ON GALLIPOLI.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXVIII, Issue 16, 17 September 1915, Page 7

ON GALLIPOLI.

CONTINUED TRENCH WARFARE. (From Malcolm Ross, Official War Correspondent with the New Zealand Troops). 2=lth July. Since my last letter was despatched, there lias been no material change iu tlio situation and Turks and Australasians are still lacing eacn owier in one breuonus tney nave uccupieu I.ol* sumo time past, mo operations at »uu wuuii/Übj o coutiuue w ue mo uioot lui/urodiiiijg. uiueeu, tuey cae lascinating, lor, ad uas umsauj oeen siatou, laey uro reaiiy unique in wanare. As you waiK Durougu irenon auer tfuiiuu uuu sap aiier sap ul s or creep clouoleU up along tno uurK mining guueries, your interest is, imiciienea, una tnougu you never quite Know when a oomu wui come nurtiuig over tue parapet or when a mine may bo exploded above or below or at tne side, you become so interested that tear vanishes, The genial colonel who is in charge and who show,s you rounu wa s a well-known Tarunaki barrister, j

land his motto is that the art of war ilies in the cultivation of the domestic virtues. Therefore, he is transforming Quimi's into a model workshop and ■ dwelliiigplaee wherein you can even drink a cup of tea in peace I Seriously 3 speaking, he has worked wonders at Quinn's, and the Quinn's of to-day is safer and more habitable than was the post of earlier days, it is only when the gallant colonel gets one of his jmen to throw a bomb across the very few yards of intervening space between you and the Turkish iiring line, and there is a loud explosion, the while you wait expectantly for a like favour from the Turks ,that you realise you are "up against it." it is a still stranger sensation at the end oi a narrow dark tunnel to listen to some solitary Turk working industriously with his pick only a few feet away from where you are crouching. As you hear him tapitapping like a woodpecker in a hollow tree you begin to wonder what he is thinking about and what will be the end of ail his hard, uncomfortable labour. Generally speak J fing it is the miner and not the coun-j ter-miher who wins out in the end in these attacking operations. This particular fellow has had his tunnel blown in upon him three times, yet, hero he is again picking away in the I hope of undermining our .position. Another important post that is in-j teresting is held, by the New Zealand-j ers and a section of the Australian | Light Horse. Here you find yourself iu a perfect labyrinth of deep tren-j (•lies, with, at intervals, sand-bagged j parapets. The position is in charge of a .brigadier-General, well-known in the Hawke's Bay district. Deeplycarved shelters are cut into the earth from the trenches, and in these the

men can rest and sleep in safety, a not in comfort. The "shelters" are all numbered. Along the tenches also ar 0 little niches, such as you might see in a church wail for sacred images. These, with their blackened clay, are the little recesses where, under tiny lires, the men do their cooking m their "dixies." You come upon "Mainstreet" and "Broadway," and "Whitelane," and one sign points to "Happy Valley," whiui is, no doubt, a haven of rest for weary troops. All this is on Russell's Top—a prolongation of Walker's Kidge. Telephone wires and barbed wire and wire-netting enter into the scheme of defence. The trenches are clean, but the smell of the dead killed in the last Turkish attack still hangs about them. We have come to a place where we are 'within a low yards of the enemy's rihies, and you dare not show an inch or two of your head above the parapet for fear of being sniped. Our friend the enemy to be equally careful. We take a periscope, and putting the top glass above the trench carefully examine the Turkish position. Between our trench and theirs are a number of empty tins that the Turks have thrown away, and in amongst these, and quite near us, are some strange little heaps that look like the discarded clothes of a number . of tramps. Looking at them more intently you note that some of the ragged bundles have just a suggestion of human shape. They .cover the bodies of dead Turks, the attenuation of which in this everlasting hot summer

sun proceeds somewhat rapidly, if unpleasantly, iiiey are the remains or itiiKs snot down in the last attack, and neither side dare go out to bring the bodies mor to bury them, in the end tuey will become skeletons, and eventually one side or the other, after an advance, will gather the little heaps togetner, and consign tiiem to a common shallow grave. It was at tins spot, some lew days ago, tlit one oi our stall —a member ot tile House ot Commons—did rather, a daring thing. A wounded lurk had lain lor some time in trout oi our trench, and our men dared not go out to make him prisoner, nor his friends to rescue him. The M.P., who speaks Turkish, essayed the task, and brought the man into our lines. The other day some of our men came upon a small skeleton beyond one of our trenches. The identification disc showed that the khaki uniform contained the mortal remains of a bugler of the Canterbury Regiment. He had been posted as missing. The remains were gathered together, and New Zealand soldiers gave him decent burial on the hills of Gallipoli, far away from his home and his native land land. It was strange that this boy had not , been discovered before, especially during tho armistice. Poor lad, he must have fallen nobly in the front line during those .critical days when our men gained a footing, and held their ground.