Our beautiful East Lancs. Division is in a very bad way. One more month of neglect and it will be ruined: if quickly filled up with fresh drafts it will be better than ever. Have cabled—

"(M.F.A. 871). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. The following is the shortage of officers and rank and file in each Brigade of the XLIInd East Lancashire Division including the reinforcements reported as arriving—

"A stage of wastage has now been reached in this Division, especially in the 127th Manchester Brigade, when filling up with drafts will make it as good or better than ever. If, however, they have to go on fighting in their present condition and suffer further losses, the remnants will not offer sufficiently wide foundation for reconstituting cadres.

"Lord Kitchener might also like to know this, that a satisfactory proportion of the officers recently sent out to fill casualties are shaping very well indeed."

An amalgam of veterans and fresh keen recruits, cemented by a common county feeling as well as by war tradition, makes the best fighting formation in the world. The veterans give experience and steadiness;—when the battle is joined the old hands feel bound to make good their camp-fire boastings to the recruits. The recruits bring freshness and the spirit of competition;—they are determined to show that they are as brave as the old fighters. But, if the East Lancs. go on dwindling, the cadre will not retain strength enough to absorb and shape the recruits who will, we must suppose, some day be poured into it. A perishing formation loses moral force in more rapid progression than the mere loss of members would seem to warrant. When a battalion which entered upon a campaign a thousand strong,—all keen and hopeful,—gets down to five hundred, comrades begin to look round at one another and wonder if any will be left. When it falls to three hundred, or less, the unit, in my experience, is better drawn out of the line. The bravest men lose heart when, on parade, they see with their own eyes that their Company—the finest Company in the Army—has become a platoon,—and the famous battalion a Company. A mould for shaping young enthusiasms into heroisms has been scrapped and it takes a desperate long time to recreate it.

I want to be sure K. himself takes notice and that is why I refer to him at the tail end of the cable. We have also cabled saying that the idea of sending so many rounds per gun per day was excellent, but that "we have received no notice of any despatch later than the S.S. Arabian, which consignment" (whenever it might arrive?) "was only due to last until the day before yesterday"! So this is what our famous agreement to have munitions on the scale deemed necessary by Joffre and French pans out at in practice. Two-fifths of their amount and that not delivered!

Dined with the Admiral on board the Triad. A glorious dinner. The sailormen have a real pull over us soldiers in all matters of messing. Linen, plate, glass, bread, meat, wine; of the best, are on the spot, always: even after the enemy is sighted, if they happen to feel a sense of emptiness they have only to go to the cold sideboard.

Coming back found mess tent brilliantly lit up and my staff entertaining their friends. So I put on my life-saving waistcoat and blew it out; clapped my new gas-mask on my head and entered. They were really startled, thinking the devil had come for them before their time.

Just got a telegram saying that M. Venezelos has gained a big majority in the Greek Election. Also, that the King of Greece is dying, and that, therefore, the Greek Army can't join us until he has come round or gone under.

18th June, 1915. Imbros. Went over to Kephalos Camp to inspect Rochdale's 127th (Manchester) Brigade. The Howe Battalion of the 2nd Naval Brigade were there (Lieutenant-Colonel Collins), also, the 3rd Field Ambulance R.N.D. All these were enjoying an easy out of the trenches and, though only at about half strength, had already quite forgotten the tragic struggles they had passed through. In fattest peace times, I never saw a keener, happier looking lot. I drew courage from the ranks. Surely these are the faces of men turned to victory!

Some twenty unattached officers fresh from England were there: a likely looking lot. One of the brightest a Socialist M.P.

The inspection took me all forenoon so I had to sweat double shifts after lunch. Hunter-Weston came over from Helles at 7.15 p.m. and we dined off crayfish. He was in great form.

The War Office can get no more bombs for our Japanese trench mortars! A catastrophe this! Putting the French on one side, we here, in this great force, possess only half a dozen good trench mortars—the Japanese. These six are worth their weight in gold to Anzac. Often those fellows have said to me that if they had twenty-five of them, with lots of bombs, they could render the Turkish trenches untenable. Twice, whilst their six precious mortars have been firing, I have stood for half an hour with Birdie, watching and drinking in encouragement. About one bomb a minute was the rate of fire and as it buzzed over our own trenches like a monstrous humming bird all the naked Anzacs laughed. Then, such an explosion and a sort of long drawn out ei-ei-ei-ei cry of horror from the Turks. It was fine,—a real corpse-reviving performance and now the W.O. have let the stock run out, because some ass has forgotten to order them in advance. Have cabled a very elementary question: "Could not the Japanese bombs be copied in England?"

