When I learned in August of the Great Failure at Suvla, and heard with astonishment and no little anger that no further troops were to be sent to Gallipoli, I knew then that the only thing to do was to get out as quickly as possible before the Turks could get a fresh stock of munitions and reinforcements from Germany and Bulgaria.

It must not be imagined that I was anxious that we should leave Gallipoli after all our great sacrifices there, but since the Government had decided once more to fritter away our chances by diverting troops to Salonika, when it was already too late to accomplish any useful purpose there, I knew that our position on the Peninsula was hopeless.

Bad weather was coming on and it would have been absolutely impossible to live in the trenches and dug-outs. Even with the little amount of rain that I had experienced, the communication and other trenches were at times waist deep in raging torrents, carrying down empty cases, dead Turks and other dÉbris.

Had troops been left in Gallipoli for the winter, the losses from sickness and exposure alone would have been enormous; in fact, the Army would have needed renewing every month.

It must be remembered that the conditions of life in Gallipoli were entirely different to those prevailing in France. There were no such things as dry sleeping places, dry clothes, or housing of any kind, and one was just as likely to be killed in the so-called rest trenches as in those on the front line.

One of the saddest things I know of was the death of the Colonel commanding the King's Own Scottish Borderers. He had escaped everything right through the campaign, but in the end met his death in one of the rest trenches about the middle of November, by a shell fired from "Helen of Troy" on the Asiatic coast.

When once it was definitely decided to send no further reinforcements to Gallipoli, of course the only thing left to do was to get out, and to get out as speedily as possible.

But even after the obvious had become inevitable, we still went on gaily, spending enormous sums of money, laying down miles of tramways, making roads, bridges, erecting camp hospitals, and doing a thousand other things—all very expensive work.

When I saw this going on I began to think that perhaps, after all, the Government were really going to do the right thing, which would have been to throw an overwhelming force of Anglo-French troops on the Turks, catching them, as they then were, with but little ammunition, crumpling them up and thus accomplishing our main object in the Near East. This would, undoubtedly, have been the right line of policy to have taken, and would have helped Serbia much more than anything else, but some fatal demon seems to dog the footsteps of our politico-strategists.

When our Foreign Minister declared that we were going to uphold Serbia with all our might he must have known that he was mouthing mere empty phrases, but the unfortunate Serbians put their trust in the pledged word of a British Minister, with the result that thousands upon thousands of them have been cruelly done to death.

The more honest and more noble plan would have been to have admitted that, at the moment, we could do nothing for Serbia or the Serbians, and to have advised them to make what terms they could with their powerful neighbour, assuring them that, at the right time, when we were ready, we would, without fail, not only deliver them from the hands of their enemies, but amply compensate them for the trials they would, for a space, have to endure.

It is said that the gods strike with blindness those whom they are about to destroy and it certainly looks as if the gods had held the searing iron rather close to our eyes; but, notwithstanding all the mistakes and in spite of our politicians and our blundering strategists, and in spite of our neglect of science and scientists, I have still absolute confidence, owing to what I have seen of the splendid pluck and endurance of our men, both in the Fleet and in the Army, that we will come out of this great World War triumphant.

Let it not be supposed that our terrible losses and disastrous failure in the Dardanelles have been altogether fruitless. By our presence there, we held up and almost destroyed a magnificent Turkish Army and by doing this we gave invaluable aid to our Russian ally.

Had it been possible for the Turkish Army, which we held fast in Gallipoli, to have taken part in Enver Pasha's great push in the Caucasus, there is no doubt that the Turks would have crushed the Russians in those regions and have made things look very black indeed for our ally. As it is, I consider it is greatly due to the Gallipoli campaign that Russia, during her time of stress and shortage of munitions, was able to hold her own in the Caucasus and, when she was ready, assume the offensive, resulting in her recent brilliant capture of that great Turkish stronghold in Asia Minor, Erzeroum.

The knowledge that this effort of ours has, after all, borne some fruit tends to assuage our grief for the loss of those dear friends and good comrades who now lie buried by those purple Ægean shores.

We can well imagine that the spirits of those heroes of France and Britain and Greater Britain who have fallen in the fight are eagerly watching and waiting for the hour of our victory; and when our Fleet sails triumphantly through the Dardanelles, as it surely must, and thunders forth a salute over the mortal remains of our mighty dead, their shades will be at peace, for they will then know that, after all, they have not died in vain.