4th June, 1915 -Helles

[christine liava'a]

On 4 June, the Third Battle of Krithia took place at Helles. It won a small advance at a heavy cost- 6,500 Allied and 8000 Turkish casualties...The Allied artillery at Cape Helles could be heard at Anzac, being one continual thunder all day.

Bloody Gallipoli- Richard Stowers

[michaeldr]

‘This is the Forth of June’

“Sir Ian Hamilton had suggested (as before the attack on the 28th April) that the advance should be at night, or at least the men should be led to assembly positions in advance of the front line to be ready to advance over a much shorter distance at dawn. The Corps Commander, General Hunter-Weston however was determined on a day light attack. My reader will be interested to learn that General Paris, Royal Naval Division made four night attacks, on 18th, 23rd, 24th and 27th May, that carried our line forward roughly half-a-mile, almost as much as the advances of the 6th, 7th and at the cost of less than fifty casualties.”

from ‘Gallipoli Revisited (part I)’ by Joseph Murray & Dudley N. Lissenburg

as reproduced in Len Sellers’ magazine ‘RND’ issue No.11, December 1999

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from Douglas Jerrold - ‘The Royal Naval Division’

“The attack was timed for noon, and the hours of waiting, from dawn to midday, added a new chapter to the horrors of war. To move with a light heart to assault in the grey half-light of dawn is difficult enough, but at least there is a shadow over the sun to veil the shadow in men’s hearts. Here, hour by hour, the sun beats down more pitilessly. Towards ten o’clock the air grows fetid, and the flies begin to swarm on the filth of the parapets, and maggots crawl over the bodies of the dead but a foot or two below the ground. Even the small comforts of garrison duties in the line seem strangely remote. Everything is still, expectant, uncomfortable. With curiosity, officers and men watch the bombardment, on which their chance of survival so greatly depends. In the rest camps, and near the headquarters of the generals, the noise is terrific, and the impression one of vastly efficient destruction. In the trenches the noise is immeasurably less, and the passage of the occasional shells tells the true tale. A desultory bombardment had begun at 8 a.m., and at 10.30 a.m. the rate of fire was increased, but the results were negligible. We now know that the proportion of guns to rifles was only a third of that allowed in France, and the number of rounds per gun immeasurably less. No statistics were needed to reveal, at 11.20 a.m. on June 4th, the full measure of the weakness of our artillery, for at that moment the first intensive bombardment ceased, and a feint of attack was made along the whole line. In an instant the whole of the enemy line burst into rapid fire, machine guns swept the parapets of our trenches from end to end, and the Turkish artillery searched our reserve trenches and our communications. The bombardment, which should have disorganized the Turkish defences, driven their riflemen to cover, and destroyed their machine-gun emplacements, had done – just nothing.”

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Exactly one year later, on 4th June 1916, A. P. Herbert looked back to Gallipoli from France

“Think not, if in these lays

The singer seeks for smiles,

That he forgets the unsmiling days

Beyond the Aegean Isles;

Think not he now pretends

The Helles hours were sweet,

Think not he wrongs the buried friends

We left at Achi’s feet.

This is the Forth of June

Think not I never dream

The noise of that infernal noon,

The stretcher’s endless stream,

The tales of triumph won,

The night that found them lies,

The wounded waiting in the sun,

The dead, the dust, the flies.

The flies! Oh God, the flies

That soiled the sacred dead.

To see them swarm from dead men’s eyes

And share the soldier’s bread!

Nor think I now forget

The filth and stench of war,

The corpses on the parapet,

The maggots in the floor.

But if in England’s host

Men suffered undismayed.

And tried to smile and smiled the most

When they were most afraid,

And laughed before the grave,

And jested in their pain,

Herein, maybe, the living brave

Shall hear them laugh again.”

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In memory of my grandfather, TZ/89 AB Daniel Dunn RNVR, wounded 4th June 1915