Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

Charles Hyde: Broadcast on Queensland National Radio, 8.15pm, 25th April 1940
“On this 25th anniversary of the landing at Anzac I have been asked to give a few of my recollections and
impressions of the now historical event. This short talk is not in any sense intended to be a history of the
landing, or of the battles which followed, but merely my personal memories of the preparations for and the
actual landing on Gallipoli.
Our training in preparation for the events to come was, to say the least, decidedly strenuous. Away back in
the dim past a military road from Alexandria to Cairo had been constructed, so it is said, under the direction
of the great Napoleon during his occupation of Egypt, and at every 7 kilometres along this road a round stone
fort or blockhouse had been built and a great number of these forts in various stages of disrepair, still stood
as landmarks on the now practically unused road. Someone at the head of affairs apparently decided that the
only suitable ground in Egypt for extensive training was situated in some rough hills about 2 miles northwest
of what was known as the 2nd Tower, that is, about 14 kilometres from Cairo. This meant that we had to
march, in fighting order, a distance of about 8 miles, mostly though loose sand and gravel before
commencing the day’s exercises, consisting mostly, as far as I could see, of charging up the stony barren
hills with fixed bayonets and utterly overwhelming an imaginary enemy, supposedly strongly entrenched on
the top. All this, no doubt helped to harden us but I can assure you that the orderly sergeant was not very
popular when he came along about twice a week with the cheerful news: “Fighting kit and day’s rations at 7
ack emma tomorrow boys; second tower”.
On one occasion a disgruntled Digger was heard to remark, “It’s a good job old Napoleon didn’t take a
notion to build these towers 14 kilos apart, I s’pose we’d still have to go to the 2nd blanky tower. 3
The New Zealanders were associated with us in these stunts and the tale was told that after a brilliantly
spectacular charge by the NZ Infantry up about 400 yards of steep stony hillside, the troops had just flung
themselves down exhausted on the summit, when the wife of the NZ Commander, who was a privileged
spectator, turned to her husband with a beaming smile and said: “Make them do it again Alec, they looked so
nice”.
Left: Private Charles Hyde
After some weeks of these performances a monster
parade of the whole division was held on the stony
desert, and no doubt we made a brave show, stretched
out in formation which seemed miles long, artillery
on the right, then Light Horse and last, two Brigades
of Infantry, all facing west from which a fairly stiff
breeze was blowing. With admirable foresight the
powers that be had erected a stand and flagstaff to
serve as a saluting base about 2 chains away to the
west of the left flank of the parade, so that the wind
was at the backs of the notables who were taking the
salute.
In due course the march past started, the Artillery
wheeling into line and marching right across the front
of the remaining troops, followed by the Light Horse
and lastly the Infantry, taking up the movement from
the right flank. Well, you can imagine how the PBI
fared, standing in line for what seemed like hours
with dense clouds of red dust and sand from the
hooves of the horses and wheels of the guns. Men
choked and spluttered and wiped grit from their
streaming eyes and a goodly number collapsed and
had to be taken away by the stretcher bearers, but no
doubt the notables had a lovely view.
At last we received our marching orders, and that
night several hours were spent in pulling down tents,
packing up and burning rubbish, and raking and
combing the sand to make sure that not even a dead
match or cigarette butt was left to spread pestilence
and endanger the lives of the noble Egyptians.
Finally, with the band playing merrily and drums beating, our battalion set out to negotiate the two or three
miles of loose sand to the railway station. We staggered across the sand as the old song says, “in a brave
unbroken line”, although the line was a bit bent in places, due perhaps to the potency of the refreshments at
the LH Canteen. And so we started off on what was to prove the greatest adventure of our lives.
At Alexandria we embarked on the good ship Seang Bee, soon to be named by the troops the Seang ‘Louse’,
for it was here we made our first acquaintance with the chat. Where they came from, heaven only knows, and
where they go to when the wars are over, is a problem on a level with the question: “Where do flies go in the
wintertime?” Whatever the answer may be, the fact remains that no sooner is a body of otherwise respectable
citizens gathered together in a camp as soldiers, than our old friend the chat begins to spread his seed and
multiply.