Being the Centenary of Waterloo, the thoughts and converse of Hunter-Weston and myself turned naturally towards the lives of the heroes of a hundred years ago whose monument had given us our education, and from that topic, equally naturally, to the boys of the coming generation. Then wrote out greetings to be sent by wire on my own behalf and on behalf of all Wellingtonians serving under my command here: this to the accompaniment of unusually heavy shell fire on the Peninsula.

Later.—Have just heard that after a heavy bombardment the Turks made an attack and that fighting is going on now.

19th June, 1915. Imbros. The Turks expended last night some 500 H.E. shells; 250 heavy stuff from Asia and some thousands of shrapnel. They then attacked; we counter-attacked and there was some confused in-and-out Infantry fighting. We hear that the South Wales Borderers, the Worcesters, the 5th Royal Scots and the Naval Division all won distinction. Wiring home I say, "If Lord Kitchener could tell the Lord Provost of Edinburgh how well the 5th Bn. Royal Scots have done, the whole of this force would be pleased." The Turks have left 1,000 dead behind them. Prisoners say they thought so much high explosive would knock a hole in our line: the bombardment was all concentrated on the South Wales Borderers' trench.

Writing most of the day. Lord K. has asked the French Government to send out extra quantities of H.E. shell to their force here; also, he has begged them to order Gouraud to lend me his guns. In so far as the French may get more H.E. this is A.1. But if K. thinks the British will directly benefit—I fear he is out of his reckoning: it would be fatal to my relations with Gouraud, now so happy, were he even to suspect that I had any sort of lien on his guns. Unless I want to stir up jealous feelings, now entirely quiescent, I cannot use this cable as a lever to get French guns across into our area. Gouraud's plans for his big attack are now quite complete. A million pities we cannot attack simultaneously. That we should attack one week and the French another week is rotten tactically; but, practically, we have no option. We British want to go in side by side with the French—are burning to do so—but we cannot think of it until we can borrow shell from Gouraud; and, naturally, he wants every round he has for his own great push on the 21st. Walked down in the evening to see what progress was being made with the new pier. Colonel Skeen, Birdwood's Chief of Staff, dined and seems clever, as well as a very pleasant fellow.

20th June, 1915. Imbros. Rose early. Did a lot of business. The King's Messenger's bag closed at 8 a.m. Told K. about the arrival of fresh Turkish troops and our fighting on the 18th. The trenches remain as before, but the Turks, having failed, are worse off.

I have also written him about war correspondents. He had doubted whether my experiences would encourage me to increase the number to two or three. But, after trial, I prefer that the public should have a multitude of councillors. "When a single individual," I say, "has the whole of the London Press at his back he becomes an unduly important personage. When, in addition to this, it so happens, that he is inclined to see the black side of every proposition, then it becomes difficult to prevent him from encouraging the enemy, and from discouraging all our own people, as well as the Balkan States. If I have several others to counterbalance, then I do not care so much."

Fired off a second barrel through Fitz from whom I have just heard that my Despatch cannot be published as it stands but must be bowdlerized first, all the names of battalions being cut out. Instead of saying, "The landing at 'W' had been entrusted to the 1st Bn. Lancashire Fusiliers (Major Bishop) and it was to the complete lack of the sense of danger or of fear of this daring battalion that we owed our astonishing success," I am to say, "The landing, etc., had been entrusted to a certain battalion."

The whole of this press correspondence; press censorship; despatch writing and operations cables hang together and will end by hanging the Government.

My operations cables are written primarily for K., it is true, but they are meant also to let our own people know what their brothers and sons are up against and how they are bearing up under unheard of trials. There is not a word in those cables which would help or encourage the enemy. I am best judge of that and I see to it myself.

What is the result of my efforts to throw light upon our proceedings? A War Office extinguisher from under which only a few evil-smelling phrases escape. As I say to Fitz—

"You seem to see nothing beyond the mischief that may happen if the enemy gets to know too much about us; you do not see that this danger can be kept within bounds and is of small consequence when compared with the keenness or dullness of our own Nation."

