Photostat copy of diaries of Benjamin Bennett Leane, 1915 - Part 27

100

of smoke and dirt that were

being flung into the air.

Lord Kitchener left here

yesterday. He got a great

send off from the boys on

the beach, and for once the

great man deigned to speak

he said he had been over

the position and was satisfied

that we had done all that

was possible in the time, and

assured us that we had

carried out more than had

been expected of us. Quite a

long and flowery speech for "K".

I suppose he has found like

everybody else, that if you

want the Australian boys to do

anything you have to pull 

their legs — kid to 'em as

it were; pat 'em on the back

and say "sool 'em boy."
Tuesday Nov. 16^th 1915. noon.
Weather calmed down a
good deal, but there is 
still a heavy swell on. I don't
think the 9^th & 11^th will get away
today. I've bet the Quartermaster
(Capt. Minagall) a bottle
of Port Wine (to be paid first
opportunity) that they don't get
away tonight.
Later. 4 pm.
I've won my bet. We have
just received a message from
the M.L.O. to say that although
it may be possible to land
the 2^nd Brigade (our relief) tonight,
it will not be possible to embark
the 9^th & 11^th Bns. Major Peek
(Brigade Major) says we will
most likely have to hand over

 

102
to the 2^nd Bde. tomorrow, so that
means we will have to bivouac
down in the valley tomorrow
night. Never mind.
Later again — 9 pm.
I've lost my bottle of port after
all. The sea calmed down &
quietly this afternoon, and the
sunset was one of the most
gorgeous I have ever seen.
Just about tea time came
a message to say that 9^th & 11^th
(and our advance party) were
to hold themselves in readiness
to embark at a quarter of an
hour's notice. Later came
definite orders to be at the
pier at 9 pm., and that we
( 11^th & 12^th Bns.) are to hand over 
to incoming relief at 10 am.
tomorrow. I have just seen

the 9^th & 11^th move out. It is a 
glorious moonlight night, and
the transport down in the bay
shows up quite plainly. I
shouldn't wonder if they got a
few shells over from "Beachy".
This time tomorrow I hope we

will be making for the beach.
Wednesday 17^th 6 30 pm — Dark.
This has been a — of a day
kiddie. The morning opened up
just a bit blowy, and as the
day wore on the wind increased,
in strength and the sea worked
up into delightful little white
horses. However, the relieving
Brigade came up, and we
moved out shortly after
lunch. By this time the wind

was blowing a perfect gale, and
sand and grit and everything

 

104
else unpleasant was flying about.
To make matters worse, we had
trouble with the 12^th Bn, who were
moving out with us, and were
to share bivouac space with us.
I went along with the 12^th. Adjt early
this morning and we agreed on a
definite boundary line, and I then
proceeded to allot spaces for Headqrs.
& Coys. Unfortunately the
only dugout that could be
called a dugout came just
on our side of the boundary line.
This I allotted to the C.O. and
2^nd in Command. Later, when
we came down to take over
we found a couple 12^th Bn
officers in it. We pointed out
that it was within our bounds
but they refused to shift, and
when their Adjt. was referred to 

he also tried to shuffle. In the end
I referred it to the B.M. who
not only gave us our point, but
also moved our boundary line
some yards further north, thus
giving us a great deal more
space. In the end, after
much "strafe-ing" and cursing
and losing of tempers we all
got settled down by about
3 pm, which wasn't bad considering
what a rotten day it
was. We always seem to
have bad weather for our moves
Do you remember what a beastly
day it was the day we 
struck camp at Mena ? Well,
this was just such another
day. It is now 6.30 and
the wind is still blowing strongly
and a heavy sea is running.

