8. May 24—June 1, 1915 May 24—Perfect Day after 10—Very Heavy Rain Earlier. My job to draw supplies for main supply depot for division—Rotten Job, which starts at 6, Brigade not moved. Here the Italy has definitely come in. This closes a channel of supplies into Austria and Germany, and is bound to tell in a few months. Japanese bombshells experimented with in Australian trenches at Gabbatepe. They are fired by a trench mortar and have a range of 400 yards. They have a small propeller to keep them straight and explode with great violence, blowing trench to bits. The first one tried fell beautifully in a Turkish trench at 200 yards range, and exploded with great violence. Turks started kicking up a fearful row, and about fifty rushed out like a lot of hornets. Machine-gun turned on them and scotched the lot. Great requests now on our part for Japanese bombshells. News now arrives that two submarines from Germany have got into the Mediterranean through the Straits of Gibraltar, and that they are making for this part of the world as hard as they can go. Most of the fleet and transports in consequence move off at nightfall for Lemnos Harbor off the village of Mudros, where our transports concentrated before the landing. Looking out to sea from the beach, the feeling of loneliness engendered by the departure of the shipping is curious. Yesterday I looked seawards, and the ocean was dotted with warships, transports, etc. Penises darted to and fro, all was hurry and bustle, during which one had a comfortable feeling that at our backs were our naval comrades ready to help at a moment's notice. Now less than half the shipping lies off the coast than did a week ago, and a feeling of loneliness, almost of fear, comes over me. Hindu as well as Sudanese laborers now working on the beach, all the time they are carrying anything on a cart, with six pushing, one of them evidently in authority, walks alongside, laughing and gesticulating, singing something in a Gregorian chant, to which the others answer by singing three words in a monotone. This goes on all the time, and causes much amusement to the Tommys, who of course imitate, who are upon the Cooley's laugh and sing all the louder. We have now built a bivouac of boxes on the cliff edge, the right side of the beach looking towards the sea, and from there we obtain a fine view of the scenes on the beach, and the road below at the foot of the cliff, which is gradually being widened, built up, and extended round to X Beach. May 25th. Woke up in our new bivvy this morning. It is very nice up here, overlooking Imbrose. From my bed I can see the swifture fire a shot into the water. I get up at once, and, looking through my glasses, see her fire another, this time between the Agamemnon, which is moored close by, and herself. Torpedo destroyer comes dashing up, and immediately makes big circles round the two ships.  A bugle sounds several times, and men in white swarm out from all kinds of places and stand to stations on the decks. A submarine has been sighted right among our shipping. It had darted like an evil fish between the swifture and the Agamemnon, and the swifture had kept it off. At one o'clock news arrives that the HMS triumph has been torpedoed off the Australian landing at Gabatepe, and it is a terrible shock to us all, coming as it has so soon after the sinking of the Goliath. A good many lives were saved, nearly all the crew. No doubt it was hit by the same submarine that attempted to finish off the swifture and Agamemnon this morning. We are all naturally anxious at further developments. A Turkish battery is shelling the aerodrome on the east side of W. Beach. Some very good practice is made, and one machine is damaged. This afternoon the same thing starts, and one shell pitches into the sea. If they move their gun five degrees right they have the range of our bivvy nicely. May 26th. It is another perfect day, and it is absolutely ideal at our bivvy on the cliffs overlooking the southwest tip of the peninsula. The sea is perfect, yet while admiring the view we hear the old familiar whistle of a shell, and one comes right over us, plunk into the sea. Another soon follows, and we have to go beneath the cliffs, and our aspect of the peaceful view is immediately changed. Shelling lasts half an hour, and after lunch we can come back. Go up to Brigade Headquarters this morning, and find that south Lancashire Division had been merged with the 29th Division, layered quite fit and chirpy as usual, in a topping little dugout nearby. Reinforcements arrive today, and I show them the way up. One chap asks if there is a chance of his getting into the firing-line. I answer that he will be in the firing-line in half an hour. And poor chap, he looks clearly at me. He will get used to it, though, in a day. He asks the question, as if to show that he was longing after months of training and waiting to get there, but had rather a shock when he found it was so near. Flies, ordinary house flies, are beginning to be awful pests here, simply myriads of them. People in England do not know what a fly pest is. They make a continual hum as they fly round. There are so many of them. One of our officers, named Jennings, gets very annoyed with them, and when trying to get asleep in his dugout of an afternoon, has a few minutes' indulgence in hate, not against Germany, but against the flies, murmuring to himself, got strafe the flies over and over again. Richie, my old honorable artillery company pal of the Gorin days, who was on the Arcadian, turns up at Supply Depot and invites me to dinner in the near future. It does not seem so very long ago that we were having a pigeon pie dinner in our barn at Stoke-on-Tems when we were both gunners in the honorable artillery corps. Late in the afternoon shells come whistling over our Bivouac once more, well overhead, and burst in the sea near to supply ships. About fifteen come over, and the transports weigh anchor and clear out of the way, taking up moorings again behind the majestic, which is lying about a thousand yards off the center of W. Beach. Evidently, the Turks are being spotted for, at Yenishehr, where no doubt they have many observation posts, which are in telephonic communication with Chanak, further up the straits, which is in turn in telephonic communication with Turkish headquarters on Achi, what more ideal conditions for laying their guns could be wished for. It is fortunate for us that their artillery and ammunition are scarce, with a full complement of artillery against us that the Germans would provide to an army of the same strength as that of the Turks. I think that we should, as things have developed now, pack up and be off within one week, and not even the dear little seventy-fives could save us. The field bakery is in working order now, in a little gully further up the coast, and we are having most excellent bread each day, not a full ration, about forty percent, being made up by the biscuits. It consists of three bakery detachments of six bakery sections each, a total of twenty-four ovens, and is capable of making bread for sixty thousand men. The ovens are made of curved metal. The troughs are in a large marquee, where all the mixing of the flour and ferments is done. The bread supplied on the whole is good, but, of course, under the conditions in which the men are working, it is difficult to turn out bread of the quality that one expects in London. Baking goes on practically the whole of the twenty-four hours. The whole bakery is under cover, and cannot be seen in any way by the Turk, though the gully in which it has been placed can be shelled, should the Turk become aware of its presence. I dine with Richie at seven-thirty p.m., in his dugout under our cliff, between our position and the bakery. Five other officers are there. Amongst them is Major Huskasun, a charming, jippy, Army Service Corps man, who is in charge of the main supply depot here, and also a man who was in the river quiet at the landing, and who saw Colonel Carrington Smith killed. Richie is officer commanding a labor corps, camped on the side of the cliff around his dugout. We play bridge after dinner, and I actually have a whisky, first game of bridge I have had since we landed, and it is weird, playing in such surroundings, outside a perfect moonlight night. Elsewhere I have mentioned the Isle of Imbrose by night, but really it is next to impossible to describe the beauty of these Greek islands unless one is a poet or a painter. To my mind, Imbrose is the most beautiful of any of the isles in reach of the peninsula. But tonight, as it seemed, she surpassed herself in beauty. The sea lies like a sheet of liquid silver under the rays of the moon.  Her deep valleys and gorges running down to the sea are a swim with purple shadows, and her rugged mountain crests stand out violet and clear-cut against the star-spangled velvet of the skies. Her feet are wrapped about as with a snowy drapery woven of the little foaming crests of lazy wavelets lapping around her. From behind her the feathery night clouds appear to swath themselves about her, and her mountain peaks seem like a coronet set upon the dusky brow of some beautiful goddess of the night. All is silent, and she sleeps peacefully upon the waters, awaiting the coming of the fiery god of the morning, who, dashing across the sky in his chariot of flame, will awaken her with a burning kiss, driving the purple shadows from her valleys and filling them with a swimming, golden glory which shall make her seem even more lovely by day than by night. Truly is she a goddess upon the waters, a rival almost of Aphrodite herself. As I go back to bed, walking back along the foot of the cliff, rifle fire is rattling away on our left. I climb up to our bivvy, being challenged several times, and turn into bed. May 27th. Woken 6.30 this morning feeling very refreshed and, find it as a beautiful morning, the view is perfect from our biscuit-box bivvy. I am just drowsily thinking about getting up, when a gun from HMS Majestic fires. This is followed immediately by the report of an explosion, and Carver says, Good Lord, she is torpedoed.  