The news that the War Office were going to send us no more Japanese bombs spread so great a consternation at Anzac that I have followed up my first remonstrance with a second and a stronger cable—

"(No. M.F. 348). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. Your No. 5272, A.2.[21] I particularly request that you may reconsider your proposal not to order more Japanese bombs. These bombs are most effective and in high favour with our troops whose locally-made weapons, on which they have frequently to rely, are far inferior to the bombs used by the Turks. Our great difficulty in holding captured trenches is that the Turks always counter-attack with a large number of powerful bombs. Apparently their supply of these is limitless. Unless the delay in arrival is likely to extend over several months, therefore, I would suggest that a large order be sent to Japan. We cannot have too many of these weapons, and this should not cancel my No. M.F.Q.T. 1321, which should be treated as additional."

Drafted also a long cable discussing a diversion on the Asiatic shore of the Dardanelles. So some work had been done by the time we left camp at 9.15 a.m., and got on board the Triad. After a jolly sail reached Mudros at 2 p.m., landing on the Australian pier at 3 p.m. Mudros is a dusty hole; ein trauriges Nest, as our German friends would say.

Worked like a nigger going right through Nos. 15 and 16 Stationary Hospitals. Colonel Maher, P.M.O., came round, also Colonel Jones, R.A.M.C., and Captain Stanley, R.A.M.C. Talked with hundreds of men: these are the true philosophers.

21st June, 1915. Mudros. Went at it again and overhauled No. 2 Stationary Hospital under Lieutenant-Colonel White, as well as No. 1 Stationary Hospital commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Bryant. The doctors praised me for inventing something new to say to each man. But all the time in my mind was the thought of Gouraud. I have wanted him to do it absolutely on his own, and I could not emphasize this better than by coming right away to Mudros. Back to the Triad by 1 p.m. No news. Weighed anchor at once, steaming for Imbros, where we cast anchor at about 6 p.m. Freddie Maitland has arrived here, like a breath of air from home, to be once more my A.D.C.; his features wreathed in the well-known, friendly smile. The French duly attacked at dawn and the 2nd Division have carried a series of redoubts and trenches. The 1st Division did equally well but have been driven back again by counter-attacks. Fighting is still going on.

While I have been away Braithwaite has cabled home in my name asking which of the new Divisions is the best, as we shall have to use them before we can get to know them.

22nd June, 1915. Imbros. An anxious night. Gouraud has done splendidly; so have his troops. This has been a serious defeat for the Turks; a real bad defeat, showing, as it does, that given a modicum of ammunition we can seize the strongest entrenchments of the enemy and stick to them.

"(No. M.F. 357). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Secretary of State for War. After 24 hours' heavy and continuous fighting a substantial success has been achieved. As already reported, the battle of 4th-5th June resulted in a good advance of my centre to which neither my right nor my left were able to conform, the reason being that the Turkish positions in front of the flanks are naturally strong and exceedingly well fortified. At 4.30 a.m. yesterday, General Gouraud began an attack upon the line of formidable works which run along the Kereves Dere. By noon the second French Division had stormed and captured all the Turkish first and second line trenches opposite their front, including the famous Haricot Redoubt, with its subsidiary maze of entanglements and communication trenches. On their right, the first French Division, after fierce fighting, also took the Turkish trenches opposite their front, but were counter-attacked so heavily that they were forced to fall back. Again, this Division attacked, again it stormed the position, and again it was driven out. General Gouraud then, at 2.55 p.m., issued the following order:"

'From Colonel Viont's report it is evident that the preparation for the attack at 2.15 p.m. was not sufficient.

'It is indispensable that the Turkish first line of trenches in front of you should be taken, otherwise the gains of the 2nd Division may be rendered useless. You have five hours of daylight, take your time, let me know your orders and time fixed for preparation, and arrange for Infantry assault to be simultaneous after preparation.'

"As a result of this order, the bombardment of the Turkish left was resumed, the British guns and howitzers lending their aid to the French Artillery as in the previous attacks. At about 6 p.m., a fine attack was launched, 600 yards of Turkish first line trenches were taken, and despite heavy counter-attacks during the night, especially at 3.20 a.m., all captured positions are still in our hands. Am afraid casualties are considerable, but details are lacking. The enemy lost very heavily. One Turkish battalion coming up to reinforce, was spotted by an aeroplane, and was practically wiped out by the seventy-fives before they could scatter.

