Gallipoli Landings - Lance Corporal Viv Brown, 8th Battalion, AIF.

This report from the West Wimmera mail comes from Lance Corporal Vivian Charles Brown, 8th Battalion AIF.

He was a carpenter from Natimuk, Victoria. He enlisted on 19th August 1914 aged 27, regimental no. 643. He returned to Australia on 17th March 1917, injured.

A newspaper report of the 23rd June 1920 updates “Mr. Viv Brown is back in Natimuk from the Caulfield Military Hospital, where he underwent an operation on his foot, which was shattered by a shell.”

This account gives a different angle and even has time for some humour, “As the hills were very steep many rolled down instead of walking”.

Mrs. EKMAN writes:-- I noticed in your last issue that you stated my brother, Viv. C. BROWN was at Malta (minding prisoners), I beg to inform you, that is incorrect, because Monday, 21st June, I received a letter from him, which runs as follows:--

"Just a few lines to let you know I am still able to eat three meals a day. We are right in the thick of it here, if you know where "here" is, as we are not allowed to say where we are at present. We landed on a Sunday and I do not think I will ever forget it. The first salute we got was a hail of shrapnel as we rowed ashore in the boats, and as we got ashore it was like someone throwing stones. They (the stones) were flopping all around us. It was all uphill work.

There was a funny side to it as well. As the hills were very steep many rolled down instead of walking. I experienced it myself, and it was not too pleasant, as there was a lot of prickly bushes where I lobbed. The fire was not too bad until we got to another hill. Colonel GARTSIDES (he is dead now poor chap) said we would be under heavy fire when we were going down the other side, and he was quiet right, we were. I reckon I could have given any of the crack runners of "Nati" a start and then have beaten them down the next gully. I will ring off now as paper is scarce. H. HALLAM was the only one from Natimuk that got hit, he is still in the hospital. Remember me to all over there as I cannot write to everyone."

Gallipoli Landings - Pte Cecil Edmonson, 12th Battalion, AIF.

This letter appeared in the WEST WIMMERA MAIL on June 18th, 1915. Written to his mother by Pte. Cecil Edward Edmondson, 12th Battalion, AIF. He enlisted on 12th September 1914 no. 1021 and returned to Australia on 24th June 1916.

It gives a pretty graphic description of the landing and of how lucky he was not to get hit.


"This is the first opportunity I have had of writing to you. I am at a disadvantage at present, as I have lost all my belongings and have got no money, so couldn't get any paper until I got up, otherwise you would have heard sooner. We will be freshly equipped before we go back. I got a bullet in the leg, and have been waiting for the x-rays, but they have decided to leave the bullet in, as it doesn't seem to be going to affect me. I am at Cairo, but will be back at the front before you get this. No doubt you have an account of the landing in Turkey. It was rather a warm reception that we got, but our boys were very brave and fought against great odds. Poor old Australia, she has lost a lot of her best lads, and is likely to loose many more. Our officers were very brave, and the poor chaps were picked off in great numbers. Our battalion lost Colonel and Lieutenant. Colonel the first day, and I hear that our Captain, who was a splendid man, was wounded badly. No doubt you wondered where we were after we left Cairo.

We were at Lemnos Island, a Greek possession, not far from the Dardanelles. We did some hard training there, climbing big hills, rowing, climbing rope ladders off the boats on to destroyers. Our brigade, the 3rd, was the one chosen to land first, and they have got great praise. One would never think it possible to land troops there, and I'm sure we wouldn't have only for the warboats. The forts had there fire on us, also machine guns and rifles all day Sunday, and all through the night the firing kept up. It was a fearful row, battle ships behind, Turks big guns and machine guns in front and on the left of us, and our own guns as well. It was war in earnest ; but with all this noise, when I was relieved, I was able to sleep as soundly as if I were in bed. There were some fearful sights and I shall never forget them.

I don't mind the bullets so much, it is the shrapnel that is so terrible. The earth shakes under you when a shell bursts, and the effects are awful. Several of our men, where they burst close to them, were blown to pieces. There is a difference between shell and shrapnel. Shrapnel is a shell full of round bullets and when it burst the bullets go forward about 30 to 40 yards wide, and 200 to 300 yards forward, so you can see it is hard to dodge. I have had quiet a number of experiences, and can tell you I have been in about the thickest fire that has been experienced, and one can hardly believe he is alive the narrow shaves I have had. One experience out of a number was when I was lying wounded. I propped my head on my arm and a bullet went right through between my arm and head and hit a chap behind me in the chest. There are others waiting to write, so I must now leave you. Although we were at times in storms of bullets I wasn't at all afraid. I really think your boy would be a good soldier so don't worry about him. "

Gallipoli Landing - Thomas Bridges.

This is an excellent graphic fictional account of the Gallipoli Landings from the book “On Land And Sea At The Dardanelles” by Thomas Charles Bridges.


'Hallo, what's up?' asked Dave Burney. 'We're off again.'

It was the night of Saturday the 24th of April. For the greater part of the day the 'Charnwood' had been lying off Cape Helles, which is the southernmost point of the Gallipoli Peninsula, while the people listened to the thunder of guns, and watched the shrapnel bursting in white puffs over the scrub-clad heights of the land.
Now, about midnight, she had got quietly under way, and was steaming steadily in a nor'-westerly direction.

'What's up?' Dave repeated in a puzzled tone. 'This ain't the way to Constantinople.'

'Don't you be too sure of that, sonny,' remarked Roy Horan, the big New Zealander who was standing with the two chums at the starboard rail. 'We ain't going home anyhow. I'll lay old man Hamilton's got something up his sleeve.'

'That's what I'm asking,' said Dave. 'What's the general up to? So far as I can see, there are only three other transports going our way. The rest are staying right here. What's your notion, Ken?'

'I don't know any more than you chaps,' Ken answered. 'But I'll give you my opinion for what it's worth. I think we're going to do a sort of flank attack. The main landing will probably be down here at the Point. Then when the Turks are busy, trying to hold 'em up, we shall be slipped in somewhere up the coast so as to create a sort of diversion.'

'What—and miss all the fun!' exclaimed Dave in a tone of intense disgust.

'You won't miss anything to signify,' Ken answered dryly. 'There are more than a hundred thousand Turks planted on the Peninsula, and you can bet anything you've got left from the wreck that there isn't one yard of beach that isn't trenched and guarded.'

'Where do ye think we'll land?' asked Horan eagerly.

Ken shrugged his shoulders. 'Haven't a notion,' he said. 'There are a lot of small bays up the west coast. Probably we shall nip into some little cove not very far up. There's a big ridge called Achi Baba which runs right across the Peninsula about four miles north. It'll be somewhere behind that, I expect. But mind you, this is all guess work. I don't know any more than you do.'

'You know the country anyhow,' said Horan. 'And that's worth a bit. See here, Carrington, if we can manage it, let's all three stick together. We ought to see some fun—what?'

Ken laughed. 'I'm sure I'm agreeable. But you see we're not in the same regiment. You're New Zealand, Dave and I are Australians. Still, I dare say we shall all be pretty much bunched when it comes to the fighting.'

Dave, who had been peering out into the night, turned to the others at this moment.
'Yes, there are only four transports altogether in our lot, and so far as I can make out three battleships and four destroyers taking care of us.'

'Now, you men, come below and turn in,' broke in a voice.

It was their sergeant, O'Brien, who had come up behind them.

'Oh, I say, sergeant, can't we stay and look at the pretty scenery?' said Roy Horan plaintively.

'No, ye can't,' was the gruff retort. 'Orders are that all the men are to turn in and take what rest they can. Faith, it's mighty little slape any of ye will get, once you're ashore. Go down now and ate your suppers and rest. I'm thinking ye'll be taking tay with the Turks before you're a dale older.'

'Are we going to land, sergeant?' asked Horan eagerly.

'Am I your general?' retorted O'Brien. 'Get along wid ye, and if ye want to know what it is we're going to do, faith ye'd best go and ask the colonel.'

Orders were orders. The three obediently went below, and, although at first he was too excited to sleep, Ken soon dropped off, and never moved until he felt a hand shaking him by the shoulder.

