Supplied courtesy of the © Robinvale Sentinel
By DIANNE MANN, Form 1A
I have been asked to give an account of the landing of the Anzacs — I’ll try, but nobody could ever successfully put the suffering of those troops, the dying, the death, the wounding, into words.
It was the morning, that dreaded morning of April 25, 1915, 3.30 a.m. The troops of the 3rd Brigade transferred from their mother ship to little boats which were to be towed ashore.
The men were all cold and shivering. I sat next to a ‘cobber’ of mine, we talked in low whispers and smoked one last cigarette before we came too close to the Turks.
Gradually, silently, we edged close to the shore. As we grounded, the little boats carrying the troops became locked together in a confusing jumble.
Then we discovered, we had not landed at Gaba Tepe, the intended landing spot; but at a place called Ari Burnu Point, where the land past the beach was about 200 feet high.
Here the Turks had their vantage points. Immediately they started firing and many men died in the boats.
I was horrified at the mass murder of my mates.
I scrambled across the beach, determined to avenge them. I found myself rare cover behind a rocky ledge. Here I was fairly well protected and I started firing.
During one of the lulls of fire which set every man on edge, I heard a single shot and a clatter of rubble as the body of an Australian slid down the ridge and halted beside me.
Sickened I felt a sudden violent surge of hysterical anger. Stepping out from my cover, I ran clumsily up the hillside.
A shot whistled through the air and a bullet embedded itself in my leg with a sickening thud.