"Type of fighting did not lend itself to taking prisoners, and only some 50, including one officer, are in our hands. The elan and contempt of danger shown by the young French drafts of the last contingent, averaging, perhaps, 20 years of age, was much admired by all. During the fighting, the French battleship St. Louis did excellent service against the Asiatic batteries. All here especially regret that Colonel Girodon, one of the best staff officers existing, has been severely wounded whilst temporarily commanding a brigade. Colonel NoguÉs, also an officer of conspicuous courage, already twice wounded, at Kum Kale, has again been badly hit."

Girodon is one in ten thousand; serious, brave and far sighted. The bullet went through his lung. We are said to have suffered nearly 3,000 casualties.

They say that the uproar of battle was tremendous, especially between midnight and 4 a.m. Some of our newly arrived troops stood to their arms all night thinking the end of the world had come.

At 6 p.m. de Robeck, Keyes, Ormsby Johnson and Godfrey came over from the flagship to see me.

Have got an answer about the Japanese trench mortars and bombs. In two months' time a thousand bombs will be ready at the Japanese Arsenal, and five hundred the following month. The trench mortars—bomb guns they call them—will be ready in Japan in two and a half months' time. Two and a half months, plus half a month for delay, plus another month for sea transit, makes four months! There are some things speak for themselves. Blood, they say, cries out to Heaven. Well, let it cry now. Over three months ago I asked—my first request—for these primitive engines and as for the bombs, had Birmingham been put to it, Birmingham could have turned them out as quick as shelling peas.

Am doing what I can to fend for myself. This Dardanelles war is a war, if ever there was one, of the ingenuity and improvised efforts of man against nature plus machinery. We are in the desert and have to begin very often at the beginning of things. The Navy now assure me that their Dockyard Superintendent at Malta could make us a fine lot of hand grenades in his workshops if Lord Methuen will give him the order.

So I have directed a full technical specification of the Turkish hand grenades being used against us with effects so terrible, to be sent on to Methuen telling him it is simple, effective, that I hope he can make them and will be glad to take all he can turn out.

23rd June, 1915. Imbros. Another day in camp. De Robeck and Keyes came over from the Triad to unravel knotty points.

Am enraged to recognize in Reuter one of my own cables which has been garbled in Egypt. The press censorship is a negative evil in London; in Cairo there is no doubt it is positive. After following my wording pretty closely, a phrase has been dovetailed in to say that the Turks have day and night to submit to the capture of trenches. These cables are repeated to London and when they get back here what will my own men think me? If, as most of us profess to believe, it is a mistake to tell lies, what a specially fatal description of falsehood to issue short-dated bulletins of victory with only one month to run. I have fired off a remonstrance as follows—

"(No M.F. 359). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. A Reuter telegram dated London, 16th June, has just been brought to my notice in which it is stated that the Press Bureau issues despatch in which the following sentence occurs: 'Day and night they (the Turks) have to submit to capture of trenches.' This information is incorrect, and as far as we are aware, has not been sent from here. This false news puts me in a false position with my troops, who know it to be untrue, and I should be glad if you would trace whence it emanates.

"Repeated to General Officer Commanding, Egypt."

24th June, 1915. Imbros. Three days ago we asked the War Office to let us know the merits of the three new Divisions. The War Office replied placing them in the order XIth; XIIth; Xth, and reminding me that the personality of the Commander would be the chief factor for deciding which were to be employed in any particular operation. K. now supplements this by a cable in which he sizes up the Commanders. Hammersley gets a good chit but the phrase, "he will have to be watched to see that the strain of trench warfare is not too much for him" is ominous. I knew him in October, '99, and thought him a fine soldier. Mahon, "without being methodical," is praised. Shaw gets a moderate eulogy, but we out here are glad to have him for we know him. On these two War Office cables Hammersley and the 11th Division should be for it.

After clearing my table, embarked with Braithwaite and Mitchell aboard the Basilisk (Lieutenant Fallowfield) and made her stand in as close as we dared at Suvla Bay and the coast to the North of it. We have kept a destroyer on patrol along that line, and we were careful to follow the usual track and time, so as to rouse no suspicions.

