Saturday, April 25, 2015 ❚ timaruherald.co.nz
Features
11
Gallipoli is a New Zealand place name
South Canterbury families lost nearly 200 men at
Gallipoli. On the 100th anniversary of the fateful
Gallipoli landings, South Canterbury Museum curator
of social history, Chris Rapley, looks at what those
young soldiers faced on the other side of the world.
I
t is 100 years since New
Zealanders stormed the faroff shores of the Gallipoli
Peninsula but it is an event
that remains one of the
country’s cultural
touchstones. A name so familiar
that it feels like it should be on
every New Zealand map.
The exhibition ‘Into Hell Itself’,
opening today at the South
Canterbury Museum, tells the
story of the ill-fated campaign,
focusing primarily on the
experiences of local boys through
quotes lifted from the letters they
sent home. The quotes feature
alongside a new topographical
model of the famously rugged
landscape, large format
photographs taken by a Timaru
soldier, and iconic artefacts that
show the experience and legacy of
the battle.
There is nobody left who can
tell us about what the fighting was
like but the quotes from letters
give the feeling of talking to the
soldiers themselves as they
endured the conflict. The name of
the exhibition comes from a letter
home from Edward Drake who
served in the Medical Corps;
‘Death, death all around has been
the experience. The poor chaps in
the trenches must have seen right
into Hell itself.’
South Canterbury soldiers
served in larger units, generally
the Canterbury Infantry Battalion
and the Canterbury Mounted
Rifles. Others enrolled in different
units, such as the Medical Corps or
the Maori Contingent.
The legend of the Anzacs at
Gallipoli is very well known –
much better known than the
battles on the more deadly
Western Front – but the complete
story of the battle is less familiar
than the tales of bravery and
slaughter.
The Anzac invasion actually
had its origins in a naval debacle.
When the Western Front across
Belgium and France stagnated into
a stalemate of opposing trenches
the Allies seized upon the idea of
attacking the Ottoman Empire – a
recent convert to Germany’s side.
A plan was approved in
January 1915 for the navy to force
their way through the strategic
Dardenelles Strait to force the
Ottoman Empire out of the war
and open a shipping route to
Russia. The navy sailed into action
but what was expected to be weak
Ottoman resistance turned out to
be very determined. Mines and
coastal guns brought the attacks to
a dramatic halt – on March 18
three Allied battleships were sunk
by mines.
Rather than regroup, the Allied
commanders decided to expand
their already optimistic plan and
bring in ground troops to capture
the Gallipoli Peninsula and knock
out the guns that had defeated the
navy. It was this fateful decision to
build on a mistake that gave birth
to the battle of Gallipoli.
The New Zealanders, now part
of the Australian and New Zealand
Army Corps (ANZAC), found
themselves centre stage as part of
the invasion force. The Anzac
assault was part of a larger
invasion, which included a British
and French assault at the tip of the
peninsula. From the outset things
were headed for disaster; the
planning was rushed, there
weren’t enough troops and after
the navy attacks there was no
element of surprise.
When the invasion launched in
the early hours of April 25, 1915,
the Anzacs were fatefully landed
too far north. Rather than gentle
hills they faced terribly jagged
terrain that was steadfastly
defended. Confusion quickly set in
and troops became mixed up.
Tragedy struck quickly for
South Canterbury. Company
commander Major David Grant,
who was a Timaru butcher in
civilian life, led his men along the
beach and then up the slopes of a
hill named Baby 700. This hill was
incredibly important as it led to
the high ground and had already
been the site of heavy fighting.
Grant must have known the
significance of the hill and charged
forward to capture it only to be
fatally wounded. He lay where he
died until discovered almost a
month later during a truce to bury
the soldiers who were rotting on
the battlefield.
The Turks will
probably prove
troublesome; it will
just be a little
practice till we
meet the Germans
later on.
Hector Saunderson 6/538
Just picture
yourself a line
of men trying to
run with sixty
pounds of bullets
etc, and through
scrub (pricky sticky
stuff) that would
not let one go, and
a stream of lead
from three or four
machine guns
sweeping the line.
It’s really wonderful
that any got
through at all.
A South Canterbury Mounted
Rifleman
The bullet hit
me near the
centre of my lower
lip knocking out
about six of my
back teeth and
breaking my jaw. I
have to lie down
flat with my head
to the left when I
drink. If not
everything runs
out through the
hole in my neck.
Jasper Wilkes 6/1430
Amongst the items on display
in the exhibition are some of the
numerous letters of condolence to
Grant’s widow, Ann, from people
of Timaru and around the country.
Alongside the letters is Grant’s dog
tag which would have been
removed from his body when it
was discovered on the slopes of
Baby 700.
By the end of the landing the
Anzacs had managed to secure a
frontline along inland ridges, but
the efforts of the determined
Ottoman defenders meant they
failed to capture the all-important
high ground and the battlefield
quickly bogged down into a deadly
stalemate.
At Gallipoli the weapons of
modern war – rifles, machine
guns, and artillery – produced
terrible wounds and a shocking
rate of casualties that
overwhelmed the medical units.