'Up wid ye, lad,' said O'Brien's voice in his ear, and like a shot Ken was out of his blanket and on his feet.

The screw had ceased to revolve. The ship lay quiet, rocking ever so lightly in the small swell. There was not a light to be seen anywhere, yet all was bustle, and the very air seemed charged with a curious thrill of excitement.

According to orders, Ken had lain down, fully dressed, with all his kit ready beside him. Within a very few moments he was equipped and ready. Then he and his companions were ordered down to the lower deck where the electrics were still burning, and there hot coffee and bread and butter were served out. Also each man received rations for twenty-four hours.

Officers passed among the men, scrutinising their equipment with keen eyes, and presently Colonel Conway himself came along.

He glanced round and his eyes kindled as they rested on the ranks of long, lean colonials.

'Men,' he said, and though he hardly raised his voice it carried to the very ends of the big flat. 'You know as well as I do what you have been training for during the past six months. The day you have been waiting for has come. See that you make the most of it. Speed and silence—these are the qualities required of you to-night. The boats are waiting.'

Ken repressed with difficulty a violent desire to cheer. Next moment came a low-voiced order from his company commander, and he found himself one of a long line hurrying up the companion to the deck.

There was no moon, but the stars were bright, and it was not too dark to see the cliffs that seemed to rise abruptly out of the sea, about half a mile away to the eastward. They, like the ships, were dark and silent.

Without one unnecessary word, the troops dropped quietly down the ladder into the waiting boats, and presently were being pulled rapidly inshore. Boat after boat came stealing out of the gloom, all loaded down to the gunwales with fighting men, yet all moving with a silence that was positively uncanny. The oars were carefully muffled and no one spoke aloud.

Dave sat next to Ken, but Horan was not with them. He had been ordered into another boat with his company.

Dave put his mouth close to Ken's ear.

'Don't believe there's a Turk in the country,' he muttered. 'Looks to me as peaceful as a picnic'

'Looks are precious deceitful sometimes,' Ken whispered back. 'For all you or I know, that brush is stiff with the enemy.'

'Then why don't they fire at us?'

'A fat lot of good that would be in this light. No, Dave, they know their job as well as we do, and perhaps better. I shall be pleasantly surprised if we're allowed to land without opposition.'

But the boat neared the shore, and still there was no sign from those silent cliffs and thickets. As soon as her bow grated on the shingle, the men were out of her, wading knee deep to the shore. They were as eager as terriers. The only anxiety of their officers was lest they should get out of hand and start before the order to advance was given.

Boat after boat glided up, and men by scores formed up at high tide mark.
'Told you we'd fooled 'em,' whispered Dave. 'This is going to be one o' your bloodless victories.'

The words were hardly out of his mouth before there was a loud hissing sound, and right out of the centre of the precipitous slope facing them something like a gigantic rocket shot high into the air and burst into a brilliant white flame.
It lit up the whole beach like day, throwing up the long lines of troops in brilliant relief. Next instant there was a crash of musketry, and rifles spat fire and lead from a long semicircle behind the spot from which the star shell had risen.
The man next but one to Ken threw up his arms and dropped without a sound. A score of others fell.

'Gee, but you were right, Ken!' muttered Dave. 'Fix bayonets!' Colonel Conway's voice rang like a trumpet above the crackle of the firing.

Instantly came the clang of steel as the bayonets slipped into their sockets. Men were falling fast, but the rest stood straining forward like greyhounds on a leash.
'Not a shot, mind you. Give 'em the steel. At the double. Advance!'

Almost before the words were out of his mouth the whole line rushed forward. A second star shell hissed skywards, but before it broke the men had reached the base of the cliff. Its white glare showed the long-legged athletes from the sheep ranges and cattle runs sprinting up the steep hill-side.

The enemy rifles rattled in one long, terrible roll. Men dropped by dozens and scores. Some fell where they lay, others rolled helplessly back down the steep slope to the beach. But those left never paused or hesitated. They scrambled desperately upwards through the pelting storm of lead, guided by the flashes from the muzzles of the Turkish rifles.

Ken was conscious of nothing but a fierce desire to get to close quarters, and he and Dave Burney went up side by side at the very top of their speed.

Before they knew it, a dark hollow loomed before them. A rifle snapped almost in Ken's face—so close that he felt the scorch of the powder. Without an instant's hesitation he drove his bayonet at a dark figure beneath him, at the same time springing down into the trench. The whole weight of his body was behind his thrust, and the Turk, spitted like a fowl, fell dead beneath him.

With an effort he dragged the blade loose. Only just in time, for a burly man in a fez was swinging at his head with a rifle butt. Ken ducked under his arm, turned smartly and bayoneted him in the side.

The whole trench was full of struggling men. The Turks fought well, but good men as they are, they were no match for the long, lean six footers who were upon them. Inside three minutes it was all over. Most of the Turks were dead, the few survivors were prisoners.

'Lively while it lasted,' panted Dave's voice at Ken's elbow.

'You, Dave. Are you all right?'

'Lost my hat and my wind. Nothing else missing so far as I know. Are you chipped?'

'Not a touch. But keep your head down. This is only the first act. There's another trench above this one.'

During the struggle in the trench the firing had ceased entirely, but now that it was over a pestilence of bullets began to pour again from higher up the slope, and Ken's warning was useful—to say the least of it.

'What comes next?' asked Dave, as the two crouched together against the rubbly wall of the trench.

'Get our second wind and tackle the next trench,' said Ken briefly.

His prophecy was correct. A couple of minutes later the order was passed down to advance again.

In grim silence the men sprang out of their shelter and dashed forward. There were no more star shells, but from up above began the ugly knocking of a quick-firer. It sounded like a giant running a stick along an endless row of palings, and the bullets squirted like water from a hose through the thinning ranks of the Colonials.
It was worse than the first charge, for not only was the slope steeper, but the face of the hill was covered with low, tough scrub, the tangled roots of which caught the men's feet as they ran, and brought many down. The result was that the line was no longer level. Some got far ahead of the others.

Among the leaders were Ken and Dave, who struggled along, side by side, still untouched amid the pelting storm of lead.

But although the ranks were sadly thinned, the attackers were not to be denied. In a living torrent, they poured into the second trench.

There followed a grim five minutes. The Turks who were in considerable force, made a strong effort to hold their ground, shortening their bayonets and stabbing upwards at the attackers. It was useless. The Australians and New Zealanders, savage at the loss of so many of their comrades, fought like furies. Ken had a glimpse of a giant next him, literally pitchforking a Turk out of the trench, lifting him like a gaffed salmon on the end of his bayonet.

It was soon over, but this time there were very few prisoners. Almost every man in the trench, with the exception of about a dozen who had bolted at the first onset, was killed.

'That's settled it,' said Dave gleefully, as he plunged his bayonet into the earth to clean it from the ugly stains which darkened the steel.

'That's begun it,' corrected Ken.

'What do you mean?'

'That we've got to hold what we've won. You don't suppose the Turks are going to leave us in peaceful possession, do you?'

'I—I thought we'd finished this little lot,' said Dave rather ruefully.

'My dear chap, I've told you already that Enver Bey has at least a hundred thousand men on the Peninsula. By this time the news of our landing has been telephoned all over the shop, and reinforcements are coming up full tilt. There'll be a couple of battalions or more on the top of the cliff in an hour or two's time.'

'Then why don't we shove along and take up our position on the top?'

'We're not strong enough yet. We must wait for reinforcements. If I'm not mistaken the next orders will be to dig ourselves in.'

'But we are dug in. We hold the trench.'

'Fat lot of use that is in its present condition. All the earthworks are on the seaward side. We have little or no protection on the land side.

'Ah, I thought so,' he continued, as the voice of Sergeant O'Brien made itself heard.
'Dig, lads! dig! Make yourselves some head cover. They'll be turning guns on us an' blowing blazes out of us as soon as the day dawns.'

Blown and weary as they were, the men set to work at once with their entrenching spades. It was in Egypt they had learnt the art of trench-making, but they found this rocky clay very different stuff to shift from desert sand.