To spy out the land with a naval telescope over a mile of sea means taking a lot on trust as we learned to our cost on April 25th. We can't even be sure if the Salt Lake is a lake, or whether the glister we see there is just dry sand. We shall have to pretend to do some gun practice, and drop a shell on to its surface to find out. No sign of life anywhere, not even a trickle of smoke. The whole of the Suvla Bay area looks peaceful and deserted. God grant that it may remain so until we come along and make it the other thing.

On my return the Admiral came to hear what I thought about it all. Our plan is bold, but there never was a state of affairs less suited to half and half, keep-in-the-middle-of-the-road tactics than that with which the Empire is faced to-day. If we get through here, now, the war will, must be, over next year. My Manchurian Campaign and two Russian Manoeuvres have taught me that, from Grand Duke to Moujiks, our Allies need just that precise spice of initiative which we, only we in the world, can lend them. Advice, cash, munitions aren't enough; our palpable presence is the point. The arrival of Birdwood, Hunter-Weston and Gouraud at Odessa would electrify the whole of the Russian Army.

As to the plan, I have had the G.S. working hard upon it for over a fortnight (ever since the Cabinet decided to support us). Secrecy is so ultra-vital that we are bound to keep the thing within a tiny circle. I am not the originator. Though I have entirely fathered it, the idea was born at Anzac. We have not yet got down to precise dates, units or commanders but, in those matters, the two cables already entered this morning should help. The plan is based upon Birdwood's confidence that, if only he can be strengthened by another Division, he can seize and hold the high crest line which dominates his own left, and in my own concurrence in that confidence. Sari Bair is the "keep" to the Narrows; Chunuk Bair and Hill 305 are its keys: i.e., from those points the Turkish trenches opposite Birdwood can be enfiladed: the land and sea communications of the enemy holding Maidos, Kilid Bahr and Krithia can be seen and shelled and, in fact, any strong force of Turks guarding the European side of the Narrows can then be starved out, whilst a weak force will not long resist Gouraud and Hunter-Weston. As to our tactical scheme for producing these strategical results, it is simple in outline though infernally complicated in its amphibious and supply aspects. The French and British at Helles will attack so as to draw the attention of the Turks southwards. To add to this effect, we are thinking of asking the Anzacs to exert a preliminary pressure on the Gaba Tepe alarum to the southwards. We shall then give Birdwood what he wants, an extra division, and it will be a problem how to do so without letting the enemy smell a rat. Birdwood's Intelligence are certain that no trenches have been dug by the enemy along the high ridge from Chunuk Bair to Hill 305. He is sure that with one more Division under his direct command, plus the help of a push from Helles to ease his southern flank, he can make good these dominating heights.

But,—here comes the second half of the plan: the balance of the reinforcements from home are also to be thrown into the scale so as at the same time to give further support to Birdwood on his northern flank and to occupy a good harbour (Suvla Bay) whence we can run a light railway line and more effectively feed the troops holding Sari Bair than they could be fed from the bad, cramped beaches of Anzac Cove. This will be the more necessary as the process of starving out the Turks to the south must take time. Suvla Bay should be an easy base to seize as it is weakly held and unentrenched whilst, tactically, any troops landed there will, by a very short advance, be able to make Birdwood's mind easy about his left. Altogether, the plan seems to me simple in outline, and sound in principle. The ground between Anzac and the Sari Bair crestline is worse than the Khyber Pass but both Birdwood and Godley say that their troops can tackle it. There are one or two in the know who think me "venturesome" but, after all, is not "nothing venture nothing win" an unanswerable retort?

De Robeck is excited over some new anti-submarine nets. They are so strong and he can run them out so swiftly that they open, he seems to think, new possibilities of making landings,—not on open coasts like the North of the Aegean but at places like Yukeri Bay, where the nets could be spread from the North and South ends of Tenedos to shoals connecting with Asia so as to make a torpedo proof basin for transports. The Navy, in fact, suddenly seem rather bitten with the idea of landing opposite Tenedos. But whereas, this very afternoon, our own eyes confirmed the aeroplane reports that Suvla Bay is unentrenched, weakly held and quiescent, only yesterday a division of the enemy were reputed to be busy along the whole of the coastline to the South of Besika Bay.

