Fig. 3 Satellite Photo Showing the Gallipoli Peninsula and the Straits of the Dardanelles
Lemnos, Greece – Early April
Robert strolled gingerly through the rocky encampment, taking in the rugged and treeless terrain. Other than the seacoast nearby, it seemed to him that this place was otherwise a very poor candidate for habitation by humans. Nonetheless, an entire army had within the past three days disembarked and made it their home. “Hopefully,” he thought to himself, “Not for long.”
Approaching a row of tents separated some distance from the others, he discerned that he had reached his intended destination - the nurses’ bivouac. Wiping the gathering sweat from his brow, he inquired of a passing nurse, “Where might I find Nurses Turnberry and MacCreedy?”
Pointing to a long tent, she responded, “That tent, over there, Captain.”
He approached the tent and, noticing that its sides were rolled up in a vain attempt to mitigate the gathering mid-day heat, he called out, “Elizabeth? Margaret? It’s Robert. Are you here?”
At this announcement, two heads popped up among the twenty nurses therein, one responding, “Robert! Over here!”
Glancing in the general direction of the response, he made out Margaret and, circling round to her bunk, he exclaimed affably, “Good afternoon, Margaret,” then turning and spying Elizabeth nearby, he added, “Elizabeth. I trust you are both well?”
Refusing to even arise from her bunk in greeting, Elizabeth observed, “Other than the damnable heat on this godforsaken island, I’m fine,”
“Yes, beastly, isn’t it?” Robert responded politely. “Margaret? You alright as well?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m used to heat like this, coming from down under. Just exactly where are we, Robert?”
“We’re on the Greek island of Lemnos. We’re awaiting orders to land on the beaches at Gallipoli.”
“Ah, I see,” Margaret responded, “This has certainly dragged on. Why has it taken so long? It’s been three months since we saw you last.”
Uncertain as to whether she was referring to the invasion or his own absence, he replied, “Yes, so sorry, ladies. I did in fact try to arrange to see you both in Egypt, but I was stationed up the coast quite some distance away. As a result, the opportunity never quite presented itself. So today is in fact the first opportunity I’ve had to see the both of you.”
“I understand, Robert, I really do,” Elizabeth chimed in. “War has a way of grinding all expectations into dust.”
“You can say that again!” Margaret interjected. “I’m just tired of this interminable waiting, but I’m afraid that all too soon I shall wish I had not lamented the lack of activity. Just exactly how much longer do you expect it will be before we launch the invasion, Robert?”
“No idea,” he replied, “But not too much longer now, I expect. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have brought us so close in to the Dardanelles.”
“Why has it taken so long?” Margaret queried.
“They attempted a sea-borne attack beginning in February. It didn’t work out. The next logical step is an invasion.”
“How does it look to your eye, Robert?” she asked.
“Well, I’m not sure, but I’m told that we outnumber the Turks by quite a margin. So the mood at headquarters is one of optimism. We shall see. The plan is to land at two different locations. The Brits will land at Helles, at the Southern tip of the Gallipoli Peninsula. The ANZAC forces will land further North, on the western side of the peninsula. Of course, I shall be with the ANZAC force, in keeping with my role as liaison. You ladies shall undoubtedly be held back aboard ship unless and until you are needed ashore, I should think.”
“Enough military talk, Robert,” Elizabeth interrupted. “What say you take us to lunch, somewhere like the Boar’s Head’s Behin’?”
Snorting at this ludicrous suggestion, Robert nonetheless responded with equally measured cynicism, “I’ll do one better, if I may. I can offer you a tasty meal at the officer’s mess, just a quarter of a mile from here; that is, if you’re up for a stroll in the mid-day sun.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Elizabeth replied. “Nothing half so exciting has occurred around the nurses’ quarters in months.”
“Margaret, how about it?” Robert said, turning towards her.
“Count me in - nothing better to do.”
“Alright then, shall we?” And off the three went in search of excitement, in a place absolutely bereft of such a possibility.
After lunch Robert inquired, “What’s become of those boys that went with us up on Arthur’s Seat? When was that? My, it’s been more than half a year.”
“Richard was killed on the Western Front,” Elizabeth responded. “We’ve not heard anything beyond that.”
“Richard…ah, the quiet one. What happened?”
“No idea,” Margaret put in, “Ever since we left London, we’ve been out of touch with the outside world.”
“Any word from Alastair?” Robert asked with fearful anticipation.
“No, none at all,” Margaret replied. “Besides, even if he wrote to us, I doubt that I could decipher his writing.”
Robert half-smiled, saying, “Good point. There’s nothing to do but wait, I suppose. Unfortunately, there’s no telling how long this war is going to drag on.”
Her exhaustion apparent, Elizabeth inquired, “Does anyone even remember what this war is about?”