The order came none too soon, for in a very few minutes snipers got to work again. There were scores of them. Every little patch of scrub held its sharpshooter, and although the darkness was still against accurate shooting there were many casualties.
'They're enfilading us,' said Ken. 'They've got men posted up on the cliff to the left who can fire right down this trench. It's going to be awkward when daylight comes.'

It was awkward enough already. The Red Cross men were kept busy, staggering away downhill with stretchers laden with the wounded. There was no possibility of returning the enemy's fire, and in the darkness the ships could not help. All the Colonials could do was to crouch as low as possible, flattening themselves against the landward wall of the trench.

'Those snipers are the very deuce, sergeant.'

The voice was that of Colonel Conway, who was making his way down the trench, to see how his men were faring.

'They are that, sorr,' replied O'Brien. ''Tis them over on the bluff to the left as is doing the damage. I'm thinking they've got the ranges beforehand.

As he spoke a man went down within five yards of where he stood. He was shot clean through the head.

'It's Standish,' said Ken. And then, on the spur of the moment,—

'Sergeant, couldn't some of us go and clear them out?'
There was a moment's pause broken only by the intermittent crackle of firing from above.

'Who was that spoke?' demanded Colonel Conway.

'I, sir,' answered Ken, saluting. 'Carrington.'

'Aren't you the man who knows this country?'

'I have been in the Peninsula before, sir.'

'Hm, and do you think you could find those snipers?'

'I do, sir.' Ken spoke very quietly, but inwardly he was trembling with eagerness. Was it possible that his impulsive remark was going to be taken up in earnest?
The colonel spoke in a whisper to O'Brien, and the sergeant answered. Then he turned to Ken.

'You may pick three men and try it. You'll have to stalk them, of course. If you can't reach them come back. No one will think any the worse of you if you fail.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Ken, his heart almost bursting with gratitude. His chance had come, and he meant to make the most of it.

Gallipoli Landing - 4th Field Ambulance, AIF.

This graphic account of the Gallipoli landings comes from the book Five Months at Anzac - A Narrative of Personal Experiences of the Officer Commanding the 4th Field Ambulance, Australian Imperial Force by Joseph Lievesley Beeston.

THE ANZAC LANDING

The horse-boats having been got overboard, we continued our voyage towards what is now know as Anzac. Troops—Australians and New Zealanders—were being taken ashore in barges. Warships were firing apparently as fast as they could load, the Turks replying with equal cordiality. In fact, as Captain Dawson remarked to me, it was quite the most "willing" Sunday he had ever seen.

Our troops were ascending the hills through a dwarf scrub, just low enough to let us see the men's heads, though sometimes we could only locate them by the glint of the bayonets in the sunshine. Everywhere they were pushing on in extended order, but many falling. The Turks appeared to have the range pretty accurately. About mid-day our men seemed to be held up, the Turkish shrapnel appearing to be too much for them. It was now that there occurred what I think one of the finest incidents of the campaign. This was the landing of the Australian Artillery. They got two of their guns ashore, and over very rough country dragged them up the hills with what looked like a hundred men to each. Up they went, through a wheat-field, covered and plastered with shrapnel, but with never a stop until the crest of the hill on the right was reached. Very little time was wasted in getting into action, and from this time it became evident that we were there to stay.

The practice of the naval guns was simply perfect. They lodged shell after shell just in front of the foremost rank of our men; in response to a message asking them to clear one of the gullies, one ship placed shell after shell up that gully, each about a hundred yards apart, and in as straight a line as if they were ploughing the ground for Johnny Turk, instead of making the place too hot to hold him.

The Turks now began to try for this warship, and in their endeavours almost succeeded in getting the vessel we were on, as a shell burst right overhead. The wounded now began to come back, and the one hospital ship there was filled in a very short time. Every available transport was then utilised for the reception of casualties, and as each was filled she steamed off to the base at Alexandria. As night came on we appeared to have a good hold of the place, and orders came for our bearer division to land. They took with them three days' "iron" rations, which consisted of a tin of bully beef, a bag of small biscuits, and some tea and sugar, dixies, a tent, medical comforts, and (for firewood) all the empty cases we could scrape up in the ship. Each squad had a set of splints, and every man carried a tourniquet and two roller bandages in his pouch. Orders were issued that the men were to make the contents of their water-bottles last three days, as no water was available on shore.

The following evening the remainder of the Ambulance, less the transport, was ordered ashore. We embarked in a trawler, and steamed towards the shore in the growing dusk as far as the depth of water would allow. The night was bitterly cold, it was raining, and all felt this was real soldiering. None of us could understand what occasioned the noise we heard at times, of something hitting the iron deck houses behind us; at last one of the men exclaimed: "Those are bullets, sir," so that we were having our baptism of fire. It was marvellous that no one was hit, for they were fairly frequent, and we all stood closely packed. Finally the skipper of the trawler, Captain Hubbard, told me he did not think we could be taken off that night, and therefore intended to drop anchor. He invited Major Meikle and myself to the cabin, where the cook served out hot tea to all hands. I have drunk a considerable number of cups of tea in my time, but that mug was very, very nice. The night was spent dozing where we stood, Paddy being very disturbed with the noise of the guns.

At daylight a barge was towed out and, after placing all our equipment on board, we started for the beach. As soon as the barge grounded, we jumped out into the water (which was about waist deep) and got to dry land. Colonel Manders, the A.D.M.S. of our Division, was there, and directed us up a gully where we were to stay in reserve for the time being, meantime to take lightly-wounded cases. One tent was pitched and dug-outs made for both men and patients, the Turks supplying shrapnel pretty freely. Our position happened to be in rear of a mountain battery, whose guns the Turks appeared very anxious to silence, and any shells the battery did not want came over to us. As soon as we were settled down I had time to look round. Down on the beach the 1st Casualty Clearing Station (under Lieutenant-Colonel Giblin) and the Ambulance of the Royal Marine Light Infantry were at work. There were scores of casualties awaiting treatment, some of them horribly knocked about. It was my first experience of such a number of cases. In civil practice, if an accident took place in which three or four men were injured, the occurrence would be deemed out of the ordinary: but here there were almost as many hundreds, and all the flower of Australia. It made one feel really that, in the words of General Sherman, "War is hell," and it seemed damnable that it should be in the power of one man, even if be he the German Emperor, to decree that all these men should be mutilated or killed. The great majority were just coming into manhood with all their life before them. The stoicism and fortitude with which they bore their pain was truly remarkable. Every one of them was cheery and optimistic; there was not a murmur; the only requests were for a cigarette or a drink of water. One felt very proud of these Australians, each waiting his turn to be dressed without complaining. It really quite unnerved me for a time. However, it was no time to allow the sentimental side of one's nature to come uppermost.

I watched the pinnaces towing the barges in. Each pinnace belonged to a warship and was in charge of a midshipman—dubbed by his shipmates a "snotty." This name originates from the days of Trafalgar. The little chaps appear to have suffered from chronic colds in the head, with the usual accompaniment of a copious flow from the nasal organs. Before addressing an officer the boys would clean their faces by drawing the sleeve of their jacket across the nose; and, I understand that this practice so incensed Lord Nelson that he ordered three brass buttons to be sewn on the wristbands of the boys' jackets. However, this is by the way. These boys, of all ages from 14 to 16, were steering their pinnaces with supreme indifference to the shrapnel falling about, disdaining any cover and as cool as if there was no such thing as war. I spoke to one, remarking that they were having a great time. He was a bright, chubby, sunny-faced little chap, and with a smile said: "Isn't it beautiful, sir? When we started, there were sixteen of us, and now there are only six!" This is the class of man they make officers out of in Britain's navy, and while this is so there need be no fear of the result of any encounter with the Germans.
Another boy, bringing a barge full of men ashore, directed them to lie down and take all the cover they could, he meanwhile steering the pinnace and standing quite unconcernedly with one foot on the boat's rail.

Gallipoli Landings - 8th Battalion, AIF.

The 25th April 1915 (94 years ago) was the fateful day of Australia’s entry into the "war", the Gallipoli landings were a baptism of horror and terror.

Private John Gibson Pitt, orginally from Manchester, was with the 8th Battalion on that fateful day and in his personal diary is an excellent record of the events.


