Walking Gallipoli – “Gallipoli Travelogue" by Tony Scott

Post Tour Report

At Luton Airport were we met up with the trip organisers Julian Whippy and Clive Harris who introduced us to the other 12 expedition members, including one, an awfully nice chap from the ‘Colonies’ called George who incredibly had travelled all the way from Australia to be in our company and to join the quest.

The flight to Istanbul with an orange airline went without a hitch; and waiting to whisk us to the front was our coach and local drivers. During a ‘Pit Stop’ on the way Julian and I decided to embrace the local cuisine and during a comfort stop we sampled the local spicy meat balls, very tasty indeed I thought, but alas chewing on the raw green chilli garnish was not my best decision of the day! To get to our base in Canakkale we boarded the small ferry that runs across the ‘Narrows’ from Kilid Bahir

On our arrival at the excellently positioned and comfortable ANZAC Hotel After a very filling continental breakfast supplemented by perhaps just one too many of those delightful Turkish sticky cakes we soon found ourselves on the ferry and heading for the Peninsula. The ‘Narrows’ in daylight is a sight to behold, it seemed that there was a never ending procession of large tankers etc passing through them jockeying for position with scores of fishing boats who seemed oblivious to any possible danger and just content to seek out their lunch!

As I stood there it seemed incredible to think what had happened near this very spot on 18th March 1915 to the Allied Navies and that I was just perhaps a few hundred yards from where the French ship Bouvet struck a mine and went down in minutes after striking a mine with a loss of 600+ lives.

Once ashore we made our way south passing through the delightfully rustic looking village of Krithia to the Lancashire Landing Cemetery were the coach left us. Julian unrolled a ‘monster map’ and accurately set the scene and mood for us and after taking some photos in the Cemetery we walked towards W Beach. The field next to the cemetery was littered with the broken shards of British rum bottles, one piece still clearly bearing the ‘SRD’ initials and nearby a solitary horseshoe could be seen pointing to the sky. As we approached W beach the air was full of the fragrant aroma of fresh herbs (I think Sage & thyme) which we had unwittingly disturbed as we brushed past them and they smelt simply glorious. The beach was absolutely beautiful and completely deserted and devoid of mans influence, but with the aid of some contemporary photographs supplied by Clive and Julian we were able to accurately plot our position for some interesting ‘then and now’ comparisons, which for me suddenly brought the whole place alive with the activity of a wartime beachhead.

On the edge of a field bordering the beach one of our party made an interesting find of an 1907 British penny, what a story that may have witnessed and God only knows what terrible sad fate its owner may have met! From the beach we picked up the path which took us slightly inland and up to the cliff top to the magnificent Helles memorial. The view from here was breathtaking as you can clearly see the Asiatic coast across the water and you can get your first tantalising glimpse of V Beach and the small promontory/rocky area where the SS River Clyde beached with the formidable Seddulbahir Fort brooding over the area. Just down from the Memorial the Turkish authorities have been carrying out extensive renovation to Ertugal Fort and they have also provided a useful glass encased model of V Beach to help you get your bearings.

Once down on the beach I found myself sitting on a rock with my boots on the waters edge just staring at the beach and the Seddulbahir Fort struggling with the enormity of what had taken place here years ago, must admit it was a real ‘lump in the throat moment’ for me. From V Beach Cemetery we walked through the village in the footsteps of our troops and visited the solitary grave of Doughty-Wylie VC, CB, CMG. At this point we were reunited with our bus and our picnic lunch was taken al fresco before the driver took us to the staring point of our next walk ‘Gully Ravine.’

This walk commenced with a real scramble down a little used cliff path onto the beach, we soon found ourselves at the entrance of the ravine were we stopped next to the well sunk and built by the Royal Engineers. Here we read some letter written by a Captain Usher to his wife describing his conditions in the Ravine, the last letter ominously stopping mid sentence. Tangible evidence of the war was evident, just yards from were we stood talking lay a couple of live 303 bullets and incredibly laying on the dry river bed was a spur from a boot. Just off shore are the remains of a naval lighter that sticks out above the waves in a quite sinister and macabre manner that resembles a carcass. Entering the ravine we escaped the wind and headed inland, very quickly the gully became wooded and the going got a bit tuff as numerous fir trees had toppled across the ravine, presumably due to the erosion caused by winter floods.  Several hundred yards along the Gully we reached a spur off to the right which during the war was known as Artillery Row, this brought us out onto a small plain and onto the road that led us to Pink Farm Cemetery, there was a bit of light relief on the way as we discovered a wild tortoise crossing our path. (The first ‘live shell’ I have been glad to see!) At Pink Farm I visited the Grave of Major Vaughan, he had served in the Boer war in the Border Regiment with my Granddad, however I doubt very much that he would have known him as he was only a Private but a bit of a tentative link to my family history. Our last Cemetery stop of the day was at Twelve Tree Copse, sadly we discovered that there was to be no happy ending for our letter writer Captain Usher as he is buried there. We stood at his grave side and listened as two letters sent to his wife about his death, one from his friend and the other from his Padre were read out.

