Great-Uncle Harry by Michael Palin

Author:Michael Palin [Palin, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House of Canada
Published: 2023-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

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After the horrors of the first days in the Dardanelles, there was a brief respite. On 6 May Harry and the rest of the Nelsons were taken from Anzac Cove to Cape Helles by the destroyer HMS Mosquito. While aboard they were apparently very well looked after, coffee and rum being lavished on them, and once ashore Harry was able to meet up and share experiences with several of his friends, including George Batters, who was in a different platoon.

But this was very much a temporary relief. The Allies had established a southern bridgehead, with the intention of pushing the Turks back and eventually joining up with the forces at Anzac Cove. Two days after Harry disembarked an assault was accordingly made on Turkish lines across a stretch of open ground which became known as the Daisy Patch.

It may have had a Beatrix Potter-ish name, but because it offered very little cover it became a scene of slaughter. Private Constance described what it was like to be in the middle of the horrors: ‘As we advanced,’ he recalled, ‘…the enemy poured a terrific fire into us with machine guns and rifles mowing down our men like rats. What was left of us eventually took up our position after driving the enemy back about three hundred yards. But what an enormous cost it has been to us as dead and wounded are lying all over the ground. Some of them in a frightfully maimed state.’ Among the casualties were Major Brereton, who received a head wound, and several of Harry’s friends. ‘Bell was shot thro’ the lungs,’ he wrote, ‘Bob Hughes [also from Canvastown] killed, I’m afraid…Jo Regaldo through the right shoulder by the snipers.’

Harry himself, though, was spared the slaughter, having been given the job of staying back to guard the packs, a task he was kept at for the next three days. He didn’t feel he fulfilled the task particularly well, noting gloomily, ‘Filthy wet day making trenches awful. Had to stay with packs until a fatigue party came up to take them away. Most of packs missing–I shall probably be blamed for them, but it can’t be helped.’

Next day, however, a more satisfying role came his way. ‘Capt. Stewart found out that I could speak Hindustani,’ he wrote; ‘said he wanted me on the permanent fatigue as interpreter.’ Not that this made things any safer for him: ‘A lot of shells fell at the base whilst we were there,’ he went on, ‘and gave us a big scare as they were very close to us. A lot of horses killed, one man, and several wounded.’ Even so, he clearly relished his new role, recording a few days later on 15 May: ‘Things going v well with me, I think. Have fallen on my feet at last. My knowledge of Urdu is very useful.’ This whiff of pride is all the more affecting because entries like this come so rarely in his diaries. It also serves

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