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[Page 221]

110

"and such great names as these".

No definite objective or halt-line had been fixed for our assault, unless it was to go right across the peninsular and reach the straits, or, as some said, more in jest I think, keep going until we got to Constantinople. In this almost trackless uninhabited jumble of ridges there were no prominent landmarks or guide lines, and parts of our units took wrong turnings and lost their way, finally becoming attached to other battalions. The Second-in-command of our "A" Company, Captain Dignam, led half of it off in a wrong turn to the right, instead of left, at the low ridge masking the entrance to Shrapnel Gully. We became quite lost and isolated in a sea of scrub on the right of the main advance, and on top of an exposed ridge where we were sprayed with deadly shrapnel fire from a pair of Turkish field guns, and several of our number were wounded by the pellets. We became more and more separated as we progressed inland and passed along almost the whole front from one strange unit to another, seeking our own battalion. In the afternoon I found myself with only a remnant of my platoon, plus about a dozen men of other Australian units and a few New Zealanders, in the front line at what was known later as Quinn's Post.

Shrapnel Gully was a long deep ravine that ran from near the south-east end of the beach, diagonally to the left and up to the higher ground. We were hanging blindly on to the top of its steep dead-end. Behind us, and to our left, was a scrubby short re-entrant spur (Pope's Hill) from which a few well-concealed Turkish snipers were shooting at our backs with fatal accuracy; they were armed with the latest Mauser rifles and were exceptionally good marksmen. It was two or three days before the last of them were ferreted out by the battalion on our left.

In front of us was a narrow short saddle lying between us and the end of another deep valley, across which, to our left-front, a high commanding ridge overlooked our position.

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