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[Page 21]
KF 1
hand grenade
Michelago Dug-out.
Anzac Cove,
Gallipoli.
31.5.'15
My dear Father, Mother, Ame Tien, Jean, Clarrie, Phil, Frank, Did, Liz & Stan, Sid & Dot, all the nephews & nieces, Mabel, Leoda, Francie, Viva, Viv & Linda, Elsie R., Tess, Mrs.K., Molly M., Nora N., Maggie M., Ida C., Bill & Sophie, Farmer Whyte & Percy, Auntie Lizzie, etc.
This ought to be a real slap-up letter but I only now and then get a few minutes to write, so I can't promise much. But we are really having a most wonderful time. I'll tell you all about it when I return. But in case my return is - shall we say postponed - I'll try and let you know how we live. Everyone has a dug-out. We burrow into the side of the hill, in the direction whence comes the shrapnel. The Australian army is therefore a cross between troglodites and ferrets. We bank up the sides of our dug-outs with sand-bags and tins and earth. Overhead cover is provided by timber and sandbags. We are the best fed army in the world. Thank heaven. The Brigadier eats the same grub as his batman. We get meat and bacon and vegetables and jam an biscuits and cheese. But I just would love a lump of bread for a change. The biscuits could be used to defend the trenches if necessary - either as missiles or overhead cover. So we try to soak them in our tea. Col. Ryrie broke one of his teeth on one.
So much for sleeping and eating.
Most of the fighting is done in the trenches. In some places they are 1500 yds. apart; in others they are 21 feet. So in the latter cases life is all excitement. It is sap and mine and bomb and fusilade all the time. But there are signs that the Turks have had enough. We have now been here (my brigade) 12 days and there is an obvious feeling of absolute security. They simply cannot - bar accidents - drive us into the sea, as Liman von Sanders said. So we are waiting confidently for the big move forward which will lead to Constantinople.
We've seen fighting on land and sea; in the air and under the water. Sure its hardly safe to be alive. Aeroplane reconnaissance is a daily spectacle. Our airmen go aloft and have a good look at the enemy's position. The enemy's guns boom out all the time and shrapnel shells burst all round but somehow they never seem to hit the airship. It's great sport watching the white puffs of smoke which show where the shells burst. Then the airships drop bombs on the Turks. Our boys call them "throw downs". Sometimes the Germans drop bombs on us. We resent that naturally.
Had another great swim this morning (1.6.'15). When the dirty dogs open shell fire on the beach there is a warning whistle and we all rush in to shelter. We had a great set-to a couple of nights ago. The Turks mined one of our trenches and rushed in and captured it. This was the affair at "Quinn's Post" We counter attacked and re-took the trench; killed and captured several Turks and collared one of their trenches. Some of the 10th Light Horse stuck there without supports. The Turks threw hand grenades but Corporal Renwick was/