Arriving back in the room we were pleasantly surprised to see a couple of plates of fresh fruit had been very thoughtfully provided by the Hotel. To be honest the outside of the Satsuma looked a ‘bit suspect’ as though it had seen better days, however the contents were possibly the best I have ever tasted. Should have known really not to judge a book by its cover! I had the bright idea of visiting the Turkish Baths! Surprisingly we managed to ensnare a number of our party to accompany us (safety in numbers I thought). The baths are tucked away down the back streets I found this area really interesting with dark narrow cobbled streets dimly lit by the odd shaft of light coming from shops and cafés. Once inside the baths themselves we found it to be a round structure with a very high domed roof, a bit like a miniature St Paul’s Cathedral but without the hymns. In the middle of the floor was a raised sitting area made of what looked like a complete slab of marble, around the edges of the walls were individual bowls/large sinks that looked as though they had been shaped out of solid blocks of stone. The baths were lit by single light hanging on a long lead from the middle of the ceiling which gave it a strange ambiance.

After we had warmed up nicely for about 15 minutes a small Turkish chap walked in, it transpired that he was the masseuse, bravely I volunteered Crackers to go first and sat there giggling uncontrollably as his massage commenced, he asked if Crackers was Australian, when he said “no” and declared his Englishness I am convinced the masseur got rougher! As usual my underhand tactics completely backfired as another Turk walked in, however this chap was the size of small house with hands the size of dustbin lids, without any introduction at all he pushed me face down onto the slab and lathered me up and got to work!

The next day started at Anzac beach, on arrival the rain and spray was coming in off the Aegean sideways. But it was not going to dampen my enthusiasm as I had waited a long time to get here, I allowed myself a wry smile as I had promised myself a dip in the sea here, but alas it was not to be on this visit. Despite being the only visitors to the beach, a minivan arrived and Mr ‘T’ the ‘T’ Shirt man set up his stall, several of our party grateful to buy ‘Anzac’ logo’ fleeces from him to keep the unexpected cold at bay. His dog was obviously trying them out first as it was asleep on them in the van! Utilising what shelter we could behind the lee of the bushes in Anzac Cemetery Clive & Julian accurately and expertly set the scene for us and totally absorbed I soon forgot the rain that was trickling down my neck off my hat

Looking out on the deserted, desolate and windswept beach I began to picture in my mind those magnificent Anzac troops strolling around shirtless with their ‘slouch’ hats on, full of a spirit of mischief, fun and adventure and a very long way from home, totally oblivious or perhaps even contemptuous to the odd Turkish shelling falling in the bay. Picking up the coastal path we visited Beach Cemetery were we stood by the grave of Private John Simpson and heard of his exploits and his tireless work evacuating the wounded down the hillside from the front line using donkeys, legend has it that he was actually buried with one of his favourite donkey’s called ‘Murphy’! Amazingly, Mr ‘T’s’ dog had left its warm bed and followed us and now sat and listened intently to the account as well! Continuing along the footpath we crossed a crude bridge that appeared to have been built over a natural gully using Great War debris including railway lines and ‘elephant’ iron. Just south of here we turned inland and started to climb up a dirt track that I believe was called Artillery Road but was also known as ‘Shrapnel’ Valley, ironically that name still seemed appropriate as the rain had started to form small streams that were trickling down the path uncovering numerous bits of small rusted shards of metal and debris as well as exposing some lead shrapnel balls. Our first stop along the path was at ‘Shell Green’ Cemetery, this is the area would you believe was where the Anzac troops actually played cricket in the December to create the impression that ‘everything was normal’ as preparations for the withdrawal took place. Again we were able to call on an historic contemporary photo taken during the match to draw the comparison.

