross during demobilisation 188
Table 6.3 Sample of Ulster hospitals that received funds from
the Red Cross during demobilisation 188
Table 6.4 Income from subscriptions and donations for Dublin
civilian hospitals, 1920–1925 193
Table A1 Full list of Central Medical War Committee members 215
Table A2 Full list of Irish Medical War Committee members 216
Table B1 King George V Hospital, Dublin: admissions, deaths
and average daily sick (August 1914–October 1919) 216
Table B2 Military hospitals in the northern district, 1914–1918 219
Table B3 Military hospitals in the southern district, 1914–1918 219
Table B4 Dates of convoys of sick and wounded soldiers arriving
in Cork, 1914–1918 219
Table B5 Auxiliary hospitals affiliated with the King George V
Hospital, Dublin, during the First World War 220

xiii
xiv    List of Tables

Table C1 Auxiliary Belfast area hospitals operating during the First

World War 222
Table C2 Hospital ships and their date of arrival in Dublin Port,
1914–1919 222
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

In Ireland, the period from 1912 to 1925 was one of significant social
and political change. The First World War was one of several major
events that occurred during these years that affected the country and
those who lived and worked in it. Support for the British war effort in
Ireland, as elsewhere, was conditional. Immediately prior to the outbreak
of war, the relationship between Britain and Ireland was undergoing
considerable alteration. In 1912, British Prime Minister Herbert Asquith
introduced the Third Home Rule Bill, which provided for an Irish par-
liament based in Dublin that would have had the authority to deal with
most national affairs. Unionists, especially those in Ulster, were opposed
to a Dublin-based administration. Consequently, political tensions rose
to the extent that the outbreak of violence in Ireland appeared a real
prospect. Both unionists and nationalists established paramilitary groups,
escalating tensions in Ireland. The onset of the First World War in 1914
brought about the suspension of Home Rule. On 18 September 1914,
the Suspensory Act received royal assent, which postponed the introduc-
tion of Home Rule until the war had ended.1
While Home Rule was postponed, the outbreak of violence in Ireland
was not averted. On 24 April 1916, the Easter Rising—an armed
insurrection—began and lasted for six days. Then, separatist nation-
alists organised the Rising in an attempt to end British rule in Ireland.
Members of the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army seized
several locations in Dublin, including the General Post Office, and

© The Author(s) 2019 1

D. Durnin, The Irish Medical Profession and the First World War,
Medicine and Biomedical Sciences in Modern History,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-17959-5_1
2 D. DURNIN

proclaimed an Irish Republic. The British Army suppressed the Rising

with their superior military numbers and the insurgents agreed to sur-
render on Saturday 29 April. In the months that followed, British
authorities ordered the execution of sixteen of the leaders of the rebel-
lion.2 It was against this backdrop of political upheaval and the rebellion
in Ireland that the British government sought to encourage Irish men
and women to support the British war effort and enlist in the various
branches of the British Army.
For much of the twentieth century, historians largely ignored Irish
involvement in the First World War. In 1967, F. X. Martin argued that
Ireland was suffering from a national amnesia regarding its role in the
First World War.3 Martin’s declaration followed the commemorations of
the fiftieth anniversary of the 1916 Easter Rising and was prompted by
the reluctance among many to acknowledge the large numbers of Irish
people who participated in the British Army to serve in the war. Since
then, Paul Fussell, Nuala Johnson and others have argued that the polit-
ical agitation and violent conflict that occurred in Ireland following the
end of the war were primarily responsible for this neglect.4
However, Martin’s declaration can no longer be applied to Irish his-
toriography. Significant historical work detailing the impact of the First
World War on Ireland and the role of Irish people in the conflict has
emerged over the past number of years. For example, since Martin’s
assertion, several historians have considered the impact of the war on
Irish politics. Paul Bew, Thomas Hennessy and John Horne have argued
that worldwide conflict altered the course of Irish politics by delaying
Home Rule.5 David Fitzpatrick has completed comprehensive work
that establishes how the war disrupted everyday life.6 Other studies have
examined the rates and patterns of enlistment of Irish men into the com-
bat forces of the military.7 Estimates of the number of Irish who enlisted
in the British Army during the First World War have varied considera-
bly but Patrick Callan and Fitzpatrick have produced carefully considered
assessments, which suggest that approximately 210,000 Irish personnel
joined up.8
Academic research into the social and cultural history of medicine in
Ireland has also grown considerably but, for the most part, themes relat-
ing to war and Irish medical provision remain relatively untouched.9 This
is in contrast with the vast amount of historical research on the British
case, where a number of works have specifically focused on medicine
and the First World War.10 One of the first notable studies emerged in
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

1964, when Brian Abel-Smith, in his seminal study of the development

of British hospitals from 1800 to 1948, argued that the standards of hos-
pital care for civilians seriously declined because of the conflict.11 Abel-
Smith’s negative assessment on the effect of war on civilian healthcare
was unusual. From the 1960s to the end of the 1980s, other studies of
the relationship between the war and medicine stressed the positive influ-
ence of conflict on medical innovation and provision. Rosemary Stevens
posited that the First World War ‘stimulated the development of special
skills and special interests, particularly in psychiatry, orthopaedics, and
plastic and thoracic surgery’.12 Jay Winter argued that the war years were
‘a period of significant gains in civilian health, for the young and those in
the industrial labour force’.13 Roger Cooter, in a typically astute study,
later disputed the thesis that war was good for the development of med-
icine. He reasoned that studies dominated by this argument adopted
a causal framework and that the theatres of war and medicine must be
studied as part of the societies and cultures in which they were situated,
something which most historical works on medicine and the First World
War had lacked.14 Cooter rejected the basic argument that the First
World War benefited medicine and encouraged medical innovations as
‘overtly positivist, implicitly militarist and profoundly simplistic’.15
More recent studies on the First World War and medicine have largely
focused specifically on the provision of healthcare to soldiers. Mark
Harrison, in his ground-breaking study, explored the role of the British
Army medical services in the First World War and detailed the develop-
ment of the casualty clearing process in multiple theatres of war, includ-
ing the Western Front, Mesopotamia, Gallipoli and East Africa.16 Emily
Mayhew analysed the journey of wartime casualties from the battlefields
to domestic hospitals in Britain.17 Ian Whitehead’s research focused spe-
cifically on the enlistment of medical officers (MOs) into the Royal Army
Medical Corps (RAMC), a specialist corps responsible for providing
medical care to all British Army personnel, to serve in the war and found
that large numbers of doctors throughout Britain enlisted into the corps
from 1914 to 1918.18 All of these works have significantly enhanced our
understanding of the British Army’s medical arrangements during the
First World War.
During the First World War, Irish medical personnel—physicians, sur-
geons, general practitioners and nurses—served in the medical services of
the British Army. Yet a comprehensive history of Irish medical involve-
ment in the conflict and its subsequent impact on the civilian medical
4 D. DURNIN

profession does not exist.19 This book analyses the extent of Irish medi-
cal involvement in the First World War and charts Irish medical person-
nel’s enlistment from 1914 to 1918. It focuses primarily on physicians,
surgeons and general practitioners who were born in Ireland. A consid-
erable number of Irish nurses participated in the war and several histori-
ans have already explored their role in the conflict. In separate studies,
Caitriona Clear, Siobhan Horgan-Ryan and Yvonne McEwen examined
Irish nurses’ wartime participation. Clear suggested that approximately
4500 of them served abroad during the war.20 This book will examine
the several different nursing services involved in the war and detail the
wartime roles of Irish nurses to establish Irish medical experience on the
frontlines. Unfortunately, the nature of the source material did not allow
for a study of Irish nurses’ enlistment rates and this is therefore not dis-
cussed. However, this provides scope for future research.21
It is argued here that many Irish medical personnel left behind their
medical practices, hospital appointments and government posts to par-
ticipate in the war and that the participation of the medical community
affected Ireland’s domestic medical infrastructure, including hospitals
and general practices. In addition, several hospitals located throughout
Ireland admitted British Army soldiers for treatment. This study explores
the impact of worldwide conflict on Irish medical establishments, with a
focus on hospitals and poor law medical services. In doing so, this book
is an attempt to provide the first study of the effect of the First World
War on Irish hospitals and civilian medical infrastructure.
This book is divided into seven chapters and focuses on medical
provision and the Irish experience of the First World War from 1912
to 1925. These dates have been chosen to ensure that the study pro-
vides appropriate context to the effects of war on Irish medical provi-
sion. Extending the study to 1925 facilitates an analysis of developments
in the years immediately after the war. It provides a sufficient time-scale
to consider the immediate implications of political change in Ireland on
the medical careers of Irish doctors who participated in the war. The
end of hostilities on the Western Front did not signal the end of con-
flict for interwar Europe as violent upheavals and civil wars remained
a characteristic feature of the region.22 Ireland was no exception and
experienced considerable political turmoil in the years after the First
World War. In December 1918, Sinn Féin, an Irish republican polit-
ical party, won a comprehensive victory in the Irish general election,
which entitled them to seventy-three seats in the Imperial Parliament in
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