"Sunday April 18th
Transports arriving daily. 8am. The oil boat (“Lunik 1915”) came alongside and pumped water into us as hard as she could go. 10am. 8th Battalion band went over to H.M.S. “Sicilia” and gave them a few tunes. 11am. Officers and N.C.O's paraded and were told that we are to go ashore at Gallipoli in 3 destroyers and that we would be under fire before we landed. D Company No 1 destroyer. 2.30pm. Paraded in full order and took up our positions as will have to do when we land. The band went aboard H.M.S “Agamemnon” and were treated royally. Blue jackets and petty officers from aboard her borrowed their boats and came aboard us. Had a yarn with the Chief Engine Room Artificer.

Monday April 19th
Men swimming around the ship. Mail aboard after dinner. Rumours of setting off tomorrow. About 150 reinforcements from 14th battalion arrived 7.45pm.

Tuesday April 20th
Very fresh and a bit choppy this morning. One of a rowing party to row the Officers Patrol ashore and back. 1.45pm parade. Descending into boat. 2 pm. One of a party to row over to Hospital ship and back, rough, a hard tussle. 4.15pm Rowed ashore for party, arrived back about 6pm, very hard pulling , nearly an hour coming back, 2 men to an oar, 6 oarsmen. Artillerymen onboard fixing fuses to shrapnel shells.

Wednesday April 21st
Heavy rain through he night. Blowing hard. Rained till 3pm and then calmed down.

Thursday April 22nd
A lovely fresh breeze and blowing. Hospital ship, 2 transports and a fleet of trawlers arrived in this morning, also torpedo boat destroyer. On guard today, 3rd relief. About 20 A.M.C. Men and officers arrived aboard today. Mail arrived today been hung up for days. Tucker these days is bully beef and biscuits, porridge for breakfast. Do not expect to be here long.

Friday April 23rd
Guard 4am-8am, not a baddie yarmed to the cork?. 10.30am practised descending into boats. Naval heat aboard. Hydroplane flying around 9pm. Something doing. Troopship and warships moving outside torpedo nets. Band palying for last time, tonight packing instruments.

Saturday April 24th
5.30 am. Awoke to find the ship under way. We were just going past the lighthouse at the entrance and were followed by the “Mashobra” and “Mumewoska” (Divisional Flagship). Anchored still off the land about 9.30pm. Expect to land early in the morning. Parade 10am. Final inspection of everything. 3am Parade. Practised taking our positions for disembarkation. Captain Coulter read out necessary information and divisional standing orders. D company 2 positions to take tomorrow and next day.

Sunday April 25th
Reveille 3 am. 7 transports here now and the number eventually increased considerably. Shrapnel and rifle fire all around the boats. 7.15 am. Embarked in destroyer, one boatload of our battalion went before we did. Transferred wounded and dead from destroyer to “Clan Mc”. H.M.S. “Triumph”, “Bacchante” etc bombarding fort and gun positions as hard as they can. Boats were lashed to the side of the destroyer so that their bottoms just skimmed the water and the men were able to get in them while she was going. When she had got as close to the shore as the depth of the water would allow her, she slowed down and the boats were released from her side, when Pi----? Towed us in as far as they could and we rowed the rest, having to jump in the water, knee deep to land. The 3rd brigade were covering party and landed first. We formed up in platoons on the beach and forced our way through the thick and prickly scrub. There being another line in front of us, who had driven the Turks before them, we did not meet with a great deal of opposition, although we got the benefit of a good many bullets fired at the front line, and some shrapnel. When we got to the first ridge in land, we were ordered by Lieut Colonel Gartside to strengthen the line already established there and dig in as he considered that all our fellows out in front would have to retire there before night, as they had met with considerable forces of the enemy and were losing heavily. Tom Keddie and I dug in next to one another and then turned our attention on a very troublesome sniper on our left front, he moved about and we could not get a good shot at him as he was so hard to see in the thick scrub. He eventually got Tom K in the calf of the leg, the bullet must have passed over me , I was dug in deeper than he was. Bandaged him up and took him to the rear, he gave me his automatic. Our fellows in front were compelled to retire during the afternoon after losing very heavily, especially in officers. Entrenched as hard as we could at night, firing all night. Shrapnel did us the most damage, and we had no artillery on land, and the warships were of course at a disadvantage, although they did splendid work. The Turks made repeated attacks during the night but were always repulsed.

Monday April 26th
Artillery expected ashore today, warships still bombarding. Barney Allan shot through mouth. Wounded men everywhere, SB’s and doctors scarce. 12am. Casualties estimated at 4,000, 75% 8th battalion officers out of action, 60% dead, very sad. A.M.C out all night and did splendid work. Rejoined company on battalions left flank, made dug outs till 4pm, then went in trenches to help cover advance to be made on our left. They advanced and were repulsed time after time, shrapnel fire awful. Slight advance at last. The warships helped us considerably. Splendid shooting today. In trenches all night, several minor attacks. No sleep.

Tuesday April 27th
Our artillery will be in position todaywhich should makea big difference. Enemy’s batteries all concealed. In trench all day, plenty of shooting, some marvellous escapes. Went to beach for water at dusk with Jim Price, we were just coming away carrying a tin full of water between us when he was mortally wounded. Sergeant Smith accidentally shot himself in the foot. Heard fighting all night, Jack Hutchinson shot dead 3 yards away from me, Didsbury wounded. Reinforcements expected tomorrow morning, God speed them, our casualties are very heavy. There forces against us said to be 54,000. Snipers very troublesome.

Wednesday April 28th
Very hot fire this morning, reinforcements arrived, but we are not relieved yet. A party went out to settle last night and caught 3. Comparatively quiet today. Gen Birdwood wishes every man to be awake all night, general attack expected but not delivered. A very cold night and a very long one. Had about 3 hours sleep since we landed.

Thursday April 29th
Improve trenches daily, dug communication trench this morning. Turks seem to be taking a breather but we have to be very watchful. First wash today in a dixie at that. Warships continually bombarding. Lance Corporal Walker shot through elbow and lungs by sniper, died almost immediately. Snipers very busy, impossible to locate them amongst the scrub. God help them when we get to close quarters, we all have somebody or something to avenge. Ghurkas, Sikhs, and Tommies arrived, some battalions relieved. Bill Colven? Turned up, things decidedly quieter tonight, merely a steady exchange of shots. Several shot by snipers. Fair amount of sleep, very cold.

Friday April 30th
S.B’s bringing in dead. To be relieved for a spell this mornning. Formed up and marched to a place of comparative safety behind the ridge which slopes down to the beach , and made dug outs. Went for a dip in the afternoon. Several poor fellows killed and wounded in the water and on the beach by stray bullets. A great sight about here, the hill sloping down to the beach for about 1.5 miles, is just alive with troops of all kinds and the beach with stores, munitions, horses, mules, etc. Enjoyed a much needed long sleep from 7 pm until 7 am. Issue of tobacco."

The Germ by Edward Dyson.

This is sober and touching poem by Edward Dyson from “Hello Soldier”.

He forsakes his usual 'humourous' style and writes a very telling and hard hitting poem.

THE GERM

I TOOK to khaki at a word,
And fashioned dreams of wonder.
I rode the great sea like a bird,
Chock full of blood and thunder.
I saw myself upon the field
Of battle, framed in glory,
Compelling stubborn foes to yield
As captives to my sword and shield--
This is another story.

We sat about in sun and sand,
We broke old Cairo's images,
Met here and there a swarthy band
In little, friendly scrimmages,
And here it is I start to kid
No Moslem born can hit me.
The Germ then that had long laid hid
Came out of Pharaoh's pyramid,
And covertly he bit me.

For some few days I wore an air
Of pensive introspection,
And then I curled down anywhere.
They whispered of infection,
And hoist me on two sticks as though
I bore the leper's label,
And took me where, all in a row
Of tiny beds, two score or so
Were raising second Babel;

But no man talked to any one.
And no bloke knew another.
This soldier raved about his gun,
And that one of his mother.
They were the victims of the Germ,
The imp that Satan pricks in,
First cousin to the Coffin Worm,
Whose uncomputed legions squirm
Some foul, atomic Styx in.

