Yonder Toward the Dardanelles

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—