Westminster, London. However, Sinn Féin refused to recognise the par-

liament at Westminster and instead established an independent breaka-
way government—Dáil Éireann—and declared Irish independence from
Britain. Violence and hostility between the Irish Republican Army (IRA),
a republican military organisation; the Royal Irish Constabulary, the
armed police force of the British state in Ireland, and the British Army,
subsequently intensified and thus began the Irish War of Independence
(1919–1921).23
On 3 May 1921, the Government of Ireland Act came into opera-
tion and divided Ireland into two jurisdictions—Northern Ireland
and Southern Ireland—and elections for both Irish parliaments were
held three weeks later.24 Later, in December 1921, the government of
the United Kingdom and Irish representatives signed the Anglo-Irish
Treaty ending the Irish War of Independence and British rule in most of
Ireland; Northern Ireland remained within the United Kingdom. This
resulted in the creation of the Irish Free State, a self-governing state
with dominion status. The signing of the treaty caused conflict between
two opposing groups of Irish separatists—those in favour of accepting
dominion status and those who saw it as a betrayal of the Irish repub-
lican cause. Consequently, in June 1922, a civil war erupted between
the pro- and anti-treaty forces (1922–1923). A ceasefire was eventu-
ally called in the summer of 1923 following the exhaustion of the Anti-
Treaty IRA’s offensive abilities.25 Against this background of partition,
violence, domestic conflict and anti-British sentiment in the Irish Free
State, many Irish doctors who had enlisted in the British Army for the
First World War returned to Ireland—north and south—and sought to
establish careers. This book is not concerned with the effect of partition
and domestic conflict on health systems and the structure of the Irish
medical profession, but rather the impact of conflict in Ireland on the
careers of Ireland’s returning wartime doctors.
Chapter 2 provides the necessary contextual framework for the study
as well as a statistical analysis of Irish medical participation in the war.
Philip Orr has argued that it is hard to be exact about the number of
Irishmen who served with the British Army during the First World
War.26 The same is true for Irish medical personnel. However, using a
variety of sources, it is possible to argue that approximately 3000 Irish
doctors—physicians, surgeons and general practitioners—served in
the British Army and associated medical services during the conflict.27
A database based on a sample of 1800 was compiled for this study.28
6 D. DURNIN

For the purposes of Chapter 2, the database is used to provide details

regarding the enlistment rates and years of enlistment. Due to the nature
of the source material, it is not possible to provide monthly enlistment
rates for Irish medical personnel into the British Army medical services
and thus returns are given on an annual basis. This still allows the study
to identify trends in Irish medical enlistment in the First World War and
outline any alterations to these patterns as the war progressed.
Chapter 3 is concerned with the social profile of Irish medical person-
nel who joined up and examines the motivations behind their enlistment.
The database comprises of biographical details including age, marital sta-
tus and religious affiliation. A statistical analysis of this information pro-
duces detail on the background and educational characteristics of Irish
medical volunteers.29 This information is used to provide insight into
their motivations for joining up. Using RAMC administrative records,
as well as diaries and letters, this chapter also explores the wartime roles
and experiences of Irish medical personnel, including nurses, in the
First World War. Irish medics occupied several roles along the Army’s
system of casualty evacuation. An investigation of their experiences of
these positions allows the study to determine whether they adapted to
the difficult conditions of war and to evaluate whether the British Army
treated Irish doctors differently due their nationality. In his study of
Australian medical involvement in the First World War, Michael Tyquin
has argued that cohesion and morale among Australian medics suffered
as a consequence of the Australian Army Medical Corps’ ill-defined and
subservient role to the British Army medical services in Egypt and the
Mediterranean.30 Chapter 3 will analyse whether Irish doctors had simi-
lar problems with their British counterparts, particularly in the aftermath
of the 1916 Easter Rising.
While this book utilises various collections of material to analyse Irish
medical officers’ wartime experiences, it focuses especially on four Irish
doctors—James Johnston Abraham (1876–1963), Stafford Adye-Curran
(1880–1928), Richard Hingston (1887–1956) and J. P. Lynch (1881–
1948)—who authored comprehensive memoirs, diaries and letters dur-
ing the conflict that describe their experiences in the various roles of the
casualty dispersal process. Abraham was a surgeon who had a practice
in London before enlisting in the British Army medical services for the
duration of war, where he served in France. Hingston was a Regimental
Medical Officer in the Indian Medical Services and served in several loca-
tions, including Basra. Both Adye-Curran and Lynch were career army
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

medics in the British Army and served in the First World War. These four
men occupied different roles in the British Army’s medical clearing pro-
cess and thus, a study of the sources authored by them offers an insight
into the motivations behind Irish medical personnel’s decision to enlist
in the British Army medical services and details the roles and experiences
of Irish medics during their time on the battlefields.31
An understanding of Irish nurses’ experiences has been assembled
from surviving accounts of several nurses but there is a focus on two case
studies—Catherine Black (1883–1949) and Marie Martin (1892–1975).
Black was a trained nurse who served in France. Martin was a Voluntary
Aid Detachment nurse who served in Malta. A study of both Black and
Martin gives a glimpse into the wartime experiences of both profes-
sional and VAD nurses during war. Black recorded her wartime experi-
ences in her memoir King’s nurse, beggar’s nurse, which was published
in 1939.32 Martin documented her time at war in a series of letters sent
to her mother during the conflict.33 After the war, Black was appointed
as nurse to King George V and Martin went on to establish the Medical
Missionaries of Mary.
Chapter 4 moves away from studying personnel and instead focuses
on hospitals. As part of the casualty evacuation process, the British Army
used hospitals in Britain and Ireland to treat sick and wounded soldiers.
Using hospital minute books, annual reports and other miscellane-
ous records, this chapter examines the RAMC’s implementation of the
casualty evacuation system in Ireland and analyses its impact on Ireland’s
network of hospitals—military and civilian. Chapter 4 is divided into two
distinct time periods; the first details the development of the casualty
clearing process and the impact it had on the civilian hospital system
from 1914 to 1916. Harrison has argued that the RAMC altered their
casualty evacuation process in 1916 and more sick and wounded soldiers
were treated near the frontlines from 1916 onwards.34 The second sec-
tion of Chapter 4 explores the impact of this change, and continuing
warfare, on the hospitals from 1916 to 1918.
Chapter 5 is concerned with the post-war career development of Irish
medical personnel who had participated in the war. The process of med-
ical demobilisation is examined to uncover whether doctors returned
to Ireland and continued their pre-war occupations. It also explores
whether the concerns of poor law boards of guardians and the Local
Government Board regarding civilian health, especially after the outbreak
of the influenza epidemic, accelerated the return of doctors to Ireland.
8 D. DURNIN

In addition, this chapter analyses whether the partition of Ireland, the

Irish War of Independence and the Civil War influenced the career pros-
pects of those who served with the British Army.
Chapter 6 explores the impact of the First World War on Ireland’s
hospitals in the years following the signing of the Armistice, up to 1925.
Prior to 1914, Ireland’s civilian hospitals were in a dire financial position
and many were near to closure until the outbreak of conflict postponed
decisions regarding their future. This chapter, building on the content
of Chapter 4, determines whether hospitals—military, specialist and
­civilian—benefited from their involvement in the British Army’s wartime
medical infrastructure.

Medical Organisations in the First World War

Irish doctors had enlisted into the British Army medical services long
before the beginning of the First World War and throughout periods of
amity. During the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, the num-
ber of doctors enlisted in the British Army significantly increased to form
a dedicated British Army medical department. From the inception of
this department to the years immediately prior to the outbreak of the
First World War, British military command treated army MOs with little
respect. For most of the nineteenth century, the War Office was opposed
to granting military rank to medical men within the forces fearing that it
could give medical personnel legitimate claim to command on the bat-
tlefield.35 Peter Lovegrove has argued that the pay structure of the army
created and fostered a divide between regular officers and medical men
with regular officers receiving a higher wage than their medical counter-
parts.36 Due to these divisions, military authorities often ignored army
MOs’ pleas for greater medical provision for the armed forces. Armed
conflicts throughout the latter half of the nineteenth century were char-
acterised by little or no medical support for British combat units. During
the Crimean War (1853–1856), British troops had insufficient supplies
of drugs. In addition, due to the lack of medical personnel to provide
treatment, diseases such as typhus, dysentery and cholera spread with
ease among combatants. In the seven months that followed the army’s
arrival in the Crimea, thirty-six per cent of the 28,000 men died from
disease.37
Medical disasters during the Crimean conflict were described in detail
in the Times, and these reports captured the attention of the public.38
 1 INTRODUCTION 9

Parliamentary committees and commissions were established to enquire

into the lack of appropriate sanitation regulations among the forces and
various recommendations for the improvement of the British Army med-
ical services were implemented, including an increase in pay for medi-
cal personnel and the establishment of a new army medical school.39
However, tension remained between regular military and medical per-
sonnel within the army. Army MOs sought to rectify this situation by
attempting to secure legitimate military rank. Harrison has argued that
this stemmed from the wider push for recognition among the British
medical profession that had begun in the mid-nineteenth century.40
The passing of the Medical Registration Act in 1858 and the growing
influence of the British Medical Association (BMA) and its publication,
the British Medical Journal, played a significant role in this clamour for
recognition.41 The BMA published a number of articles in the British
Medical Journal calling for military authorities to recognise the impor-
tance of military MOs and were crucial in ‘fighting the battle [for recog-
nition] in all times and seasons’.42
The lack of respect and support from their military peers, coupled
with the treacherous working environment on the battlefields, discour-
aged many medical men from joining the army medical services. Some
medical schools, including Trinity College, Dublin (TCD), actively dis-
couraged their students from enlisting. In 1878, at a specially convened
conference, professors from TCD’s School of Physic identified their per-
ceived problems with the army medical services. According to them, the
insistence on compulsory retirement after ten years’ service and the mili-
tary MO’s lack of authority made service in the British Army an unattrac-
tive prospect for the medical man.43 Throughout the 1890s, the BMA
used their growing influence to pressurise the War Office to grant mili-
tary rank to army medical personnel. Their attempts intensified following
the medical disasters that occurred during the Boer Wars (1880–1881;
1899–1902) where once again, the shortage of medical personnel and a
lack of knowledge regarding sanitation procedures among the troops led
to severe outbreaks of disease.44 In 1898, a meeting took place between
the BMA and Lord Lansdowne, the Secretary of State for War, to dis-
cuss the issues concerning army medical men. The meeting culminated
in the passing of a royal warrant ordering the amalgamation of the Army
Medical Department and Army Hospital Corps into one newly formed
organisation, the RAMC. The warrant also granted military rank to army
medical personnel.45
10 D. DURNIN