 

106
It also threatens rain. It is
certain we won't get away tonight
and quite possible that we won't
get away for some days. However,
we " 'as 'opes." I am writing
this with the aid of my electric
torch, which repeatedly "blinks."
It's too early to go to bed; it's
too windy & dusty to sit outside
and admire the moonlight on
the water; and we have no
lamps or candles, so I can't
read. So imagine me
here for the next hour or two
seated on my stationery box
in a hole in the ground with
a blanket stretched over the
top to keep out the rain,
smoking the pipe of peace
and solitude — in the dark.
Oh for my comfy dugout.

back in the old 10^th lines. Some

lucky staff officer belonging to the

2^nd Brigade is doubtless sleeping

there tonight. Let's hope the

wind drops tomorrow so that we

can get away.
Thursday 18^th

Last night was a fitting climax

to the day it followed. At about

eight o'clock (just after I had finished

my entry in the diary, a light 

rain commenced to fall. Presently

the blanket overhead began to leak

slightly. I waited to see where the

leaks were worst and then spread

my blankets, intending to turn in.

And then without warning the rain

began to pour down heavily. My

blanket roof gradually sagged in 

the centre as it collected the water

and then suddenly it collapsed.
 

108             

and flooded out my position.

Simultaneously the slush and 

overflow from the higher levels (we

are camped on the steep slope of a hill)

came pouring in over the wall, right

on to my blankets. I hurriedly

folded them up in the waterproof

sheet, and then, as the rain still

continued to pour, I decided to

make a dash for the CO's dugout

for shelter. After I had done

the treadmill act for a few minutes

in a futile attempt to climb the

steep, slippery slope, I gave it

up, and retired, wetter and wiser,

to what little shelter my collapsed 

blanket roof afforded. I crouched

there for awhile feeling very

dismal until I heard a 

shout from the M.O. as his dugout

collapsed. Then the Quartermaster

remonstrated loudly as the wind caught

his blanket and whirled it away.

And then from all along the lines, 

as the torrent of thick muddy

liquid gradually found the lower

levels, came shouts and abuse

and — as someone perceived a 

comrade in worse plight than

himself — roars of laughter.

After that I felt better; and

when a roar came up from the 

men's lines "Are we downhearted?"

and a bigger roar replied "No!"

I began to think things weren't so

bad after all. Furthermore, the

violence of the rain diminished to

a light drizzle, so I decided to

make the best of things and turn in.

My jacket and breeches were wet

through, and my blankets were

also far from dry. In addition, the

 

110                 

floor was a puddle. However, I took

off my jacket, put on my woollen

cardigan, took off my boots, and

rolled up in my blankets determined

to stick there even if it

poured. It proved a wise 

plan, for I went to sleep and

slept soundly until the Doc's

voice woke me about 6am. calling 

out "Come here and look at this

fellow rolled up snug and warm".

It appears that he and several

others had spent the night walking 

about in an endeavour to get warm.

This morning we all presented a

sorry appearance. Everybody

was more or less covered in mud.

The Machine Gun Officer and Signalling

Officer looked as though they had

spent the night in a particularly

filthy gutter. The M.G.O. had lost

his time and the S.O. his overcoat.

However, the morning dawned bright

and sunny, and after a shave

and wash and some breakfast

we all felt in a better frame of mind.
We are in hopes of getting away

tonight as the sea has abated

considerably. The C.O. and 2^nd

have gone to the beach for news

and I am awaiting their return

with eagerness.
Later — The CO & 2^nd returned about

tea time with doleful news; however

they brought a tin of rolled oats with

them, which means porridge for

breakfast, so their journey was not

without purpose.
8pm. A message has just come

from Brigade stating that in all

probability, we will not be able

to move for two or three days.

 

112                

I understand that it is because

of a strike among the sailors on 

the transport which was to have 

taken us away. Most of them
are Greeks. Gott strafe the Greeks !

I guess our chaps would give 

them 'strike' if they could get

among them.
"Beachy Bill" is sending over

a lot of shrapnel to the landing

section of the beach. Perhaps they

think we are moving tonight.

Friday. Nov 19^th 1915. 4pm.

I had a beastly night of it.

