Visiting Anzac Cove

Today was another important day on this trip. As an Australian, it’s virtually a pilgrimage to visit Anzac Cove, the site of a defining element of being an Aussie, apparently. I have to declare that I’m not convinced about this argument anymore. Australia has developed well beyond what it was when thousands of young Australians died on foreign soil at someone else’s behest. Although there are defining elements of the Australian character present in the stories of the Anzacs (ingenuity, persistence, irreverence, and mateship), modern Australia is so much more than just those characteristics. I personally believe that I am more defined by the cultural milieu that has developed from the post-Second World War waves of migration of southern Europeans, South-East Asians, and latterly Southern Asians and (most disappointingly) the dead hand of American cultural imperialism, than I am by the British colonial remnants that drove Australia to participate in the First World War in the way that it did. It’s not that the Anzac story is not important, it is. It’s that it’s not all there is to defining an Australian these days.

The day started dark and cold and went downhill from there. I was collected from my hotel and was joined by four others for the four hour bus ride to Eceabat, opposite Canakkale on the Dardenelles. My bus companions were a friendly lot, but it was a long bus ride nonetheless, sometimes in absolutely driving rain. I had deliberately packed very light for this trip. The one thing I regretted leaving behind was my waterproof jacket!

We arrived at a hotel in Eceabat and were sorted into tour groups; so five became three. My two tour companions were Jane and Garth, a couple backpacking around this part of the Mediterranean for a month or two. She is a student and he is a paramedic. They were easy company and we got on very well. We were served lunch in the hotel and told that we would be leaving at 12:30pm. Lunch was a little disappointing, but food is fuel.

The Gallipoli Peninsula. Above, the Aegean Sea. Below, the Dardenelles

We got back onto our minibus and headed off for Anzac Cove with our guide Hassan. He’s a very nice young Turkish man with a strongly Russian-accented English. He is also very knowledgeable about the events of the Australians’ landing at Anzac and the ensuing battles. He has clearly collected a lot of useful research and he had developed his own view of how the battle unfolded based mostly on official histories found online. He had a folder of images to support his explanations. His was a very pragmatic view of what happened and I was very glad of his efforts. His view was suitably realistic to match my views on the Anzac landing rather than the glossed-over and hyped-up version that we are so regularly fed in 30-second soundbites on Anzac Day each year. Hassan’s commentary set an appropriately solemn tone to our visit, matched by the weather for at least the first part.

The Northern beach, where they planned to land		What they would have faced there (well, clearly, without the concession stand)
Anzac Cover, where they they did land	What they faced there

We stopped at several different sites around that part of the peninsula, each time with some explanation of what happened at that spot, how it related to the rest of the campaign, and what things might have been like at the time. This last was most important because the whole area is a national park these days and so it has gone back to the verdant, scrubby land that it was before the action started, rather than the muddy or dry wasted land that you see in photos from the campaign.

Panoramic view of Anzac Cover ceremonial area

I’m not really sure how to explain this part of the trip. I have lots of photos (as you might have come to expect by now), but this excursion ultimately came down to being there, rather than what one can see when there. I think the crucial things that I take away from the experience are:

Attaturk's Letter to Greiving Mothers

• They landed at the wrong place and made some poor decisions after an initial solid start to the beachhead. The Turks, too, made some poor decisions early, particularly about deploying reserves. These things made this campaign more bloody and unpleasant than perhaps it ought have been.
• The area over which the Gallipoli campaign was contested is surprisingly small. It was only a couple of kilometres in any direction, all of which can be seen from the hill that was the (initial) objective of the campaign. This was particularly surprising to me and reinforced the ‘human scale’ of the fighting at the time, compared to the longer-distances and larger-scale weapons that subsequent wars have been fought over and with.
• There were tragedies, brutalities, heroism and mateship strewn all through the campaign, on both sides of the fighting. None of it will ever provide justification for the futility of war, but Turkey and Australia have gained from that one campaign over the ensuing 97 years and are firm allies because of it too. Ultimately, and at unbelievable cost of young human lives, positive things have grown from the sour seed sown there.

Lone Pine

The Lone Pine Memorial (Not the original lone pine)

The commanding view from Lone Pine

The 'granddaughter' of the Lone Pine, grown from a seed from the tree in Canberra

Quinn's Post

The explanation of the tunnelling at Quinn's Post

Shrapmel Valley, where Simpson and his Donkey plied their trade

The memorial at Quinn's Post

There is only one memorial that focuses on the Turkish side of the battle in the area. Interestingly, there were several small tours of Aussies and Kiwis floating through the area when we were there. There were three large coaches of Turks that visited only that one place. I saw this as a clear demonstration of the different perspectives of the battle.

The Turkish Army memorial

Statue of Last Turkish Gallipoli Veteran, who died at 110 years of age

Turkish Solider

The Nek

		The top three show the panoramic view of the battlefield of the last part of the Gallipoli campaign (Fisherman's Hut), from the Nek. The Anzacs attempted to take the hill on the extreme right. Apparently, a contingent of Kiwis made it, but were unsupported and had to withdraw. To the left, the "No Man's Land" of the Nek; Aussies on the right, Turks on the left; 20m between them. Four waves of Anzac charges were mown down by machine gun fire as a diversion to allow the attack on the field below.

The Objective

The Dardenelles, from the Objective			The Aegean, from the Objective
Monument to fallen NZ Soldiers		Simulated trenches		Monument to Attaturk

By the time we left the last memorial, the sun was out, although it was still quite cool. At least I no longer needed to borrow the jacket of the driver because I had forgotten my rain jacket! (Jane and Garth huddled under the only umbrella that the bus had while it was raining.) This time the Turkish saying was: “We are not soap. We will not melt.” I like the sugar one better, but this is good too.

Your correspondent, looking reflectively over Fisherman's Hut
(God, I've got fat!)

Jane and Garth,
my excellent Gallipoli tour buddies

We drove back to Eceabat, which took a surprisingly short time. When I had planned my trip, I’d thought that the distances were much larger. Everything is much closer together than I imagined.

Eceabat, from the ferry

We were then provided with instructions on how to find our hotels across the strait in Canakkale and escorted onto the ferry. We made the transit simply enough and found our hotels very quickly. Jane and Garth and I met again for dinner at a ‘seaside’ restaurant imaginatively called “Seaside Restaurant”, which had been recommended by the hotel where Jane and Garth were staying. We had a lovely dinner, a great time, and headed for bed early. It had been a long day (remember that I received an unwanted wake-up call at 3:00am and an equally unwanted reminder call at 3:45am!) and we were all exhausted.