In 1901, the Royal Commission appointed to investigate the treat-

ment of the sick and wounded in South Africa—members included
Sir Robert Romer, former Lord Justice of Appeal and Daniel John
Cunningham, Chair of Anatomy, TCD—recommended further changes
to the structure and practices of the army medical services.46 They sug-
gested permanently enlarging staff numbers and making provision for
further enlargement in the case of war. The Commission argued that the
efforts of Boer War MOs were commendable but a lack of numbers ham-
pered their work and that an increase in the size of the RAMC would
help combat the difficulties perpetuated by personnel shortage.47 Due to
the commission’s report, various initiatives were introduced which aimed
to boost the professional reputation and size of the corps; the RAMC
made improvements to the conditions and training of MOs enlisted in
the organisation and secured a new premises to house trainees. In 1903,
the RAMC launched its own medical journal, the Journal of the Royal
Army Medical Corps. The corps also implemented a number of recom-
mendations, albeit slowly, concerning treatment for soldiers on the front-
lines and in casualty clearing stations.48
Alfred Keogh, a County Roscommon native who had been Director-
General of the RAMC from 1905, was heavily involved in the early twen-
tieth-century changes to the RAMC. Keogh was educated at Queen’s
College, Galway and graduated with an MD and MCh (Master of
Surgery) in 1878. He moved to London and held appointments in sev-
eral hospitals before entering the British Army as surgeon in 1880. He
served in the South African War, where his achievements led to promo-
tion to the role of Deputy Director General of the corps and eventu-
ally to the position of Director.49 Keogh visited a significant number of
British hospitals and encouraged staff to prepare to undertake temporary
commissions in the event of war.50 He retired from the service in 1910.
His successor, Sir William Launcellotte Gubbins, who was born in
County Limerick and educated at TCD, continued Keogh’s initiatives.
Gubbins’ distinguished record of service in Afghanistan, Egypt, Burma,
South Africa and India led to a string of consecutive promotions in the
British Army medical services. He served as Deputy-Director under
Keogh and was well placed to take up the mantle of Director following
Keogh’s retirement.51 Under Gubbins’ stewardship, the corps increased
its number of permanent members and built a sizeable reserve of medi-
cal personnel to call upon in the case of a national emergency. Gubbins
oversaw the introduction of various sanitation initiatives within the
 1 INTRODUCTION 11

British Army, including the introduction of anti-typhoid inoculation for

recruits.52 This was encouraged by the losses accrued in South Africa due
to the disease and the apparent effectiveness of inoculation during vari-
ous campaigns in India.53 Gubbins retired shortly before the start of the
First World War in 1914 and was replaced by Arthur Sloggett. Gubbins’
contribution, along with Keogh’s legacy, ensured that the RAMC had
significantly improved as an organisation immediately prior to the out-
break of war.
Besides the RAMC, several voluntary groups provided important
assistance to the British Army during the First World War. Foremost
among them was the British Red Cross Society, an organisation that had
originated in the nineteenth century. Following the beginning of the
Franco-Prussian War in 1870, Colonel Robert James Loyd-Lindsay, a
recipient of the Victoria Cross in 1857, organised a meeting of influen-
tial figures, including Lord Granville, the British Government’s Foreign
Secretary, to form the British National Society for Aid to the Sick and
Wounded in War.54 The society gave aid to both armies during the war
under the red-cross emblem. In 1905, the organisation re-formed as the
British Red Cross Society and three years later, King Edward VII and
Queen Alexandra, granted a royal charter to the society. As part of its
reconstitution, the society established a new internal framework, which
included local branches that extended throughout Britain. In 1909,
a British Red Cross voluntary aid scheme began which resulted in the
formation of voluntary aid detachments in every county in England. By
1911, the British Red Cross and the Order of St John, its wartime part-
ner, had established and organised 659 detachments between them in
Britain and approximately 20,000 personnel had volunteered.55 A num-
ber of high-profile individuals, including Lady Helen Munro-Ferguson,
daughter of the Marquess of Dufferin and Ava, advocated the exten-
sion of the British Red Cross to Ireland as part of the 1909 scheme.56
Following the outbreak of the First World War, several high-profile
individuals established branches of the British Red Cross in counties
throughout Ireland, including Cork and Dublin. For instance, Lady
Aberdeen, Ishbel Maria Gordon, wife of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland,
organised a public meeting in the lecture theatre of the Royal Dublin
Society and the outcome of this meeting was the official formation of the
Dublin City Branch of the British Red Cross.57
As well as relying on voluntary organisations to provide medical care, the
British Army also depended on its nursing corps. British Military nursing
12 D. DURNIN

services comprised of a number of different groups, including the Queen

Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service (QAIMNS), the Queen
Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service Reserve (QAIMNSR) and
the Territorial Force Nursing Service (TFNS). Established in 1902, the
QAIMNS had strict and well-defined entry criteria. Nurses who wished
to enlist in the service required three years’ medical and surgical training
in a civilian hospital recognised by the QAIMNS’s advisory board.58 In
addition, the QAIMNS required their nurses to have a certain social back-
ground. A recruitment flyer sent to Irish hospitals defined this as ‘regards
education, character and social status, she [the nurse] is a fit person to be
admitted to the QAIMNS’.59
Formed in 1908, the QAIMNSR and TFNS did not focus as much
on the character of the nurses but significant nursing experience was
expected. Those who wished to enlist were required to have three years
training in a recognised civilian hospital or infirmary.60 At the beginning
of the war, approximately 2300 military nurses were attached to the var-
ious nursing groups.61 Voluntary Aid Detachments (VADs) who joined
the British Red Cross Society and the Order of Saint John also pro-
vided nursing assistance throughout the war. Alison Fell and Christine
Hallett have estimated that by the end of conflict over 70,000 women
had served as VADs.62 Focusing on Irish medical personnel involved in
the nursing corps and the other various organisations detailed above, this
study will thus explore the role and experiences of Irish medical person-
nel in the First World War.

Notes
1. For more on Irish Home Rule, see David Fitzpatrick, Politics and Irish
life 1913–21: Provincial experience of war and revolution (Cork: Cork
University Press, 1977); Alvin Jackson, Ireland 1798–1998: Politics and
war (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Alvin Jackson, Home Rule:
An Irish history, 1800–2000 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003);
Gabriel Doherty (ed.), The Home Rule crisis, 1912–1914 (Cork: Mercier
Press, 2014).
2. Detailed studies on the Rising include Charles Townsend, Easter 1916:
The Irish Rebellion (London: Penguin Books, 2006); Fearghal McGarry,
The Rising: Easter 1916 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010);
Padraig Yeates, A city in wartime: Dublin 1914–18 (Dublin: Gill and
Macmillan, 2011).
 1 INTRODUCTION 13

3. F.X. Martin, ‘1916—Myth, fact and mystery’ in Studia Hibernica, no. 7

(1967), pp. 7–125.
4. For more on the history of Irish memory and commemoration of the
First World War, see Paul Fussell, The Great War and modern memory
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975); Adrian Gregory, The silence of
memory, Armistice Day 1919–46 (Oxford: Berg, 1994); Jeffery, Ireland
and the Great War; Nuala Johnson, Ireland, the Great War and the geog-
raphy of remembrance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003);
Tom Burke, ‘Rediscovery and reconciliation: The Royal Dublin Fusiliers
Association’ in John Horne and Edward Madigan (eds.) Towards com-
memoration: Ireland in war and revolution 1912–23 (Dublin: Royal
Irish Academy, 2013), pp. 98–104; Paul Clark, ‘Two traditions and the
places between’, in Horne and Madigan (eds.) Towards commemoration,
pp. 67–73; Heather Jones, ‘Church of Ireland Great War remembrance
in the south of Ireland: A personal reflection’ in Horne and Madigan
(eds.) Towards commemoration, pp. 74–82; Fintan O’Toole, ‘Beyond
amnesia and piety’ in Horne and Madigan (eds.) Towards commemora-
tion, pp. 154–161.
5. Paul Bew, Ideology and the Irish question: Ulster unionism and Irish
nationalism, 1912–16 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994); Thomas
Hennessey, Dividing Ireland: World War I and partition (London:
Routledge, 1998); Paul Bew, ‘The politics of war’ in John Horne (ed.)
Our war: Ireland and the Great War (Dublin: Royal Irish Academy,
2008), pp. 95–130; Fitzpatrick, Politics and Irish life; Jeffery, Ireland and
the Great War; John Horne, ‘Our war, our history’ in Horne (ed.) Our
war, pp. 1–34.
6. David Fitzpatrick, ‘Home Front and everyday life’ in John Horne (ed.)
Our war; Fitzpatrick, Politics and Irish life.
7. Patrick Callan, ‘Ambivalence towards the Saxon shilling: The attitudes of
the Catholic church in Ireland towards enlistment during the First World
War’ in Archivum Hibernicum, no. 41 (1986), pp. 99–111; Patrick
Callan, ‘British recruitment in Ireland, 1914–18’ in Revue Internationale
d’Histoire Militaire, no. 63 (1985), pp. 41–50; Patrick Callan,
‘Recruiting for the British army in Ireland during the First World War’
in Irish Sword, no. 17 (1987), pp. 42–56; Tom Johnstone, Orange, green
and khaki: The story of Irish regiments in the Great War, 1914–18 (Dublin:
Gill and Macmillan, 1992); Thomas Dooley, Enlisting in the British Army
during the First World War (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1995);
David Fitzpatrick, ‘The logic of collective sacrifice: Ireland and the British
Army, 1914–18’ in Historical Journal, no. 38 (1995), pp. 1017–1030;
Timothy Bowman, ‘The Irish recruiting campaign and anti-recruit-
ing campaigns, 1914–18’ in Bertrand Taithe and Tim Thornton (eds.),
14 D. DURNIN