I have raised a hornet's nest by my objection to faked cables; but I will not have it done. They may suppress but they shall not invent.

"(No. M.F. 366). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. Your No. 12431. I do not object to General Officer Commanding, Egypt, publishing any telegram I send him, as I write them for that purpose. But I do object to the addition of news which is untrue, and which can surely be seen through by any reading public. If we can take trenches at our will, why are we still on this side of Achi Baba?

"In compliance with Lord Kitchener's instructions I send a telegram to the Secretary of State for War and repeat it to Egypt; also to Australia and New Zealand if it affect these Dominions. Please see your No. 10,475, code, and my No. M.F. 285, instructing me to do this. These telegrams are practically identical when they leave here, and are intended to be used as a communique and to be published. Instead of this I find a mutilated and misleading Cairo telegram reproduced in London Press in place of the true version I sent to the Secretary of State for War."

General Paris crossed from Helles to dine and stay the night. After dinner, Commodore Backhouse came over to make his salaams to his Divisional Chief.

Gouraud has sent me his reply to Lord K.'s congratulations on his victory of the 21st. He says,

25th June, 1915. Imbros. At 8 a.m. walked down with Paris to see him off. Worked till 11 a.m. and then crossed over to "K" Beach where Backhouse, commanding the 2nd Naval Brigade, met me. Inspected the Hood, Howe and Anson Battalions into which had been incorporated the Collingwood and Benbow units—too weak now to carry on as independent units. The Hood, Howe and Anson are suffering from an acute attack of indigestion, and Collingwoods and Benbows are sick at having been swallowed. But I had to do it seeing there is no word of the cruel losses of the battle of the 4th being made good by the Admiralty. The Howe, Hood and Anson attacked on our extreme right, next the French. They did most gloriously—most gloriously! As to the Collingwoods, they were simply cut to pieces, losing 25 officers out of 28 in a few minutes. Down at the roots of this unhappiness lie the neglect to give us our fair share of howitzers and trench mortars—in fact stupidity! The rank and file all round looked much better for their short rest, and seemed to like the few halting words of praise I was able to say to them. Lunched with Backhouse in a delicious garden under a spreading fig tree; then rode back.

At 5 p.m. Ashmead-Bartlett had an appointment, K. himself took trouble to send me several cables about him a little time ago. Referring in one of them to the dangers of letting Jeremiah loose in London, K. said, "Ashmead-Bartlett has promised verbally to speak to no one but his Editor, who can be trusted." Verbally, or in writing, my astonishment at K.'s confidence can only find expression in verse—

"Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises;"

He, Ashmead-Bartlett, came to-day to beg me to deliver him out of the hands of the Censor. He wants certain changes made and I have agreed.

Next, he fully explained to me the importance of the Bulair Lines and urged me to throw the new Divisions against them. He seems to think he is mooting to me a spick and span new idea—that he has invented something. Finally, he suggests ten shillings and a free pardon be offered to every Turk who deserts to our lines with his rifle and kit: he believes we should thus get rid of the whole of the enemy army very quickly.

This makes one wonder what would Ashmead-Bartlett himself do if he were offered ten shillings and a good supper by a Mahommedan when he was feeling a bit hungry and hard up amongst the Christians. Anyway, there is no type of soldier man fighting in the war who is more faithful to his salt than the Osmanli Turk. Were we to offer fifty pounds per head, instead of ten shillings, the bid would rebound in shame upon ourselves.

Colonel Sir Mark Sykes was my next visitor. He is fulfilling the promise of his 'teens when he was the shining light of the Militia; was as keen a Galloper as I have had on a list which includes Winston and F.E., and, generally, gained much glory, martial, equestrian, histrionic, terpsichorean at our Militia Training Camp on Salisbury Plain in '99. Now he has mysteriously made himself (heaven knows how) into our premier authority on the Middle East and is travelling on some ultra-mysterious mission, very likely, en passant, as a critic of our doings: never mind, he is thrice welcome as a large-hearted and generous person.

Dined with de Robeck on board the Triad. He is most hospitable and kind. I have not here the wherewithal to give back cutlet for cutlet, worse luck.

26th June, 1915. Worked till past 11 o'clock, then started for Anzac with Braithwaite per destroyer Pincher (Lieutenant-Commander Wyld). After going a short way was shifted to the Mosquito (Lieutenant-Commander Clarke). We had biscuits in our pockets, but the hospitable Navy stood us lunch.