HMS Majestic is about 800 yards to our left, immediately in front of W Beach, and I see her, massive and strong, bristling with guns, and crowded with men in white, slowly tilting over with a list to her port side. Men are doubling on deck to their places in perfect order, with no shouting or panic. Then evidently the order every man for himself is given, for I see a figure leap into the water making a big splash, then another and another, it is like jumping off the side of a house, until the sea around is dotted by bobbing heads of men swimming. Slowly she tilts over, and men clamber onto the side above the torpedo nets, which are out, as many as possible get away from the nets, for they make a trap. By this time, after only four minutes, she is surrounded by destroyers, trawlers, penises, and small boats, and with perfectly wonderful and amazing efficiency, they systematically pick up the struggling figures in the water. One after another men continue to leap, while the big ship lists, yet there are some amongst whom are several officers, who stand on the side calmly waiting, and some still on the platform above the torpedo nets. My glasses are glued on these men. I see them plainly in every detail, and almost the expression on their faces, as they stand on this platform, with their hands behind them, holding on to the side of the ship. I see an officer in the center looking anxiously to the right and the left, shouting directions. A man at the end manages to clamber to his left, and slides painfully over pipe stays and the usual fittings on the side of a battleship, falling with an awkward thud in the water, and another and another follow him. Then, after six minutes, she begins to list quicker and quicker, and the remaining men on the torpedo net platform still hang on. The nets curl up into themselves. These men are now horizontal to the ship, for she is now well on her side. The nets fling themselves into the air with a horrid curl, and disappear from view with these brave officers and men underneath. Can they dive and get free? The emerald green of the keel plates appears, and in two minutes she turns turtle, her boughs remaining highest, and her stern beneath water. As she turns, men run, slip, and slide into the water, and at the finish, eight minutes after, her boughs are showing and about fifty feet of the bottom of the ship above water at an angle. Finally, one man is left on the green slippery keel, and he, evidently not being able to swim, calmly takes his jacket off, sits down, and, if you please, takes off his boots, and walking slowly into the water plunges in, having the good fortune to grab a life-boy and is hauled to a tug. The submarine has been spotted, and torpedo destroyers give chase, circling round and round, but all signs of her have disappeared. The destroyers, six in all, make bigger and bigger sweeps, when the sound of firing is heard out at sea, and about four miles to the east of Imbrose, I can see a big French battleship going hell for leather towards the island. She is firing a stern, and immediately all six destroyers put out to sea as fast as they can steam. The French ship then fires an extra big shell of stern, which explodes with great violence in the water. The destroyers coming up, she gives up firing, and makes off to safety. Later, no news as yet of the submarine, and we await with a little anxiety for the developments. The survivors coming ashore were looked after by the Tommys, given new clothes, breakfast, and rum, and, it seemed none the worse for their adventure. One said, this is the third dash time I have been sunk, and I am getting a bit fed up. One quickly becomes a philosopher and fatalist on this peninsula, and the fact that we are all atomic to each other keeps our spirits up. I hear that most of the crew are saved, including the admiral and the captain. About forty have lost their lives, and I am sure amongst this number are those unfortunate brave men who stood calmly waiting for almost certain and immediate death, or the bare chance of continuing to live longer on that trap of a torpedo net platform. I stroll down to the beach and talk to naval officers about the loss, but they appear as optimistic as ever, tell me she was an old boat of not much value nowadays, built as long ago as 1894, and that when once Achibaba is taken, the fleet will get to work and make a dash up the straits. The scene is just the same this beautiful evening, but instead of a dignified, strong battleship in our midst, there remains her green boughs, like the head of an enormous whale peeping out of the water. 7 a.m. Taub flies over, drops bomb, two men killed. May 28. Go up to brigade headquarters this morning. Delightful canter along West Crithia Road. I pass many camps, or rather lines of trenches, on either side of the road, serving as camps. Just at this time of year crickets are very numerous. It is difficult to spot them, but they make a sound with their chirping, not unlike the concerted song of a host of sparrows. I notice it more particularly at pink farm in the early morning, and sometimes at night on the cliffs by the sea. I find that brigade headquarters have moved forward a little to the left and have dug nice quarters into the side of a small hill. They were flooded out of their previous headquarters by a cloudburst, a curious phenomenon. We did not feel it at all on the beaches, and yet a few miles inland they experienced a veritable flood. 5 p.m. I ride to Mordo Bay across country through the white pillars and have a ripping bathe. It is a beautiful spot, just up the straits, three miles from the shores of Asia, flanked on its left by high ground, on which is Ditaat's battery, and on its right by the high wooded ground behind Sedel Bar, perfect bathing, all sand and gently sloping until one wades out of one's depth. Plenty of French troops bathing as well. All this side of the peninsula is in the hands of the French. As we are bathing, one shell comes over from Achi and bursts near the white pillars. 7 p.m. Arriving back at W. Beach, I can see about half a dozen destroyers bombarding a few villages on Imbrose for all they are worth. Lord, are we at war with Greece now? 8 p.m. May 29. A beautiful day, but there are no battleships lying off, and but one or two supply ships. The absence of shipping makes a great contrast to the busy scenes amongst the fleet and transports of a week ago, and their absence has a depressing effect on us all. Several destroyers are patrolling up and down the coast, and from Asia to Imbrose. All is quiet on the front, but reinforcements steadily arrive, and a continued steady stream of ordnance stores and supplies is unloaded from the supply ships into lighters, which are then towed by small tugs to the piers, alongside which they are made fast. There the stores are taken over by royal engineers, ordinance, or supply officers, who, with groups of laborers, unload them from the lighters onto the piers. Greek labor then handles the stores along the piers to the beach, where they are dumped on the sand. Then officers with clerks check the stores with the figures stated on their vouchers, and Greeks load them onto wagons and mule carts, which then drive off up the newly made steep roads of the beach, to the royal engineers' park, just halfway up the beach, to the ordinance depot on the cliff to the right of the beach looking inland, or to the rapidly growing main supply depot, which will soon make a splendid target for the Turkish gunners on the high ground at the back of the beach. At times we find that the main supply depot is unable to satisfy all our indents, and in consequence we have to go down onto the beach and draw from the piles of supplies which have accumulated there faster than it has been found possible to cart them away. But never on any occasion do we find that our indents have to be refused from both the main supply depot and the beach. For the Army Supply Corps out here, where there are difficulties that have never been experienced before in previous campaigns, such as transporting by sea from Southampton or Alexandria over a sea rapidly becoming infested with submarines, unloading into lighters offshore in a rough sea, with the lighters bumping and tossing roughly against the ship's sides, towing the lighters alongside flimsy piers, always under a constant work of construction or repair, and finally the arduous work of man handling from the lighters to the beach, carting from the beach to the main depot, and thence to trenches, guns, and camps, with a daily ration of Turkish shells to dodge, are organizing the feeding of the men in the trenches, the man at the gun, and we behind, punctiliously as our troops are fed in France. Whatever unforeseen difficulty arises, breakfast and the succeeding daily meals are always ready at the scheduled hours for general and private officers, chargers, and mules. One hitch in our army here may have to go on half rations or no food at all. An army moves on its stomach. True, we are not moving, but if our stomachs are not regularly and wisely fed, we shall rapidly have to move, and then in the opposite way to our objective. The Army Service Corps officer who was at dinner at Richie's the other night is with me on the beach, and as I walk with him to the main supply depot, he contrasts the circumstances here with those in France under which the Army Service Corps works. Pointing to the pier and stacks of supplies on the beach, he says, There you have your havre and base. The wagons, limbers, and mule carts are, he tells me, the equivalent of the railway supply pack trains running every day from havre to the various railheads behind the lines. We arrive at the main supply depot, and he says, We are now at one of these railheads, but hardly ever does a railhead in France get shelled, and never one of them regularly and continually as this one will be when these stacks of biscuits grow a bit higher. Pointing to our divisional depot of four little dumps, one for each of our groups, just three hundred yards away from us, he says, There is your refilling point, usually two miles or more from a railhead and then seldom under shelf fire. In our case, we are actually behind railhead. An officer on duty at the main supply depot, who has been up to Anzac, as the landing of the Australians up the coast is now called, joins in our conversation, and tells us that, actually on the beach at Anzac, spent bullets continually fly over from the enemy trenches, adding fancy spent bullets flying around the depot at havre. I ride up to brigade headquarters in the afternoon and have tea, and am called on to supply them with the latest beach rumours, which I glean each morning from our dump and from our naval officers on shore. Coming back, just in front of Pink Farm, I stop at the mess of the Royal Scots, who are in a trench camp. Their mess is very well dug in, and I am surprised how comfortable it has been made. They are very hospitable, and have an overflowing lotter of unheard of luxuries in this land of bare necessity. Old Steel the quartermaster is there, and presses Turkish delight on to me. As we sit talking, shrapnel whizzes over and bursts behind us, fifty yards to our left, trying to get L. battery. I hear the account of the part the Royal Scots had taken in the last little scrap, and am told that one of their sergeants, who was a man of good position in Edinburgh in civil life, was found dead, lying with a semicircle of five dead turks around him. Their heads smashed in with the butt-end of his rifle. He must have come of a fighting stock, yet never anticipated he would end his life on the battlefield. May 30. I am on duty at six a.m. at the main supply depot, drawing the day's supplies to our divisional dump. Each of the four supply officers takes it in turn, so that the duty falls on me once in four days. It is a lovely fresh morning, and after signing for the supplies I light a cigarette and stroll back to my bivvy, feeling ready for breakfast. I meet Millward on the way, who now lives in a tent near the depot. He was our naval landing officer on the Don Gola on April 25, and is now one of the naval landing officers on the beach. He tells me that he is about to go back to join his original ship, somewhere in the North Sea, that he does not want to go a bit, and this side of the war is far more interesting. He also says that the piers are going to be constructed so as to be proof against the bad weather that will come in the winter. Ships will be sunk to form breakwaters. The winter, I exclaim? Heavens, we shall be in Constantinople long before then. Archie will be ours by June 30, and then we have them at our mercy. Millward says it is wise, however, to be ready for a winter. Winter? Lord, what a long time ahead it seems. This afternoon I ride with Carver, Woodbridge, Foley, and Tull, with Orderly's two mortal bay, and on the way have a delightful cross-country canter. I have difficulty though in making my mare jump trenches. She jumped hurdles at work, racecourse like a bird. Had a delightful bathe while the French Sénégalese were doing likewise.  