Propaganda: Political rhetoric and identity, 1300–2000 (Stroud: Sutton,

1999), pp. 223–238; Pauline Codd, ‘Recruiting and responses to the war
in Wexford’ in David Fitzpatrick (ed.) Ireland and the First World War
(Dublin: Lilliput Press, 1998), pp. 15–26.
8. Patrick Callan, ‘Voluntary recruiting for the British Army in Ireland dur-
ing the First World War’ (PhD thesis, University College Dublin, 1984);
David Fitzpatrick, Ireland and the First World War (Dublin: Lilliput
Press, 1986); Keith Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2010).
9. For an overview of Irish medical historiography Elizabeth Malcolm
and Greta Jones, ‘Introduction’ in Elizabeth Malcolm and Greta Jones
(eds.), Medicine, disease and the state in Ireland, 1650–1940 (Cork: Cork
University Press, 1999), pp. 1–20; see Catherine Cox, ‘A better known
territory? Medical history and Ireland’ in Proceedings of the Royal Irish
Academy, section c, no. 113 (2013), pp. 341–362. Selected studies on
Irish medical history include Catherine Cox and Maria Luddy (eds.),
Cultures of care in Irish medical history, 1750–1970 (Basingstoke: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2010); Catherine Cox, Negotiating insanity in the southeast
of Ireland, 1820–1900 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2012);
Catherine Cox and Hilary Marland (eds.) Migration, health, and ethnic-
ity in the modern world (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013); Mark
Finnane, Insanity and the insane in post-famine Ireland (London: ACLS
History E-Book Project, 1981); Caitriona Foley, The last Irish plague:
The great flu epidemic in Ireland, 1918–19 (Dublin: Irish Academic
Press, 2011); Greta Jones, ‘Captain of all these men of death’: The history
of tuberculosis in nineteenth and twentieth century Ireland (Amsterdam:
Rodopi, 2001); Laura Kelly, Irish women in medicine, c.1880s–1920s:
Origins, education and careers (Manchester: Manchester University Press,
2012); Laura Kelly, Irish medical education and student culture, c.1850–
1950 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2017); Anne Mac Lellan
and Alice Mauger (eds.), Growing pains: Childhood illness in Ireland,
1750–1950 (Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 2013); Ian Miller, Reforming
food in post-famine Ireland: Medicine, science and improvement, 1845–
1922 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2014); Pauline Prior
(ed.), Asylums, mental health care and the Irish, 1800–2010 (Dublin:
Irish Academic Press, 2012). Studies which examine themes of warfare
and medicine in an Irish context include Joanna Bourke, ‘Effeminacy,
ethnicity and the end of trauma: The sufferings of shell-shocked men in
Great Britain and Ireland, 1914–39’ in Journal of Contemporary History
35, no. 1 (2000), pp. 57–69; P.J. Casey, K.T. Cullen and J.P. Duignan,
Irish Doctors in the First World War (Kildare: Irish Academic Press,
2015); David Durnin and Ian Miller (eds.), Medicine, health and Irish
 1 INTRODUCTION 15

experiences of conflict, 1914–45 (Manchester: Manchester University Press,

2017); Eoin Kinsella, Leopardstown Park Hospital, 1917–2017 (Dublin:
Leopardstown Park Hospital, 2017); Trevor Parkhill, The First World
War Diaries of Emma Duffin: Belfast Voluntary Aid Detachment Nurse
(Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2014); Foley, The last Irish plague.
10. A selection of work includes Brian Abel-Smith, The hospitals, 1800–1948
(London: Heinemann, 1964); Rosemary Stevens, Medical practice in
modern England: The impact of specialization and state medicine (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1966); Roger Cooter, Surgery and society
in peace and war: Orthopaedics and the organization of modern medicine,
1880–1948 (London: Macmillan, 1993); Thomas P. Lowry, The story sol-
diers wouldn’t tell: Sex in the Civil War (Mechanicsburg: Stackpole Books,
1994); Lesly A. Hall, “‘War always brings it on’: War, STDs, the mili-
tary, and the civilian population in Britain, 1850–1950” in Roger Cooter,
Mark Harrison and Steve Sturdy (eds.), Medicine and modern warfare
(Atlanta: Clio Medica, 1999), pp. 205–224; Mark Harrison, ‘Sex and the
citizen soldier: Health, morals and discipline in the British Army during
the Second World War’ in Cooter, Harrison and Sturdy (eds.), Medicine
and modern warfare, pp. 225–250; Erica Charters, ‘Military medicine
and the ethics of war’ in Canadian Bulletin for the History of Medicine
27, no. 2 (2010), pp. 273–298. Works that focus specifically on the First
World War include: Jay Winter, The Great War and the British people
(London: Macmillan, 1985); Roger Cooter, ‘Medicine and the good-
ness of war’ in Canadian Bulletin of Medical History, no. 12 (1990),
pp. 147–159; Joanna Bourke, Dismembering the male: Men’s bodies,
Britain and the Great War (London: Reaktion, 1999); Ian Whitehead,
Doctors in the Great War (Barnsley: Pen and Sword, 1999); Mark
Harrison, The medical war: British military medicine in the First World
War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); Jessica Meyer, Men of war:
Masculinity and the First World War in Britain (Basingstoke: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2011); Emily Mayhew, Wounded: From Battlefield to Blighty,
1914–1918 (Leicester: Thorpe, 2013).
11. Abel-Smith, The hospitals, p. 252.
12. Rosemary Stevens, Medical practice in modern England: The impact of spe-
cialization and state medicine (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1966),
pp. 38–52.
13. Winter, The Great War, p. 153.
14. Cooter, ‘Medicine and the goodness of war’, p. 149.
15. Roger Cooter, Surgery and society in peace and war: Orthopaedics and
the organization of modern medicine, 1880–1948 (London: Macmillan,
1993), p. 105.
16. Harrison, The medical war, pp. 291–302.
16 D. DURNIN