When the Turks saw a destroyer come bustling up at an unusual hour they said to themselves, "fee faw fum!" and began to raise pillars of water here and there over the surface of the cove. As we got within a few yards of the pier a shell hit it, knocking off some splinters. I jumped on to it—had to—then jumped off it nippier still and, turning to the right, began to walk towards Birdie's dugout. As I did so a big fellow pitched plunk into the soft shingle between land and water about five or six yards behind me and five or six yards in front of Freddie. The slush fairly smothered or blanketed the shell but I was wetted through and was stung up properly with small gravel. The hardened devils of Anzacs, who had taken cover betwixt the shell-proofs built of piles of stores, roared with laughter. Very funny—to look at!

As the old Turks kept plugging it in fairly hot, I sat quiet in Birdwood's dugout for a quarter of an hour. Then they calmed down and we went the rounds of the right trenches. In those held by the Light Horse Brigade under Colonel G. de L. Ryrie, encountered Lieutenant Elliot, last seen a year ago at Duntroon.

Next, met Colonel Sinclair Maclagan commanding 3rd (Australian) Infantry Brigade. After that saw the lines of Colonel Smith's Brigade, where Major Browne, R.A., showed me a fearful sort of bomb he had just patented.

At last, rather tired by my long day, made my way back, stopping at Birdie's dugout en route. Boarded the Mosquito; sailed for and reached camp without further adventure. General Douglas of the East Lancs Division is here. He has dined and is staying the night. A melancholy man before whose eyes stands constantly the tragic melting away without replacement of the most beautiful of the Divisions of Northern England.

27th June, 1915. Imbros. Blazing hot; wound up my mail letters; fought files, flies and irritability; tackled a lot of stuff from Q.M.G. and A.G.; won a clear table by tea time. In the evening hung about waiting for de Robeck who had signalled over to say he wanted to talk business. At the last he couldn't come.

The sequel to the letter telling me I'd have to cut the names of battalions out of my Despatch has come in the shape of a War Office cable telling me that, if I agree, it is proposed "to have the despatch reviewed and a slightly different version prepared for publication." I hope my reply to Fitz may arrive in time to prevent too much titivation.

An imaginative War Office (were such a thing imaginable) would try first of all to rouse public enthusiasm by letting them follow quite closely the brave doings of their own boys' units whatever these might be. Next, they would try and use the Press to teach the public that there are three kinds of war, (a) military war, (b) economic war and (c) social war. Lastly, they would explain to the Cabinet that this war of ours is a mixture of (a) and (b) with more of (b) than (a) in it.

How can economic victory be won? (1) by enlisting the sympathy of America; (2) by taking Constantinople.

The idea that we can hustle the Kaiser back over the Rhine and march on to Berlin at the double emanates from a school of thought who have devoted much study to the French Army, not so much to that of the Germans. But we can (no one denies it) hustle the Turks out of Constantinople if we will make an effort, big, no doubt, in itself but not very big compared to that entailed by a few miles' advance in the West. Let us do that and, forthwith, we enlist economics on our side.

None of these things can be carried through without the help of the Press. Second only to enthusiasm of our own folk comes the sweetening of the temper of the neutral. Hard to say at present whether our Censorship has done most harm in the U.K. or the U.S.A. Before leaving for the Dardanelles I begged hard for Hare and Frederick Palmer, the Americans, knowing they would help us with the Yanks just as much as aeroplanes would help us with the Turks, but I was turned down on the plea that the London Press would be jealous.

These are the feelings which have prompted my pen to-day. Writing one of the few great men I know I put the matter like this:—

"From my individual point of view a hideous mistake has been made on the correspondence side of the whole of this Dardanelles business. Had we had a dozen good newspaper correspondents here, the vital life-giving interest of these stupendous proceedings would have been brought right into the hearths and homes of the humblest people in Britain....

"As for information to the enemy, this is too puerile altogether. The things these fellows produce are all read and checked by competent General Staff Officers. To think that it matters to the Turks whether a certain trench was taken by the 7th Royal Scots or the 3rd Warwicks is just really like children playing at secrets. The Censors who are by way of keeping everyone in England in darkness allow extremely accurate outline panoramas of the Australian position from the back; trenches, communication tracks, etc., all to scale; a true military sketch, to appear in the Illustrated London News of 5th June. The wildest indiscretions in words could not equal this."