No firing from Asiatic side. Their guns evidently silenced by us. Only three miles across, most beautiful view, with mountains and plains of Troy in the background. This place will make a fine watering-place after the war for some enterprising capitalist. In the background, beautiful wooded country, with the stately white pillars standing up, the whole place this side of the pillars a large French camp. I like the French. They are charming. What a difference this place is now to what it was in those first few days when we had to toil up at night through the Turkish cemetery, past the croaking frogs, with fears of snipers. May 31st. A perfect day. I ride up with Foley to my brigade in the morning, and there me Captain Wood, the adjutant of the Essex, and dear old Ruby Rebel of the same regiment. The mess room at Brigade Headquarters, though dug in the side of a small hill, is like a country summer house, and this morning it is very hard to realize that we are at war. Crickets are chirping in the bushes and pretty little chaffinches with bright-colored feathers hop about amongst the trees. I look through a powerful telescope at the Turkish trenches, and it seems almost as though I could throw a stone at them. The precipitous slopes of Achibaba appear in vivid detail. As for the Turkish first line, I feel that if I put my foot out I shall tread on its parapet. Yet I see not a sign of life, and all is perfectly quiet. I think that a big attack is coming off in a few days now, and great preparations appear to be going on. Many reinforcements have arrived, and we are almost up to full strength again. In fact, several of those who were slightly wounded on the first day have actually returned fit and sound to the firing line. Riding back, Foley and I call at his brigade headquarters and see Major Lucas, the brigade major, and, later, Brigadier General Marshall comes in. Their headquarters situated some three hundred yards behind Pink Farm, but to the right, looking towards Achi, is built in an even more beautiful spot than the headquarters of the 88th. In fact, it can only be described as a most beautiful natural garden, and the quarters are composed simply of summer houses nestling under trees with flowers and meadow grass growing in beautiful confusion all around. Bullets just fall short of this spot, and shells do not drop near, for it is away from any target. I call it the Royal Naval Division Armored Car Camp afterwards, just half way back between Pink Farm and the beach, off the West Crithia Road, to look up a friend that I hear is with them, but learn that he has not yet landed. Four armored cars are dug into what look like deep horse stalls of earth. Beautiful Rolls-Royce cars, and I hear that they are to go into action in the battle which is thought to be coming often a few days. 2 p.m. This afternoon it is so hot that I strip to the waist and ride on the cliff. A few transports are in. Minesweepers in pairs, with little sales aft, are on duty at the entrance, cruising slowly and methodically to and fro, joined to each other by a sunken torpedo net, and woe unto a submarine that should run into that net. It will quickly meet with an untimely end. Its base will hear no more news of it, and its destruction will be kept secret by the Navy. Destroyers are on patrol right out to sea. One battleship can just be seen away towards Lemnos. Work on the beach goes on steadily. Engineers are hard at work constructing a new pier which will serve as a breakwater as well. Stones for this purpose are being quarried from the side of the cliff. A light railway is in course of construction round the beach, and along the road at the foot of this cliff and up to the depot. June 1, 1130. Road to headquarters, leaving my mare at Pink Farm, where I meet General Doran, our new Brigadier with whom I walk to headquarters. Coming back along West Quithia Road met Mathias, Brigade Veterinarian. Two shells whistle over us. Mathias says, Here comes a shell, to which I reply, It's come and gone, dear boy, as they burst plunk in the middle of the road that we have to pass along. We make a detour and ride back over country. Four officers just come from England, arrive and have lunch with us. 3 p.m. Ride with Foley to Mordeaux Bay for a bathe, bay full of French and Senegalese bathing. As we sat on dressing, one big burly fellow came up to Foley and said, Speak English, how do you do? and held out his hands. Foley was so taken aback that he shook hands. He then turned to me and showing his teeth, said, Tobacco. Being rather afraid that he was going to bite me, I quickly took out my pouch and gave him a handful. Then a sergeant, also a nigger, came running up and ordered him off, using most fearful language apparently, and away he went running like mad. They are fine-looking men. Mordeaux Bay looking very beautiful. I can imagine this a fine watering place after the war, with promenade, gardens, hotels, golf-links, etc. Achibaba looked a beautiful bronze color, with patches of green. The Dardanelles show a deep blue color, gradually blending into the purple of the Asiatic side, with its background of mountains.   The firing line in the distance, and our guns popping off at intervals, and enemy shells now and again whistling overhead. Such is the environment in which we have our bath. Foley suggests riding back through Seidel Bar, which we do, and we are fortunate in doing so, as eight shells beautifully placed, exploded just over the road that we otherwise should have taken, and at about the time that we should have been passing along it. 10.30 pm. Bit of the Turkish attack going on. Heavy rifle fire. 75s very angry and beating all known records of rapid fire. Their song sings me to sleep. I am not afraid of shells when I am sleeping. 9.June 2-14, 1915. June 2. After issue go down on beach to our train office, which is now dug in the side of the cliff, it has twice been moved, each time further and further round the cliff on the right of the beach, looking seawards. When shelling is on, our train office soon becomes full of passing officers, reminding me of a crowded pavilion at a cricket match when rain stops the play. Just as the pavilion empties as the rain stops, so does our train office when the shelling stops. Then all the morning there calls a continual stream of officers, royal engineers, ordinance, supply, artillery, and regimental, presenting their representative indents for transport, which the adjutant has difficulty with, in mathematically fitting in the detailing of transport to satisfy their demands with available wagons. It is a job that requires tact and organization. Officers also call who come just to pass the time of day and exchange rumors, or beach gossip as we call it. The circulation of rumors is the best entertainment that we have, and though ninety-five percent of them are estranged from truth by a large margin, yet life would be doubly as dull as it is without them. They are always listened to with great interest, though before they are heard, listeners know they are going to be miles off the target of truth. And if a man who has achieved a reputation for carrying with him the latest and most interesting beach gossip fails any morning in producing any, he causes really keen disappointment. This morning we hear that the Turks are starved, have no clothes, are almost at the last gasp for ammunition, and only require one more hard knock before they retreat precipitously to lines which they have prepared well beyond the slopes on the other side of Achibaba. The navy then tells us that once Achibaba is in our hands, we command the narrows. Chanakfort will be shelled to a pile of bricks and stones. The fleet will make a dash up the straits into the Marmora and will arrive before Constantinople in three days. After a heavy bombardment of this city, the goal of our ambitions, we will attack the Turkish army now starved and demoralized beyond recovery. They will be beaten and will make unconditional surrender. The peninsula will be ours, the Dardanelles will be open, Russia and the Allies will link hands, and the war will end six months after in glorious victory for our cause and confusion to our enemies. We drink in minor rumors day by day that are given as irrefutable evidence in support of these prophecies. We are buoyed up in hope and spirits thereby, and ourselves spread the rumors to those of our friends who still remain pessimistic. I go up to the main supply depot, and there, having by now been given a reputation for carrying good and juicy rumors, I cheer them up by the news that Achibaba will be ours by June 30. Smart, one of the officers there, who was in the retreat from Mons, makes me a bet, and the stake is a nice ruler that he has on his desk. I promptly book the bet. I go up to Brigade and have tea, and supply them with the latest rumors. June 3. It is very windy today and is blowing nearly a gale, and wind on the tip of this peninsula is an unpleasant element to be up against. In consequence, the beach is smothered with dust, and clouds of it fly in all directions, covering everybody and everything. While issuing, shells burst on the crest of the high ground at the back of the beach, steadily all the time, and near inland puffs of shrapnel are visible. They cannot reach us here with shrapnel, thank goodness. Shrapnel is so comprehensive. A lucky shell comes two within ten yards of our depot, kills a man, a passer by, outright, wounds a sailor, and slightly wounds my butcher in the knee. I ride up to Brigade with Phillips. General Doran shows us map of our objective, and carefully marks thereon where rations are to be dumped to-morrow night, for to-morrow is to be the day of an attack upon our part to take Achi. If successful, then, the beginning of the end of the show will be in sight. No news from outside world, and a great scarcity of papers. Reading a paper about a month old is now a great luxury. In the evening, Williams and Phillips and myself borrow a boat from a military liaison officer, and have a short row round. It makes splendid exercise, and the scenes on shore are very interesting. Why did not we think of it before? When they shell the beach, all we have to do is get into a boat and row out to sea, and then watch the fun. Surely a submarine would not trouble to torpedo us, and it would be a shell with our name and address on that would hit us. We pass a submarine, British, marked B-9, a very small one. An officer is in the conning tower and says good evening to us. We chat, and he invites us on board. Two sailors hold our little boat while we clumsily climb onto the submarine slippery back. We climb down a perpendicular iron ladder, through a hole not much larger than a coalshoot to a cellar under a street. Inside we find only one chamber, awfully cramped and small. At one end of this sleep the men, and at the other two officers. The chamber provides quarters for men and officers alike, and engine room, ward room, and anti-room, all in one, like Dan Lino's one-roomed house. In Dan Lino's words, if you want to go into the drawing-room you stay where you are. I am shown the working of the engines, and try to look wisely at the intricate host of levers and brass things, but really can understand nothing at all of what the officer is talking about. I am shown how a torpedo is fired. You pull a thing out and she shoots. Phillips appears to know all about it, though, but he doesn't really. I look through the periscope, turn the lens round, and suddenly, before my eyes, I see V. Beach and said Elbar in vivid detail. What joy it must be to spot a hun battleship and see her effectively hit. The officer then invites us to sit down and call for drinks. I gasp. We never heard of such things on shore. An attentive army batman, smiling benevolently, brings along about half a dozen bottles and glasses. The officer apologizes for not having much choice. Is he pulling our legs? What perfectly charming beans these naval fellows are! I choose Sherry.  