17. Mayhew, Wounded, pp. 9–81.

18. Whitehead, Doctors in the Great War, pp. 32–90.
19. One notable work is Casey, Cullen and Duignan’s, Irish doctors in the First
World War, which is an expertly compiled biographical list of Irish doc-
tors involved in the conflict. See P.J. Casey, K.T. Cullen and J.P. Duignan,
Irish doctors in the First World War (Kildare: Irish Academic Press, 2015).
20. Siobhan Horgan-Ryan, ‘Irish military nursing in the Great War’ in Gerard
Fealy (ed.) Care to remember (Cork: Mercier Press, 2005), pp. 89–101;
Caitriona Clear, ‘Fewer ladies, more women’ in Horne (ed.) Our war, p.
162.
21. At the time of research, the structure of the source material for nursing in
the First World War made it difficult to obtain any accurate statistics to
reveal the extent of involvement of Irish nurses in the war. The QAIMNS
records, held in the National Archives, Kew, are rich and contain service
records of 15,000 women who had served with the corps during the First
World War, including pensions claimed. However, these records were not
sorted by the nurse’s nationality and it was not possible to complete a
thorough survey of them for this study. Thus, there is plenty of scope for
future research here.
22. Robert Gerwarth, ‘The continuum of violence’ in Jay Winter (ed.), The
Cambridge history of the First World War: The state (3 vols, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2014), ii, 639.
23. Peter Hart, The IRA and its enemies: Violence and community in Cork,
1916–23 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998).
24. Michael Laffan, The partition of Ireland, 1911–1925 (Dundalk:
Dundalgan Press, 1983).
25. Hart, The IRA and its enemies, pp. 21–38.
26. Philip Orr, ‘200,000 volunteer soldiers’ in Horne (ed.) Our war, p. 65.
27. Services include Royal Army Medical Corps, Indian Medical Service,
Royal Navy. This figure has been compiled from several sources including
newspapers, such as the Irish Times, Irish Independent, Freeman’s Journal,
as well as several others. Further sources included the Kirkpatrick Index
(Royal College of Physicians of Ireland [Hereafter RCPI], TPCK/5/3);
War list and roll of honour of the National University of Ireland (Dublin,
1919); Ireland’s memorial records, 1914–18: Being the names of Irishmen
who fell in the Great European War (Dublin, 1923); British Medical
Journal, 1880–1945; William Drew, William Johnston and Alfred
Peterkin, Commissioned officers in the medical services of the British Army,
1660–1960 (London: Wellcome Historical Medical Library, 1968).
28. Database based on sources detailed in note 27. Hereafter referred to as
Database of Irish medical officers in British forces who served in the
First World War. Those chosen to be part of the sample database were
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The torpedo boat was engaged by our ships, driven ashore and
destroyed.
We arrived in Mudros Harbour, in Lemnos, on the night of the 19th. It
was just crowded with shipping, and looked for all the world like a big
floating town. Were informed that there were over 200 transports and
60 warships gathered in the harbour. Had a splendid view of the
Queen Elizabeth as she lay quite close to our old hooker. The
anchorage was simply alive with destroyers, torpedo boats,
submarines, etc., both French and English. The French craft struck
me as being a bit mouldy-looking, not so up-to-date as the British.
You could always tell a French destroyer, she was so crowded up
with all kinds of deck gear, and had a general Back of Beyond look
about her—like a chap who had stopped washing and shaving for a
longish spell.
During our stay at Lemnos we amused ourselves by practising boat
drill, landing of troops, etc. It was no joke swarming down a rope
ladder loaded up in full marching order—and it was just as bad
climbing up again. One of our chaps let go his rifle; the rest
contented themselves with language. No one was drowned.
It was while lying here we had our first solid day and night's rain, the
first really heavy fall since leaving home. The temperature rapidly
dropped in consequence till it became like early summer in England.
Were told that we should find no firewood where we were going, and
orders issued that each man was to carry a bundle of kindling wood
strapped on top of his pack. We shall look like a mob of walking
Christmas Trees when we get all on. Living on bully beef and biscuits
now; no bread.
April 23.—Had a rather pleasant sail in one of the ship's boats to-
day. Landed on a small island in the harbour and cut a big supply of
green fodder for the horses we had on board. Found the formation of
the island to be volcanic in character, as all the land round about
these parts seems to be. Not much sign of water, yet the sole of
grass was good, and the colour a vivid green. Plenty of white clover,
some of what looked like English cocksfoot, and a plant that struck
me as Italian rye-grass. Heard the cuckoo and the lark, and noticed
some small green lizards scurrying over the outcropping rocks.
Thought I saw a tarantula spider, but wouldn't swear to it.
Coming back to ship found we had to beat against a head wind. Our
craft was lug-rigged, the sail something like a dirty pocket-
handkerchief. She had no use for beating; there wasn't a beat in her.
Tried to ram an outward bound mine-sweeper which refused to get
out of our way. Mine-sweeper's captain called us names that may
have been true but didn't sound nice. Doused the sail and rowed
back. In the evening we watched the French and English transports
and warships leaving the harbour. Rumours fill the air—the latest
that we leave for the Dardanelles to-morrow (24th).
April 24.—Preparations for the big event. Told that the staff were
prepared to lose 80 per cent. of the forces to effect a landing; also,
that the fleet could see us ashore but that it couldn't take us off
again; once ashore we'd got to look after ourselves. The fellows
stroked their chins and looked thoughtful for a spell; I reckon they
were thinking of the pie that mother used to make—or of their latest
girls. We were also told that as like as not all the wells on Gallipoli
would be poisoned, and that we should have to do on our water-
bottles for three days. Three days on about a pint and a half! And
biscuits ditto! We began to cotton on to it that it wasn't a picnic or
mothers' meeting we were out to take a hand in. Were served out
with a 2-oz. tin of tobacco between four men, and three packets
each of cigarettes. Handed in our blankets and waterproof sheets, so
will be going ashore as we stand. Very stiff fight expected, as it is
fairly sure that the Turks will do all that is in them to beat us back.
Wonder how many of the boys will go under?
Later.—Under way. All lights out and general air of suppressed
excitement on all hands. Some of the chaps making a book on the
event, and laying odds on the chances of the takers getting through
the slather-up unharmed. Others tossing up to see if certain of their
mates will finish up in heaven or hell! No one the least downhearted;
all determined to at least give the enemy the time of his life when
they come to grips. They are certainly as tough a crowd as ever got
into uniform.
Landing expected to take place just at daybreak or slightly earlier.
Creeping along like a "mob of thieves in the night," as one of the
chaps put it. Distance from Lemnos about 45 miles, I hear, so will be
there in whips of time. Funny thing to think that one's folks will be
lying in bed sound asleep at the moment we go into the enemy, and
never dreaming of what their men will be taking on. Just as well, too,
come to think of it. Weather A1. Sea calm; nothing to complain of in
that line, anyway.
April 28.—First chance of scribbling anything for three days. Been
through hell—just that. War! It wasn't war; it was just cold-blooded
butchery. How the position has been held beats me. But held it has
been—and it's going to be held—at a cost! I wonder what the price
of crêpe will rise to out in Australia and New Zealand! Here goes for
a shy at describing our amusement of the past three days.
It was dark when we left the transports off Gaba Tepe and crept in
towards the denser blackness that represented the shore. The night
—or early morning, rather—was still; everything seemed in our
favour; not a sound welled out seaward, not a light twinkled in the
murk ahead. Could it be that we had taken the Turks by surprise? Or
were they simply lying low and playing a waiting game? Soon we
were to know.
On—on crept the boats loaded to the gunwales with the citizen
soldiers from the Dominions. Every jaw was set hard as agate, every
eye was fixed on the forbidding-looking heights now taking form
dimly as the east reddened and the sky became shot with
lengthening spears of greenish-yellow. Minutes passed—minutes
that seemed as hours—while ever shoreward crawled the fleet of
boats, and ever plainer and gloomier loomed the frowning cliffs that
dominated the Bay of Anzac. Back of the flotilla, away to seaward,
lay the British warships, their grey hulls floating ghostlike in the first
of the dawn—like couchant lions scenting blood. A sense of
protection, modified to some extent by the stretch of intervening
water and the ghostliness of their outlines, emanated from those
cruisers and battleships squatting like watch-dogs on the chain, alert
and eager. Our gaze wandered ever and anon from the forbidding
shore ahead to where those uncouth grey hulls broke the sea-line.
Would they never give tongue!
... We were close to the land. The wouff! of a gentle surf breaking on
a sloping shingle beach, followed by the soughing of the undertow,
came plainly to our straining ears. Back of the crescent-shaped
strand, now dimly outlined in a flatted monotint of leaden grey, rose
the darker, scrub-clothed slope, its breast seamed and gashed by
dongas and water-courses, that stretched to the foot of the sheer
bluff whose summit cut the sky-line 400 feet above our heads. As the
minutes passed the scene changed. Sand and shingle took form and
colour in the rapidly growing half-tones. The blackness of the slope
beyond merged into a velvet green. The serrated crest of the ridge
grew roseate as the first of the sun-rays stretched forth athwart the
fields of Troy and touched it with gold-tipped fingers. A newborn day
begotten of early summer had sprung from the womb of an Eastern
night—a day fraught with much of suffering, much of mutilation and
death, but surely a day that shall live in the history of the British
Empire so long as that Empire stands....
Was it the surprise we all hoped for, after all?—the surprise that
seemed beyond the bounds of possibility. Were there any Turks
there waiting to oppose us at all? And if so, where were they hidden?
In trenches cut on the beach? In the scrub? Behind the crest of the
cliff? God! were they never going to show themselves——?
Crash! Bang! Z-z-z-z-z-ip! It was hell let loose—hell with the bottom
out! The whole beach belched flame and spat bullets. The scrub
