Gallipoli

The wind was howling at around 45km/h and I was wondering if the car ferry wasn’t going to sink. The shores of Anzac Cove lay barely over the hills of the Gelibu peninsula – Gallipoli – I could see them in the distance. Bessie was sandwiched between two cars and I hoped that the rocking of the boat from the white-capped wind swells wouldn’t knock her into one or both of them and cause me all sorts of grief with the owners, who were probably inside the upstairs lounge sipping a chai tea away from the atrocious conditions. At least it was a short journey from Çanakkale to the town of Eceabat. I’d just left the comfort of the Yellow Rose Pension for this sacred pilgrimage, having relaxed after a tough few days on the road, having drifted off to sleep the previous night listening to my small collection of Aussie rock. The weather just made the journey more memorable in the end, and I’ll always remember the excitement building inside as the ferry docked. I looked out across the seaside park to see a statue of a kangaroo with a flower-pot pouch. Further up the road was the Crowded House Hotel and in the windows of several commercial buildings hung Australian and New Zealand national flags. With Midnight Oil and Cold Chisel still playing over and over inside my head, I jumped back on Bessie, was nearly blown over by the wind, but unlike previous days it didn’t bother me so much since my mind was so occupied with thoughts about what I would see for my own eyes, and feel in my own heart, in the coming hours. And nothin’ has made me feel more Australian, and more proud to be Australian for a long time. Well, for a few days at least…

In all seriousness, any Aussie who hasn’t dreamed of undertaking the ultimate Anzac pilgrimage is a bum. Right up there with any boss that doesn’t let you chuck a sickie for a four-day long weekend, or somebody who doesn’t eat lamb on Australia Day. A visit to Gallipoli is almost a right-of-passage for all young Aussies, and shouldn’t be missed, especially by all those thousands of under 30’s who take up the UK working-holiday visa and have no excuse not to come visit this unique part of the world. And just like any popular travel destination anywhere in the world, Gallipoli has a lot of expectations to live up to. Even those of us who haven’t been there before will have pictures in our heads of what it must be like. Enough times we have seen photos of Gallipoli, heard the stories and legends repeated over and over again each Anzac Day. We’ve seen Mel Gibson charging over the line towards a heroic death in the movie of the same name, and even more people have seen modern films such as Saving Private Ryan, or played computer games depicting scenes from similar beachside landings such as the D-Day landings at Normandy. It might not be Gallipoli, but it certainly sits heavy when you realise it wasn’t much different for our own soldiers. We sent our young men over there to fight and to die and it must have been horrific, though nobody would know the horrors of the war they would face back then. For the Anzacs, it was an adventure, a chance to see the world and fight for king and country. Thousands would never know the legacy they would leave behind. So with our hindsight and the knowledge that part of our national identity was forged upon the bloody shores of Gallipoli nearly one hundred years ago, what’s it really like to see it in person for the first time?

The first thing that struck me was that there wasn’t just one Australian War Cemetery – there are many of them. I should have figured this would be the case but it didn’t click until I arrived. As you move along the coast, starting south and heading north, you come across many immaculately maintained lawns and gardens, filled with hundreds of headstones each, and a memorial indicating the significance of that particular site. The Turks have done a fantastic job of not just maintaining the whole national park as a sacred burial ground, but also in placing various information plaques and signs around the various places of interest. Then there is the large museum building set back about 1km from the coastline containing many artefacts from the battles and providing information on the plans of both the Anzac and Turkish campaigns.

The first cemetery I came across was called the ‘Beach Cemetary’ and like many of the cemeteries along the peninsula, it was cared for and maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. If you have never visited a war cemetery before, then it’s hard to describe the emotion you feel when you see the rows and rows of headstones. I had previously visited Harefield Hospital and Parish on the outskirts of London, a lesser known Australian War Cemetery full of those unfortunate to have died whilst receiving treatment on friendly soil. But in front of you in Gallipoli are the graves of Australians who never made it home, or even to England. These men travelled half way around the world to die and are now forever given to foreign soil. In each of these cemeteries, typically there were a few hundred graves in each, and there are several dotted along the coastline. Even more memorials and burial grounds are scattered along the ridge road, which pretty much follows the area of the heaviest fighting – the stagnant front line of the campaign – and it is up here where you will find the Lone Pine Cemetery among others. But even though there are numerous marked cemeteries everywhere you go, the appalling thing is that you realise that the whole area is one mass grave. In all probability, the bodies buried in the cemeteries are simply the ones that were found. This fact is rammed home when you notice that set apart from the regular graves, you will find in most cemeteries a line of headstones sat closer together than normal. There are no bodies to be found for these fallen soldiers, the inscriptions will read something along the lines of “John Smith, Australian1st Infantry Battalion. Aged 19 years, Thought to be buried somewhere within these grounds”.