While we were in a sporty mood our ‘Aussie’ team member George gave us a demonstration of a popular Great War Anzac pastime of ‘Two’s’ up! Wisely I kept my ‘wonga’ in me sky rocket! As we gained height the panorama naturally opened up significantly and we had wonderful views out over the sea which despite the dull day was a magnificent contrast of blues, brilliant azure next to the beach edged by the sand but almost a bold royal blue as the water deepened. When at last we reached the crest of the hill we could clearly see the numerous outlines of trenches in the sandy earth snaking amongst the pine trees and then all of a sudden we got our first sight of Lone Pine Cemetery which looked absolutely stunning. Standing on the edge of the cemetery Julian recounted the amazing exploits of the Australian sniper Billy SINGH who operated in this area. Despite this being one of the most visited spots on the Peninsula incredibly the odd cartridge case and live bullet could still be seen in the scrub. After lunch we continued our walk and visited Johnston’s Jolly and strolled among the trench lines between the mighty pines that now grow in abundance, again the senses were assaulted by the delicious aroma of the pines. In a couple of places entrances to deep dugouts could clearly be seen, but further exploration was perhaps wisely prohibited by stout wire gates.  We then took an incredibly steep path to the left of the road, it disappeared sharply downwards into the pines and scrub, After approximately 200 yards the path opened up to reveal the 4th Battalion Parade Ground Cemetery. This was a very picturesque setting and had a really quiet, remote and rather serene feel to it as it nestled into the folds of the pine clad hills but also enjoying a wonderful view over the distant Shrapnel Valley Cemetery and out to sea. In amongst the scrub you could clearly make out some areas were the Anzac’s had used the protection of the reverse slope of the hill and scrapped out small bolt holes and shelters to provide a bit of respite and comfort. You could easily imagine them all huddled together with smoke wafting upwards from their campfires as they struggle to make a brew! Climbing slowly back up the path, we stumbled (Literarily) across the entrance to a yet another deep dugout, this one completely open to the world. We continued walking along the road that hugs the crest of the ridge stopping at Courtney & Steele’s Post then Quinn’s Post CWGC where the clouds had cleared sufficiently to allow a beautiful view towards the mysterious looking Island of Imbros.
On the other side of the road here you could clearly see the remains of some Turkish trenches, which at this spot were just a few yards from the Anzac’s positions. The view inland from this crest was incredible and you did not need to be ‘Storming’ Norman Schwarzkopf to appreciate its tactical importance to both sides!

Stopping to view the Turkish Memorials along the way we were a bit perturbed to see the giant monument of a Turkish Soldier was actually swaying considerably in the wind, perhaps it was not solid brass as I had first thought! As we approached the Nek we saw three very large and long abandoned rusting metal containers tucked away either side of the path which we suspected were Allied drinking water storage tanks!
On the Nek itself we had incredible views towards Suvla Bay, we spent some time exploring the preserved trenches in this area, sadly these appear to have been somewhat neglected and were in a bad state of repair, but the collapse of one parapet had exposed some live (303) bullets and a number of spent cartridge cases.

Another rather dull start to the day, weather wise that is, found us standing on the summit of Chunuk Bair surveying the New Zealanders Cemetery and Memorial. I was surprised to discover that looking inland to the east you could actually see directly across the Peninsula and see the Dardenelles and just pick out the Asiatic Coast.

Looking to the North East we had a wonderfully panoramic view over Suvla Bay, I had to agree with Clive’s astute observation that it was actually just like looking at a giant map, you could clearly see the Salt Lake, and other easily identifiable features like the headland of Lala Baba and the high ground of Tekke Pepe. Our aim on today’s walk was to reach the sea by following (in reverse) the route taken by the NZ Forces during their attacks on the Bair on the 7th/8th August. From the Bair we took a narrow and very steep footpath that just seemed to disappear into almost a tunnel of pine trees that instantly seemed to cocoon you in darkness, years of fallen pine needles clogged the path muffling our footsteps and cunningly hiding tree roots and the odd loose rock that was waiting to twist the ankle of the unwary. Again their was the wonderful smell of the pine needles, the trees coupled with the gradient also provided a perfect windbreak with the temperature noticeably increasing as we descended, the trusty walking pole was certainly put to good use!