behind burst forth into a sheet of fire. Maxims—maxims everywhere!
The place seemed alive with them. It was as if we had received a
blizzard of lead in our faces. The physical shock was almost more
than flesh and blood could bear. For a moment it seemed as if the
whole flotilla was doomed—a moment in which whole boatloads of
brave men were absolutely cut to pieces and mangled out of all
recognition—in which boats were blown from the water, smashed
into matchwood and riddled from stem to stern by the high explosive
and shrapnel fire that came over the crest of the cliff hot on the heels
of the rifle and machine-gun fire. Just a moment! Then the men from
the bush, the plains, and the cities of Australasia showed the stuff
they were made of. In dashed the boats—in anyhow, no matter how,
so long as they touched Turkish soil—some bow on, some stern on,
some broadside. All higgledy-piggledy, a confused mass like a huge
dismembered raft tossed on a sea that hissed and spouted as its
surface was torn by the never-ceasing rain of lead and iron. Over the
sides of the boats dived and rolled those splendid infantrymen, their
bayonets already fixed. They knew what to do; no need to give them
orders. No time to form—no time to think. The cold steel—nothing
but the steel! Off fell their packs; down dropped their bayonet points,
and with a wild yell that rose even above the awful battle roar that
made day hideous they hurled themselves straight as their rifles at
the unseen enemy. In sixes and sevens, in tens and twenties, in
platoons, in half-companies—just as they tumbled out of the boats—
those great-hearted fellows dashed up the beach and into that
sickening inferno. They didn't fire a shot; they didn't waste a single
second. They just flung their heavy packs from their shoulders, bent
their heads to the storm, and with every inch of pace at their
command they charged the Turkish trenches, some fifty yards
distant. Charge! I never saw a charge like it. It was a wild, breakneck
rush, regardless of losses. Nothing short of killing every man of that
magnificent soldiery could have stopped their onslaught. The
machine-guns and rifles took their toll—but they utterly failed to beat
down that desperate assault delivered by those iron-nerved men—
those men who openly boasted that they feared "neither God, man,
nor devil." In a moment they were into the enemy's front line of
trench, machine-guns were captured, and the Turks got a taste of
the bayonet that will never be forgotten by those who escaped. And
they were few. Just a minute of hacking, slashing, and stabbing—
one minute of sickening yet exhilarating butchery in which no quarter
was given; when to kill! and kill! was joy unspeakable—and those
long, lean, brown-faced men with the square jaws and fierce eyes
were up again, their bayonets smoking, and charging the second line
of trenches with the same dare-devil recklessness. What power on
earth could stop such men? Not the Turks, anyway. With imploring
cries of "Allah!—Allah!" they abandoned their trenches and scurried
up through the scrub, the panting Colonials straining every nerve to
overtake them.
It is difficult to understand the Australasian character. He will joke
even in the midst of danger, nay, death. He is, as a rule, a "hard
doer"; and even his best friends must admit that he is often a hard,
and fairly original, swearer. Nothing is safe from him when looking for
a butt; very little is sacred, I fear, and his humour takes a queer bent
sometimes: which accounted for the behaviour of the landing force
on this occasion, dear reader—that and the desire to inflict all the
Arabic he knew (picked up in Egypt) on the fleeing Turk.
"Imshi! Yalla!" yelled the now laughing Colonials, as they followed
hard on the heels of the enemy.
"Allah! Allah!" continued the Turks, and they put on an extra spurt.
"Allah be d——d! Clean 'em boots! Eggs is cook! Three for a l'arf!
Imshi, you all-fired illegitimates!"
Such, with the addition of ear-splitting coo-ees, wild bush oaths, and
a running fire of blasphemy and unearthly cat-calls were the battle
cries of the men from Down Under as they drove the enemy out of
his trenches and up the hill, through the scrub, over dongas and
gullies, right to the base of the sheer cliff itself, up which finally, all
mixed together and sliding, crawling, and clinging like monkeys,
scrambled pursuer and pursued in one loosely strung mob of
panting, war-drunken men. It was the personification of grandeur: it
was the apotheosis of the ludicrous. In a word it was the old
reckless, dare-devil spirit of their ancestors—the men who carved
out the British Empire—re-born in those virile youths and young men
from that bigger and fresher and brighter Britain overseas.
Meantime the guns of the fleet were pouring in a terrific fire, their
shells screaming overhead and bursting well beyond the ridge. It
was difficult at first to see what execution they were doing, and at
this stage of the fight I don't think many of the enemy were bagged.
As our chaps advanced farther inland the shells from the ships
began to pitch amongst them, so their elevation was raised and their
fire concentrated on the Turkish communications and on the
dominating hills that lay on our flanks. They also tried hard to locate
and silence the enemy's big guns, but they were so well concealed
that it was almost impossible to silence them.
Once on top of the ridge our fellows paused for a minute or two to
get their breath, then, as full of fight as ever, they doubled into the
scrub and pursued the retreating Turks with unabated ardour. It was
now an open battle, and except for the fact that the Anzacs were
exposed to a heavy shrapnel fire, Jack was as good as his master. In
threes and fours at a time the shells burst over and swept through
the lines of advancing men, taking their toll all the time. The Turks
took full advantage of the plentiful cover; they knew the country and
we didn't. Now and then one caught a glimpse of a fleeing figure or
two; that was all. We had no field artillery to cover our advance, and
the consequence was we suffered heavily, our guns not coming into
action till the evening, and then only one or two had been landed.
Add to this the natural difficulties of a broken and rugged country
which we had never seen before, and the reader will have some
conception of the task that faced the Dominion troops. It was next to
impossible to keep in touch with each other, let alone preserve
something approaching an unbroken line. Thus the fight resolved
itself largely into one of units. Here and there isolated bodies of
infantry pushed far ahead, then lying down they held on grimly until
the main force came up and eased the pressure.
One or two lots got caught in the beds of deep gullies, were opened
on by concealed enfilade fire from machine-guns and rifles, and died
to a man. But they died fighting. One party at least fought its way
almost to the Narrows, and then disappeared: not a single man
returned. The rest pushed on and on, trusting to the reserves coming
up and enabling them to hold the captured ground—those reserves
that came in driblets only. The fact was that the men could not be
thrown ashore quickly enough to reinforce in the strength required.
Where battalions landed there should have been brigades; where
brigades, divisions. It was just sheer bad luck. No blame attached to
the fleet—every man worked like a Trojan, worked on without paying
the slightest attention to the hail of projectiles falling around. They
were white right through, those boys from the warships, from the
plucky little middies and the jolly "Jacks" right up to the senior
officers. I pity the chap who ever says a word against them if any of
the Anzacs happen to be within coo-ee of him! Come to think it over,
I don't see that blame could be fixed on any one. The country was
just made for defensive purposes; it would have required division
after division to have been thrown in on each other's heels in order
to reduce it, or to seize the ground to the Narrows and hang on. We
simply hadn't the men. And the natural difficulties in the way of
getting up such reinforcements as we had, not to speak of supplies,
ammunition, etc., were nigh insurmountable. There were no tracks,
much less roads; the guns that were landed that first evening had to
be pulled by hand through the standing scrub; the landing parties on
the beach were open to continuous shell fire, not to mention snipers
—altogether I don't think there was ever such a daring or hazardous
enterprise attempted in the world's history.
And now strong Turkish reinforcements appeared on the scene.
Battalion after battalion of fresh troops joined the enemy firing line. It
stiffened up: we failed to break it. Our men were falling fast; half our
strength seemed to be down, killed or wounded, while the remainder
were beginning to feel the effects of their tremendous gruelling in the
fierce heat of a sub-tropic sun. Still on came the masses of Turkish
reserves. The naval guns, especially those of the Lizzie, cut them
up, but didn't stagger them. They took the offensive. For a time it
was charge and counter-charge, give and take. But it couldn't last;
the odds were too great. We retired fighting—and in that retirement
our losses were something cruel. Machine-guns and shrapnel did the
damage mostly, but the Mausers took their share. Only in one thing
had we the advantage—the bayonet. When we got to hand grips
with them the Turks couldn't stand up to our chaps, who went for
them with the cold steel like devils red-hot from hell.
No man who took part in that retirement will ever forget it. Overhead
burst the shells, underfoot the dust rose and the twigs snapped as
the unending rain of rifle, machine-gun, and shrapnel bullets zipped!
and spattered around. Men fell fast, killed and wounded; every
temporary stand we made was marked by little groups of grotesquely
postured khaki-clad forms still with the stillness of death. Here and
there one saw a sorely wounded man feebly raise his head and gaze
pathetically after the retiring line of hard-pressed men; others (and
these were many) limped and hobbled painfully along in the wake of
the retreating infantry, till in many cases another bullet laid them low.
Most of our wounded fell into the hands of the enemy. It was hard to
leave them, but what could we do?
Time after time we tried to dig ourselves in. In vain! The line had to
be shortened, else we should be outflanked by the enormously
superior forces opposed to us. There was nothing for it but to retire
right back to the ridge and hold the crest—or try to! Back then we
went, retiring by companies and half-companies. There was no
running, no panic at any time. When the Turks pressed us too
closely we gave them a shake-up with the bayonet. In many cases
men had to rely on the steel alone, their ammunition giving out. Time
after time the enemy drew back while his big guns and maxims
wrought their will on us. He didn't half like the steel.
We reached the ridge, and, exhausted as we were, started to dig
