Introduction

by General Sir William Birdwood

It gives me much pleasure to be able to write a very short introduction to the book of drawings of Signaller Ellis Silas, though these will themselves, I hope, appeal fully to all who see them, as portraying incidents in the lives of some of our Australian and New Zealand soldiers on service. The sketches were made by Signaller Silas during the time he spent with the Australian troops on the Gallipoli Peninsula, and they contain an excellent record of the life spent by those troops during the months they and their comrades at Cape Helles and Suvla were upholding the honour of the British flag in that part of the world. I heartily wish Signaller Silas all success with his book, and trust that, before the war is finished, his health will enable him to rejoin the troops, and that he will find opportunity of giving us yet further proofs of his ability as an artist, in showing us something of the life of the troops in other theatres of war.
1 May 1916

Foreword

by General Sir Ian Hamilton

As the man who first, seeking to save himself trouble, omitted the five full stops and brazenly coined the word “Anzac”, I am glad to write a line or two in preface to sketches which may help to give currency to that token throughout the realms of glory. Though treating so largely of death, they are life-like; though grim, they do justice also to the gaiety and good humour which never deserted any of our troops in the trenches; though slight, they seem solid and serious enough to such of us as were there. Therefore it is that I wish for these outlines of heroes abiding fame, and hope that many an Australian or New Zealander now unborn will better realise by their aid what a splendid thing it was to have been alive and crusading at Gallipoli in the year of our Lord 1915.
29 April 1916

Author's Note: In this work I have not touched upon the big historical facts, but have endeavoured to portray War as the soldier sees it, shorn of all its pomp and circumstance; the War that means cold and hunger, heat and thirst, the ravages of fever; the War that brings a hail of lead that tears the flesh and rends the limb, and makes of men, heroes. It is these little incidents that must necessarily be lost in the larger issues at stake, but which, none the less, constitute War, and form a large factor in the successful termination of a great movement.

Egypt was an interesting part of our military career, and I do not feel that this work would be quite complete without the introduction of a few Cairene incidents. If, perhaps, the behaviour of some of the "Boys" was not all that a Sunday School teacher might desire—God! If one could have seen them on that famous April 25th, their little human weaknesses could easily be forgiven—I cannot but feel honoured at being able to call such men my comrades. And if I have succeeded in giving to the world a truthful record of their heroism and fortitude, then my work has not been in vain.

It was a sight, this huge fleet of transports, ploughing its way through a sapphire sea—a spectacle that, perhaps, will never be seen again. That this vast fleet was able to sail all those thousands of miles, without an escort of any kind, is an excellent proof of the splendid work the Navy has done.
Christmas day, 1914

'Walking s'ick! Cigarette flag! Cigar, pos' card! B'ery goo-o-d!!! B'ery nice. Australia, b'ery goo-o-d! Baksish. Gib it-alf piastre—Mr McKenzie; I know you, b'ery nice, quies Katieah!!!'

The Cairene is an indefatigable vendor. Why he is not wealthy is a mystery. Whether you meet him miles out in the desert, or in some equally remote spot, he has always got something to sell you. Should you, perchance, happen to be falling off a donkey—or the top of the Pyramids—you would probably find a horde of Arabs rush forward and endeavour to sell you something during your meteoric flight through space. Though the Egyptian is cunning, his artlessness is delightful; he will usually begin by asking a fabulous sum for his goods, and will be quite pleased if, in the end, he obtains the equivalent of a penny-farthing.
Egypt, January, 1915

In the hold of the troopship, Hyda Pasha. There, for The last time in this world, many of us stood shoulder to shoulder. As I looked down the ranks of my comrades, I wondered much which of us were marked for the Land Beyond. We were well in the zone of fire, and every second I was expecting a shell to come bursting through the side of the ship, to answer my question.
Gallipoli, April 25th, 1915

We were transferred from the transport to the destroyer, which took us close into the shore, and then we were transferred into the ship's boats and rowed to the shore, amidst a hail of shells.
Gallipoli, April 25th, 1915

It was a relief to get ashore. We were packed so tightly in the boats and, moreover, so heavily laden with our kit, that had a shot hit the boat we would have had no chance of saving ourselves. It was awful, the feeling of utter helplessness. Meanwhile, the Turks were pelting us hot and fast. In jumping ashore, I fell over; my kit was so heavy that I couldn't get up without help. Fortunately the water was shallow at this point, otherwise - well, I'm here to relate the incident. It was a magnificent spectacle to see those thousands of men rushing through this hail of death, as thought it were some big game.
Anzac, April 25th, 1915

It was across this exposed spot that many times I had to run despatches. The ridge on the right, where shrapnel can be seen bursting, was thick with snipers, who had this patch so well set that they rarely missed their mark. The poor chaps seen in the drawing all got caught when trying to get across. I wondered if I was to join them.
Anzac, May, 1915

This was always covered by the Turkish snipers; in fact, it was safer in the trenches than at this place. It was quite one of the warmest spots at Anzac. The poor fellow in the dug-out was caught, just a few minutes before I filled my water-bottle. All around here were wounded and men, who had been hit when dodging round this corner. However, one must drink, even if the price be death.
Anzac, May, 1915