“I doubt it,” Margaret replied sarcastically, “Just a bunch of self-centered, egotistical little boys showing off their muscles in the school yard, and things grew out of hand. To make matters worse, nobody is willing to apologize and make up. There’s no telling how many people will die before somebody on one side or the other blinks. In the meantime, here we are, getting a nice sun tan in the Greeks Isles.”
“Well, if anything can bring this war to a speedy end, it is this campaign. If the Dardanelles can be opened up for the Allies, then the end of the war may be at hand,” Robert volunteered.
“I hope you’re right, Robert. I hope you’re right,” Margaret responded in apparent reflection.
Gallipoli Peninsula – April, 1915
Robert landed with the ANZAC’s, the landing forces thankfully encountering little resistance. The Turks had spread themselves too thin over the entire peninsula in a vain attempt to counterattack no matter where the Allies landed, thereby allowing the Allies to land virtually unhindered. But once the Allies had landed, the Turks concentrated their forces, in the process penning both the ANZAC and British landing forces close in to the beaches. While both Allied forces attempted early attacks, it quickly became clear that neither had sufficient strength to dislodge the Turkish Army.
Within a month the Turks launched a major counter-offensive in an attempt to dislodge the ANZAC forces from the peninsula. This attack failed, with enormous loss of life for the Ottomans. Two more offensives ensued, both by the Allies, but despite significant increases in the troop strength that had by that time made landfall, neither proved successful.
August, 1915
Elizabeth dragged herself into the steamy tent and sagged immediately to a prone position on her bunk, seemingly unaware of the roiling heat within. To no one in particular, she murmured in self-pity, “God, I can’t take any more of this.”
Rolling toward her from her adjacent bunk, Margaret sympathized, “I know, Lizzie, it’s bad. No, it’s not just bad, it’s really really bad. I had no idea anything could be this bad. We are in exactly the same spot we were when we came ashore four months ago. We may be behind the lines, but from where I see it, the line between us and the enemy is about four hundred yards.”
“Right,” Elizabeth said tiredly, “We’re progressing at the stunning rate of fifty yards a month. At that rate, we’ll be in Constantinople by the middle of the next century!”
“Try not to think of it that way, dear,” Margaret suggested implacably.
“Oh? Well then, how about this way. So far we’ve lost more than forty thousand ANZAC troops. If my math still serves, that’s about 200 soldiers per yard! I ask you, Margaret, how much longer must this insanity go on before someone discovers the futility of this entire campaign?”
“No idea,” Margaret responded miserably, “But there is one thing I’m sure of.”
“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked in sudden interest.
“If you don’t snap out of it, and snap out of it quick, I’m not going to make it!”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, Margaret,” Elizabeth wailed, “You’ve been my rock all these months.”
“Yes, and it hasn’t been easy, listening to your constant complaints, Lizzie!” Margaret exclaimed between gritted teeth.
“Yes, you’re right, I’m so sorry. I must do better. We must take care of one another. It’s our only possibility, I suppose.”
“Precisely!” Margaret bellowed. “As I am your rock, I am also counting on you to be mine. We’re lucky. Think of poor Robert. He has no one, whereas we at least have each other. Now, shut up and get some sleep. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow!”
Mid-November
Margaret could not have imagined two months earlier that her winter coat would provide insufficient warmth, but there it was nonetheless. The weather had turned cold almost overnight, the winter gales suddenly taking a greater toll on the soldiers than did the battles themselves. Thousands of combatants on both sides were now drowning or freezing to death from trenches flooded by torrential rain and snow.
Margaret and Elizabeth huddled together at night, their shared warmth the only thing separating them from death. Both now understood that it would not be long before they shared the fate of so many of those they had cared for.
Throughout the Gallipoli campaign, the nurses’ corps proved to be both courageous and essential to the Allies. Margaret and Elizabeth remained exhausted essentially round the clock, doing everything in their power to save lives, the casualties mounting every day. By the time an evacuation was ordered by the Allied Command in late December, Margaret and Elizabeth no longer had any illusions whatsoever about the absolute folly of war. It had degenerated from the goal of winning to little more than a day to day question of survival.
The final Allied troops were evacuated from Gallipoli in early January, 1916. While the campaign was technically a stalemate, the reality was that by failing to accomplish their objective of opening the Dardanelles, the Allies were the losers. Although the campaign was not as devastating as had been the Battle of the Marne, more than a hundred thousand soldiers had been killed during the campaign.
Gazing from shipboard as they sailed westward in retreat, Margaret posited, “I don’t ever want to see that godforsaken place again as long as I live, Elizabeth.”
Pressing her blanket tight about herself, Elizabeth observed, “Me, either. Now, let’s get below decks and find some warmth!”
Arriving at their shipboard quarters, Elizabeth pondered morosely, “Where do you suppose Robert may have ended up?”
“No idea,” Margaret responded, “Chances are about one in four he didn’t survive Gallipoli at all.”
“Oh, God, that would be too much. Surely he made it through!”
“Perhaps so, Lizzie, but I have no idea how we might endeavor to discover his whereabouts.”