The Germ rides with the plunging shell,
Or on the belts that fret you,
Or in a speck of dust may well
One thousand years to get you;
Well ambushed in a tunic fold
He waits his special mission,
And never lad so big and bold
But turns to water in his hold
And dribbles to perdition.

Where is war's pomp and circumstance,
The gauds in which we prank it?
Germ ends for us our fine romance,
Wrapped in a dingy blanket.
We set out braggartly in mirth,
World's bravest men and tallest,
To do the mightiest thing on earth,
And here we're lying, nothing worth,
Succumbent to the smallest!

Posters on Taxicabs

This article appeared in “The Times” on 27th August 1914.

As recruiting fever was at its peak, the public were asked to support the war effort and only ride in Taxicabs with the appropriate patriotic message.

Good business for those taxicabs with the right sign!

“Posters on Taxicabs

We are asked to state that with a view of assisting the recruiting authorities to secure men for Lord Kitchener’s new Army, taxicabs throughout London are carrying placards containing the appeal to arms.

Several instances have come to the notice of the authorities of the unpatriotic action of certain people in refusing to engage a taxicab on which the appeal is posted. The public, therefore, are asked to render service to the country in the direction of advertising “the call to arms” by giving preference to those taxicabs which display the following notice in red type:- “A call to arms. Enlistment for the war only.””

The Hunger of the Guns.

This article comes from The Great War in a Different Light.

Entitled 'The Insatiable Hunger of the Guns' by Major George W. Redway (the Marvellous Organisation of our Artillery), it describes the work of the Royal Field Artillery and then explains the overall work of the Royal Artillery with details of the ammunition supply.

Nowadays the brigade, not the battery, is the tactical unit, and like the battalion of infantry and regiment of cavalry, it is commanded by a lieutenant-colonel, who is assisted by an adjutant. The battery in our regular service consists of six guns, the brigade of eighteen guns; but a brigade is not merely three batteries, for it comprises what is called an ammunition column— that is, a reserve of everything likely to be required by the three batteries in action— ammunition, of course, in the first place, but also men, horses, waggons, and spare parts, to repair or renew whatever may be lacking in the batteries in the course of a duel with the enemy.

Artillerymen's Three Rules

The battery par excellence is the field battery, which works with infantry, the gunners riding on the limbers and waggons. The horse battery works with cavalry, and in order to go the pace it must lighten the weight behind the teams, and, therefore, the gunners ride on horses. The "horse" guns, too, are lighter. But the brigade organization is adopted both for Royal Field Artillery and Royal Horse Artillery, and how this unit would look upon a road in Flanders may be imagined if the reader will conceive a procession of eighteen 18-pounder quick-firing guns, each gun preceded by its limber and followed by two wagons; every pair of guns (a section) is in charge of a subaltern, and every three sections (a battery) is commanded by a major, who is assisted by a captain. Following the third battery come half a dozen baggage, store, and supply waggons, called the train, and then a collection of thirty-four waggons which form the brigade ammunition column, the entire cavalcade filling about one and a quarter miles of road space, and taking about nine minutes to pass at the trot. Including bicycles and water-carts, cooks'-waggons, and medical carts, there might be counted one hundred and seven vehicles drawn by five hundred and sixty-eight horses. Add one hundred and ninety-eight riding horses and seven hundred and ninety-five officers and men, half of whom are drivers, and you may realise what a prodigious quantity of machinery is needed to get even eighteen guns to the front.

Now, curiosity has been excited by discussions about the supply of shells as to how many projectiles a gun or a battery will consume in a day's fighting. Fabulous stories have been told of the consumption of ammunition, some of which may be true in the sense that on special occasions a large number of guns had to fire as rapidly as possible for a short period. But we must be on our guard against exaggeration in this matter. The first rule of the artillery is to find what is called a "remunerative" target, and this is not so easy in days when the art of tactics so largely depends on concealment by every artifice that ingenuity can suggest. The second rule is to hit, and that implies ranging—a tedious process when the target is a moving one. The third rule is to keep the reserve of ammunition under cover and well to the rear of the guns, which involves bringing up supplies by hand over ground that is not altogether immune from shrapnel bullets and splinters from high-explosive shells. All these factors being considered, you would have found, if serving with a field battery, less activity than might be expected from the unofficial reports that reached us.

The British field-gun is capable of discharging twenty aimed rounds a minute and a certain Krupp gun with complete automatic action can double this rate of fire. But needless to say, artillery is not taken into the field to give a pyrotechnic display, and economy in the use of ammunition is only second in importance to accuracy of fire.

The French operations about Souchez in June, 1915, attracted attention mainly by reason of a statement that our ally supported the infantry attacks with a deluge of 300,000 shells. To the uninstructed the quantity seems enormous, but when the circumstances are considered we shall see that the gunners were not really overworked.

Twenty Shells for Every Man Hit

The defending force consisted of eleven German divisions, as estimated by the attackers, who would presumably be in superior strength—probably sixteen divisions. But let us take the French force as only twelve divisions, and assume that each division had an average of twenty-five guns in action for two days. These three hundred guns might consume five hundred shells apiece per day by a steady fire for fifty minutes at the rate of ten rounds a minute, or by five spells of ten minutes at the same rate, or by increasing the rate of fire to twenty rounds a minute they would expend five hundred rounds per gun within half an hour.

Any statements as to the expenditure of ammunition are of little military value without exact information as to number of guns in action and the effect of their fire, and history tells us that the Japanese on May 30th, 1904, at Nan Shan, with about one hundred and ninety-eight guns, under General Oku, opposed General Fock, and expended 3,747 high-explosive shells and 30,300 shrapnel shells. The artillery carried about one hundred and ninety-eight rounds per gun, and expended about one hundred and seventy-five rounds per gun. The enemy's loss was 1,416 all ranks, and evidently at least twenty shells were fired for every man hit.

General Oku, at Ta Shih Chiao, on July 24th, with two hundred and fifty-two guns, opposed General ZarubaiefL Oku expended an average of eighty rounds per gun, while the Russian artillery expended two hundred rounds per gun.

The Russian losses were estimated at 2,000 of all ranks. But, of course, the Japanese infantry may have accounted for fifty per cent, of the enemy's loss.

338,960 Shells on Twenty Miles' Front

These figures, taken from the " Official History," form the latest reliable data on the subject of field-artillery tactics, and we see that at Ta Shih Chiao one side expended only eighty rounds per gun, while the other expended two hundred rounds per gun. These are averages, for one group of sixteen Russian guns alone consumed 7,141 rounds of shell —that is, an average of four hundred and forty-six rounds per gun in this group. Now let us assume that for some reason the whole of the artillery of a British division fired at this rate at the Battle of the Marne. There were three brigades of 18-poundcrs, one brigade of howitzers, and a battery of heavy guns, and together they would have expended 33,896 shells. And it follows that if we had ten divisions in action, and every gun was firing at the given rate, we should use 338,960 shells on the front which the hostile infantry were defending; this front would certainly not exceed twenty miles. On this front we could hardly expect to find commanding positions for forty brigades, besides positions for ten batteries of heavy guns, and so the attacking batteries would have to come into action where they could, in cornfields or meadows, in villa gardens with the palings broken down, on railway embankments in single or double tiers of fire. The target front of each brigade being reckoned at half a mile, the one thing needful is that the guns should get into action even if they must be pushed forward to within machine-gun range.

One of these days the British Army may have a million men at the front—say, fifty divisions, including fifty heavy batteries, fifty brigades of howitzers, and one hundred and fifty - brigades of field-guns. How are we to supply two hundred 60-pounders, nine hundred howitzers, and 2,700 18-pounders with ammunition for a six days' battle? Take the 18-pounder, for instance; the gun limber contains twenty-four rounds, and the two waggons seventy-six rounds each—total per gun with battery, one hundred and seventy-six rounds. Another waggon-load per gun is with the brigade ammunition column. Some miles in rear is the divisional ammunition column, conveying another one hundred and twenty-six rounds per gun. Thus with the division are three hundred and seventy-eight rounds, the whole of which could be fired away in twenty minutes. From the advanced base another one hundred and fifty rounds per gun could be brought up by motor-lorries, and from an ordnance depot another four hundred and seventy-two rounds might be forwarded at a day's notice by rail to complete 1,000 rounds per gun. By similar arrangements the 45-in. howitzers could get eight hundred rounds, and the 60-pounders five hundred rounds per gun. But how shall we replace this gun ammunition for fifty divisions, the mere weight of which is 60,334 tons?

