AT
THE DARDANELLES – A SOLDIER’S LETTER –16 July, 1915
Continued
from previous page
11
The
following highly interesting letter has been received from Private Bert
SMYTHE, an old Jerilderie Boy, who
was wounded in the Dardanelles:-
While
observing this morning picked up a couple of snipers crawling back, so I
grabbed my rifle but could not see them without the glasses for some time.
Found them at last. Both were lying still – one half behind a bush.
Knocked the dust up under one with 500 yards up. Saw the other move then
so I gave them three each for luck. They were still there some time
later in the morning. Was hit again by a spent bullet; only this time it
was one of our own and I had a look to see if it went in, it hit so hard.
As the Turks were known to use our rifles and ammunition, very likely it was
fired by a Turk. I picked it up in the dirt afterwards.
The beggars
will go to any length to gain their ends. Several were shot dressed in the
NZ uniforms. Some of them were very brave and actually got into our
trenches and were giving orders as cool as cucumbers but they invariably got
discovered and paid the penalty without any waste of time. They’d get up
and order us to cease fire or perhaps to get out of the trenches and prepare
to charge and all sorts of other dodges. The enemy every night used to get
up to within 50 yards and even closer and you can imagine what would happen
if we got out of our trenches and stood up in the bright moonlight. We were
not having any, thanks!
Tuesday was
our worst night as per usual no one got any sleep. The Turks evidently
intended to attack with the bayonet along the whole front but they got such
a reception on the left, where they started first, that they abandoned it.
Under fearful fire from our trenches they formed up in line to charge
three times and each time they were cut to pieces – mown down
like hay. They were brave and by the extreme steadiness must have been
trained troops. As a preparatory dose they gave us an awful time with
shrapnel right up to a good while after dark on Tuesday evening.
Had another
very lucky escape during the afternoon. - A concussion shrapnel landed fair
on my observation post about 5 yards off and made an awful mess of it. I
said to myself “By Jingo, the next one will just about land right on top of
us.” And it did. Landed right in the trench fair opposite us and buried us
up to our necks in dirt. I scrambled to my feet to see if I was hurt and
was mighty thankful to find I wasn’t. Major Brown was the only one touched
and he got his face still more marked and blood covered. He had a bandage
over one eye and the rest of his face was covered in blood from small skin
wounds.
Whilst
having tea a bit after dark I had to take an officer to a trench he did not
know. Only expected to be away 10 minutes so I left haversack, water
bottle and rifle and all behind me. While away the enemy suddenly threatened
us with a bayonet charge so we all rushed to the front line. I grabbed a
rifle –a broken one too – fixed the bayonet and hopped in with them.
The trenches were only holes scraped in the earth. Three of us were crammed
into a hole too small for one. One chap was in one end, one in the other
and I lay on the side with my feet in the trench. No sleep again for any of
us. We hadn’t been in position long before a chap decided to rush back for
something or other. He’d hardly started before he fell moaning in
a heartbreaking tone, “I’m badly wounded, oh I’m badly wounded.” The poor
fellow’s cries ceased before long. He had fought and given his life!
Another chap
tried to rush from an outpost trench to us and when about half way they got
him low in the stomach. The poor beggar was groaning awfully all the way.
He lay in our trench and was alive the next night but there was no possible
hope for him. Poor beggar! Our company cook, a letter carrier named Cox,
was in a hole dug half way to the outpost trench to repeat verbal orders.
After a while they could not raise him and on investigation found that he
had gone on the Unknown Journey. A sniper got him in the head. A chap
near me the next afternoon had a had a very narrow squeak. A bullet went
through his cap and took a bit of skin off his head.
We had to
cross over a hundred yards under fire to reach safety at the rear of the
hill so we rushed over. About 10 yards from the safety trench I stopped to
walk when I got a knock in the shoulder like a kick off a 12 inch gun. I
didn’t want another and tumbled into the trench mighty quick. Got the wound
dressed and was walked back to the rear. I’m hanged if I know where the
beggar could have been. He must have been almost under me and the valley
beneath us was full of our own boys. The bullet went in at the back of my
armpit and came out near the top of my shoulder in front.
Had the good
luck to see Vernie
(the
writer’s brother Ed.) near the Ambulance Hospital. He was OK and made me
a cup of tea and it quite put me in a good humour then had -- (line
missed on the copy – Ed.) By Jingo they made things hum. Had a fairly
good time on the hospital ship on the way to Alexandria but got a bad dose
of fever of some sort but am pretty right now though the fever took a lot of
flesh off me. My wounds are healed externally but can’t for the life of me
lift my arm sideways yet.
We were all
in a high old humour when they told us that we were going to England. The
“Ghoorka” was originally intended for an Indian hospital ship but they
shoved us into her. Nearly all the medical staff were Hindoes and a very
intelligent lot they were too. The doctor that looked after me was a real
intelligent chap and thoroughly understood his work. We arrived
at Southampton, Sunday, 16th May. They put us in a lovely hospital train.
We absolutely couldn’t feel it starting and we got two meals and every
attention on the way to Birmingham. You ought to see the English scenery.
I don’t know what it is like in winter but in the spring-----well words
can’t describe it. It’s glorious. Lovely green fields fringed in almost
every case by either beautiful hedges or trees and some small clumps of
trees scattered here and there and the roads lovely and white and smooth.
And complexions! Everyone, whether boy or girl, man or woman have the
loveliest rosy cheeks and lips that you could imagine you’d think they were
eternally blushing.
We got a
great reception at Birmingham. As soon as we got off the platform there was
a long line of motors waiting for us and an enormous crowd and they cheered
us all a treat. It was the same all the way to the hospital. Everybody we
passed waved to us and gave us a smile of welcome. It was particularly
cheerful after being outside of civilisation since we left dear old
Australia.
But this
hospital takes the bun. Why, it’s a blooming gaol. The things we mustn’t
do that we want to do, are only exceeded by the things we must do that we
don’t want to do. Practically all of us have been kept in bed though we are
all able to potter round. Lights are out at 8 p.m. We have to get up at 5
o’clock so that the beds can be made and then we have to get back into bed.
There are 44
beds in this ward which is known as ‘B4’. I asked the nurse if we would be
put in the ‘after’ ward next week but she didn’t even crack a smile.
That’s the worst of these nurses. They don’t smile enough. They all get
about as sober as a captured spy. I’ve been working overtime making them
smile whenever they come near. Drew absolute blanks at first but thing are
improving now. Got one of them to look happy for 10 secs. It makes me feel
quite dispirited.
Good news!
The quack has just been around and he says that I can get up, so when they
bring me my gaol suit – coat and trousers of blue fleece lined material –
I’ll do so. They have all my other clothes, so of course I have to stay in
bed. The regulations only allow us to wander in certain parts of the
grounds so even our liberty outside is curtailed. As for getting out
and looking over Birmingham, I believe the nurses would have a seizure
if you mentioned it to them. I haven’t had a shave for a month. You ought
to see me. I lost everything but what I stood up in when I was shot
including my razor etc.
(If there was more to this portion of the letter – it was not on the sheet
that I have Ed).
THE
JERILDERIE HERALD AND URANA ADVERTISER – June 30, 1916
LIFE
IN THE TRENCHES – GALLIPOLI EXPERIENCES OF AN OLD JERILDERIE BOY.
Corporal
Bert SMYTHE, and (?) old Jerilderie
boy, writes interesting narrative concerning trench warfare in Gallipoli in
which campaign he participated.