Looking at the headstones, you will find yourself standing in one place for a long moment as you try to envisage who these men were, what their story was and how they lived, fought and died. Who are their relatives, did they have a wife or a child, do they have descendants who visit this foreign grave, 10,000km from home to lay flowers? Does anyone really even remember who they were or are they forgotten in all respects, except that their name will forever live on, etched onto the face of a War Memorial, one of many in an alphabetical list of Anzacs who met a similar fate. Forever more, people will remember the ‘Anzacs’ but will people forever remember “John Smith” as an individual? I didn’t know these men, but like countless other Australians, I will pass through their final resting place and if I so choose to glance down and read the inscription on his headstone, then I will offer a silent prayer and my thanks to what he sacrificed for his country, and for future generations. A moment of clarity comes as you stand on the shores of Gallipoli. Butterflies creep up inside your stomach and a tear comes to the eye of even the hardest man.

Further up the coast from the Beach Cemetery is Anzac Cove, officially named so by the Turkish government in honour of our brave troops. Hard to imagine the genuinely friendly manner in which the Turks welcome the Australians into their country. If they had tried to invade Australia (and failed, just like the Anzacs in Turkey) would we be then renaming a place like Botany Bay ‘Mehmet’s Cove’? It’s worth mentioning that all the signage that is scattered around the various battle grounds, is written in a most remarkable way. The written language somehow manages to convey the gravity and tragedy of the battles, and tells the story in a truthful, unbiased viewpoint that neither favours the Anzacs or Turks, yet leaves the reader with no doubt as to the level of respect that one should have for both armies that fought in the campaign. The area is not just an Anzac memorial after all, but holds huge meaning for the Turks who also suffered similar casualties. Not to forget the British, French, Indian, Canadian and soldiers of many other nationalities who lost their lives on these shores.

Anzac Cove is just as you would expect it to look; a pebbly beach front with a steep drop-off, surrounded by towering cliff faces and slopes that needed to be scaled by the invading forces. It probably doesn’t look any different today than what it did a hundred years ago, with the exception of a gravel road carved along the coast. Necessary given that even when it is not Anzac Day, there are still plenty of tourist buses of Aussies and other foreigners, and carloads of Turks coming along to do the same thing that I am. Contrary to popular belief, Anzac Cove is not the same place that the dawn service is held every year. They have constructed a special ground a few hundred metres up the coast around the next headland – significant that this location was also the landing site of numerous Anzac troops on that fateful morning on 25 April 1915. In total, thirty six (36) longboats rowed ashore at 4:30am to land the first contingent of troops. That was the beginning of the Anzac legend. They say that the Anzacs made it to the first ridgeline by 10am that morning, despite the heavy casualties and well fortified Turkish positions. Over the course of the summer campaign, the imperial forces would gain more ground, but not much, perhaps 1-2km inland. At some point, they managed to capture ground that allowed them to see the coastline across to Çanakkale, but it was quickly recaptured by the Turks. In the end, the campaign could not break the trench-warfare stalemate that had eventuated. In some places along the ridge road, you can still see the trenches dug by both the Turks and the Anzacs and British. In places, they are no further away than 9-10 metres. The attacking forces could literally talk to each other, and they often did. The thing about this whole campaign, is that the Turks earned the respect of the Anzacs, and likewise the Anzacs earned the respect of the Turks. They realised that they were fighting men with families, brothers and fathers and sons, and that they weren’t bad blokes. They were unfortunately, also the enemy, but they weren’t unreasonable and without honour or compassion. In one famous instance, the Anzacs launched an offensive, resulting in a huge number of casualties – in the thousands. Days later, the Turks responded with a counter-offensive. The Anzacs held off the ferocious attack, causing in order of 3000 Turkish dead and 10,000 casualties. Days later, the Turks requested a ceasefire to enable their soldiers to clear the battlefield of all their dead, by which time the smell of the rotting corpses was likely intolerable. The Anzacs agreed to the ceasefire and the Turks recognised the compassion shown by the Australians and New Zealanders in allowing this, and also noted with respect the courage and ferocity shown by the Anzacs in rebuking the attack. And so many similar stories emerged to form the beginnings of the Anzac legend that is with us today.