It was too late when we arrived at Mudros to appreciate the wonderful scene but early next morning we
opened our eyes in amazement at the vastness of the harbour and the quantity of shipping assembled there.
The skipper of the ship remarked, “Have a good look round boys, no man has ever before seen such a
congregation of shipping in one harbour and probably such a sight will never be seen again”. It was truly
grand; huge battleships, cruisers, destroyers, submarines, transports and every conceivable variety of vessel
down to the humble river steamers from England. The ship which perhaps attracted the greatest attention was the Ark Royal, the predecessor of the aircraft carrier of the same name which figured so prominently in the
news during the present war. The old Ark Royal so far as I know, did not carry aeroplanes, but she had a
huge yellow silk-covered sausage balloon lashed to her decks, and at a distance she looked like an enormous
yellow caterpillar pushing itself up out of the sea.
On Saturday April 24th, we had read out to us General Birdwood’s historic order, which commenced: “In
conjunction with the Navy we are about to undertake one of the most difficult tasks any soldier can be called
on to perform. That we will succeed I have no doubt, simply because I know your full determination to do
so”. Towards evening, warships and transports began to creep out through the harbour entrance to sea, but
our turn was not yet. The first ships carried the landing party from the 3rd Infantry Brigade, and all through
the night, ship followed ship, carrying the remaining troops. Our turn came about daylight on the 25th and as
the old Seang Bee began to wallow in the gentle swell of the Mediterranean, we felt that we were going
somewhere at last.
As we steamed eastward it was not long before we heard the sound of heavy gunfire ahead and we realised
that the battle had commenced. Gradually the land ahead came into view, and although we could not see
what was happening on the beaches, we could distinguish the puffs of smoke from the bursting shrapnel out
from the shore and the explosions from the navy’s heavy shells on the hills inland. When we came to within
about a mile from the shore, the destroyer Beagle came alongside and one company was transferred to her.
With her decks literally packed with standing troops, the little ship dashed toward the shore. We soon came
within range of the Turkish shrapnel and stray pellets began to ping against the rigging and funnels. I am
sure most of us ducked as the first shower of pellets rattled around, but an old campaigner near me who had
been through the South African War and various scraps on the Indian Frontier, remarked: “No use duckin’
mon, if your number’s on it it’ll get ye”.
I have often been asked what the feeling is when first under fire, but that is rather difficult to explain. I
suppose that different men react in many different ways, but in my own case I felt rather as if I were
detached from the whole scene and was looking on at something happening to others. On the same principle,
I suppose, that a small boy whistles to keep up his courage when passing a graveyard, I started to take stock
of the country in front. High barren-looking hills, seamed with innumerable gullies and ravines and dotted
with scattered shrubs; it looked what a grazier would call ‘hungry’.
The speedy destroyer soon came as close as was safe to the beach and several ships’ boats, manned by
bluejackets came alongside. A party of us were told off to board the first one, so we clambered down a rope
ladder and found that the boat had about a foot of water in her and was leaking from shrapnel holes in her
sides. The old bearded seaman in charge hailed the officer on the bridge and said: “She’s leaking badly sir;
she’ll never carry to the shore”. “It doesn’t matter”, said the officer, “Push off, I expect they can all swim”. A
couple of the soldiers were told off to try and bale out the water. The rest of us disposed ourselves as best we
could in the cramped space, doing our utmost to keep out of the way of the oars but not always with success.
It is no joke to be hit in the middle of the back with the handle of an oar and then to be cursed as a clumsy
farmer, with trimmings, in good old sailor fashion. Barges loaded with wounded passed us, some of the
occupants waving their arms and shouting encouragement to us and seemingly proud of their red-stained
bandages, but others were lying pitifully still.