The middle sex yeomanry always comes into Williams' conversation when he gets chatty, but I can't connect this regiment with submarines at the moment. I have two glasses and we rise to go. Our perfectly delightful host expresses regret that we must go and invites us again in the near future. Up the perpendicular iron steps we climb, Phillips leading puts his heavy boot in my face. It seems a long way up those steps. Up in the cool air, with the breeze blowing in my face, the deck of the submarine seems much narrower than when we first came on board. I look at the little boat gently heaving in the water alongside and take one cautious step onto one of its seats, and with one foot in the boat and one on the submarine, I turn to thank my host again. The little boat falls with the swell of the sea and I promptly sit down very hard into her. All aboard we row back merrily. Here the two shells have arrived on the beach during our absence. Shells? Pfft, that's nothing. We don't worry about shells now. I swear I had only two Sherries, but I am very empty inside. And the cool air, after a stuffy atmosphere. Yes, even a Padre might feel like that. June 4. I awake and rise early. Today is the battle, and tonight we shall be probably feeding our troops in or beyond Krithia. Today will probably be a great day for our arms. I get my issuing over early and ride up to Brigade headquarters and see Usher, asking him if he has any further instructions. All the arrangements are complete, and I hope that I shall have to take the rations up to or beyond Krithia, for then we shall have tasted complete victory. I see General Doran, who is hard at work. Two officers of the Egyptian army arrive and talk awhile with me. I learn that they have landed only this morning. They are dressed very smartly. Polished Sam Brown, revolver, smart tunic and breeches and boots. But I think they are making a mistake. They look like the pictures of a military tailor's advertisement. Most officers of the infantry dress like the men, to lessen the chances of an enemy sniper getting them. I get back to W. Beach at 10.30 a.m. and see the implacable and Albion coming slowly in with destroyers and submarines all around each ship, jealously guarding them from submarines' attacks. A French battleship I think the Saint-Louis is off V. Beach. Destroyers are on the patrol as usual, searching for the dreaded submarine enemy. Three hospital ships are now in. 11 a.m. The French 75s start the music, bursting out into a roar of anger. Shortly after, all our shore batteries join in, and the 60 pounders make our ears feel as if they would burst until we get used to it. The bombardment increases. The battleships and destroyers now join in with all their guns. The noise is infernal after the quiet that we have been used to. I go up to the high ground at the back of W. Beach, lie down in a trench, and watch the show through strong glasses. Only a few are with me in the trench. Next to me is Bettelheimer, our liaison officer. He speaks Turkish like a native and is a very charming and decent old boy, tremendous shelling now going on, and it seems to grow more and more intense. Hundreds of shells bursting along the Turkish positions. Turkish artillery replies furiously, mostly with shrapnel, all along our trenches. No shells come on the beaches. Hundreds of white puffs of shrapnel burst all along the line, and fountain-like spurts of black and yellow smoke, followed by columns of earth, are thrown into the air, ending in a fog of drifting smoke and dust. 12 noon. The bombardment slackens and almost dies away suddenly, and I hear a faint cheer, but searching the line carefully with my glasses can see no signs of life. After a short pause the bombardment bursts again, even more intensely, and then slackens, and our guns increase the range. I can see three armored cars on the right of our center, which before I had not noticed, one behind the other, each one a short distance to the right of the one in front, moving slowly along the flat ground on either side of the Settelbar road, and they actually pass over our front line and creep up to the Turkish front, driving backwards. They halt, and I see the spurts of flame coming from their armored turrets as their machine guns open fire. After about ten minutes I see the car furthest behind, move back to our line, now driving forwards, and after a while the remaining two follow. Our shells burst thickly, smothering the Turkish first and second lines, and all the way up the slopes of Achibaba. I see our men in the center leap from the trenches, and the sun glistens on their bayonets. I see them run on in wave after wave, some falling and remaining lying on the grass like sacks of potatoes. I can see nothing on the left. Now I see the French on the hill on the right of our line, and the hill is covered with dark figures rushing forward. The din and roar continues, and I am called away to my dump. Two p.m. Rumor hath it that we have taken the first two lines of trenches, the armored cars return to their dugout garage, one with one man wounded inside. For thirty p.m. Prisoners come marching down the beach under escort, big hardy chaps in ill-fitting khaki clothes, and many with cloth helmets on their heads, looking rather like the paper hats I used to make when a kid. I go up to see the quarter-masters, to pass on instructions that rations tonight will be dumped at the same place as last, namely at the ruined house in front of Pink Farm. And so we cannot have advanced much. I meet a wounded Royal Naval Division officer, and he tells me that the French have been forced to give way on the right, and that his division immediately on their left, having advanced, are, in consequence, rather hung between the Devil and the Deep Sea. I stop and look through Butler's strong telescope, and see, in front of Chrithia, before a green patch, which we on the beach call the Cricket Pitch, little figures digging in hard at a new line. Nine p.m. Rifle fire is still intense, and shore-batteries going at it all out. The battleships have gone home to bed. Achibaba looks more formidable than ever. 11 p.m. Steady rifle fire going on. We have advanced some five hundred yards in center, and are holding the ground one. The French have not advanced. I learn that when our bombardment suddenly stopped shortly after noon, and when our infantry raised to cheer, the enemy stood right up on the fire steps of their parapets, preparing to meet their charge. Our infantry did not leave their trenches. Instead, our machine-guns got on to the Turks, waiting exposed, and bagged many by their fire. 11 p.m. June 5, 6 a.m. Steady rifle firing still continues, having gone on all night. noon. Road of French submarine with Phillips, Williamson, and Foley, and after pulling round, looking interested, are invited on board. Phillips has one foot on the slippery back of the submarine, and one foot on the boat rocking in the sea, when a dog comes rushing along the deck of the submarine, barking furiously.  Most interesting on board the submarine. Engines and mechanical gear a marvelous piece of work. Very interesting looking through the periscope. Two charming officers, having lunch in a dear little cabin, talk to us. Submarine four times as big as the British one that we went aboard two days ago. Here that Prosser and Wyman, friends of mine in the Hampshire's, have been hit, and are on hospital ships. Damned fine chaps. Here later that Bush of Worcesters, another friend and a splendid fellow, has gone. Blown to bits by a shell while leading a charge yesterday. Fine man. He had been wounded and had been awarded the military cross at the landing. Also the two jippy officers, who reported at Brigade headquarters when I was there yesterday, have gone. Killed while leading their new companies. This happens after every battle. One makes friends such fine friends, and one is always suddenly losing them, leaving such gaps as sometimes makes one wish that one could follow them. But it is against tradition of the service to be morbid about it, and so we carry on, knowing that those who have gone west would, if they were still with us, be cheery, brave, cool, and efficient at their respective jobs. Go up to Brigade headquarters with O'Hara. Leave the horses at Pink Farm and walk to headquarters. Find them all up at an observation post, just behind the firing line, which is moved forward after yesterday's battle. The commanding Royal Engineer's 29th Division joins us. A most unconcerned individual. He goes on up, across country. O'Hara waits a bit to give some instructions and then goes on, and I follow. After a bit across the country, with a few overs flying about, overs are bullets which have missed their target but which are still traveling at a high velocity, we dip down into a gully and follow its winding path for about ten minutes to the observation post, where commanding Royal Engineer's and the rest of the staff have already arrived. Bullets fairly whizzing overhead. Usher tells me to step closer to the side, which I promptly do, on account of a few bullets which are on the descent. Very interesting there. Telephone and signalers busy, and orderlies arriving and departing. A few shells scream overhead. We all have tea and chat. Thompson looks rather ill and worried. All the time we are having tea there is a constant ping of bullets over the dugout. Look through observation hole and have a perfect view of yesterday's battlefield. The Worsters advanced and are holding their position. They are exposed to inflating fire as well as frontal fire from the Turks, but are digging in to protect themselves. They are very near Krithia, digging on that green patch of land which we call the cricket pitch. Krithia looks very formidable but closer one gets to it. Turkish trenches are very deep, with good dugouts for sleeping and very deep, wide communication trenches. Hence we hardly ever see a Turk. Their firing line and sleeping dugouts are actually boarded. 