Gallipoli Diary, Volume II | Page 6

Divisions in Suvla Bay and the
diversion to be made by Legge on the right by storming Lone Pine,
Birdwood makes it clear in a letter just to hand, that he has told his two
Divisional Generals everything. I had not yet gone into some of these
details with Hunter-Weston, Stopford or Bailloud, all Corps
Commanders, for I am afraid of the news filtering down to the juniors
and from them, in the mysterious way news does pass, to the rank and
file of both services. Thence to the Turks is but a step. Were the Turks
to get wind of our plan, there would be nothing for it but to change the
whole thing, even now, at the eleventh hour.
Lieutenant-Colonel F. G. Fuller, my late G.S.O. (1) in the Central
Force, came over to lunch. He is now G.S.O. (2) of the 9th Corps.
At 5.30 p.m. rode over to "K" Beach for the second time and inspected
the Indian Brigade under Brigadier-General Cox. They had to be pulled
out some time ago and given a rest. On parade were the 5th, 6th and
10th Gurkha Battalions with the 14th Sikhs. Walked down both lines
and chatted with the British and Indian Officers. The men looked
cheerful and much recovered. In the evening Charlie Burn, King's
Messenger, and Captain Glyn came to dinner. Glyn has been sent out as
a sort of emissary, but whether by K. or by the Intelligence or by the
Admiralty neither Braithwaite nor I are quite able to understand.
Cabled the War Office insisting that the lack of ammunition is
"disturbing." Also, that "half my anxieties would vanish" if only the
Master-General of Ordnance would see to it himself that the fortnightly
allowance could be despatched regularly. I could hardly put it stronger.
Midnight.--Just back from G.S. tent with the latest. So far, so good.
Bailloud and Hunter-Weston have carried two lines of Turkish trenches,
an advance of two to four hundred yards. But the ammunition question
has reached a crisis, and has become dangerous--very dangerous. On
the whole Southern theatre of operations, counting shell in limbers and

shell loaded in guns, we have 5,000 rounds of shrapnel. No high
explosive--and fighting is still going on!
Hi jaculis illi certant defendere saxis.
To whomsoever of my ancestors bequeathed me my power of
detachment deep salaams! How many much better men than myself
would not close their eyes to-night with a battle on the balance and
5,000 rounds wherewith to fight it? But I shall sleep--D.V.; I can't
create shell by taking thought any more than Gouraud could retake the
Haricot by not drinking his coffee.
16th July, 1915. Imbros. Forcing myself to work though I feel
unspeakably slack; wrangling with the War Office about doctors,
nurses, orderlies and ships for our August battles. A few days ago I sent
the following cable and they want to cut us down:--
* * * * *
"It seems likely that during the first week of August we may have
80,000 rifles in the firing line striving for a decisive result, and
therefore certain that we shall then need more medical assistance. Quite
impossible to foresee casualties, but suppose, for example, we suffered
a loss of 20,000 men; though the figure seems alarming when put down
in cold blood, it is not an extravagant proportion when calculated on
basis of Dardanelles fighting up to date. If this figure is translated into
terms of requirements such a battle would involve conversion of, say,
30 transports into temporary hospital ships, and necessitate something
like 200 extra medical officers, with Royal Army Medical Corps rank
and file and nurses in proportion. If my prognosis is concurred in, these
should reach Mudros on or about 1st August. Some would D.V., prove
superfluous, and could be sent back at once, and in any case they could
return as soon as possible after operations, say, 1st September. Medical
and surgical equipment, drugs, mattresses in due proportion. In a
separate message I will deal with the deficiencies in ordinary
establishment, but I think it best to keep this cable as to specified and
exceptional demands distinct."

17th July, 1915. Imbros. After lunch felt so sick of scribble, scribble,
scribble whilst adventure sat seductive upon my doorstep that I
fluttered forth. At 2 o'clock boarded H.M.S. Savage
(Lieutenant-Commander Homer) and, with Aspinall and Freddie,
steered for Gully Beach. We didn't cast anchor but got into a
cockleshell of a small dinghy and rowed ashore under the cliffs, where
we were met by de Lisle. Along the beach men were either bathing or
basking mother-naked on the hot sand--enjoying themselves thoroughly.
I walked on the edge of the sea, as far as the point which hides the
gully's mouth from the Turkish gunners, and was specially struck