reckon out of that lot I hit at least 50 of the beggars. It was impossible to miss 'em at times. And then William John Rusden got hit. Will tell you about it. When I left Wellington, I carried with me Jeffrey Farnel's book "The Broad Highgway" and when we landed on the Peninsula I still had it packed in my haversack with my towel. Prior to going into action I strapped the haversack on my back and as I lay on the hill it rested just between my shoulder blades like a huge pad, and pad is the right word, because had it not been for that pad, I would not be writing to you to-day.
After being on the hill three hours, a shell (one of many) burst right over me and I didn't wake up for several minutes afterwards. Then I found that a lump of the missile had lobbed fair on to my pad, smashing it to smithereens, but barring a huge bruise, doing me no further damage. It made me as sick as a dog, however, I tried to get down a bit to try and pull myself together. Got down about 20 feet and then stood up, just in time to get a lump of shrapnel in my left side. That was the end of things for a while, but eventually I rolled down the hill to a bit of a sap, where I struck a poor beggar shot through the thigh. He wasn't able to stand up, but with my feeble assistance, he got up at last just in time to get another dose. He got hit in the hand and I in the knee though mine was a mere scratch, and at last we got to the gully down which I made my way with scores of the wounded to the beach.
Most of the way down we were being fired at by snipers, but barring a graze on my hip I escaped scot free, others however were not so lucky, and I saw two stretcher bearers and their burden all fall to snipers in about 20 seconds. When I reached the beach, there were hundreds waiting to be attended to and all the time the bullets and shrapnel were flying about. Many were hit, but by this time I didn't care whether they got me or not.
After a while I found Jimmy Harper and he made me some tea- my first drink for 24 hours and eventually after being bandaged up, I went along the beach to Anzac where Norman Lewin and Tom Lawless of Wellington gave me a "sup of the cratur" and some chocolate. Found that I could not be taken off to the Hospital ship that night, so I just lay down on the beach with scores of others and waited for morning. It was cold as the devil, but I was so dog tired and weak I did not notice it much. In the morning we were taken out to the Glacon – a hospital ship – but she was full up so we were transposed to a mine sweeper and taken to Imbros – a Greek Island 10 miles away, where we were placed on the Georgian, a cattle boat. She was filthy dirty and had no accommodation, but "needs must" when the devil drives" and into her they packed 900 of us. On board there were 25 orderlies, 6 nurses and 6 doctors, so you can imagine what a task they had.
We spent 3 days on this boat and I had a lump of shrapnel removed from my side, which made things easier. Then we returned to Lemnos and were all taken aboard the Aquitania and thence to England. The Aquitania took 2,300 on board and so good was the attention that only 21 died on the way. We called at Naples and Gibraltar, and thanks to a zig zag course and finally to two destroyers we reached Southampton without striking any submarines. At Southampton we entrained for London, and you can't imagine what a relief it was to pass through the green fields of Hampshire, to see the quaint old Homesteads and to feel the warmth of the welcome of all at the various Stations. And then London at last, we finished up at Waterloo Station and we were taken in motors to King George's Hospital, about 10 minutes drive. There was no crowd to welcome us – they did not know we were coming, but occasionally we had to pull up owing to the congestion of