Eyewitness Read Free

such detail, and iconic yarns, that it has never been surpassed by later work.
    Bean was influential in other ways – ensuring that the Anzac battlefield at Gallipoli was preserved by writing a report suggesting that the men be buried where they fell, and guiding the beginning and the spirit of the Australian War Memorial.
    At Gallipoli he edited the men’s work that was published as The Anzac Book in 1916, and revisited Gallipoli leading the Australian Historical Mission in 1919. This, published as Gallipoli Mission in 1949, is perhaps the best among the hundreds of books written about Gallipoli and what it means. It is a book by a journalist, one who goes to a place, observes, talks and writes it down without too many footnotes.
    Bean’s authority comes from the fact that he was there, landing at Anzac on the morning of April 25th, 1915. It seemed right to begin this book at the beginning, with Bean’s own ‘rough draft’ of the history of that fateful day from his diary. He was scooped by English journalist Ellis Ashmead Bartlett in having the first account of the Anzac landing published in Australia because Bean was ashore, and Bartlett was not. In addition, Bean’s war correspondent’s licence at that time only covered the voyage to England. He needed it to be extended to cover Gallipoli, and while this was happening, he could not file any copy. Bean seems not to have minded. It gave him the time to get around and talk to the blokes, and find out what the war was like for them.
    *

    April 25th, Sunday . 12 midnight: The ships have sailed from Lemnos. I have a cabin, the last in the passage, with a porthole opening onto the well deck. The porthole is just above my head as I lie in the upper bunk. Outside on the deck, amongst all sort of gear and under some of the horse boats to be used in landing, are some of the men of the 1st Battalion tucked into corners of their overcoats. They are talking quietly – two mates – outside the porthole. One has just waked.
    ‘What time is it?’
    ‘Ten past twelve – she’s sailed. Where have you been?’
    ‘Me and Bill have been down below having a farewell yarn.’
    Some sleepy chap along the deck is singing – the words were somewhat as follows, punctuated with yawns:

    ‘What oh for a life on the sea.
    So give it a chance
    Come and have a dance
    Come and dance along with me.’

    The voice breaks off into some snatch of another song: ‘When I am dead and in my little grave’ and then the singer having rewound his rug around him tucks his head back onto his pack and snuggles down for another sleep. I must not oversleep – this night is too good to miss.
    12.30: Came up on deck to see which course we are taking. We have just 50 miles to go and the Island of Imbros lies directly in our path …
    Out on deck. It is a perfect moonlight night. We are passing the north-east point of some island probably Lemnos. I can see the dark shape of the mountains on the soft grey satin on the sea. On the end of the point a pinpoint light is flashing three times every five seconds. Ahead of us is a simple small stern light always motionless. Away to the left – far on our port bow I can see two other lights – one after the other. Astern of us is another ship. I can see the faint glow of some cabin or galley lights; otherwise she is simply a black shape. We are heading almost due north-east. Aft of the smoking room out of the breeze the guard is tucked away on the deck in deckchairs. Some are curled along either side of the promenade deck – one can just see them rolled up like grubs in their white and grey blankets and waterproof sheets. One has to look carefully not to step on them as one picks a way along the deck. One huge chap is sprawled on his face at full length without great coat or blanket, fast asleep like a boy – most of them are in overcoats and balaclavas. ‘Aho, it’s chilly’ says one yawning. And so it is.
    The young officer of the guard is there on a