Introduction

I stood on the deck of a troopship
At the Gate of the Dardanelles,
Midst the thunder of warships’ cannon
And the bursting of giant shells…

G. Brownell, The Call from the Dardanelles
Published in The Referee, 6 October 1915

Day Six (20 September): Suvla

As time nears to our departure another ferry arrives and satirical discussion immediately ensues about the possibility of being rammed amidst various references to well-known but cliche film quotes. The ferry pivots on a dime or more likely a plastic lid floating on the water. The on/off procedures are perfection with those well versed in the ways of our local crossing. Efficiency, both in unloading and loading, some at the same time and when full – off to the other side once again. Atop our water transport I repeatedly rise to photograph the mercantile fleet making its way to the sea. I appreciate painted colour against the natural landscape and deep blue of the passage.

The shades of the water’s deep blue harmonizes with the gentle ripples. Enough to make the contours assured of highlights and shadows. Reds and whites stand out against layers of centuries old merchant fleets. With the green but dry Gallipoli Peninsula in the background another freighter compass point moves along. I turn to thinking of Conrad’s Lord Jim and the Patna. Serendipitously how chance reminders (neural signals) allow us to connect random thoughts. Our crossing may be slow today as the floating commerce takes precedence, I take the opportunity writing reminders of neural signals to voyages upon the seas.

Upon the other side we learn of failure to pay for a round (in Australia and New Zealand – think ANZAC – a round is known as Shout/Shouting) has resulted in one of our adventurers assigned with the task of drawing water near Green Hill and Chocolate Hill. In close pursuit is a driver chasing our laborer in circles. Amidst the laughter one thinks of Arnold as Conan. Methinks there will be additional shouts in the evening.

Today at Lala Baba Hill (200 feet high) we learn about the Yorkshire Regiment (6th Green Howards) who are largely coal miners from Durham. Instructed not to use ammunition in the 7 August 1915 attack the fight is with the bayonet and hand to hand combat. The element of surprise lost due to a flare. Three-quarters of the regiment becoming casualties. After two hours there are only fragments of the 6th remaining. Tough coal miners downed by continual hurt upon this place we tread. Amongst their losses Lieutenant Colonel Henry Edward Chapman killed whilst leading the attack to the summit (and here…here we stand). Chapman is buried at AZMAK Cemetery, Suvla.

Our journey continues. At our next site I watch green feathered birds dart amongst the trees at Chocolate Hill. We meet with the property owner who takes us to a previously buried Turkish projectile, with fuse and shrapnel balls. After this viewing of rusted metal, attention is turned to the nectar of bees as jars of honey are purchased for travel to tables in the UK. Hives and high explosives – nectar and hurt from the same fields.

The day continues with the words of Homeland reminding us of the harshness that was once here. Sadly, I am unable to find this voice this day…perhaps it will be heard again to these ears? With thoughts of all this storied day we arrive at Hill 10 Cemetery where I photograph gravestones of Newfoundlanders and so too the Hook Brothers, Duncan and Robin, 9th Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers resting side by side. Their story was known to me…and now there in another, Henry Edward Chapman far, far away across the sea.

And now today (10 January 2026) with time at home in the comfort of an oversized chair I imagine my Dardanelles ships of colour making their way upon the dueling currents. I think of 1899-1900 Conrad but find another while in search of quotes about the Dardanelles…a 1860 passage not heard to me before…a new serendipitous chance reminder that will return time and time again.

Dardanelles
Théodore Aubanel
French Provençal poet
…
In the still hours when I sit dreaming
Often and often I voyage in seeming;
And sad is the heart I bear with me,
Far, far away across the sea
Yonder toward the Dardanelles
I follow the vessels disappearing,
…

From notes written 20 September 2025
—SNIP—

Day Five (19 September): ANZAC II

Minor issues this morning but enough to throw me off my mark. Hopefully catch up will round itself out shortly. It is enough that this creature of habit’s morning routine has had his trail disturbed. Once sorted I feel hurried but resolved. Soon I am at breakfast circling about the honey and bread, cereal, raisins and hot food. Afterwards we advance to the café nearest to our embarkation point. The morning, like the strait and self, has become calm…one must remember…minor issues.