Although two or three of our company had been slightly wounded on the destroyer, our party got to within
about 50 yards of the beach without further casualties, when suddenly a shrapnel shell burst right ahead, the
pellets riddling the boat and wounding two men. Water began to pour in and before we had gone many more
yards she sank under our feet. Luckily we had reached the shallows and tumbled out into water up to our
armpits and started to wade ashore, trying to keep our rifles and packs out of the water. There was no surf;
just gentle little waves lapping a clean sandy beach, and it didn’t take us long to get to the water’s edge,
where the first thing I saw was three men lying side by side on the sand with the tiny waves washing around
their feet. Someone had thrown an overcoat over their faces and they looked strangely peaceful as if asleep.
In fact, the lad with me looked down at them and said, “What a queer place to have a sleep”. They had
evidently fallen together as they first set foot on the shore, perhaps caught by a machine gun or by a burst of shrapnel.

We ran across the narrow strip of beach to comparative cover under the base of the hill and here we were
formed up and told to await the boats which were bringing the remainder of our company ashore. In the
meantime the company commander scouted around looking for somebody in authority and for instructions
where to take his men. A few minutes later a Staff Captain came dashing along, very red in the face and
started to blow the socks off the lot of us: “What the devil are you all doing here, why aren’t you up where
you are wanted?” and much more to the same effect. “I’m ready to take them anywhere”, said our captain,
“if only there were someone with knowledge enough to tell us where we are most needed”. The Staff Captain
didn’t seem very clear on the point so our officer took the matter into his own hands. He turned to us and
said, “Well boys, it seems we don’t get any medals for this, so we’ll move around and up that hill to the
right, things seem pretty thick up there”.
We followed him round the shoulder of the first hill, across a valley, and up the steep scrubby hillside
towards what was afterwards known as Lone Pine. There was some respite from the shrapnel here, but rifle
and machine gun bullets were humming around, seeming to come from all directions at once. Of course, we
soon found out the Turks were still in possession of the hill-tops in many places. About halfway up the hill
we got orders to dump our packs and go straight into the attack. We scrambled up to the top of the hill and
immediately came into the full blast of the enemy’s fire. Men were scattered along the top of a scrubby ridge,
some trying to dig in with their entrenching tools and others blazing away at any movement in front and at
the rifle flashes coming from the bushes on the next ridge. We started to do the same but had not been there
long before a number of us were told off to move round to the left where the position was said to be
desperate.
Our object seemed to be to take possession of the head of the valley we had crossed earlier and prevent the
Turks enfilading the reinforcing troops who were now coming up the hillsides. So back we went down the
hill for a few chains and here we met a party carrying bundles of picks and shovels. About every fourth man
was given a pick and the next man a shovel, and we were told to make our way round to the head of the
valley, dig in there, and hold on at all costs. We kept just below the crest of the ridge, clambering over
broken gullies and tearing through the stunted scrub until we came out on a spur near what was afterwards
called Courtney’s Post, and there we met terrific opposition in the shape of concentrated rifle fire. I am afraid
we wasted a lot of ammunition, but our fire must have been effective because after a while the enemy fire
slackened and we could see numbers of them running back from the nearer positions, and of these our fire
took considerable toll.
Our position was too exposed to do much digging in the daylight but as soon as night fell every pick and
shovel we could lay hands on was put into use while the remainder of the party kept up a covering fire. We
dug all night taking turns at using the available tools and leaving no doubt in my mind as to the genesis of
the term “digger”.
Looking back after all these years, the events which seem to have made the greatest impression on my mind
are: the intense rifle fire, both of our own troops and the Turks, which I do not think was exceeded on any
British Front during the 1914-1918 War; the outstanding coolness and bravery of the naval men assisting in
the landing; and the wonder how quickly order was evolved out of the indescribable jumble of troops on the
first day; brigades, battalions and companies being hopelessly mixed, due to the fact that as each party of
troops landed, they had to be thrown into the attack wherever they were most needed. For the first 24 hours a
party of a dozen men would as likely as not comprise men of five or six different battalions, with perhaps an
officer from another and a couple of New Zealanders thrown in for good measure. However, what remained
of the original companies were eventually got together and settled down to
consolidate the positions which they had so hardly won, and so ended the first
phase of the occupation of Anzac.
Courtesy of Family and Friends of the 1st AIF.