Difficulties of Shell Distribution

An ideal arrangement would allocate one factory to each division. The output of each factory should approximate to r,20o tons for every day its division has its guns in action. Transport would be watting to convey the shells to the railway en route for the coast. Then it must be loaded into vessels at the port of embarkation and unloaded at the overseas base. Another train journey would bring it to railhead, somewhere in rear of the zone in which the division is operating. Thence by motor-lorries (called the ammunition park) it would be taken to the divisional ammunition column (horsed transport), which would distribute the shells among the four brigade ammunition columns and the heavy battery, and from these points the shells would be delivered to the firing batteries. Thus every 18-pounder gun might obtain another 1,000 rounds, but if the gun were in action three times for periods of half an hour, and fired at the rate of ten rounds a minute, the whole of this supply would be exhausted. The same is true of the heavier pieces.

We see, then, that the question of ammunition supply must be approached not from the gunner's point of view, which regards only the capacity of the weapon to fire rapidly, but from the standpoint of the shell - maker, the railway manager, and the director of transport, who really must govern the consumption of shells. In short, the artillery must cut its coat according to the cloth, as the phrase goes. And what was true for us was equally true for our allies, though in their case the overseas journey was not needed if they manufactured at home. The quantities required, however, had to correspond with the size of their armies. If the French had fifty corps in action, their consumption of shells would be double the quantities given for fifty British divisions, although their rate of fire might be no greater. The Germans were in a worse plight, for they had one hundred corps to supply, and in the event of all these being in action the German guns would have needed about a quarter of a million tons of shells, if each gun was to fire shot for shot with the French and British guns, for a period which may be reckoned in minutes, if their utmost capacity for rapid fire was fully exploited.

Armaments and Armageddon's End

But in fact no army dare employ all its guns in this way, for fear of being suddenly rendered helpless by a cessation of ammunition supply, and the larger the army the greater the danger of this happening. To have cut off a British army from the coast, or interposed a French army between the German army and Krupp's works at Essen, would have done more to end the war than a repetition of all the inconclusive actions in the first year of the war, and if the Frankenstein monster created by the German military hierarchy should in the end devour the authors of its being, posterity will only say that the punishment fitted the crime.

Royal Field Artillery - A Short Summary.

On the 1st July 1899 The Royal Artillery was divided into Garrison and Field Artillery. The Royal Field Artillery was then divided into: Horse batteries, Field batteries and Mountain batteries.

The field batteries were numbered 1-103 and had their depot at Woolwich. A battery was commanded by a major with a captain as 2nd in command. It was divided into 2 or 3 sections each commanded by a lieutenant and consisting of a detachment of two guns.

The field batteries were stationed around Britain, 2 or 3 being garrisoned together under a lieutenant-colonel. In a war situation 3 batteries would form a brigade division and added to an infantry division.

There were ten Mountain batteries (numbered 1-10) and they served in India. Their uniform was the same as that of the Field Artillery except for their lace boots and gaiters which were brown instead of black.

At the outbreak of the First World War, a typical Battery was made up of four units. named "A" battery, "B" battery, "C" battery and "D" battery. A, B and C batteries consisted of six guns to each battery. These guns were 18 pounders. The fourth Battery “D” usually consisted of Howitzers.

An 18 Pounder field gun fired 3.3inch (84mm) caliber shells, which weighed 18.5lb (8.4kg) each. There were four types of shells, High explosive, Shrapnel, Smoke and Gas. A well trained crew could fire 30 rounds a minute.

Each field gun had a crew of ten men. Six of these operated it in action. The limber is drawn by a team of six horses with a driver on one side of each pair, each of the artillerymen on the gun would have a number:-

No.1 in command, (usually a Sergeant)
No.2 Operates breech mechanism.
No.3 Limbers and unlimbers (with no.2) and fires the gun.
No.4 Limbers up and unlimbers ammunition wagon (with 5 and 6).
No.5 and 6 Hook in and unhook ammunition team
No.6 operates the fuse indicator.
No.7 and 8 are Reserves at the wagon line and assists with ammunition and replacing any casualties on the gun.
No.10 "Coverer" takes over in the event of an injury to number 1, but looks after wagon teams in the mean time.

5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery - Horses & Guns

The Afghanistan War - May 1919.

The 5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery, were involved in the month long Afghanistan War, which started on 3rd May 1919 and ended with an armistice on 3rd June 1919.

On 3rd May 1919, Amanullah, the new ruler of Afghanistan, suddenly attacked the British. Amanullah knew how fragile the British positions were on the Afgan border. Together with growing unrest in India, a feeling of British fatigue after the First World War, he tried to strike home a blow that he hoped would consolidate his power at home.

Amanullah gave the British ample warning of his intentions. He wrote to the viceroy clearing stating that he rejected the control Britain had over his foreign policy and announced that Afghanistan was fully independent.

At the start of the war, the British and Indian forces, not including frontier militia, totalled eight divisions, as well as five independent brigades of infantry and three of cavalry. But whilst they had this large force in existence, it was needed elsewhere as well, and at least initially, within the immediate North-West Frontier area, the resources that the British could use were limited to two horse-mounted cavalry brigades, two infantry divisions, and three frontier brigades as well as a number of frontier militia and irregular corps. Artillery was also in short supply, and the two divisions on the frontier each had only eight 18-pdrs, four 4.5-inch howitzers, and eight 2.75-inch mountain guns. The cavalry brigades were each equipped with four 13-pound guns that were crewed by the Royal Horse Artillery. Machine guns, at least on the Khyber front, were old .303 Maxims.

The British gained a command and control advantage with their use of motor transport and wireless communications while armoured cars and RAF detachments increased their firepower and reach, the latter being demonstrated to the Afghans by a bombing raid on Kabul itself.
But the main problem for the British was manpower. The troops in India were no longer of the standard that they might otherwise have been at another time. Coming just after the end of a very costly war in Europe, the British will to fight and military-industrial capability to fight another war was very low. The Indian Army had been heavily committed to the First World War and had endured a large number of casualties. Many of its units still had not returned from overseas, and those that had begun a process of demobilisation and as such many regiments had lost almost all their most experienced men.

Likewise, the British Army in India had been gutted. Prior to 1914 there had been sixty-one British regiments serving in India. However, of these all but ten (two cavalry and eight infantry) had been withdrawn in order to fight in Europe or the Middle East. In their place, units of the Territorial Army, part time soldiers usually only intended for home defence but who had volunteered for overseas service, had been sent in order to release regular units for the fighting in France. After four years of mundane garrison duty, away from their families and disaffected, most of these men were understandably really only interested in demobilisation and returning to Britain to get on with their lives. They were in no way prepared for a hard fought campaign on the Indian frontier.

The Afghan forces achieved some success in the early days of the war as Pashtun tribesmen from both sides of the border joined forces with them. The military skirmishes soon ended in stalemate as the British recovered from their initial surprise. The war did not last long, it had started on 3rd May 1919 and the armistice was signed on 3rd June 1919, however, because both sides were soon ready to sue for peace; the Afghans were unwilling to sustain continued British air attacks on Kabul and Jalalabad, and the British were unwilling to take on an Afghan land war so soon after the bloodletting of World War I. The month long war resulted in about 1,000 Afghan dead and 2,000 British and colonial deaths. What the Afghans did not gain in battle they gained ultimately at the negotiating table.

The British virtually dictated the terms of the 1919 Rawalpindi Agreement, a temporary armistice agreement that did provide-somewhat ambiguously-for Afghan autonomy in foreign affairs. Before signing the final document with the British, the Afghans concluded a treaty of friendship with the new Bolshevik regime in the Soviet Union; Afghanistan thereby became one of the first nations to recognize the Soviet government, and a "special relationship" evolved between the two governments.

For more information and a timescale : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_Anglo-Afghan_War

5TH Sussex (Reserve) Battery - Record of Service.