ourselves in. Our throats were parched, for we dare not broach our
water-bottles lest we should be tempted to finish them straight away.
Once a man begins to drink he will keep on. In many cases bottles
had been shot through and the contents drained away. Others had
left them with wounded comrades. For food we munched a biscuit—
when we had time! There weren't many biscuits eaten until after
nightfall.
We dug a line of holes, scratching fiercely with our trenching tools,
all the while subjected to a withering shrapnel fire. The naval
gunners seemed quite unable to locate and silence the Turkish
artillery, so cleverly was it concealed. Lying down as flat as possible
we scraped away, working frantically for the much-needed cover that
should enable us to hold the position, if it were possible to hold it. At
times we dropped the trenching tools—to lift our rifles and beat back
the oncoming enemy. Yet it was evident that the Turks were
beginning to feel the strain too. Perhaps they thought they had us
anyhow, for their assaults began to lose a lot of their sting, and we
were enabled to get a half chance to dig. As the day waned and
nightfall approached they came again, and we were hard put to it for
a time to hang on. Charge and counter-charge followed rapidly on
each other's heels, and all the time a deafening fire was kept up
along the whole position. Then the brief twilight changed into night;
the fire slackened off; the moon rose, and for the first time since
early morning we were enabled to obtain a few minutes' rest before
going on digging again in the attempt to connect up and deepen the
shallow holes we had scratched into one continuous trench.
We stuck to it hard all through the night, grafting away for all we
were worth. It was our only chance. Yet at times we were absolutely
forced by sheer fatigue to drop our tools and stretch out for a spell.
Sixteen hours of hard, solid fighting through a broken and hilly
country, followed by a whole night's digging; then stand-to before
daybreak, and all the succeeding hours of the second day hold the
trenches against intermittent attacks. At night go on working at
strengthening the trenches; stand-to again before daylight the third
day—and from before dawn till well on in the evening of that day do
your bit at beating off the enemy's attack in force with a fresh army
that outnumbers you by five to one—the attack by which he means
to seize your position at all costs! Just do the foregoing, dear reader,
and you will realise what those Australasian troops endured. And do
it (as they did) on a pint and a half of water and a few biscuits.
It was on Tuesday, April 27, that Enver Pasha launched the attack
against our lines that was to drive us into the sea. All through
Monday and Monday night our transports were landing fresh troops
under heavy and constant shelling from the Turkish big guns; under
cover of the darkness these troops were marched up and placed,
some in the fire trenches to fill up the many gaps caused by the
enemy's shrapnel and machine-guns, others massed in reserve at
the base of the cliff. Yet not a man of those who had stormed the
position the first day, and who had been hard at it ever since, could
be spared from the front line. Come to think, I don't fancy a single
one would have left it. The feeling had got abroad that the change
was going to be taken out of the Turks this time (it had leaked out
that the big attack would certainly take place on Monday night or
Tuesday morning), and the chaps were fair mad to get a bit of their
own back. They did, too.
Our position as finally formed extended along the very crest, or rim,
of the cliff for a distance of about two miles, or rather better. Here
and there deep gullies, or cañons, ran into and cut the line, or
caused the line itself to "bulge" considerably towards the enemy
position. Such was "Shrapnel Gully," at the head of which lay
"Quinn's Post," where our trenches had to be pushed perilously
forward owing to the configuration of the ground. "Quinn's Post," in
fact, formed the key to the whole position; it lay right in the centre of
the line, and had it been carried the whole bag of tricks would, in my
opinion, have crumpled up badly, and a big disaster might have
occurred. When your centre is pierced it's no picnic. To the left of
"Quinn's" was "Dead Man's Ridge," held by the Turks, and from
which they were able to snipe right down "Shrapnel Gully"—and,
incidentally, our camps and dug-outs. It was from "Dead Man's
Ridge" that General Bridges was shot close to Brigade Headquarters
down in the "Gully." No man was safe from those snipers; they
seemed to be everywhere—before, alongside, and behind our lines
even. Hence no supplies could be brought up in daylight; everything
had to be done at night when there was only shell-fire to worry
about. Afterwards we got those snipers fossicked out (they met
strange deaths sometimes!), but in the meantime our life wasn't
anything to hanker after.
Now had the enemy only succeeded in pushing us over the rim of
the ridge, nothing would have saved us. Below lay the open beach.
We couldn't possibly have been taken off with the heights in the
hands of the Turks. I guess it would have been one of the biggest
and finest wipe-outs in history. Old Enver Pasha thought it would
look jolly well in the morning papers, I expect. Anyway he had no
end of a hard try—and to give him and his men their due I don't mind
admitting that they weren't so very far from succeeding.
I don't pretend to describe that struggle. No man could. It was grit,
tenacity, and gameness opposed to overwhelming numbers. A battle
of giants. It was sickening; brutal—and yet splendid. Men fought that
day stripped to the waist; fought till their rifles jammed, picked up
another—and went on fighting. Men with broken legs refused to
leave the trench, cursing those who would have assisted them—
went on firing until a second bullet crippled their rifle arm. Yet still
they clung on, handing up clips of cartridges to their mates, all the
time imploring them to "give the sons of —— hell!" They weren't
Sunday-school models, those big-hearted, happy-go-lucky toughs
from the Back of Beyond. But they knew how to fight—and die. They
were men right through, not kid-glove soldiers. They lived hard,
fought hard, and died hard. And what if they did die with curses on
their lips! Who shall dare to judge them, dying as they died? And it
may be that the Big Padre up aloft turned a deaf ear to those oaths
begotten of the life they had lived—or perhaps He failed to hear
them in the noise of battle!
The Turks attacked gamely, like the big, brave soldiers they are and
always were. Led by their splendid officers, they came on in masses,
shoulder to shoulder, and did all that in them lay to rush our
trenches. They were met by a storm of bullets that would have
staggered anything born of woman. It did stagger them: they recoiled
before that leaden blast that piled their dead and wounded up in
ghastly heaps and ridges like broken-down walls—before that
smashing fire delivered at twenty yards range. They recoiled—yes.
But run—no! They charged, charged right through that hurricane of
machine-gun and rifle fire—charged right up to our parapets.
And now it was our turn. Like one man the colonial infantry leaped
from their cover. Crash! They were into the Turks. Followed a wild
hurly-burly of hacking and stabbing while one might count twenty
slowly; then the enemy were beaten back, and the defenders ran,
limped, and crawled back to their trenches and took to their rifles
again.
Thus it went on from before dawn till towards evening. Charge and
counter-charge, till men reeled from sheer exhaustion, and their
bloodclotted weapons slipped from hands sticky with the same red
paint. I am not exaggerating; those who were present on that awful
Tuesday will bear me out.
We were hard pressed. The strongest men in the world are only
human. Loss of sleep, insufficient food, and practically no water,
combined with the exertions we had already gone through, began to
tell their tale. Our losses were also very heavy; and owing to the
slippery state of the clay soil, following on an all-night of rain, our
reserves could not get up quickly enough. Thus yards and yards of
trench were at times empty of all save dead and wounded men, and
in some cases the Turks effected a footing in them; they were always
driven out again, however, or bayoneted to a man. Our fellows were
simply magnificent; budge they would not. To capture those trenches
meant the killing of the men who held them; you couldn't drive them
out. And the officers were just the same.
But it was cruel to hear the continual cries of—
"Stretcher bearers!—Stretcher bearers to the right!"
"Stretcher bearers to the left!"
"Ammunition! Send up ammunition—we haven't a —— round here!"
"Reinforce! For God's sake reinforce! They're into No. 8! Christ!
boys, get a move on!"
At this time we had neither support trenches nor communications—
just one thin line, which, if broken, meant the loss of the ridge with all
that that meant. We were also so clogged up with dead in our
trenches that to make room for the living we had to throw the bodies
out over the back. In many cases where our line was cut on the edge
of the ridge these bodies rolled right down to the foot of the cliff. At
"Quinn's Post" things were about as bad as they could be. There
was only the merest apology for a track from the "Gully" up to the
trenches situated on the very lip of the crest, and at one time when
reinforcements were making their way in single file up this track they
had to scramble in and out through and over dead men lying tossed
about anyhow, while all the way, right down to the valley the
wounded were lying "heads and tails" awaiting transport to the
beach. It wasn't the most encouraging sight in the world for the
fellows coming up straight off the transports.
In one place quite a little stack of bodies had been huddled together
to one side of the track; there might have been eighteen or twenty in
the lot. Owing to the water running down this stack began to move,
and kept on moving till it blocked the track up altogether. I don't know
how many chaps tumbled into that heap and got tied up in it, but
eventually a fatigue party had to be told off to build up the bodies as
you would build sheaves on a wagon. We had no time to bury our
dead for the first few days—and in that climate you don't want to
keep them above ground for many hours.
As the day wore on it became evident that the Turks had shot their
bolt. The attack died down, then ceased altogether, and save for the
heavy rifle and artillery fire they kept up on our trenches, we weren't
troubled by them for some time. They had lost tremendously; the
ground along our front looked like a heavy crop of wheat after the
binder had been through it—either 4000 or 7000 dead lay there.
(And they lay there unburied for three weeks.) At last we were able
to get a little sorely needed rest. We had been pushed to the
extremest limit of human endurance.
 CHAPTER VIII

