Monday 17 May 1915
Injured, wounded people lie on the muddy grounds of no mans land yelling out for help, their faces showing pain. But we can't rescue them, otherwise we will get shot. I turn away from the horrible sight and stare at soldiers playing cards,writing letters and sleeping. The smell, from the muddy trenches stinky boots, fresh blood, to smoke, kerosene fuel tanks and decaying bodies, make us all feel even sicker than we did on the boat trip over here. It's the second day of war here and there are already 16 casualties and 5 people dead. Our bivouac is sweltering hot and I am squished into a corner in my dug out shelter in the trench itchy and hungry. Our first casualty was a man who I had grown quite fond of. He wasn't hurt but he had an illness, we were not told what it was but we could hear him vomiting and coughing in the bivvi next to us. Henry Laurent. It was just horrible when every time he hoarsely called out "Orderly, orderly I need water." We weren't allowed to go anywhere near him in fear of catching his illness. Right now bombs are crashing over Gallipoli like hail pelting down on a roof. It is still really hot and the ground has turned red. Before we came we hadn't even heard of Gallipoli. Some didn't know how to spell it. But now we are here, and we are not enjoying it.
Tuesday 18 May 1915
I am sadly touching my shaven hair when suddenly a gunshot rings out. Loud and clear, there is no mistaking this one. I grab my freshly polished rifle and scramble out of our bivvi, while others grab periscopes and rifles. As we filed out to the battle ground you could smell cordite, wild thyme and lavender mixed with the trenches. The soldiers are scattered everywhere running in all directions. I take my place behind the sandbags in my trench and aim my rifle at the Turks. The captains shrill, ear piercing whistle is blown. I take a breath and I jump up the sandbags losing my footing on the loose sandbags and firing my rifle bullet after bullet. I look back when suddenly a horrific pain washes over me. I collapse on the ground getting a mouthful of dirt. All around me I can hear a distant sound of bombs and gunshots fading in and out. A pair of rough hands grabbed my legs and pulled me back into the trench.
Wednesday 19 May 1915
I have been shot in the leg. It hurts. It is not fun. I was carried on a stretcher with blood stained sheets. It was better than nothing I suppose. Everyone was staring at me, probably glad it wasn’t them. I was carried away to the general's tent and had a bandage wrapped around my leg. Then it was "Just get out there boy." So I had to battle my way through Gallipoli with a sore shot leg. Meal times were just as bad. Hard, tooth breaking biscuits called ships biscuit. You had to dunk them in the murky water in your cup to eat them without breaking your teeth. Beef bully for tea and porridge for breakfast. We still have another couple of months to go until the end of war, hopefully those days will pass like five minutes, but I have a funny feeling it won't.
By Ashleigh
Injured, wounded people lie on the muddy grounds of no mans land yelling out for help, their faces showing pain. But we can't rescue them, otherwise we will get shot. I turn away from the horrible sight and stare at soldiers playing cards,writing letters and sleeping. The smell, from the muddy trenches stinky boots, fresh blood, to smoke, kerosene fuel tanks and decaying bodies, make us all feel even sicker than we did on the boat trip over here. It's the second day of war here and there are already 16 casualties and 5 people dead. Our bivouac is sweltering hot and I am squished into a corner in my dug out shelter in the trench itchy and hungry. Our first casualty was a man who I had grown quite fond of. He wasn't hurt but he had an illness, we were not told what it was but we could hear him vomiting and coughing in the bivvi next to us. Henry Laurent. It was just horrible when every time he hoarsely called out "Orderly, orderly I need water." We weren't allowed to go anywhere near him in fear of catching his illness. Right now bombs are crashing over Gallipoli like hail pelting down on a roof. It is still really hot and the ground has turned red. Before we came we hadn't even heard of Gallipoli. Some didn't know how to spell it. But now we are here, and we are not enjoying it.
Tuesday 18 May 1915
I am sadly touching my shaven hair when suddenly a gunshot rings out. Loud and clear, there is no mistaking this one. I grab my freshly polished rifle and scramble out of our bivvi, while others grab periscopes and rifles. As we filed out to the battle ground you could smell cordite, wild thyme and lavender mixed with the trenches. The soldiers are scattered everywhere running in all directions. I take my place behind the sandbags in my trench and aim my rifle at the Turks. The captains shrill, ear piercing whistle is blown. I take a breath and I jump up the sandbags losing my footing on the loose sandbags and firing my rifle bullet after bullet. I look back when suddenly a horrific pain washes over me. I collapse on the ground getting a mouthful of dirt. All around me I can hear a distant sound of bombs and gunshots fading in and out. A pair of rough hands grabbed my legs and pulled me back into the trench.
Wednesday 19 May 1915
I have been shot in the leg. It hurts. It is not fun. I was carried on a stretcher with blood stained sheets. It was better than nothing I suppose. Everyone was staring at me, probably glad it wasn’t them. I was carried away to the general's tent and had a bandage wrapped around my leg. Then it was "Just get out there boy." So I had to battle my way through Gallipoli with a sore shot leg. Meal times were just as bad. Hard, tooth breaking biscuits called ships biscuit. You had to dunk them in the murky water in your cup to eat them without breaking your teeth. Beef bully for tea and porridge for breakfast. We still have another couple of months to go until the end of war, hopefully those days will pass like five minutes, but I have a funny feeling it won't.
By Ashleigh