In a pocket New Testament given to him on joining, Edward Midmore kept his own personal record of the places he was posted.

Starting in September 1914 at his enlistment in Eastbourne it lists the places up until his involvement in the Afghanistan War of 1919.

1914
September 28th – Eastbourne
October 5th – St. Leonards
November 20th – Slough
November 22nd – Windsor.
December 5th – Stoke Poges

1915
June 4th – Brasted
Redhill
Maidstone
December 22nd – llyd.

1916
Sundridge
Sailsbury Plain
Patrixbourne
Canterbury
Ramsgate
Margate
Herne Bay
Canterbury (2nd Time)
Salisbury Plain (2nd Time)

On Active Service

Left England on 12th October 1917.

France
Le Harve
Marseilles

Malta

Egypt
Port Said
Port Suez
Suez Canal

Mesopotamia - November 1917
Magil
Qurnah
Ezras Jamals
Aalaf Sabel
Amarah
Kut
Baghdad
Samara
Tekrit
Bagre
Fattah
Sharqat

India
Karachi
Ouetta
Charriam

Afghanistan 1919
Spin Boldak (Capture of).

Scilly
Corsica.

5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery - In Action.

The 5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery photo's of the Battery in action.

5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery - The Men Part II.

More orginal pictures from 1915 by Gunner Edward Midmore.

5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery - The Men - Part I.

The following original photographs have been supplied to me by my good friend Brian Midmore.

His Grandfather Edward Midmore was a gunner with the 5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery RFA..
No. 896 he signed up on 28th September 1914 and was active until 27th December 1919.

He stayed in reserve in England until 11th October 1917 when he was sent to Mesopotamia and the subsequently to India.

The Men of the 5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery - Part I.

5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery, RFA - Men Needed.

In September 1914 the Eastbourne Gazette published the following appeal for new soldiers.

The 4th Sussex Battery (2nd Home Counties) was allocated to the 44th Division and would in November 1914 head for India.

The 5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery was formed on the South Coast and would spend its time in England until October 1917 when it would join the Indian Division in Mesopotamia


5th Sussex (Reserve) Battery R.F.A.

Eastbourne recruits needed

Colonel Astley Roberts commanding 2nd H.C. Brigade RFA is strongly desirous that the new battery now being formed should complete its establishment at an early date. Recruiting is proceeding briskly in St. Leonards, Bexhill and Hastings, but it is hoped that Eastbourne and district will be well represented in the new unit.

All men between the ages of 17 and 40 who are thinking of joining are urged to do so at once. Recuits can be enrolled any Monday and Wednesday or Friday evenings at 8 at the drill hall, the Goffs,

Artificers, such as shoeing smiths, saddlers and wheelers, are especially required. Pay and allowances, at Army rates, will be issued to all ranks.

If desired, an interchange with other batteries of the brigade will be arranged subsequently, so that members may be with their friends.

West Firle War Memorial, Sussex.

The War Memorial is in the centre of Firle village near to St. Peters Church.

Firle has a special place with my family, my Grandfather grew up there, in the Railway Cottages with his parents. He moved to Pevensey after the First World War.

Detailed names on the Memorial, more infomation can be found at The Roll of Honour

The small list of honour inside St. Peters Church

St. Peters Church

For more information on the village of West Firle please go to http://www.westfirle.com/interest.htm

The Work of the Censor.

This article from ‘The Times’ dated 12th May 1915, gives an amusing anecdote with regard to the work of the censors.

You have to admire the soldiers pluck trying his luck with a variety of women!

A Soldiers Love Letters.

"Describing the work of the Church Army among our troops at a meeting in Queens Hall, the Matron said that though 450 men had passed through the war hospital in Northern France in the last nine months there had been only three deaths.

One of the chaplains said that as the men got free stationery and postage they wrote to everybody they knew. The speaker acted as censor and 1,600 letters came to him in one day. He found that one soldier had written to four different girls, all in the same strain, using the same endearing adjectives and only varying the name at the beginning. The censors work was made more awkward as there was the need to put back the letters in the right envelopes.

Bishop Taylor-Smith, Chaplain General to the forces, who presided, said that as he went from place to place in the homeland and on the other side of the Channel he found everywhere promise for the good work of the Church Army. There was no need which the Government could not supply in regard to huts or recreation rooms and tents that was not supplied by the Army."

Letter Arrived Too Late.

This article comes from the fantastic book “Mud and Khaki Sketches from Flanders and France” by Vernon Bartlett.

This part of the book describes a night in a trench, when Barlett as an officer looks on his men.

Carrying on the theme of letters to the soldiers he describes the ‘buzz’ as the letters arrive and how the letter from home to ‘Denham’ arrives too late.

"I wander on my rounds to see that all the sentries are on the alert, and, suddenly, nearly fall over a man lying face downwards along the bottom of the trench. "Here, you can't sleep here, you know; you give no one a chance to pass," I say, and, for answer, I am told to "shut up," while a suppressed but still audible giggle from Private Harris warns me that the situation is not as I had imagined. The figure in the mud gets up and proves to be an officer of the Engineers, listening for sounds of mining underneath us. "I think they're at it again, but I'm not certain yet," he says cheerfully as he goes off to his own dug-out. I, in turn, lie down in the mud with my ear pressed to the ground, and I seem to hear, far beneath me, the rumble of the trolleys and the sound of the pick, so that I am left for the rest of the night in the uncomfortable expectation of flying heavenwards at any moment.

A buzz of voices which reaches me as I return from a visit to a working party informs me that the one great event of the night has taken place—the rations and the mail have arrived and have been "dumped" by the carrying party in a little side trench. Before I reach the spot a man comes hurrying up to me, "Please, sir," he says, "young Denham has been hit by a rifle grenade. 'E's got it very bad." Just as I pass the side trench, I hear the sergeant who is issuing the letters call: "Denham. A letter for young Denham," and someone says, "I'll take it to him, Sergeant, 'e's in my section."

But the letter has arrived too late, for when I reach the other end of the trench Denham is dead, and a corporal, is carefully searching his pockets for his letters and money to hand over to the platoon commander. They have carried him close to the brazier for light, and the flames find reflection on the white skin of his throat where his tunic has been torn open, and there is an ugly black stain on the bandage that has been roughly tied round him. Only one man in millions, it is true, but one more letter sent home with that awful "Killed" written across it, and one more mother mourning for her only child.

And so the night draws on. Now there is a lull, and the sentries, standing on the fire platforms, allow their heavy lids to fall in a moment's sleep; now a sudden burst of intense fire runs along the line, and everyone springs to his rifle, while star shells go up by dozens; now a huge rumble from the distance tells that a mine has been fired, and we wonder dully who fired it, and how many have been killed—dully only, for death has long since ceased to mean anything to us, and our powers of realisation and pity, thank God! have been blunted until the only things that matter are food and sleep."

(Charles Vernon Oldfield Bartlett CBE (30 April 1894, Westbury, Wiltshire - January 18, 1983) was an English journalist and politician.

After education at Blundell's School Bartlett was invalided out of the Army in World War I. As a journalist he worked for the Daily Mail, and was a foreign correspondent for The Times. In 1922 he was appointed director of the London office of the League of Nations. In 1933 he joined the News Chronicle, and was its diplomatic correspondent for 20 years).

Letters from the Wounded.

This moving artcle comes from the book On the King's Service Inward Glimpses of Men at Arms by Innes Logan.

Innes Logan was Chaplin to the Forces from September 1914 to May 1916. In the aftermath of the Battle of Loos in September 1915, he worked at a Casualty Clearing Station. Here he describes the wounded soldiers writing home to their loved ones.

“Every wounded man has a letter to write or to have written for him, and it was essential that since the people at home knew there was heavy fighting going on all messages should be sent off at once. This is one of the chaplain's voluntary tasks, and we were kept close to it every afternoon for some weeks after the offensive began. For some time the number of letters was about four hundred every day.

A number of men had written farewell letters—very moving they seemed, but I did not think it part of my duty to look too closely at these. They had addressed them and then put them in their pockets, hoping that if they were killed they might be discovered. Some had been finished just before the order to go over the parapet. But the curious thing was that these were sent home, with a few words in a covering note saying they were alive and well, as a sort of keepsake.