Again I say the Press must win. On no subject is there more hypocrisy amongst big men in England. They pretend they do not care for the Press and sub rosa they try all they are worth to work it. How well I remember my Chief of the General Staff coming up to me at a big conference on Salisbury Plain where I had spent five very useful minutes explaining the inwardness of things to old Bennett Burleigh, the War Correspondent. He (the C.G.S.) begged me to see Burleigh privately, afterwards, as it would "create a bad impression" were I seen by everyone to be on friendly terms with the old man! He meant it very kindly: from his point of view he was quite right. I lay no claim to be more candid than the rest of them: quite the contrary. Only, over that particular line of country, I am more candid. Whenever anyone ostentatiously washes his hands of the Press in my hearing I chuckle over the memory of the administrator who was admonishing me as to the unsuitability of a public servant having a journalistic acquaintance when, suddenly, the door opened; the parlour-maid entered and said, "Lord Northcliffe is on the 'phone."

Have told Lord K. in my letter we have just enough shell for one more attack. After that, we fold our hands and wait the arrival of the new troops and the new outfit of ammunition:—not "wait and see" but "wait and suffer." A month is a desperate long halt to have in a battle. A month, at least, to let weariness and sickness spread whilst new armies of enemies replace those whose hearts we have broken,—at a cost of how many broken hearts, I wonder, in Australasia and England?

This enforced pause in our operations is a desperate bad business: for to-day there is a feeling in the air—thrilling through the ranks—that at last the upper hand is ours. Now is the moment to fall on with might and main,—to press unrelentingly and without break or pause until we wrest victory from Fortune. Morally, we are confident but,—materially? Alas, to-morrow, for our last "dart" before reinforcements arrive a month hence, my shell only runs to a forty minutes' bombardment of some half a mile of the enemy's trenches. We simply have not shell wherewith to cover more or keep it up any longer.

A General laying down the law to a Field Marshal is as obnoxious to military "form" as a vacuum was once supposed to be to the sentiments of nature. The child, who teaches its grandmother to suck eggs, commits a venial fault in comparison. So I have had to convey my precepts insensibly to Milord K.—to convey them in homeopathic doses of parable. The brilliant French success of the 21st-22nd, I explain to him, was due to the showers of shell wherewith they deluged the Turkish lines until their defenders were sitting dazed with their dugouts in ruins about them. Also, in the same epistle, I have tried to explain Anzac.

In the domain of tactics our landing at Helles speaks for itself. Since gunpowder was invented nothing finer than the 29th Division has been achieved. But it will be a long time yet before people grasp that the landing at Anzac is just as remarkable in the imaginative domain of strategy. The military student of the future will, I hope and believe, realize the significance of the stroke whereby we are hourly forcing a great Empire to commit hari kiri upon these barren, worthless cliffs—whereby we keep pressing a dagger exactly over the black heart of the Ottoman Raj. Only skin deep—so far; only through the skin. Yet already how freely bleeds the wound. Daily the effort to escape this doom; to push away the threat of that painful point will increase. Even if we were never to make another yard's advance,—here—in the cove of Anzac—is the cup into which the life blood of the Caliphat shall be pressed. And on the whole Gallipoli Peninsula this little cove is the one and only spot whereon a base could have been established, which is sheltered (to a bearable extent) from the force of the enemy's fire. Dead ground; defiladed from inland batteries; deep water right close to the shore!

Enver dares not leave Anzac alone. We are too near his neck; the Narrows!! So on this most precarious, God-forsaken spot he must maintain an Army of his best troops, mostly supplied by sea,—by sea whereon our submarines swallow 25 per cent. of their drafts, munitions and food, just as a pike takes down the duckling before the eyes of their mother on a pond. Hold fast's the word. We have only to keep our grip firm and fast; Turkey will die of exhaustion trying to do what she can't do; drive us into the sea!

Braithwaite and Amery dined. Great fun seeing Amery again. What memories of his concealment in the Autocrat's "Special" going to the Vereeniging Conference; of our efforts to create a strategical training ground for British troops in South Africa; of our battles against one another over the great Voluntary Service issue.