11.30 p.m. As I turn into bed there is firing all along the line. Turkish counterattack going on. Our casualties yesterday very heavy, but Turks colossal. The Goban fired over to us today with not much damage. Shells did not reach the beach. I hear that Colonel Williams, or General as I have up to now been calling him, on account of his having acted as Brigadier of the 88th, up to the arrival of General Doran, was wounded in yesterday's battle. On General Doran's arrival he went to the Second Hampshire's, his regiment and the command. When the moment for the infantry attack arrived they leapt over and in an incredibly short space of time had taken their first objective. Colonel Williams with his adjutant then followed over to make his headquarters in the newly won trench. On inspecting it and making arrangements for the attack on the Second Objective he came back to his old headquarters to telephone the result and orderly accompanying him. Halfway back a Turk leapt up from behind a bush, ten yards away from him and fired his rifle, the bullet instantly killing Colonel Williams orderly. Colonel Williams drew his revolver, took deliberate aim, and the Turk also taking deliberate aim, leveled his rifle at the same time. For a second an old time duel might have been taking place in the middle of an historic battleground which was lately no man's land, both fire. The Turk falls dead and Colonel Williams is wounded in the left arm. That Turk was a brave man, but I think Colonel Williams is a braver. June 6th, 7 a.m. Shells come over on east side of the beach from a four-gun Turkish battery and big stuff too, about six inch, 7.30 a.m. More arrive in middle of our camp on the west side of the battery. We take cover under a cliff. I, wanting to get down to train-office, go up a cliff and just about to descend the steps when the shriek of one is heard, by which I could tell it is close to me. I fall flat into a hole on one side of the cliff, and it passes over the cliff and bursts on the beach, killing Gunner Sergeant Major. Ugg, how they shriek! Heavy firing continued on left all night. We lost a trench, but regained it. A Turkish Padre is a prisoner on the beach today. He looks rather a dear old chap with quite a benevolent expression. 6 p.m. I go up to brigade with Carver in the afternoon, leaving our horses at Pink Farm. My old mare knows Pink Farm well now. When I dismounted today and let go the rains, she walked over to the tree that I always tire to, under cover of the farm, quite on her own.  Waiting to see General Doran, who should I see strolling calmly across the country but my friend Dent of the Innus Killens? The last time we had met was at a gramophone dance at some common friend's home in Edge Baston. We have a chat about those days and ask each other for news of the partners we used to dance with. All the time, ping-pong, bullets fly about. But as he does not seem to mind, I take my cue from him and try not to mind either. Besides, it would be rather nice to get a cushy one in the arm. 11 p.m. We are being shelled by a battery from Kumkali. This is the first time we have been shelled at night. They did not reach our side of the beach, and as Philip says he can read the mind of the Turkish gunner, he is always saying this and I have great confidence in him, and that we are off the target. I go to sleep without anxiety. 7 p.m. Heavy gun with high explosive kicking up a devil of a row all day, but not reaching the beach, bursting in the valley on the way to brigade headquarters. Plenty of artillery dueling all day. Asiatic battery fires on transports and hits one several times, setting her alight, and she now has a heavy list on. French crew rush to boats and clear off quick. British torpedo destroyer goes alongside, puts crew on board the transport, and they put out the fire. All transports move further out to sea, and Turkish battery shuts up. I have to feed the prisoners, and a party of them come up to our depot under a guard to draw rations. Transport is provided by two general service wagons. They are ten of them in the party and one of their non-commissioned officers. They fall in in two ranks, and wherever I move they follow me with their eyes. I then motion to their non-commissioned officer to load up a certain number of boxes. He gives an order in Turkish, and they load up in remarkably quick time. They are then fallen in by their non-commissioned officer, and one of them, who is rather dilatory, is pushed into his place by the others. Marching in front of the general service wagons, they go back to their barbed wire enclosure. They appear most anxious to do the right thing. Many of them were raggedly clothed, with their boots almost out at heel. No shelling during night. June 8. Hardly any Turkish shelling this morning. Went up to brigade headquarters. While there, usher the brigade major, shows me the wires that were received and sent to and from the brigade headquarters during the battle of June 4, and they make interesting reading, telling a grim story in short, pithy, matter-of-fact sentences. Troops now consolidating line and making it firm. The Lancashire fusiliers successfully took a trench last night, and, straight in the line somewhat, askled popping off on the Asiatic side to silence Turkish batteries. My friend Dent of the Innus Killens hit last night by a spent bullet in the gully. But I think not seriously. Grogan of the King's Own Scottish Borderers, a delightful chap, was killed by a shell on June 4, such a splendid fellow. My mare, looking very fit now, gets quite frisky when I ride out to the front every morning, and is getting better at jumping across trenches. June 9.  I have never experienced such a wind, and yet an aeroplane goes up, but for a bit is absolutely stationary and soon has to land. Turks in a very strong position on the left. Country lends itself naturally to defenses. Ride up to line with Phillips and Wei. Coming back Wei's horse landed out at my mare, kicking me in the shin, making a nasty place. My leg is now bandaged, and I limp rather badly. Very little firing today. Asiatic battery woke us up at 5.30 a.m. and tried to bombard transports, all shells falling into the sea. Rode out to sea and went on board submarine B-10 with Phillips and so on north. Actually had a drink. Also they have a gramophone, and it was absolutely gorgeous listening to familiar music, carrying us back to our past peaceful existence once more. As we go up on deck to take our leave, a torpedo boat circles round us, a signaler wagging to us. The signal is taken by one of the crew of the submarine, transmitted to the commander and reads, Anything we can do for you? He replies, No thanks, any news? And the torpedo boat destroyer signals back some news that has just come through of progress made by our force in Mesopotamia on the road to Baghdad. We are told that daily torpedo boat destroyers come along and offer to do little jobs for the officers on board of the submarine, and sometimes send over delicacies such as roast, foul, hot, etc. June 10, 5.30 a.m., shells popping off at shipping again, and one hits the beach. Also the Turks in front get very busy for four hours bombarding our position. I believe that they really think that they are going to push us into the sea. 5.30 p.m. I walk along the road at the foot of the cliff towards X Beach. The road is now a good one, and the transport is making continual traffic up and down. It is very convenient, for transport can move not only undercover from the enemy, but in safety to a certain extent, for up to now but few shells drop over the cliff onto this road. I know a place, however, from which they can shell this road and the slope of the cliff, and that is on their extreme right overlooking the sea. From there they can look along parts of the road and side of the cliff, which is in view of their trenches. Though other parts by the coast jutting out a little for small distances are under perfect cover and, in fact, quite safe. Passing the Greek labor camp, I continue my walk to X Beach, which is about half as wide as W, and a quarter as deep. Instead of the ground sloping up gently at the back, as is the case at W Beach, it rises at a steep angle to the top of the cliffs. Unlike W Beach, it comes constantly under shrapnel shell fire, but receives very few heavy shells, and is far more undercover than is W. The road to Gully Beach at the foot of the cliffs of X Beach is not finished yet, and is in a very rough state. Just before I reach Gully Beach, I come upon brigade headquarters, dug in at the side and foot of the cliff. The battalions are dug in in as much regimental order as possible, along the sides of the cliff, which are higher here than further down the peninsula, and more undercover. Shells now an again burst, shrapneled chiefly, on the top of the cliff, and a few come over and fall with a big splash into the sea, but none burst on the slopes of the cliff. I hear, though, that one man yesterday was cut in half by a shell while bathing a horrid sight. This camp on the slopes of the cliff is now the rest camp of the division, and while two brigades are in the line, one brigade is at rest. At rest that is from bullets, and if they keep under the cliff from shells, but not at rest from digging fatigues. The road has to be made, and so have the dugouts on the side of the cliff.  I talk to the only two officers left of those who were with the worsters in England. They appear very breezy and bright. We are hard at work building our men's bivouac, which is in the form of a funk hole. We are digging it in the side of the cliff from the top, and it will be entered by about ten steps leading down to a terrace, which will run on the outside of the house, dug into the cliff's side, under a sloping roof made with a sailcloth. It will be so situated that, should shells come our way, they will either burst on top, where our old bivouac still is, or fly over the cliff and burst in the road below, or in the sea. We are modeling hours on a bivouac of some Royal Naval Division officers about fifty yards further up the cliff side. On their terrace they have all their meals, including dinner at night, which is a luxury, with the sound of the waves washing against the road below, and the view of Imbrose in the distance. In their dugout house at night they go to sleep with more feeling of security than I have at present. I share a tent with Philips. Just as I am turning in, Wei comes in to say that Asia has just started sending over high explosives. None reach us. But they make a devil of a row, and I fall asleep feeling rather uncomfortable. June 12th. Woke up at 5.30 a.m. by shelling, shells from Asia nearly reaching a big transport that had come in overnight, on the opposite of our bivouac. Wind and flies as bad as ever, and it is getting very hot. Dust smothering everything.  But it is still a long, long way to Achibaba. That must be taken first. Flip on the west side up to Gully Beach, covered with troops, looking like a lot of khaki ants from a distance, all back resting. They have to keep well under cover of cliffs, as they would soon be shelled. Major Lang Worsters killed in the last battle. He was the officer I saw in the trenches when I went up for Bush's letters. Bush also killed. This side of the war is the most difficult to bear. Just heard the Brigade are moving back to trenches after three days' rest. June 13. Perfect day. Wind dropped, but still a slight breeze. Have got into our new bivvy on side of cliff.  All well. Here they are moving forward to moral three hundred yards. Creeping nearer to our goal. General Doran gone back to England ill after last battle. Lieutenant Colonel Cayley, late officer commanding of the Worsters, now acting Brigadier General. Asiatic Annie popped off and dropped shells nicely on Crithia Road, on spot that I and my mayor had passed five minutes before, and she sent some nasty ones. Also she is dropping high explosives in French camp in Morto Bay. I don't think I shall bathe there for a bit. 5.30 am. French airplane falls into sea. Pilot and observer can be seen sitting on top of wing. Destroyers come to the rescue and also several motorboats. Officer picked up and airplane taken in tow. End of Section 9. Section 10 of Gallipoli Diary. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sue Anderson. Gallipoli Diary by John Graham Gillum. Section 10, June 15 to 26, 1915. June 15. Many reinforcements have arrived and troops are everywhere now, covering the Hellas Plateau up to Pink Farm with their camps. Duggin in trenches called Rest Camps. There is not much rest for them today, for Asia as well as Achi is making them their target. As I say to go up to Brigade Headquarters, I find the West Krithia being shelled. It is almost impossible to ride across country on account of the camps, and one has to keep to the roads, so I postpone my journey to later on in the day. I get laughed at for this, but it is the first time that I have started to go to Brigade Headquarters and funked it. I reply that if they would like a nice, fat shell in their tummies, they can ride up the West Krithia road now. However, they are only ragging, and any man who looks for shells is a fool. We are being shelled very badly from Asia today. They appear to have six big guns over there, somewhere opposite Morto Bay, and no doubt they have observation posts at Khamkali or Yenesher, and can see all that we are doing. We must make perfect targets. Their shells are reaching all over the peninsula now, and one fell right over our bivvy, exploding in the shallow water of the sea, killing a quantity of fish. These shells from Asia are doing a lot of damage. Every time they come, men lose their lives or get wounded, while the casualties among the animals are keeping the hands of the veterinary services full. A six inch shell came right in the supply depot this afternoon, but did not explode, yet it caused a sad casualty. It struck the leg of an Army Service Corps driver, a boy of twenty, and severed it clean from his body. He evidently did not realize it, for he made an attempt to stand up and hold back his mule, which was bolting with fright. But, of course, he immediately fell back, shortly after he died. They shelled us at intervals until dusk, just two or three at a time, and at intervals of half an hour or so, keeping us on tenterhooks. Phew! Give me the nice deep trenches when this goes on, where one walks about in comparative safety. There is no cover on W. Beach. You hear the distant boom, and then fall and grip the bosom of Mother Earth as a frightened child does its mother.  But not so the Army Service Corps driver. His order is to stand by his mule on W. Beach, that bull's eye of a target. And I hope that many of these drivers are not forgotten when names are called to be sent in for honorable mention. Riding and driving their mules at the same time, they are prevented from hearing the horrid shriek of the onrushing shell by the loud sound that the wheels of their General Service wagons make. And only when they see and hear a nerve-wracking explosion, or hear metal whizzing past their heads, making a sound like a propeller of an airplane, do they realize that they are under fire and in instant danger of being blown to bits. Yet they must not leave their mules, they must get the animals, wagons, and themselves under cover as soon as possible. As soon as possible? And that may mean ten minutes.  I have not yet seen a driver leave his mules, but I have seen several wounded, and one or two lads killed. But, say Laguerre, it is only the Army Service Corps quietly doing its job. No glory and honor, but ask an infantry man in the line here if he would change places with an Army Service Corps driver on the beach, and he will say that he prefers to stay in his trench and take his chance when the moment for the leap over the parapet comes. But the Army Service Corps never talk much, they just do their job, and when cursed for this, that, and other trivial matters say, Sorry, we will see if the matter can be improved. Improved, we are the finest fed Army in the world, where is the room for improvement? At dusk I go up to Brigade Headquarters with my staff sergeant, and overtake a draft for the Hampshire's on the way to join their battalions. I meet Usher, and he conducts them to their new trenches, and asks me to take Major Beckwith, who is just back, having now recovered from a wound in his leg received on April 28, after he had earned the Distinguished Service Order up to Brigade, which I do, and I wait and have a drink with General Cayley. There are not many bullets about, starlights go up continually from our and the enemy's front line. It is a weary walk back, and I wish that I had ridden. Millward, naval landing officer, came to dinner last night. He was the landing officer on the Don Gola, and had the job of sending us off to our doom on April 25. Also Warburton, off a submarine. He was with Holbrook when he got the Victoria Cross. June 16. Not very heavy shelling this morning. A few rounds there are depot at issuing time. No shells from Asia. The French have been touching them up a bit over there, and probably they are shifting their position. The French are hot stuff in getting on to the enemy's positions. No letters, no rumors, and life very monotonous. Large numbers of men going off sick with dysentery. In the afternoon they start shelling again up the Quithia Road, and again I postpone my visit to Brigade headquarters until nightfall, and ride up this time, first time my mare has been to Pinkfarm by night, and she does not like it at all. There are plenty of bullets by night, and but few by day. They continually flatten themselves against the ruined walls of Pinkfarm. The Turk appears to enjoy sitting in his trench, cocking his rifle up, and spraying with bullets the road up which he knows transport will come. Riding back just half way to W. Beach from Pinkfarm I see a bright flash to my left on the shores of Asia, and a few seconds after hear the deep boom of Asiatic Annie, a shriek and adult thud on W. Beach. This is the first shell from Asiatic Annie sent over by night, and if we are going to get them by night our life will be pretty poisonous. No place on this little tip of land is safe from shells now, and this afternoon the ship's line off have to clear away. To see a battleship now is a rare event, on account of the constant fear of submarines. June 17. Coming back from issuing this morning to my bivvy on the cliff I hear ships' horns tooting continuously, and running to the edge of the cliff I see a supply ship, which is lying immediately opposite, hoist a red flag, being the signal that submarines are about. Destroyers, minesweepers, and small penises from shore put out to the transport and cruise round and round her. I see distinctly a shadow glide along on the water on the side of the ship furthest from us, looking like the shadow from a cloud in the sky, and then it disappears. Men on board are all around the ship peering over the side. Then suddenly I see bobbing about in the water like a big fisherman's float, the red tip of a torpedo. Someone on a trawler shouts through a megaphone to the other craft. Look out for that torpedo. A small rowboat from the trawler puts out, rose up to the bobbing object in the water, fastens a rope round its nose and rose away, towing it after them. A nearing number one peer, the peer nearest to us, a military landing officer standing on the pierhead, shouts, Is the pistol head on? A reply from the boat says yes, and the military landing officer shouts back, well, take the damn thing away and sink it. The oarsmen then head their boat out to sea, and after some arrangement which I cannot see through my glasses, sink the torpedo. Ordinates get to hear of this and are annoyed, for they would prize such a find as one of the latest German torpedoes. It was quite fifteen feet long, with a red painted nose and a long, shining, bronze colored body. Later we hear that the submarine had fired two torpedoes, and, by being too close to her quarry, missed. By being too close also, she was missed by the destroyers, for they at the time were making circles round the transport at about the distance of the usual effective range of a torpedo. Shortly after, the supply ships were driven off out to sea by the Asiatic guns. Our sixty-pounder guns are firing hard over to Asia. I hope they have got the range of their guns. Our Bivouac, unfortunately, is in the direct line of their fire, and as each shot is fired, we can't help jumping, and our Bivvy shakes its flimsy walls. Three shells from Asia pitched right into our hospital on the edge of the cliff at the left of W. Beach, looking seawards, killing two orderlies and wounding six. Yet the doctors calmly went on their work of bandaging and dressing. The hospital is on a bad site, for it is only divided by a road from the little village of Marquis forming the Ordnance Depot. At eight thirty p.m. I go up to Brigade Headquarters with an orderly, and leave the horses at Pink Farm, and walk across that two hundred and fifty yards with bullets whistling more than usual, for tonight the Turks appear more energetic with rifle fire. It is an eerie sensation walking across there in the dark, when many bullets are about, walking very fast, almost counting one's steps, and getting nearer and nearer to the little light on the side of the hill. Had a chat there for twenty minutes in the dugout with General Cayley and his staff, and had a drink. Rather a nice picture, with the candles and the cheery officers sitting round, outside the sound of bullets whistling continuously. I say good night, and go out, and find my orderly, crouching pretty well down in a dugout, and he says, he thinks we had better hurry out, as it is a bit hot, and as he says so, ping goes a bullet between us. But the bullets do not give me the fear that those horrible high explosive shells from Asia do. A moon is getting up, and so we are able to trot back smartly. The scene on the Quithia Road at night is just what I imagined in past life, war to be. The wagons trekking up to the trenches, with, of course, no lights, and troops of all kinds moving up and down. In the distance, star shells shooting up and sailing gently down, illuminating the country as light as day, and as one gets nearer to the firing line, the crackle of musketry gets louder and louder, and during the final walk of three hundred yards from pink farm to headquarters, the song of bullets flying past one makes one very much alive. Overhead a perfect sky and myriads of stars looking down on a great tragedy with a certain amount of comic relief. These days we wish for more comic relief than we are getting. June 18. This morning Asia's guns have not worried us so far, but the batteries in front of Achibaba are very active and are worrying the troops in the valley very much. The sound of bursting shrapnel reminds me of the spit and snarls of angry cats. Our artillery is quiet. Rumor says that another enemy submarine has been accounted for, but the one that came in yesterday morning is still at large, and consequently our fleet is unable to come and help us. At two o'clock HMS Prince George is sighted off Imbrose, surrounded by twelve destroyers and preceded by seventeen minesweepers. It was a very impressive sight to see. All those destroyers and sweepers jealously guarding the great ship from submarine attack.  