Again our team climbs to the top of the ferry for our crossing to the Gallipoli Peninsula. Two trips a day, there and back again, and how I do enjoy the crossing in these open-seating boats. I have time to think, to start the new words of the day. My mobile is a constant tool – the Notes app receiving a workout each day as I gather thoughts wherever I can. These initial impressions will be added too. More writing, more rumination to follow.

I believed earlier this may be my last visit here, but I think not. Why do we come back to these places? There are daily challenges, I have challenges – at times with every step. But I return because of what went before. Knowing, feeling this ground, these surroundings, sun, water, earth and sky – the people whose experience was this ground and turning this to my experience for them…for others.

We see more people today visiting relatively open sites. The benefit of this style of operational history tour is we go up and we go down the roads and trails less traveled. I appreciate those who visit here whether from cruise ships, buses or on their own. They have at least shown interest. What connects these visitors to these grounds (?) – to walk these earlier steps, to feel this ground, to stumble to fall, to feel the heat, the salt, the challenge of the climb…

It’s a four water bottle walk down a slope covered with debris and stone. Burnt branches litter the ground and in the near distance the sound of chainsaws and falling timber dry crackles its way to the earthen deck. Locals must wonder why we came this way as blackened hands wonder where to wash. The bosks* and holts** require fleet of foot and the free-spirited whip-like branches find their way across your person attempting to thwart your step, to challenge your balance, stinging when their twitch finds bare skin.

The climb down and up Rhododendron Ridge, part of the Sari Bair range is much kinder than 2012. The peaks here are 200 to 300 meters high or for us old school types 650 to 980 feet high. And to think soldiers climbed in between these trails and upwards whilst under fire! Aged steps of varying low and deep rises have been replaced with some kindness, albeit occasionally with a reach of the foot. Former railings made of branches have, as well, been replaced with a finer version of sturdy and do not wobble nearly as they did before. It is a grand walk to the water and an event that pushes me, like Gully Ravine to a return visit. With our journey’s end we board our bus to lunch at Hill 60 and stop at the Sphinx where we have time to become familiar with this landmark formation overlooking ANZAC.

Another walk follows uphill to Shell Green Cemetery where a diversionary cricket match was played on the green by the 1st Light Horse Brigade on the 17 December 1915. The tactical innings a ruse, a deception to conceal Allied preparations for the evacuation of the ANZAC and Suvla Bay sectors. With thoughts of batting and centuries (100 runs), bouncers and googlies I return whence I came down the graveled road, bringing an end to the historic portion of the day…and with each step I watch as the sun stipples across the water on the horizon.

Our bus attempts to reach an early Çanakkale ferry, but our boat has just departed. No hurry, there is more time to watch from this bank. I watch side to side observing life moving within the winds of today. It is a fine contrast to the past events we experience with our wanderings here. As the Alinteri*** 18 docks, I return to the present requirements. It has been a fine day of great effort and achievement. People and cars disembark (and load) at the same time. The vessel waits until full – not to a set schedule (it would seem). Before we depart the nearby minaret provides its audible devotional to all. Heads turn towards the direction of the call to prayer heralded from the tower and as we depart, I wonder what those amongst hear within its yearning voice?

* Bosk: thicket of bushes, a small wood.

** Holt: Old English. A small wood, wooded hill, grove of trees.

***Alinteri: Turkish meaning “sweat of the brow”. Hard work, labor or great effort. Used to emphasize that something was achieved through honest hard work.

From notes written 19 September 2025

—SNIP—

Introduction

The day begins (for me) at breakfast with a honey urn (an inverted hive), coffee at the café and on the ferry discussions of classic rock bands we have seen. Today is Anzac 1. It will be time to climb again. Hold up legs…knees…the roll-on muscle lotion applied. I am good to go. The lotion will, perhaps, be lasting. Remember to hydrate and sunscreen…

As our bus rolls on to our first objective – 21 of us in all – and most of us of an age…the song comes. Istanbul (Not Constantinople)…to be sung every day. Forever ingrained. Our daily tune becomes worthy of a quick search, and I am amused that the original was sung by the Canadian quartet…The Four Lads…good gosh the Canadians (and there are four of us this trip) are to blame for this ear worm released in August 1953!