The snipers had been causing us a deal of trouble. It became almost impossible to go round this corner without getting hit. Finally we were unable to bring up our supplies. The poor chap in the foreground was shot a few minutes before I made this sketch; and the pack-horse severely wounded. Despite the great danger, two men rushed forward and caught hold of the startled animals, thus preventing a stampede which, in the confined space of the narrow road—if such it could be called—might have caused an impasse, and this under the existing conditions would have been highly dangerous. The repetition of shrapnel in each sketch is not a fad of mine, but just the natural order of things: they became as much part of the landscape as the clouds.
Anzac, May, 1915

This gives some idea of the difficulties and dangers the stretcher-bearers had to contend with. Their bravery was quite equal to any heroism shown on the field of battle. When we first landed, the Turks shot at anything that moved, sparing not even the wounded on stretchers. They had been told by the Germans that the Australians were cannibals.
Anzac, May, 1915

This was certainly a most unique experience. I remember how delightful it was to be immersed in the sea, after not having had a decent wash for about three weeks. We would hear the enemy's gun fire, then: 'Shell O!!' Out we would all scamper like a crowd of naughty schoolboys, and take cover behind anything on the beach that afforded shelter. Then, after the shell had burst, back we would go into the sea. I remember the beautiful colour of the water, and the ships lying out on the horizon. 'Shell O!!' This time we were nearly caught, for two or three shells came sliding through the air, and burst quite close to us; however, we were determined not to be done out of our swim, so back into the water we went.
Anzac, May, 1915

Snipers created a considerable amount of dust, every time I got up to signal. In fact, I think they had a real merry time, but being so sure of their mark they became careless. Well, whatever the cause, they didn't get me. The feet above are those of a buried comrade. It was not an unusual occurrence when 'digging-in' to come in contact with a grave.
Anzac, May, 1915

The Turks' trenches were only a few yards in front of ours. They caused us much trouble with bombs. The poor chap on the left was badly caught, but I don't think he knew much about it. He was lying there some days. Though I often had to climb over him when going through the trenches, I didn't dare look at his face—if there was any—he was such an awful spectacle. The man on the right 'caught it' badly; whether he died I know not. There was little time to think of these matters. He was out of action; another man must take his place.
Anzac, May, 1915

The Turks' trenches were only a few yards in front of ours. They caused us much trouble with bombs. The poor chap on the left was badly caught, but I don't think he knew much about it. He was lying there some days. Though I often had to climb over him when going through the trenches, I didn't dare look at his face—if there was any—he was such an awful spectacle. The man on the right 'caught it' badly; whether he died I know not. There was little time to think of these matters. He was out of action; another man must take his place.
Anzac, May, 1915

These trenches, facing Quinn's Post, had been giving us a hot time, causing many casualties with their bombs. After the trench was captured - the forty yards of flat ground between this, our new front and our own trenches, was swept by the enemy's fire, which was enfilading us. The 16th Battalion was only supposed to reinforce, instead of which, by some error, we were sent into the firing line; but there was not room in the trenches for all - many had to lie outside. I had to go six times across this lead-swept plateau until eventually I could find the 16th Battalion, and deliver the order to retire. In the darkness I had not noticed a communication trench, which would have obviated the necessity of my crossing this lead-swept space. What worried me most was that I might fall over the decomposing bodies of the dead Turks. The figure in the centre is that of Lieutenant Harwood. When I got to him with my message he yelled above the din: 'Silas, this is fine, I wouldn't be elsewhere for a thousand pounds!'
Anzac, May, 1915

This is always a most heart-breaking incident. Name after name would be called; the reply-a deep silence, which could be felt, despite the noise of the incessant cracking of rifles and screaming of shrapnel. This was taken the morning after the charge on Sunday night, May 9. We, the 16th Battalion, were supposed to be resting, and were only to reinforce if the necessity arose. Unfortunately, through some error, we were sent into the firing line. At dawn, the following morning, there were few of us left to answer our names when the roll was called- just a thin line of weary, ashen-faced men. The bodies on the right we were unable to bury for some days, as we were so hard pressed by the Turks.
Anzac, May, 1915

We were towed from ship to ship. Always the same reply: 'Full up!' Eventually we managed to get aboard one. The 'cot cases' were hoisted on board by the derricks. Fortunately, on this particular day, there was a fairly smooth sea, so the embarkation was not difficult; but during the rough weather, the wounded suffered terribly when being put aboard the Hospital ship. Even right out here, a stray shell would occasionally come buzzing through the air. Note the narrow escape of the boatload alongside the ship. After having been in the thickest scrimmage, to be hit, so far out from the firing line, would have been truly annoying.
Gallipoli, May, 1915

On the ship there was only sufficient accommodation for 150 wounded; we had on board 500. Although delirious at night, I had the use of my limbs - so I did orderly work. Sometimes I would be on duty from 7 am to 11 pm, taking what little food I required when I got the opportunity. The medical officers were splendid. They worked night and day, scarcely giving themselves time for meals. On one occasion, Dr Fiaschi Jnr. worked for five hours on one case without a rest. The body on the left - covered with a blanket - was one of my cases; the poor fellow 'went out' quite unexpectedly; he was not badly wounded. The man sitting on the right on the seat (a NSW boy). Though he had lost his right arm, was the merriest, brightest man on the ship.
Gallipoli, May, 1915

"Heaven!"
May, 1915

Fame—"These are Mine"
Gallipoli, December, 1915