almost dark and he had strict orders not to push too far forward for fear of being cut off.
So here we stay – in shallow scrapings and shell holes, the remains of the Turkish trenches. We have lifted the corpses out and laid them on the parapet. Apart from the sentries, everybody is trying to sleep, but the excitement of the charge is still coursing through our veins and most are talking quietly or sharing food. I’m writing by the light of a Turkish candle I found in the trench. I see I’ve half filled my notebook already, so I’ll have to be less long-winded if it’s to last me past the end of the week.
* * *
The scream brought him snapping awake. But when he opened his eyes there was silence, nothing but the whispering breeze. And yet he was sure he had heard a scream; there was anguish in it, real pain. What would make somebody scream like that?
He cocked his ear and strained his eyes into the darkness. Still nothing. Maybe it was in his head. But the smell was real enough; there was no getting away from that. Even though the fire was long out, there was still smoke wafting into the trench and sometimes an eddy in the breeze brought the sweeter stench of burning flesh that turned his stomach. The sights and sounds he remembered were all nothing to that. That was the stink of war and he’d have it with him for as long as he lived. He had known those men, talked to some of them, but now they were just blackened lumps lying out there in the burned grass.
It had been such a perfect morning that they’d had no inkling of what was to come. As the night faded over the Anafarta plain, the rocky hills rose like islands out of the gloom and the sky gradually turned pink and then blue. The men were scattered around the hilltop, lying in crevices and corners, sleeping with the sun on their faces. All silent save the clink of a tin mug, or the rattle of stones as a sentry shifted his weight. And all around them dry grass rustled as the night breeze slithered down to the sea. It was peaceful until a hoarse docker’s voice broke out.
‘Stand to arms! Stand to arms! Come on, you lazy buggers, let’s be having you.’
Men stretched and yawned and stood up to look over at Green Hill. Then a bullet cracked off a rock and went zinging away in an angry ricochet, and they remembered where they were and bolted for cover. The reality of their situation robbed the scene of all its beauty as the first privations made themselves felt. Breakfast was a few dry biscuits and a sup of water. Yesterday’s sunburn was starting to sting.
It was obvious that they were going to have to attack Green Hill, but the night had stolen their appetite for a fight and the impetus of the last evening had evaporated entirely. More worrying, it was clear that the Turks had brought up reinforcements. They had grown bolder and were sniping at the carrying parties bringing up ammunition and water. A clever stroke, since most of the men had exhausted their canteens and as the sun got higher and hotter it was hard to think of anything but a long cool drink.
Colonel Downing went down to the beach after breakfast and didn’t return until lunchtime, puffing back up the hill under a hail of fire from the Turks.
‘Those saucy buggers were shooting at me ,’ he exclaimed, when all his officers had been assembled, but there was a wild gleam in his eye as he went on: ‘Well, gentlemen, the time has come. We’re going to put a stop to Abdul’s capers for once and all. Division’s finally got the finger out, and we shall be attacking this afternoon. That bloody hill,’ he pointed at Green Hill with his blackthorn stick, ‘that’s the key to this whole place. If we can clear them off there, then we’ll finally have secured our beachhead. So the honour falls to us, gentlemen, with the Munster Fusiliers supporting us on the right. We’ll have to move damned quickly, so it’ll be rifles only. Leave the haversacks, but make sure your chaps have got plenty
So here we stay – in shallow scrapings and shell holes, the remains of the Turkish trenches. We have lifted the corpses out and laid them on the parapet. Apart from the sentries, everybody is trying to sleep, but the excitement of the charge is still coursing through our veins and most are talking quietly or sharing food. I’m writing by the light of a Turkish candle I found in the trench. I see I’ve half filled my notebook already, so I’ll have to be less long-winded if it’s to last me past the end of the week.
* * *
The scream brought him snapping awake. But when he opened his eyes there was silence, nothing but the whispering breeze. And yet he was sure he had heard a scream; there was anguish in it, real pain. What would make somebody scream like that?
He cocked his ear and strained his eyes into the darkness. Still nothing. Maybe it was in his head. But the smell was real enough; there was no getting away from that. Even though the fire was long out, there was still smoke wafting into the trench and sometimes an eddy in the breeze brought the sweeter stench of burning flesh that turned his stomach. The sights and sounds he remembered were all nothing to that. That was the stink of war and he’d have it with him for as long as he lived. He had known those men, talked to some of them, but now they were just blackened lumps lying out there in the burned grass.
It had been such a perfect morning that they’d had no inkling of what was to come. As the night faded over the Anafarta plain, the rocky hills rose like islands out of the gloom and the sky gradually turned pink and then blue. The men were scattered around the hilltop, lying in crevices and corners, sleeping with the sun on their faces. All silent save the clink of a tin mug, or the rattle of stones as a sentry shifted his weight. And all around them dry grass rustled as the night breeze slithered down to the sea. It was peaceful until a hoarse docker’s voice broke out.
‘Stand to arms! Stand to arms! Come on, you lazy buggers, let’s be having you.’
Men stretched and yawned and stood up to look over at Green Hill. Then a bullet cracked off a rock and went zinging away in an angry ricochet, and they remembered where they were and bolted for cover. The reality of their situation robbed the scene of all its beauty as the first privations made themselves felt. Breakfast was a few dry biscuits and a sup of water. Yesterday’s sunburn was starting to sting.
It was obvious that they were going to have to attack Green Hill, but the night had stolen their appetite for a fight and the impetus of the last evening had evaporated entirely. More worrying, it was clear that the Turks had brought up reinforcements. They had grown bolder and were sniping at the carrying parties bringing up ammunition and water. A clever stroke, since most of the men had exhausted their canteens and as the sun got higher and hotter it was hard to think of anything but a long cool drink.
Colonel Downing went down to the beach after breakfast and didn’t return until lunchtime, puffing back up the hill under a hail of fire from the Turks.
‘Those saucy buggers were shooting at me ,’ he exclaimed, when all his officers had been assembled, but there was a wild gleam in his eye as he went on: ‘Well, gentlemen, the time has come. We’re going to put a stop to Abdul’s capers for once and all. Division’s finally got the finger out, and we shall be attacking this afternoon. That bloody hill,’ he pointed at Green Hill with his blackthorn stick, ‘that’s the key to this whole place. If we can clear them off there, then we’ll finally have secured our beachhead. So the honour falls to us, gentlemen, with the Munster Fusiliers supporting us on the right. We’ll have to move damned quickly, so it’ll be rifles only. Leave the haversacks, but make sure your chaps have got plenty
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