Day Three (17 September): ANZAC 1

At Ari Burnu, near Suvla Bay, where the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps first landed 25 April 1915 we walk the rows of graves. Stones have been left atop several markers as evidence of other’s visits. Always I wonder what these visitor’s thoughts were…some perhaps relatives…others perhaps sentimental…the losses can be overwhelming. In the distance thunder…

We proceed south to Beach Cemetery at Hell Spit also near to Suvla Bay. Here, similar to our visitors who leave behind stones at Ari Burnu, visitors leave poppy crosses, pinecones and stones at the grave of John Simpson Kirkpatrick AKA John Simpson, a stretcher bearer of the 3rd Australian Field Ambulance.

Simpson used donkeys to transport the wounded to the beaches for evacuation. For almost a month, whilst under fire, Simpson continued in these actions until killed by machine gun fire 19 May 1915. His likeness together with his donkey appear on the Australian Anzac medallion and on statues at the Australian War Memorial and in England (Simpson was born in South Shields).

We climb today towards Plugge’s Plateau. Some of it fierce, one poor soul falls a second time in as many days – there are more days of this, one hopes for no further falls – no injuries. I understand their strength to keep going. Having fallen myself in 2012 I know that one’s will – will help you through the course. Repeating to myself, as I did in 2012, There is no way I will let this hurt affect my trek.

Our walk to Plugge’s starts at Shrapnel Valley Cemetery as we hike upwards along the constructed path to the left and then on to the foot trail. We look down towards Queensland Point from McLagan’s Ridge, now renamed Walker’s Ridge. Further along the path a sign simply marked Walk This Way points towards my family walk destination…in memory of the Harper family, two Australian brothers I only recently wrote about (see And So We Will Walk, September 1, 2025).

At Plugge’s Plateau Cemetery, the smallest of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission’s cemeteries in Gallipoli, a Kangal joins our team on to the Sphinx and beyond. Atop the ridge I look towards the Sphinx and the Razor’s Edge, all cameras are out as everyone captures the towering landmark…our Kangal finds shade, lies down and rests. Our large dog friend knows this route well, moving ahead, stopping well in advance at all points of interest. His reward will come later with snacks and water from our group. Rover has done this before.

With the heights that we climb, we must also face steep downward journeys…and then climb again…this time to 4^th Battalion Parade Ground Cemetery. At the end of the trail a sign…C.W.G.C. 4^th Bn. Parade Ground Cemetery / Steep path 200m [metres]. I am near to my main walk today…reminders of previous writings of the Beard Family Walk (24 May 2024), Oh My Dear Boy (John Macnaugton’s Walk – 26 August 2024), and Mrs. Kate Palmer’s Walk (11 August 2018) come to mind. But at this time…to the brothers Harper…the Harper family walk. Both lads killed 7 August 1915.

Now at Lone Pine Memorial and Cemetery I wonder if mother and father…Fanny and Charles Harper of Perth Australia have been here…or other family members. Only recently I had learned of the brother’s 1915 time influencing director Peter Weir. A story creating a story. How many others know more about Gallipoli thanks to Weir, thanks to Gresley Tatlock Harper (age 31) and Wilfred Lutkin Harper (age 25).

Upon arrival I take my time to find their names. There are visitors here and I have no wish to disturb them in their thoughts. Distant images first and then to the panel in the far left corner – nearest to the memorial – AUSTRALIAN LIGHT HORSE / 10^TH REGIMENT – and there the Harpers are before me…along with so many others…of their regiment…of other regiments and I wonder…how many others know about Gallipoli also thanks to other family names…Fry, Anderson, Holland, Ruwoldt, Villis…?

Always hard to leave my thoughts at Lone Pine…but there will be new thoughts…another day…we move out to the Anzac Mine Tunnels and Quinn’s Post. Here the tour’s oracle stands with a reading appropriate to our day before we leave for Bloody Angle and Dead Man’s Ridge. At long last I find some rosemary in thirst to photograph. We visit Walker’s Ridge Cemetery where one can see Suvla Bay in the distance.

Our day has featured thunder. Though a natural sound, some perhaps hear in its effect the chaos of hurt. We have passed through prickles and ants that bite, inclines, declines, plateaus, and trenches. At the end of this day a gathering of jackals passes without sound alongside our bus and into Gallipoli’s wilderness. There is voice in their silence.

From notes written 17 September 2025

For additional information on the Harper Brothers please read And So We Will Walk, Short Days Ago. 1 September 2025.

An Australian runner at Gallipoli – ANZAC John Hazlitt

—SNIP—