The diary of Michael Smith

An ANZAC Soldier 1915

 Dedicated to my Great Grandfather, Bruce Hosken (1913 – 2001) Who fought for his country, flying in Lancaster Bombers as a rear gunner during the Second World War . 

th Sunday 25 April 1915 Dear Diary, Here I sit on this uncomfortable wooden seat, crammed into this rickety old landing boat with my sweaty, smelly comrades next to me, as the warm sun shines down on the water in between Gabe Tepe and the Fisherman’s Hut and… oh! So sorry, I got carried away in my description! Anyway, today is the day that we - the First Brigade - set foot in . Our job is to help the Aussies and the Indians capture Gabe Tepe. This war is being called ‘the Great War’ and I signed up on the second of January, after a Christmas trip down to Auckland. They shipped me off to Lemnos for training on the fifth of January for three th months, then yesterday, on the 24 April, we began our voyage to where we are now – the shores of . I’ve got to go now. The officer is telling us to get our weapons ready.

Later that evening… Dear diary, I am sitting in a trench in some high ground, and on a ridge. However, the ground may be high, but the trench is shallow – as shallow as young Christopher back home in the Far North. Anyway, today has been a day of fighting. Gaining this, losing that. Advancing here, retreating there. What happened with me is that, as we were arriving in Lemnos, there were only a few Northlanders there so we were posted with the Wellington Infantry Battalion (due to some vacancies created by the Spanish Flu).

The Wellington Battalion landed at 4.30 in the afternoon under the command of William Malone. On the way up Razor Edge I was separated from my battalion, and after a bit of wandering I found this trench and a couple of nice Aussies invited me in. I found a shallow dugout and used an old shovel to dig it a bit deeper, sat down on my bed (a sack full of grass and dirt as my pack was left on the beach) and well... 20 minutes later… Sorry about that! A bloody Turkish attack! I was called to the machine guns. There weren’t many Turks in my line of fire, but some of the chaps next to me were shooting fifty or sixty of the bastards a minute on the Maxim guns! Ah well… there isn’t much else to report and the officer tells us it’s going to be another big day of fighting tomorrow, so I’d better get some shut eye.  st Saturday 1 May 1915 Dear Diary, I haven’t been able to write in here during the past few days, I just haven’t had the time! “Do that! Load this! Check that! Sandbag this! Fix that -” That’s what our officer sounds like! I’m looking forward to getting back to my own battalion! It’s hell here now, what with the snipers, machine guns, bullets, bombs, shells, shrapnel, heat, and lack of food and water. I’ve actually written a short poem about it. Would you like to hear it? It goes like this…

As the sun shines down on the trenches shallow, The men who are shot, we hear them bellow. In this beautiful place, This hellish place, This place where we blundered ashore (before four).

Like it? I think I might add a few more verses and send it to a publisher when I get home. Oh bugger! The officer is calling us again. Looks like another damaged weapons storage. Goodbye!  th Wednesday 5 May 1915 Work, work, work. That’s all that’s been happening around here. Well, that and fear. See, the Turks have started shelling us from a new position the Aussies are calling ‘Beachy Bill’! It’s caused quite a few chaps to be stretchered down to the beach. I myself was hit by shrapnel from a bloody shrapnel shell and believe me – it hurt! They said I wasn’t injured enough to go down to the beach, but they moved me back to one of the support trenches. My arm’s all bandaged up now, but it still stings a little. Eh, off to sentry duty! 

th Thursday 6 May 1915 Hoorah! I’m finally out of the trenches! Well, at least for now. You see, we’re going to join an attack on a village down South near where the Brits and Frenchies have landed. We’re being ferried down there now. They haven’t told us what the place is called yet, but if the attack will break the stalemate, then I’m willing to do my bit. Also, I’ve been reunited with the Wellington Battalion - so I’m in pretty good spirits. As long as I don’t get injured or killed. It would cause mother so much grief. Well, here we are. Wish me luck! 

Sunday 9th May 1915 Dear Diary, The attack on Krithia (the village I mentioned earlier) was horrendous! I’d say our New Zealand Infantry Brigade had over 800 casualties! I’m thanking God we have been placed in reserve. I was hit by shrapnel again as I charged across an area they call ‘the daisy patch’. I was charging across, making a good deal of noise, firing my rifle and (hopefully) terrifying the enemy; when suddenly, there was a huge explosion about twenty yards from me, and I experienced an incredible pain in my leg. I fell to the ground and lay there dazed and confused. I knew the Turkish didn’t have big guns, and most of the land mines had been stood on already, or destroyed by the bombardment. I took me some time to realise – it must have been our own guns – friendly fire they call it. I uttered a long stream of words that gentleman don’t write in their diaries, and that’s when I spotted one of my comrades, Tim Fleecer, lying on the battle field only 30 yards away. I began to make my way over through the hail of bullets.