Something I have eaten has not

agreed with me, and I was

awakened about midnight with

beastly pains in my tummy,

and a most unusual fit of

belching. As I had a similar

experience about a fortnight ago,

on which occasion I just had the time

to get outside before being violently

sick, I decided to get out

right away. After about an

hour's wait in _∧the bleak night air

I gave it up and went back

to bed. About 5 a.m. I awoke

again with a tummy like

that of a poisoned pup. (Excuse

all these vulgar details, won't 

you; but I am sure you'd like

to hear all about it). Anyway,

I put in a further miserable

half hour and then curled up 

in my blankets till getting up

time. The breakfast porridge

and a cup of cocoa (I eschewed

bacon) made me feel much better —

tempered, but I couldn't face 

salmon patties at dinner, nor 

do I feel very kindly towards

 

114                 

tea. (I'm a garrulous old

bird, am I not!)
It was a beautiful evening,

was last evening. Bright

moonlight, crisp and "snappy".

Our bivouac overlooks the sea, 

and the chaps are all camped

on "terraces" on the hill slopes. They

made little camp fires, and 

were very cheerful, singing

chorus after chorus until

about half past eight, when

they gradually quietened and

went to sleep.
The only unpleasant note

was "Beachy", who at intervals

all through the night kept

sending shrapnel over the beach.

All day today, too, he

has been very busy. We timed

him for a short period, and

in five minutes he put over 32

shells. He has a proud 

record, has "Beachy". Up to

date he has almost a battalion

and a half (about 1500) killed

and wounded to his credit, and

today (or rather during the past

twenty four hours) he has

added a further seventy to

his score. One shell caught seven.

Of course, if isn't the same

gun, nor yet one gun. It is

a well placed and well

concealed battery in an olive

grove away over behind Gaba

Tepe. Our guns have put

gun after gun out of action,

but apparently as fast as

one is blown up another is

brought along to take its place.
The men take it all in a

 

116              

very philosophical manner. I 

heard two of them talking as

they passed me yesterday. They

were portion of a large fatigue

party which had evidently been

sent to the beach to carry up

iron and timber (they didn't

belong to us). One chap,

staggering under a few sheets of

galvanised iron spoke to his

mate, likewise burdened;

"Who was that other chap besides

George, who got knocked out?"

"Dunno; a bloke from No 8 section

I think. Anyway he was

saved a walk back"

'Yes, and the lucky blighter

got out of carting this blanky

iron up the hill too'.

Anything but loss or morale!
Yesterday afternoon, too

"Fritz" (a German Taube from the Turk's 

lines — they call them all "Fritz")

came over our lines and circled

round overhead with the

apparent intention of dropping

a bomb. Did everyone scurry 

for cover? Not a one! A cry

went up "Here's old Fritz"

and immediately those who were

in dugouts came out, and 

all eyes — and field glasses where

available — were turned skywards.

Presently with a swish — swish

— swish — down came the 

bomb; but the airman's aim

was faulty, and it dropped 

out to sea. Then our anti-

aircraft guns opened on him,

and he headed for home.

As each shrapnel shell burst

and unfolded its ball

 

118            

of fleece in the sky, a cry

of approval or derision

would go up. If it was a

"wide" there would be a yell

of "take the bowler off"

But presently the gun fired

again, and everyone watched and

waited — then a tiny ball

of white unfolded itself almost

under the tail of the big

bird. For the moment I

almost imagined that it was

Saturday afternoon and that

I was at the Adelaide Oval,

for the roar that went up

was just that same roar

that used to rise when

someone took a good mark

in front of goal.
However Fritz got away with 

it, but it was a beautiful

shot nevertheless.
I went over to Brigade Headqrs.

this afternoon to see if the B.M. knew

anything. The Brigadier was

there too, but neither had

any further orders beyond that

issued yesterday. However,

"hope springs eternal in the human

breast" and consequently we

have got our baggage all ready

packed, and any operation

orders are all ready written

out just waiting for the hours

to be written in, in anticipation.
The sea is beautifully calm

and there is hardly a breath of

wind.
Saturday, Nov 20^th. Still here,

and from all appearances likely

to remain. It's blowing up for

rain tonight I think, so my batman