We enjoy seeing the pasting that she gives them, her big guns rapidly roaring away and belching forth spurts of flame and buff-colored smoke. Everybody imagines that every Turkish gun must be knocked out. After four hours she leaves with her retinue of smaller ships.  The fight lasted all night, and ended about six in the morning. Their infantry left their trenches very half-heartedly, and our machine guns accounted for a heavy toll of enemy casualties. June 19th. We gave way at a part of our line last night, but regained the ground later in the early morning, and our line is still intact and as we were. We lost heavily, but Turkish losses were enormous. Captain Usher, my staff captain, was killed this early morning in the trenches by Shrapnel, and I feel his loss awfully. He was always so charming to me. It's the good-uns that go, as Wilkie Bard says. I am sure this war is too terrible to last long. It is simply wholesale butchery, and humanity will cry out against it soon. At eleven-thirty an exceptionally heavy shell came over from Asia, a high explosive, and fairly shook the earth. Two minutes after, two more came, and every living soul rushed for cover. Then for three hours they pasted us. Over they came, one after the other, with terrific shrieks and deafening explosions, throwing chunks of hot, jagged-edged metal whizzing in all directions. All the mules and horses, as far as possible, were got under cover, and men rushed to their dugouts. Carver, Way, Davy, Foley, Phillips, and I were under cover of the cliff in our bivvy, which cannot be called a dugout, as it is simply a wide platform cut in and built up on the side of the cliff, and in the line of fire between the sixty-pounder battery, twenty-five yards to our west, and the asiatic battery. The sixty-pounders soon opened fire, and then a duel began, and after one or two have pitched first over our bivvy into the sea, and one or two just short, we get nervy, and decide to quit. Phillips and Davy made the first dash down the cliff, and the others said they would wait for the next shell. It came shrieking along, burst, and I got up and made a dart down the slope. I was down to the bottom of that cliff in thirty seconds, and found myself with the divisional ammunition column people, and all amongst boxes of high explosive. Ammunition column offices are there, but I begin to think it would have been safer up in the bivvy where the others still were, for they did not follow me. After a lull in the firing I went up to the cliff, and halfway up they popped off again, and I was fortunate in finding a very safe dugout belonging to Major Horton, and he invited me in with Major Huskesson, Major Shorto, Poole, and Weatherall, and while shells still come over, first bursting on the beach, then in the sea, then on top of our cliff, and then on the high ground on the back of the beach. We have lunch. 7.30 p.m. I am riding this in our bivvy once more, and aeroplanes are upspotting for the sixty pounders. They have just popped off. One almost shakes the cliff when she fires. Asia has answered, but her shell has pitched on the east side of W Beach. The suspense of waiting for these shells is getting on the nerves of us all. What gets on my nerves more than the shells is the losing of the puka, regular officers of this splendid division, who are so cheery and manly, so reassuring to one and to each other. When they are killed, the stuffing and grit are almost knocked out of you. We four supply officers have been under fire almost every day since April twenty-fifth, night and day, and a rest away from it all would be awfully welcome. Yet we pull ourselves together when we realize what the infantry have gone through and are still going through.  It makes me think I am getting wind up. Fish is plentiful today, killed by Asia's shells, brought in by enterprising Greeks and sold to Tommy's excellent eating. June twentieth. Last night one Asiatic gun fired over to our camp one high explosive shell every half an hour, but everybody was well dug in and no harm was done. I was sound asleep. This morning Turkish artillery is very active, but Asia's guns are not doing much. We are improving our bivvy, making it possible to do our work without much interruption. It is almost impossible to keep books and organize the feeding of an army with high explosive and other shells dropping around. Lord knows where next. At the supply depot, however, we are very exposed, and it is very trying to stand there issuing day's food and loading up the wagons with shells flying overhead, and therefore I am having a proper dugout made. We have had many casualties there now, and the supply and transport men have absolutely no chance to save themselves when standing in the open with high explosives bursting nearer. We try and treat it humorously, but it is always a relief when the job is done. This morning my staff sergeant came to me and said, the RA have taken shriek of a shell and a bang during which we both looked over our shoulders, then supplies to the gully, sir. I reply, all right, and then we both duck behind a biscuit box as another shell comes nearer. Not much use really getting behind a box, but it looks safer than nothing at all. As his slop our Canadian veterinarian says, any hole looks good when Asia gets busy. This afternoon I walked along under the cliff to Gully Beach to see my brigade, who have now gone into reserve for a rest. On the way we pass a Padre holding evening prayer and preaching a sermon. As I come back I learn that several shrapnel had burst over the cliff, two officers, one man and a horse being wounded. A piece had hit the heel of the boot of the Padre as he was conducting the service. I spoke to several officers of the Royal Scots who had been in the fighting two nights ago during which the Manchester Territorials retired, evacuating two trenches which the Royal Scots and one company of the Worcesters took back 20 minutes after. Colonel Wilson, officer commanding Royal Scots, has been awarded the Distinguished Service Order for this piece of work. Bombs were used freely, and when the Royal Scots had got to the foremost trench at one time, Turks and British both occupied the same trench. The Turks hastily erected a barricade in the trench itself to protect them from the Royal Scots, who however quickly drove them out by bombs. Steel assured me that the Turks were using explosive bullets, but I doubt this, but I do think that they reverse their bullets now and again. I notice that his face is pitted with little cuts, and I learn that he has suffered this through being in the front line with his regiment in the Battle of June 4th, and on reaching their objective the Turkish trench in front, while hastily helping in the work of building a parapet with sandbags, was struck full in the face by a sandbag bursting through being struck by machine gunfire. He is acting adjutant to the regiment. I hear there is to be a French bombardment tonight, followed by an infantry attack. June 21st, 6 a.m. There is a fearful bombardment going on. Every battery on shore is concentrating its gunfire on a Turkish redoubt on the Turkish left, called the Heracory Doubt, and also on the trenches. The Turkish batteries are replying furiously, but without effect, though Asiatic Annie is rather nasty, her shells falling around the French batteries. One cannot see the effect because of the dust that the shells are kicking up, which is blowing right down to the beach. The sixty pounders on our right, twenty-five yards away, are joining in with a deafening report. Only one is in this action. The echo of her voice plays ducks and drakes around the coast and the few transports about, getting fainter as the sound dies away. French battleship at mouth of straits firing heavily, destroyers continually patrolling around her. 11 a.m. The infantry attack by the French has started, and there is a report of heavy musketry all along their line. 12 noon. I can see the French advancing under a perfect hail of shrapnel over the ridge behind Detat's battery. They are lost to view, and now I can only see hundreds of shells bursting, and hear an undertone of musketry. I can see nothing now but dust and smoke. 4 p.m. On duty at depot, fighting died down, howitzer from Asia firing our way but cannot reach us, shells bursting about hill 138. News that the French have done well and advanced quite a good way. 6 p.m. Asia fires on submarines off W Beach, and nearly hits one. They clear off for half an hour and then come back. Perfect weather and fine day for flying. Aeroplanes doing good work, worrying about over Achibaba and Asia. 7.45 p.m. The Turks are counter-attacking our right-in-force, but the French, with the support of the 75s, are holding the ground which they have won today, war of guns growing louder and louder. If the French manage to hold their own, it will considerably lessen the morale of the enemy, and the hill should be taken in the near future, and our own job will be half over. 8.30 p.m. Battle's still going on. On beach Tommy's singing, there's a little gray home in the west. Sun just going down behind Imbrose, making most lovely coloring. Sea dead calm, most peaceful scene looking out to sea. But when one turns one's back, one sees a great battle raging three miles inland. Extraordinary contrast. 9.22 p.m. Very hot, but perfect day. French attacks successful yesterday. They took two lines of trenches, and so have shortened and strengthened our front. Walk with Phillips and Birch, second in command of another submarine that has just arrived, to Gully Beach, Overland, all quiet on front, Turkish artillery dead quiet, but French 75s now and again popping off. Sea Brigade headquarters now in rest on the side of cliffs, and also Essex Regiment. Here that revel of the Essex has died of wounds. Ripping young chap. Had a cheery chat with him up at Brigade headquarters two weeks ago. The 29th Division officers are falling fast now, and we feel they're lost terribly.  I thought I saw the bombs drop quite clearly as I was watching through glasses, and it was surprising the time that they took to drop. I may have been mistaken the taupe was about over me, but I thought I saw a pencil line, as it were, drawn against the sky. Nasty suspense waiting for the things to reach the ground. Officer commanding of the west lowland territorial engineers killed by shell at Gully yesterday. Very fine chap. 8 p.m. A quiet day. Rumor that we are to expect asphyxiating gas dodge, and that we are going to have respirators served out. Unfortunately, the prevailing wind is down the peninsula and in our faces, and we are barely four miles from the Turkish trenches. Beautiful evening, and the sun setting behind Imbrose is making most exquisite coloring. June 23rd, 10.30 a.m. Turks very quiet. French 75s now and again firing. Very hot, fine day. Road last night to Gully Beach with Carver round by road on cliffs on W coast. Beautiful moonlit night. Wagons trekking up and down, and now and again a sentry challenges with his bayonet pointed to the breasts of our horses, which we rein in, at the same time shouting friend. Answered by past friend, all's well. I should like to feel that it really was all well. Enemy aircraft brought down yesterday falling in Turkish lines. French losses in recent battle. 