When I reached him I called out: “Tim, mate. It’s me, Michael. Can you hear me?” He didn’t respond, so I checked his pulse. Nothing. Then I realised; he had only been 10 yards from the blast site and he was gone. Dead. Another innocent victim of this bloody horrible war. I went into shock so I don’t remember much else. I do remember I found a shell hole – partially covered by a shrub – and huddled there for what felt like an eternity. They say they found me after the battle and told me what had happened. They told me we’d won the battle, but with heavy losses. I was so glad to be away from the fighting. I was mortified. I felt like crying, but I managed to hold myself together.  th Saturday 15 May 1915 Dear Diary, I’m glad to be in reserve by I’m struggling to comprehend losing so many of my mates. The human cost of this war is massive – far bigger than I ever imagined. There are still a few of us left from Northland ... but for how long? I’m managing – but only just. I want to get out of here. I want to go home.  th Wednesday 19 May 1915 We’re back in the trenches near the place we landed, which they are referring to now as Anzac Cove. I’ve just sat down to write after four days in...

3 hours later th Another bloody Turkish attack! Except unlike the last Turk offensive on the 25 April - this one was a major offensive! I would estimate around 3000 of the attackers dead. Sad. Still, we can’t dwell on losses, at least that’s what those in charge keep telling us.

We’ve been reinforced by 900 men from Egypt. While we were in reserve the Australian Light Horse Brigade and the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade arrived at ANZAC Cove. I’m sure they’ll be very helpful in the fighting that is to come. Oh well, I should probably get used to my first night back in the trenches and open my tin of bully beef. Not a particularly appetising meal, but it’s all I’ve got on offer. I’d much prefer a meal of mother’s delicious roast chicken and roasted kumara!

 st Wednesday 31 June 1915 Dear Diary, It’s been very eventful at Anzac Cove over the past six weeks. What with the th arrival of the Otago Mounted Rifles on the 20 May, a ceasefire to bury the dead th th on the 24 May, reinforcements arriving on the 7 June and then the last couple of days we have been fending off yet another Turkish offensive. All-in-all it’s been pretty full-on and I haven’t had the time or the energy to even think about writing anything.

Over the last month I have learnt that rotting dead bodies smell terrible and deteriorate quickly. We couldn’t bury them properly, because when you grab an arm or a leg to pull them to the grave the limb would fall off in your hands. In the end you would just have to scratch a tiny trench beside the body, roll it in and pile as much dirt on top as possible. It was awful. I felt that I wanted to show some respect to these men, so I used my penknife to carve rough crosses out of dead bits of branch and twig and placed them by their shallow graves. Unfortunately, the dirt washed off the bodies in the next rainstorm and it looked like we had hardly done anything. I felt disgusted and upset that we were not able to give them the burial they deserved. Maybe one day, when we have won this land, we will have a chance to give them a proper send-off. 

th Thursday 8 July 1915 Dear Diary, Another baking hot day in the Turkish summer. There hasn’t really been much to write about recently. Our lines have advanced a little, and there have been a few skirmishes, but nothing major. I’m worried about how mother and father are coping on the farm back home without my help. In their letters they are always positive. The last parcel from mother contained nice oaty biscuits, which were delicious, especially when crushed and mixed with water – as the Aussies showed me how do. She also sent some possum-skin mittens from the possum father shot. I’ll have to remind her it’s summer here next time I write.