The most successful part of the campaign was ironically, the retreat. Finally as autumn approached, the British commanders realised that the Gallipoli campaign was never going to break through and capture the peninsula (which would allow allied vessels to sail through the Dardanelles passage, attack Istanbul and effectively remove Turkey from the war). And so they ordered the evacuation of all imperial forces. Only two casualties were recorded during the evacuation, neither were battle-related. The Anzac commanders established an ingenious escape plan that involved a ploy to fool the Turks that they were still there and it was business as usual. Gaining much popularity was the self-firing rifle, which the troops setup using a bucket tied to a string which was fastened to the trigger of a rifle. Water would drip into the bucket and when a certain weight was reached, the rifle would fire off, giving the impression that the trenches were still manned. By the time the Turks realised what was going on, the Anzacs were all but gone!

Overall, I probably spent about 5 hours cycling around the peninsula, from the coast road, back to the museum and then up the steep ridge road past dozens more Anzac and Turkish memorials. The hills were of course extraordinarily steep, and the wind was still blowing a gale. It was at this point that I decided that I would not continue to cycle on towards the actual town of Gelibu, 60km further to the north. The wind was so strong, that I had no desire to cycle into it for the next three days all the way to Istanbul. At barely 10km/h (if I was lucky) it would take me in order of 30 hours of cycling, and even though this is a cycling tour, I’m not about to inflict that kind of pain on myself when I could just as easily take a bus. And so I headed back to the car ferry to take me back to Çanakkale. Riding back into the wind was insane. The trip out – despite the shocking gravel road that I took, only took me about 35 minutes. On the way home, the same distance along a perfectly flat, paved road, took me over two hours! Yep, bugger cycling to Istanbul, the bus is definitely the right way to go!

I haven’t told you about the dogs yet. Unlike all the other wild, monstrous beasts that one might encounter in these parts of the world (and right when you are about to nod off to sleep!) this was a wonderful surprise. To be honest, the signage to Anzac Cove from the car ferry wasn’t brilliant, and I ended up taking the most direct route, but not the main road that I should have. I’m surprised that I didn’t spring another flat tyre with the loose stones and gravel covering the dirt path. Then, halfway to opposite side of the peninsula, about 4km from Anzac Cove, I found the local rubbish tip. To be honest, I was less than impressed that the local dump was literally inland about 4km from such a sacred site, and it was a filthy area, so much rubbish, flies everywhere and some pretty awful smells. However I did come across a couple of little barking dogs who were dashing in and out of the rubbish heaps, obviously wondering who I was and instinctively making a lot of noise about it. They were obviously without parents, or possibly abandoned out here, and eventually I managed to coax them out from the rubbish. There were four of them and they were the cutest little fellahs in the whole world when I finally befriended them. For about an hour, they would follow me down the road. Every time I stopped, they would sit down underneath my bike in the shade of the panniers. They were just adorable and if I had have been in Sydney, I would totally have taken them home with me. Unfortunately it would be a bit tough trying to get them back home through the airport smuggled into my pannier bags. Anyway I grabbed some awesome photos and a video, you should check them out!

So that was my Gallipoli experience, in a nutshell. I can’t recommend enough that people go out to see it. Definitely stay in Çanakkale and do a day excursion. Pay for it if you need to, because the area is quite hilling and spread out. I luckily had my bike (mind you, I would have found life much easier if I hadn’t brought all my luggage with me, but then I didn’t know that I would not continue cycling on to Istanbul). I can now put a big tick next to Gallipoli, one of the highlights of this whole adventure, definitely!

Next stop, Istanbul.

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