THREE WEEKS

April 28 (Wednesday).—I am writing this in the shelter of my little

dug-out, with the big guns roaring away like billy-o and the rifle,
maxim, and shrapnel bullets pitching all round. One is comparatively
safe in a deeply cut dug-out; if you shove only your head up some
sniper lets go at it. And this behind our own trenches. We aren't likely
to die of ennui here, anyway—nor old age.
Heard that the Turks are mutilating our dead and wounded, but
haven't seen anything of it myself. Strange yarns going the rounds
that some of our chaps have been indulging in reprisals. "An eye for
an eye and a tooth for a tooth" is the motto of the men from Australia
and New Zealand, so if the enemy has been playing up in a way of
that kind he'll get his own back—with interest. Wounded coming in
steadily. Tried to get a few hours' sleep last night. Got one. Spent the
night trenching, or sapping, rather. Engineers don't need rest
seemingly.
Infantry holding the enemy all right now. Very big Turkish gun
shelling the warships at long range. Doesn't seem to be making
much of it. Heard that the Lizzie sank a Turkish transport yesterday.
Rifle fire not quite so heavy just now. Heard that the British Tommies
were advancing strongly, driving the enemy down on us. Just had
orders to go on trenching at "Quinn's Post" to-night, advancing new
saps and making a new advanced fire trench. Raining hard, a cold
rain. No coat or blanket. Sure to be pretty miserable.
29th.—Came back to dug-out at 1.30 a.m., very wet, very cold, very
miserable. All sticky with mud. Got some sleep.
Weather cleared up later. Battle still going on, we holding the enemy
safely. Went on sapping at "Quinn's," in four-hour shifts. Very lively
and "jumpy" work—enemy crawling up at dark and firing at fifteen to
twenty feet range. Periscopes now being used, made in most cases
from glasses cut from large mirrors taken from the ships. These
periscopes don't last many hours at this part of the line, as a rule,
and many nasty scalp wounds have been received through the glass
being shattered by rifle fire. We have had to make them as small as
possible—simply a lath with two small pieces of mirror about two
inches by one. In some cases, even, a walking-stick with the centre
cut out has been used with good results. Miss my overcoat and
blanket greatly, the nights being cold. Haven't seen them since we
discarded our packs at the landing.
30th (Friday).—Still the same: battle going on. Sapping continued
under difficulties. Stench from enemy's dead lying near the trenches
very bad. Fed up with continuous sapping work. Tucker improving a
bit. No mail yet arrived. Heard that Goorkhas had landed to assist
us. Removed to new ready-made dug-outs further up the hill. Came
back again on hearing that the late owner had been shot while lying
in it. Message of congratulation from Lord Kitchener to Colonial
troops. British Tommies reported to be advancing strongly, and due
to join us to-morrow night. First bombs thrown into our trenches to-
day—the cricket-ball variety fitted with time-fuses. We amused
ourselves by making "catches" of these bombs and slinging them
back into the Turks. It was lively work, and certainly exciting. I'd
much rather play cricket on the Auckland Domain, however. RUM to-
night—the first issue since landing. It went down slick.
May 1 (Saturday).—Sapping: still sapping. Getting quite close to
enemy, their nearest trench being now only about twenty feet distant.
Plenty of Turkish bombs to enliven the time. One I picked up
yesterday and pulled the fuse out of was sent down to headquarters
for inspection. On my asking to have it back—I thought of making an
ink-bottle out of it, or a spittoon—I was informed that it was now
Government property, but that I might as a favour get it back again.
Shan't let the next one I get hold of fall into the hands of the
Government! Turks attacked our right flank in force, but beaten off by
Australians after suffering heavy loss. Our machine-guns simply
mowed them down in hundreds. Things looked bad for a bit as the
enemy shrapnel got well home into the open ditch that is supposed
to be a trench, and our losses were heavy. Also, some fresh troops
(not Anzacs, thank heaven!) sent up to help our fellows didn't play
the game, letting the Australians down badly. Why the dickens do
they enlist boys of seventeen in some of the Home corps? They are
only in the way when it comes to cold-blooded bayonet work.
Some of our fellows are now partially deaf owing to the all-fired row
that goes on day and night. Changed camp to-day, shifting to other
side of "Shrapnel Gully," about a quarter of a mile away from
"Quinn's." Made a boss dug-out for four—myself and three mates.
While eating dinner a piece of shell as large as my hand (No. 11 in
gloves—when I wear them!) bumped straight into our happy home,
just grazing ——'s back. Made ourselves fairly snug with sandbags,
etc. Have now got a greatcoat (late owner past caring for such
things), but no blankets. Got our first whole night's sleep last night
since landing, rather broken owing to unusually cold night following
extremely hot day. Snipers very busy; one said to have killed over a
dozen of our chaps to-day down at a water-hole in the "Gully."
May 2.—Fight still going on: 8th day of it. Shell fire not so heavy, but
rifles talking away as merrily as ever. Very trying in trenches, owing
to stench from dead men. Read the following scrawled in blue pencil
on a cross made from biscuit-box wood just outside our camp: "In
loving memory of 29 brave soldiers of the King." We are living
practically on a big graveyard. Our dead are buried anywhere and
everywhere—even in the trenches. It takes a lot of getting to like.
Had a boncer breakfast this morning, firewood being fairly plentiful.
Haven't had a wash, my clothes or boots off, since we landed eight
days ago. Wonder what I look like! Made a road for mules from
valley up to firing line, following a winding course. Came back to
camp and heard that a big general advance is to take place to-night,
commencing at 7 p.m. My section is to be divided into two half-
sections, each under command of a non-com., and appointed to a
separate unit. My party appointed to the 16th Battalion, Australian
Infantry. Sure to be a hot picnic. Wonder how many of us will draw
rations to-morrow!
May 3.—Am back in camp again with a smack in the right shoulder
and a useless right arm—and jolly glad to be back, too. Am the only
tenant of our dug-out, my three chums being knocked over—all
seriously wounded. Can just manage to write.
We had a crook spin. The big guns of the ships and the shore
batteries started the ball by shelling the enemy heavily and driving
him from his front trenches with some loss. We followed the infantry
to the attack at dusk, advancing up a dark and evil-looking gully or
nullah, the track being only fit for amphibious monkeys to follow, and
so narrow that single file had to be adopted. We didn't enjoy
ourselves a little bit, as added to the natural difficulties of the
passage—we were up to the thighs in mud and water one minute
and scrambling over roots, branches, and rocks the next, all in pitch
darkness—we were sniped at point-blank range all the way, losing
several men. At last, after a very trying time, we gained the top and
found that the leading companies of infantry had carried the position
and were engaged in digging themselves in under one of the hottest
fires I ever ran up against. Our little half-section of about eighteen
men were ordered to spread themselves along the line, their duties
being to advise and assist the infantry. We did so, and at once men
began to fall. The Turks were only about fifty yards away, and
although it was dark they could see our chaps fairly well against the
background of stars. In a few minutes half our lot were down, I
myself being put out of action by a bullet glancing off a pick and
getting me in the right shoulder. At the same instant my water-bottle
was shot through and the rifle blown from my hand. It wasn't at all a
healthy climate. It was just a shambles. Men were lying killed and
wounded as thick as sardines in a tin. I remember apologising to a
poor chap for treading on his face. But he didn't mind—being dead.
Although my wound was only slight, it settled me for doing any more
work, so I was sent back with a message to the O.C. in camp. I
shan't forget that trip in a hurry. Owing to having to make a detour to
avoid the reinforcements that were coming up, I cut across the back
trail without knowing it, and almost walked into the Turks, who were
out on a flanking game. One son of a gun tickled the back of my
neck with a bullet, and another put one so close to my ear that I felt
the organ to make sure it was still hanging to my head. That was
good enough for me; I wasn't greedy; so I just ducked and ran, never
stopping till I had to —— head down in three feet of mud at the
bottom of a ten-foot donga! However, I got my bearings at last, hit
the trail, and staggered into camp, more dead than alive, at about
midnight. Delivered my message, had my wound dressed, and after
a pannikin of tea turned in and had a smoke and an hour or two of
sleep. Shoulder hurt a bit.
The captured position was held all day, but owing to being
commanded by some rising ground on which the Turks were strongly
entrenched and from which they were able to enfilade our chaps, it
was abandoned at dark. Hard lines after the heavy losses. But life is
cheap here. Heavy firing towards evening. Stayed in my dug-out
smoking and nursing my arm.
May 4.—Very heavy firing all along the line most of last night. Distant
bombardment by fleet heard. Stayed in camp all morning, but went
up to "Quinn's" in the afternoon and supervised infantrymen sapping.
Very short of engineers now. My section is just about wiped out.
Enemy threw in a regular cloud of bombs, then attacked strongly.
They succeeded in getting a footing in the front line trenches, and
some hard hand-to-hand bayonet fighting had to be put in before
they were cleaned up. Shoulder won't be "fit" for some time;
however, I can always boss up others although doing a loaf myself.
Had a very "scratch" tea to-night.
May 5.—Up to sap again at 3 a.m., and sat rifle in hand on a
cartridge-box for four solid (and weary) hours keeping guard. Turks
only a few yards off. If one had showed his nose over the parapet I
doubt if I could have raised the rifle to my shoulder; however, the
working party didn't know that. Nothing very lively happened. Sap
head ran into a dead Turk, who was so tied up in the scrub that he
couldn't be shoved to one side except at great risk. Only one thing to
do: we sapped through him. It wasn't the nicest job in the world,
seeing the time he'd lain there. Came back to poor breakfast. Could
have done with a "go" of rum. Didn't get any.
In the afternoon bossed up a whole company of London infantrymen
at road-making. There is plenty of variety in the engineering line I
find. My company certainly didn't know how to go about the job they
had taken in hand, and they had never even heard of a corduroy
road, while their ideas on the question of drainage would have
shocked Noah. Their officers thought they knew all there was to
know, but really didn't know enough to know how little they did know.
I had a slight difference of opinion with those officers. I got my own
way.
The country here is rather pretty—deep gullies and cañons with high
hills clothed with dwarf oak (we called it holly) and firs; in the gullies
one runs across the arbutus, the flowering thorn, a kind of laurel, and
a wood that resembles the New Zealand karaka. Wild flowers bloom
in profusion; my dug-out is gay with a little pink rambler rose that
threatens to engulf it in its tendrils. The growth is rapid. We have
evidently struck the right time of year for visiting Gallipoli. In a way
the Peninsula reminds me of parts of the North Island of New
Zealand.
In the way of bird and animal life there are larks, doves, pigeons,
hawks, turkeys, cuckoos, and tortoises. The latter animals caused
our sentries many anxious moments. I shouldn't care to calculate
how many tortoises were "halted," nor how many were shot at. They
were big fellows as tortoises go, and when a chap got a squint of
one mooching along the sky-line in the moonlight, it was all the odds
to a tin-tack he let go at it.
In the insect line we could count quite a tidy little collection. We had
flies by the hundred billion. They were everywhere, from the heaps
of dead to the cook's pots. Put jam on a biscuit and it was always a
sprint to your mouth between you and the flies, the event usually
ending in a dead heat. There were other insects not quite so plentiful
as the flies, but even fonder of our company—at least, they stuck
close to us; they're not usually named before ladies, except in the
pulpit.
We had snakes, scorpions, centipedes, and big hairy tarantula
spiders; and when they elected to drop into the trenches things got