th Thursday 5 August Dear Diary, We’ve just received word that we will be taking part in a major offensive on the Sari Bar Ridge tomorrow. It’s going to be a complex attack. The plan is for us: the N.Z Brigade, part of the Irish Battalion, the Indians and a bunch of the Brits from th the 13 , to be the attacking force up Sari Bair Ridge. The main target for us Kiwis, is a hill called Chunuk Bair. The Brits are to land and support us with an attack at a place north of where we are now, called Suvla Bay. Other British Brigades and the French will create a diversion in the South at Helles. The Aussies will attack a number of different points; one of which is called Lone Pine. But the main job falls to us. If this attack is successful, we will have a much stronger foothold, and even if it doesn’t work, we will still have a third front on the Gallipoli Peninsular. I’m feeling excited that we are finally moving, but very fearful, as I can see this attack relies heavily on timing and precision.  th Saturday 14 August Dear Diary, I am writing this entry from my hospital bed on the island of Malta in the Mediterranean. It’s the first time I’ve really felt able to pick up my pencil since I arrived here, off the hospital ship the ‘Royal George’. I’ll explain what happened after my last entry…

th On the 7 August the Auckland Battalion were sent up to gain Chunuk Bair. They were forced back and failed to take the ridge. Then it was our turn. The commander of the Brigade ordered our commander – William Malone – to charge up the ridge straight away. But Colonel Malone, who knows a lot about the art of war and cares for his men, said a daytime attack would be folly, and he would not allow his men to commit suicide. He insisted upon a night time attack, which is the action we ended up taking. Our advance went ahead that night and was supported by naval and artillery bombardment and we succeeded in taking the hill – and with fairly minor resistance. As soon as the hill was gained, Colonel Malone - an expert at defence - began fortifying the hill. It was difficult for us to dig the shallow Turkish trenches deeper due to the hard ground and open terrain. I remember how our Colonel was constantly active and always heading the attacks – never for a minute did he waver during those hours. I think its utter stupidity that such a brave man who had fought so well, was killed by his own side’s guns. Shortly after that deadly shell exploded, I was struck in the left shoulder by a stray bullet. I’m told I was lucky it missed my heart. I dropped to the ground and the last thing I remember is a couple of chaps with a red crosses on their arms standing over me, hauling me onto the stretcher. Then I passed out from the pain.  I remember I awoke briefly to the motion of the sea and the sound of a ticking clock. I remember not much else. The doctors and nurses here are extremely kind towards me and the other patients. Apparently my wounds are healing well, but the injury is severe and it’s enough to take me out of the war. I am so relieved to be out of this damn war, but

I am frustrated at leaving my battalion – what’s left of it anyway - before the job is done. I wonder what New Zealand will be like after it’s all over. I’ll sign off now. I need to write to mother and let her know I’m coming home. 

Two weeks later, on August 27th 1915, an entry appears in the Auckland Weekly

News. It reads:

SMITH, Corporal Michael: Wellington Infantry Battalion, 21 years of age and resident of Coopers Beach, Northland, has sent word to his mother Mrs E. Smith, that he was wounded on August 8th at Chunuk Bair, a bullet striking him in his left shoulder. He was sent to Malta on the hospital ship Royal George. Writing on August 15th, he says he is recovering, but is confined to bed and will be returning home soon. He describes the kindness and generosity shown to the wounded by the doctors and nurses [AWN 27.8.1915]

Author’s Note: While most of the characters in this diary are fictitious; the dates, places and the majority of the events are accurate. WW1 had a great impact on New Zealand – both on the way society operated and our representation on the world stage. New Zealand was seen as more important after ‘the Great War’ and was no longer seen as ‘that little British colony near ’. The War also impacted considerably on families and small communities around New Zealand, including those in the Far North. Every year on , services are held in many parts of Northland to commemorate the service of soldiers, especially those that gave their lives for the freedom we have today. My name is James Broadwith. I am nine years old and I live in Doubtless Bay, Northland. I am a member of the Doubtless Bay St John Cadets, and every ANZAC Day since I joined in 2012, I have marched in the Mangonui ANZAC Service Parade. This has become an important event for me, because it is a way I can remember – along with many others - the sacrifice of those soldiers who fought for our country. This year I had the opportunity to lay the wreath on behalf of the St John Cadets. I felt proud, nervous and I felt a huge respect for those who died. Writing and researching for this diary has been hard work, but I have thoroughly enjoyed finding out more about ANZAC Day and the . I hope you wenjoyed reading it. James Broadwith st July 1 2015

This is a photo of me standing next to the flagpole at the Mangonui War Memorial Cenotaph (left) and laying a wreath with one of the other Cadets (right)

My list of References:

 Wikipedia: ANZAC Day  Gallipoli App on the ipad  Te Ara Encyclopaedia of New Zealand http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/australia-and-new-zealand  NZHistory.nz.net  Horrible Histories Books by Terry Deary  My Story: War Stories for Boys  Courageous First World War Stories by Jim Eldridge  Adapted entry from the personnel section of the Auckland Weekly News – August 1915