As well as bullets and artillery the
South Canterbury boys at Gallipoli
had to endure terrible living
conditions. Dysentery and other
illnesses were rife, and the men
were tortured by body lice. The
soldiers’ diet was so lacking they
began suffering from
malnutrition. Meanwhile,
countless flies bred amongst the
corpses and made food preparation
stomach-turning.
Following the landing, the
battle consisted mostly of Allied
attempts to break free of the
deadlock and regain the initiative.
Shortly after the landing the New
Zealanders moved to help the
invasion force at the tip of the
peninsula where they charged in
broad daylight over open ground
against heavy fire and were cut
down by the hundreds. The
When darkness
came I went to
see if I could find
my mates, and
found only three of
them alive. Shells
had blown most of
them sky-high, and
the sights were
sickening. I went
back to my little
trench feeling
broken down and
sick.
George Hampson 6/468
The moment
we landed it
seemed as though
the gates of hell
were opened. We
fixed bayonets and
charged, but the
Turks in front of us
fled. The fire was
murderous, rifle,
maxim, and
shrapnel.
Eric Sarginson 6/537
I have been in
my last dugout for ten days, so
it has reached a fair
degree of comfort.
When I get back to
Timaru, I think that
when I want a
good night sleep I
will have to dig a
hole in the back
garden.
‘A Timaru Man’
fighting at Cape Helles took place
over fields covered with white
daisies, which saw the diastrous
battle christened ‘The Daisy
Patch’.
In August an ambitious plan
was launched. It involved
capturing the heights above the
Anzac position and a new British
landing to the north at Suvla Bay.
Near the objective, a hill called
Chunuk Bair, the Canterbury
Infantry were tragically spotted
and cut to pieces by enemy fire
before they could play a part in the
main attack. The assault went
ahead with other units and, in a
struggle that has entered military
folklore, Chunuk Bair was
captured and held with great
losses. Tragically the hill was lost
in a huge Ottoman attack soon
after the New Zealanders handed it
over to British troops.
The New Zealand Mounted
Riflemen, fighting at Gallipoli
without their horses, had their
turn later in August when they
were twice ordered to make
daylight attacks against heavy
defences on a hill between the
Anzac perimeter and the new
Suvla Bay landing area. The
repeated attacks for Hill 60 saw
little gain and the South
Canterbury Mounted Rifles
Squadron was basically shot out of
existence.
The failure of the August
attacks showed the situation was
hopeless and Gallipoli would have
to be evacuated. When the
evacuation went ahead, ironically,
it was a terrific success. Over
several nights the Anzacs slipped
away from Gallipoli with the last
leaving in the early hours of
December 20. The New Zealanders’
The main sap to the position at Quinn’s Post, Gallipoli. Photo: CANTERBURY MUSEUM
first major battle in World War I
had ended in a terrible defeat.
In his terrific book Gone to
Gallipoli Christopher Tobin
estimates that some 180 South
Canterbury boys were killed and
about 400 wounded, amongst the
overall New Zealand casualties of
2779 killed and 5212 wounded.
The centenary of the battle of
Gallipoli gives us a time to take
pause and contemplate what it
means to all of us and its ongoing
significance in modern New
Zealand.
It has become popular to think
New Zealand national identity
sprung fully formed like a phoenix
from the smouldering ashes of
Gallipoli, but perhaps it is more
interesting and complicated than
that.
Veteran Ormond Burton,
writing 20 years after the battle,
commented that at Gallipoli, New
Zealand began to realise itself as a
nation but the process was not
complete. This might be closer to
the truth. National identity is not a
‘‘one size fits all’’ and surely the
evolution of New Zealand’s unique
identity continues through to this
very moment.
The bravery of the Anzacs is
beyond doubt but personally,
when I look at items like David
Grant’s dog tag, I do not think of a
glorious defeat or nationhood; I
think of four young children
without a father. I think of a wife
devastated by the loss of her
husband. Then I think of all the
other South Canterbury homes
that had empty chairs after
Gallipoli.
Amongst the grief and lives
stopped before their time I also
think of the amazing words of
Mustafa Kemal Ataturk who
fought against the Anzacs at
Gallipoli and who later became the
first leader of modern Turkey.
Breathtaking in its forgiveness
and generosity the quote from 1934
is immortalised on a memorial at
Gallipoli;
"You, the mothers, who sent your
sons from far away countries wipe
away your tears; your sons are now
lying in our bosom and are in
peace. After having lost their lives
on this land they have become our
sons as well."
In our eagerness for Gallipoli to
be our story it is easy to forget that
we were invaders and the enemy
who inflicted such a terrible defeat
upon us were actually defending
their home. In their struggle to
throw back the invasion the
Ottoman forces suffered more than
250,000 casualties, with nearly
87,000 killed.
Such an event could have led to
a legacy of animosity, but instead
miraculously thousands of Kiwis
are welcomed to the battlefield
each year as if visiting a sacred
part of New Zealand itself.
I like to think that the
sentiment behind Ataturk’s words
gave comfort to those who were
grief-stricken in South Canterbury
and throughout New Zealand. That
message of compassion is a fine
memorial to all the New
Zealanders who suffered Gallipoli,
whether on the battlefield or at
home, and gives hope for a more
peaceful future.
New Zealanders resting in a trench, Gallipoli. Photo: CANTERBURY MUSEUM