In those written after arrival in hospital a sense of gratitude to God was very frequent, and a great longing for home and the children. Some strange phrases were used: a mother would be addressed as 'Dear old face,' or simply 'Old face.' But poets used to write verses to their mistresses' eyebrows, and why not a letter to a mother's face?”

How Letters Reach Our Soldiers in the Field.

This article comes from ‘The Great War in a Different Light’.

The Army's Monster Mail by Basil Clarke was originally published in ‘the War Illustrated’ 1st September, 1917.

It gave the families at home a good indication of what happened to their letters and parcels. Written in the language of the time it certainly is an interesting article.

How Letters Reach Our Soldiers in the Field

The soldier without his letters from home is less good a soldier.

So thoroughly has this been proved in wars, both ancient and modern, that it is now a military axiom ; and the Army Postal Service is included in Field Service Regulations (Part II) as one of the departments, of the Army without which the fighting troops cannot "be maintained in a state of efficiency."

Letters from home are as essential in their way to a soldier in the field as food and supplies; for just as food is needed to keep him in fighting trim so is news of relatives and friends to keep him in good spirits and in fighting mood. It is evidence of the importance attached to the postal service in the war that more than 4,000 men are occupied in the Army Postal Service, dealing exclusively with letters and parcels for soldiers. They handle no fewer than twelve million letters a week and not far short of a million parcels. Those letters, if stacked one above another in a pile, would be about twenty miles high.

Apart from the handling of letters immediately after they are posted in local post-offices, the whole of the work of carrying them to the armies in the field is done by the Army postmen. These men are a special section of the Royal Engineers. They have their own colonels and other commissioned officers and non-commissioned ranks, representing all grades of the civilian postal service. Nearly all the men, in fact, were postal servants in civil life and now carry on in khaki for the Army the work they did for civilians in years gone by.

"Initial" Difficulties

The Expeditionary Forces have their own post-office in London — an immense place quite separate from the ordinary post-office, and staffed by many hundreds of men. To this office are sent from all parts of the country all letters bearing the magic address B.E-F. Every post-office of any size has its special B.E.F. bag or bags for London ; and all hours of the day and night trains are arriving in London with their loads of B.E.F. bags for our soldiers in the field in France, Egypt, Greece, or elsewhere.

In London the great work of sorting begins. Sorters in khaki, standing before shelves of innumerable pigeon-holes, are now experts in numbers and initials where formerly they dealt in names of towns and streets.

The soldier's habit of putting merely the number and initials of his unit on the top of his letters home has led to the very general adoption of this practice on the part of people answering the letters, and the Army weakness for initialing things, people, and units is seen at its height on the letters reaching the London sorting office.

All the regiments must "be known by their initials to the sorter. All the different ranks and appointments, some of which are expressible only in seven or eight initials, he must have at his finger ends. Thus "A.D.A.D.A.M.S." Stands for "Acting. Deputy.. Assistant Director of Army Medical Service" ; "M.T. 50. Sub. Am. P.. AH.B.5." means, "Motor Transport, 50. Sub Ammunition Part, Attached Heavy Battery Section."

When you consider the thousands of queer duties held by men in so huge an Army, and remember that each duty may be expressed in initials, you can realise the enormous task before, letter sorters. One sorter the other day racked his brain for several minutes over a letter addressed to a private, "Care of O.C.P." It was not till he had examined the key list that he discovered its meaning: "Officer Commanding Pigeons."

Postal Base in France

From London the letters, daily sorted into units and stationary post-offices, are dispatched to the postal bases of our different Expeditionary Forces in the field. Those to France, where the greatest proportion of the mail goes are landed at the main postal base, the port of ———. A few other bags of mails addressed to G.H.O. and different Army headquarters may go to other ports, but the great bulk of letters to the Army go to ——— which though not the principal base in France, is nevertheless the principal one so far as the postal service is concerned.

From the central post-office all letters not for local distribution or for special distribution are forwarded to points in the field by rail. They go in the "supply trains" which travel every day with one day's rations to different "railheads." Each division in the field draws its supplies day by day from a "railhead," and with the motor transport column that goes to fetch these supplies are included special motor-lorries for the carrying of mails. These lorries have a small postal staff attached to them, as have also the special postal wagons of the "supply trains" that travel up from the base. The letters thus never leave the charge of Army postmen. Earlier in the war the Army Postal Service control of mails ceased at the "railhead," and men of the divisional .supply columns (Army Service Corps) then became responsible for them. This proved to be a success,

On the Way to the Front

Nowadays the postal lorries of the Motor Transport supply column run through with mails right from "rail-head" to "refilling" point — a point some little distance behind the front lines to which every unit sends its own horse transport for supplies and mails. There is a post-office here, a big affair, and while some wagons of the horse "trains are filling up with food and supplies others go off to the post-office and collect sacks of mails for their units.

Up they go towards the front lines, and are delivered at the field post-offices. To picture a field post-office, shut out all ideas of what a post-office may be like. The only sure way to recognise a field post-office when you see one is by the little oblong flag, half white, half red, that flies over it. The post-office may be a barn, sadly knocked about by shell, with holes in wall or roof, or both. It may be a little bell tent in a corner of a field and the postman, when you call may be melting his sealing wax for out-going mailbags over a fire of broken boxes or smashed-up furniture. Or it may be a dug-out, or a cellar deep down under the earth.

I spent half an hour in a dug-out post-office once in the valley of the Somme. You climbed down to it by twenty muddy steps made of plants. A stove chimney-pipe ran to the upper air by way of the strips, and in feeling your way down in the dark you invariably touched the stove-pipe and burnt your fingers. At the bottom the place looked more like some pirates' or smugglers’ den than a post-office.

A sergeant postman was in charge and along with him were two corporals as assistant postmasters. They were opening the mail bags, newly arrived and before long were sorting the letters into companies and platoons. Soon fatigue parties and orderlies from the units in the line began to come down for their letters, and each man took back a little wad for his own unit.
The scene, all enacted by the light of two candles and a smoky paraffin lamp amid narrow walls of clay supported by timber balks was singularly picturesque. The sound of the guns and dropping shells not far away lent a curious unreality to it all. To see a soldier in shirt-sleeves, struggling patiently to read a badly-written name and address while guns were booming not many yards, away, was unlike any preconceived notion of a post-office.

A Hint to Friends at Home

It was in trenches and dug-outs of the front lines that one saw the consummation of all the splendid work done to assure our men getting their letters. As the orderly arrived from the post office it seemed as though letters were more important than food, tobacco, ammunition, or anything else.
Men swarmed round him bubbling with eagerness. "Anything for me, Puggy?" "Anything for me? "the shout came from all sides and the orderly carrying the letters had to stave off hands which would have seized his pile of letters had they only been able. "Now wait a minute, all of yer, and I'll tell yer'."

He climbed on a hummock of clay and sat down. Then, slipping the string off his bundle of letters, he picked them as one by one, shouting the names of the addressees.
It went something like this: "Hubert Smith"; he looked up and threw the letter towards a hand eagerly extended for it. "Will Jones, Charles Pearce, Hubert Smith (you must owe money, Hubert!), Henry Hall, Bert Morris, Hubert Smith (how she must love yer '), Henry James," and so on right to the end of his pile.

The joy of the receivers of letters was only equalled by the glumness of those who had received none. Some grumbled openly: "Five brothers, three sisters, twenty-two cousins, and not one of them written.” Others said nothing, but returned sadly to their tasks. And if friends at home only realised how sadly, they would not omit to write to their soldiers.

(Sir Basil Clarke, KBE (12 August 1879 - 12 December 1947) was an early pioneer of public relations and British government wartime propaganda expert. He also acted as a war correspondent in the First World War, later writing a book of his experiences entitled My Round of the War.

At the outbreak of the First World War, he was sent as a clandestine war correspondent to France. Journalists were not allowed in the war zone at this time, but Clarke managed to evade the authorities longer than any other reporter to roam the front lines. Years later, war correspondents had become greatly respectable and he travelled to almost every theatre of war reporting for the Daily Mail).