Archive for April, 2010

Lest We Forget

April 25, 2010

ANZAC Cove

I have grown up with the legend of my Grandfather and his involvement in the First World War – a loving hero, my hero.

I was the apple of his eye and he was my Grandad, my mate (and my only living Grandparent), I’d roller skate to his place past the playing fields and Inglewood Pool to visit him at the RSL homes – I remember hedges of rosemary. He’d sing ‘I like bananas because they have no bones’ and we’d just hang out. I grew up thinking that all old men bandages their legs – to realise later that these were the results of a war some 60 years past where standing in trenches in both Gallipoli and the Western Front caused ulcers on his legs that never healed. I don’t recall him ever speaking to me about the war – but I was young – he became increasingly senile and died when I was 16 and he was 91.

I had heard the stories from Mum many times, that he was in the second wave at Gallipoli and had been one the last boats to leave setting booby traps on the beach. He talked about swapping cigarettes and mementos with the Turks during cease fires (aka – removing dead bodies from the front lines).

I am a history teacher – I have taught Gallipoli in schools to teenagers – how we went to the wrong beach – how it unified us as a nation – the myths of mate-ship and the diggers and the ANZAC spirit.

All this is with me as I leave Istanbul – reading the last chapters of Gallipoli by Alan Moorehead. It has only been since reading this account that I fully understood why we were there – a small peninsula in a foreign land – far away from the main fighting in France – finally understanding the geography and logistics – if you can force the Dardanelles at the Narrows – get to the Sea of Marmara, capture Constantinople – take the Bosphorous and allow the Russian allies to utilise their ports in the Black Sea (Battleship Potekim makes sense too – the Odessa steps sequence sparks in my mind).

The Dardanelles from Chunuk Bair

As I drive towards ANZAC Cove we come to the Dardanelles and I am moved by this stretch of water and it’s significance on my own history and sense of self – armed with a sense of history and a set of photos I come as a pilgrim.

From Stanley, Tasmania, to this – I ponder the futility of it all. Birth of a nation stuff and half a million men dead; all for this narrow stretch of water – azure blue and calm. I am also moved by how much like home it looks (especially after four years of living in London), blue skies, sparkling sea, arid landscape – I could be in Northern NSW – I want to swim and be outside – it feels very native to me here.

So here are my pictures inter cut with some that Grandad took in 1915 on his small box camera.

View from Gaba Tepe, Sulva Bay in the Distance.

View across the battlefields - you can make out the memorials on Lone Pine & Chunuk Bair

The memorial at Gaba Tepe

ANZAC Cove - my first view

The other way

The Sparkling Agean with Imbros and Samonthrace in the distance (This is where the Generals were)

Swapping ships off the coast of Gallipoli Sept 1915

Ataturk’s fine words

View from the beach at ANZAC Cove

North Beach

Offshore Gallipoli 1915

Walkers Ridge and ‘The Sphinx’. Grandad was based on Walker’s Ridge from Nov 20th - Dec 9th 1915

The April 25th landing place from the shore

Me on the same beach 94 years later.

Me on the same beach 94 years later.

This was what they faced.

‘The Sphinx’ from North Beach

North Beach

Sharaphel Gully 2009

Sharaphel Gully 1915

Roadside Memorial

Lone Pine

View down the Peninsula from Lone Pine

Grandad's Battalion

Sulva Bay and the Salt Lake (site of the September British landings) from Chunuk Bair

Walkers Ridge from Chunuk Bair

Trenches (Gallipoli) 1915

Trenches - Chunuk Bair

Grandad's Brother - Uncle Bob (Gallipoli) 1915

The Narrows, The Dardanelles - The 'Prize'

A.S.H. Emmett, my Grandad.

Advertisements