We soon found ourselves emerging almost blinking back into the daylight before arriving on a small grass plateau that contained the very isolated Farm Cemetery. Here Clive and Julian set the scene perfectly for us and described the actions that took place here, using soldiers contemporary accounts of their experiences and also informing us of the British and Ghurkha involvement in the action which I had previously been unaware off! It is worth noting rather ironically that Ataturks statue situated on the Bair could be clearly seen observing us through the trees, a bit like he and his compatriots did over the New Zealanders all those years ago. Continuing our decent we joined what I presumed to be an access track that showed traces of some recent vehicle use, in places where the wheels have battled for a bit of traction large ruts had been dug out of the surface exposing the odd remnant of Great War debris, I happened upon the severed end of a spoon, sadly despite a great deal of spit, polish and wishful thinking I could not find any trace of a name or number, so I committed it back to the yellow earth. Leaving this track we embarked upon what I can only describe as a truly stunning piece of scenery as we walked along a spur called Rhododendron Ridge. The path was somewhat precarious in places and a couple of the safety hand rails supplied looked as they were only held in place by a few dusty cobwebs. The hills along this stretch seemed to be comprised of a series of what I would describe as false ridges, each time you think you have conquered the crest the path just simply frustrates you by falling away again before it starts to climb up the next ridge. There appeared to be many man made indentations in the slopes facing the sea, obviously ‘hidey holes’ or dugouts used by the troops as a bit of shelter from the Turkish lead and interference. Again there was also more tangible evidence of the Great War to be seen scattered around, including a ‘key can opener’ for a can of bully beef. One find I most definitely did not pick up and examine was a detonator still wrapped in the shredded remnants of some fabric (gun cotton?) which we surmised could have been from a Jam tin bomb, arriving on the deserted coast road we spent time paying our respects at No 2 outpost & New Zealand No 2 Outpost Cemeteries.

The final day on the Peninsula started a bit earlier than previous days thanks to the kind cooperation of my fellow travellers who willingly agreed (ok they were press ganged!) to accompany me on a bit of a pilgrimage to the CWGC Cemetery ay Lala Baba where I had promised to place a small cross on the grave of a friends Great Grandfather on behalf of her and her father. Well I should have really expected a little bit of a trek to locate this spot as even the Holt’s guide described it as virtually impossible for vehicles! This transpired to be a bit of an understatement, however this did not stop our determined and resourceful driver Farook who took the Holts claim as a personal challenge and indulged in some early morning off roading and rally cross in his 22 seater coach, but thanks solely to his Herculean efforts we got to within 200 hundred yards of the site before he grudgingly admitted defeat!

The cemetery is incredibly isolated and situated on a spot of high ground which affords stunning views over not only the immediate area of Suvla Bay and the Salt Lake but also back towards the commanding high ground of Chunuk Bair. It was quite a sombre and moving moment for me when I knelt at the grave side of Private Macklin and placed his descendents simple cross into the soil witnessed by my travelling companions. Unbeknown to me Julian and Clive informed me of some research that they had kindly undertaken, it transpired that Private Macklin was one of eight men killed and thirty five injured by a single shell, we discovered six of his comrades in adjoining graves, one lad only 17 years of age, the same age as my son.

Yes I freely admit that there was most defiantly a tear or two in the old eye and a lump in my throat at this special moment.

Our walk for today started at Hill 10 CWGC Cemetery and we followed in the footsteps of the 1st/5th Norfolk’s who were also known as the ‘Vanished Battalion.’ Clive and Julian set the scene and then gave each member of the group a small slip of paper bearing the name of an actual participant of the event which I thought was a novel idea and added to the interest. From the Cemetery looking in land and the area of the Norfolk’s advance your eyes cannot fail to be drawn to the high grounds menacing presence, totally dominating the whole of Suvla Bay

The walk itself was actually on levelish ground all the way, and at last we were treated to the odd shaft of welcome sunlight breaking through the clouds. During our walk Clive and Julian stopped at key locations along the way and heard how the Norfolk’s progression inland had developed, one by one our groups numbers mentally thinned out as we learned the fate of each of the men on our allotted slips of paper.
Our destination was Azmak Cemetery; again we found ourselves miles from anywhere, here we stood in sombre remembrance actually on the area that the remains of the unidentified Norfolk’s were interred after the war. The moment was made even more poignant as Clive showed us a picture of his Great Uncle who was among the missing Norfolk’s. We then shared a hip flask and drunk a toast. We were not actually alone in the Cemetery as it appeared to have a canine guardian, well I think it was a dog as it was actually the size of a small donkey, had a head like a female lion, word spread quickly around the canine world and a considerable number of his manic mates from a passing goat herd decided they wanted a share! At this stage I bravely decided to go for help while Clive kept them busy and performed a neat rearguard action! OK the truth is I abandoned everybody! Then from the safety of the coach I amused myself by taking pictures and shouting helpful, handy hints and smart comments to Clive as he tried to explain to the gathering pack of the lack of canine supplies.

On board the Ferry for the last time I had a farewell cup of cha with my mate on the tea stall who insisted on serenading me with his penny whistle, can I add a big public “thank you gentlemen” to the trip organisers and fellow Forum members; Clive Harris and Julian Whippy for providing such an interesting and varied itinerary, well done.