2000. Tonight I ride again with Carver to Gully Beach, which is now the home of the 29th Division headquarters. The steep cliffs on either side of the Gully are honeycombed with dugouts, each with a little light shining, and in the declining light with the moon hanging overhead, shining on the sea. It is a very beautiful sight. We had a topping ride back along the road on the edge of the cliff overlooking the calm sea, lit up by silver moonlight. We could see quite plainly enough to canter, and cantering by moonlight in such beautiful surroundings is a unique pleasure. June 24. Today has been very hot and arid, very fine, and the sea dead calm, but artillery duels have been going on all day, as the French were so successful in their last battle, having captured those trenches and the hara-kori doubt on their left, thereby straightening and shortening our line. I think there is going to be another general attack for the hill tomorrow, preceded by an exceptionally heavy bombardment. If successful, then the danger of exfixiating gas attack for the present is over. Went up to brigade headquarters with Phillips, beautiful moonlight, and all quiet on front. Had a nice gallop back on West Quithia Road, but my mare nearly ran away with me. A bit dangerous going as there were so many shell holes about. Pink Farm and West Quithia Road get so badly dusted with shrapnel all day and every day now that I usually go up by night or early morning to headquarters. June 25. It is now exactly two months since we landed. Turkey's artillery has been fairly active today. It has been very hot, but a beautiful day, and now a most beautiful night, with a sea dead calm. We are having some nice bathing. The flypest is worse than ever and is frightfully worrying. The attack is not to come off tomorrow after all, but Sunday. Today the Lord Nelson, escorted by destroyers, went up the west coast and bombarded some target behind Achibaba. Shortly after a column of smoke arose behind the hill, and evidently the Lord Nelson has made good practice. She was shelled by a Turkish field battery, but only two shells burst immediately over her and hardly did any damage. June 26. I rose at 5.30 a.m., and getting my mare saddled, rode over to the other side of the beach and woke up Butler, the quartermaster of the Worcesters, who had promised to give me what he called a personally conducted cook's tour of the first-line trenches.   As we went over the crest onto the west coast road, mist was hanging low on the cliffs and at the foot of Achibaba. Above, the sky was cloudless. The words of Omar came to mind. Awake, for morning in the bowl of night, has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight. I wish the stone would put the Turks to flight. We rode to the gully and then down to the beach. There a priest was preparing an altar on biscuit-boxes, and about four hundred troops were waiting to take Holy Communion. We rode up the bed of the gully, and it was the first time that I had been right up. The engineers had made a good road up, winding in and out between high, irregular cliffs covered with gorse, and passing little gullies running out of the main one to right and left. All up for about a mile and a half the sides are honeycombed with dugouts for tubes to rest after a spell in the trenches, for battery headquarters and signal posts, et cetera. We passed the headquarters of the 86th Brigade, the latter being dug in in a charming spot a mile up from the beach. Thompson, my late staff captain, was seated on a terrace high up the cliff, shaving and shouted, Good morning to me. Arriving at the head of the gully we dismount and hand over horses to a groom with instructions to him to take them across country to pink farm. We meet Harding, the quartermaster of the Royal Fusiliers. We climb up the right side of the gully, a most beautiful spot which would delight artists and enter into a trench, over which bullets whiz and now and again shrapnel. Passing along the trench for some way, we turn to the left and go for quite a hundred yards along the communication trench leading into a maze of trenches, but we are enabled to find our way by directing signboards such as to reserve trenches, to support trenches, to fire trench, and names of units marked on as well. We at last find ourselves in the reserve and have a chat with the Essex. Then we wind our way and pass along an uninhabited trench, an evidently disused communication trench, and come on what is literally the emblem of death grinning at us. We see a grinning skull with almost all the flesh rotted off it, a bundle of rags, a hand, and two lower parts of legs with boots and putties intact, such a sight in earlier life would have filled me with horror, but I look upon such sites now as one would look upon a ruined house. We come to a dugout in the support trenches and are asked to wait as two men have just been hit by shrapnel. To reserve heavy artillery men, tell us that at the end of the next communication trench there is a naval twelve-pounder gun that had opened fire that morning on what was thought to be a many poisonous gas factory in a nulla in the Turkish lines, and that a Turkish battery had found our gun out and was shelling it. The two men who happened to be here had been hit. Shelling seems to have ceased, and one reserve heavy artillery man said to the other, Come on, Bill, if we are going to get it, we are going to get it. This sounded good philosophy, and so we followed them. One of them shouldered a sack of food and the other two jars of rum. Round the corner we passed the two wounded men, one wounded in the arm and the other badly in the shoulder, but both seemed quite cheerful about it. We went along the communication trench on and on until I really thought that the damn trench would lead into the Turkish lines, and then it gradually got shallower and shallower until we found ourselves in the open, but under cover of a rise, which was more or less protected from Turkish fire. Then suddenly we came on this twelve-pounder gun and saw three gunners crouching in a dugout. The two gunners who were leading the way went off down another trench hastily, pointing the way for us to follow to the fire trenches, and we nipped over that open space in double-quick time, I taking a heap of used cartridges in my stride, and at last we found ourselves in the well dugout front-line fire trenches, where we found the worsters. We had a chat with the officers. Shortly after our arrival, shelling began again with that twelve-pounder for a target. They put salvo after salvo over at the place we had passed. It was rather interesting watching the shelling from our part of the trench, and the sergeant major seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it. We have a look at the front trenches, which are very well made, with high parapets of sandbags, iron loopholes and periscopes, and nice little dugouts for officers' messes and for men to sleep in, and kitchens, larders, stores, etc. All the time bullets whiz over or thud against the sandbags. But one feels quite safe there, although only a hundred yards away from the Turks. It is a bit dangerous going along the communication trenches by day, as in places one can be seen, and from there can't see the enemy, they being so shallow. We soon got back along the beastly long communicating trench to the reserve, another one further along to the one we came. Then, to the support line and up, out into a nulla, and following that along, we came to the open place into which several nullas run, known as Clapham Junction, which often gets shelled pretty badly, and always under fire from overs. Thence, on to the main Cretia Road and across country to the pink farm, where we found our horses waiting. They were shelling the West Cretia Road, and so we cut across country to the West Coast Road and candid home in fine style, arriving back to breakfast at 9.30 a.m. Not much artillery fire came from the Turks during the day, but the seventy-fives were steadily plugging them in.


Your coca-cola bottler presents Claudia Claudia based on the famous play and novels by Rose Franken Brought to you transcribed Monday through Friday by your friendly neighbor who bottles coca-cola Relax and while you're listening refresh yourself Have a coke and now Claudia Say David listen. You think we ought to call that babysitter what for honestly sometimes you ask almost a silly questions As I do what for it's seven o'clock. She's not here yet. That's oh, she'll be here How do you know because we arranged for to be here seven o'clock? It's now seven o'clock. She's not here yet Well, you finish getting dressed then we'll worry about the babysitter Going out certainly gets to be a business. Well, I'm perfectly willing to stay at home Nothing doing Birthday even offered to but it's her day out and I wouldn't have it don't blame you'd rather have a babysitter Wouldn't you I don't know would I? Yeah, you would Birth and Fritz have their own lives to lead. We can't let ours into fear David my one and only principle Well, I hate to admit it, but you're right besides Mrs. Warren says this babysitter is excellent How excellent do you have to be to be a babysitter? Pretty excellent for my baby. You're conceited yours What are you looking for Dave? Have you been in my bureau drawers again? Just neatening things up I wish you'd stay out of them. I'm only trying to be helpful every time you need and things up I can't find anything you'll get used to where I put things and then you'll be much happier that way I was perfectly happy the way things were That's the trouble man. They never like any change. What are you looking for my cufflink box? With the shoelaces doing with the shoelaces Well, they're all in a little box too. So I thought I'd put all the little boxes Cufflink box in the shoelace box and collar button box box for pins tie-class and all those I put them together in one big box One big box why? So you won't have so many little boxes around. I see I can see there's no point in arguing I'll tell me just where did you put this overall box? That's a good name for it overall box I remember it's in the top drawer behind your socks with my overalls. I suppose I suppose there's a reason for that too Of course keeps the socks in place Grand that's good David, you know, I don't think you appreciate my being me frankly. I hate it Well, that's appreciation kind of appreciation makes a woman do her best work pushes her on the bigger and better things I was always under the impression that I was very neat about my bureau drawer Oh, you're neat enough, but you don't have time to devote to a system system now look at that What do you think of that? Don't you like it better? All those little boxes nice big box neat as a pin David, what are you doing?  Are you going to be all dressed when the babysitter comes? Of course, I am She's late. Certainly a good thing. We don't have to be at dinner the dinner party until eight Well, I don't think she can be much of a babysitter. She's not very prompt anyway here hold this cuff with you Let me try to get that thing. All right, but you never prompt don't push it from the other side You consider yourself a babysitter, don't you? Okay? That's all right. Anyway, it's different with me and the baby's mother Oh Not David you are certainly looking handsome. We ought to step out more often more often than I'd be a nervous wreck I'll get the other one. All right. The last thing you said to me this morning as I stepped on the train was Come home earlier. We'll be late for dinner. The first thing you said tonight was we'll be late for dinner You don't want to be late and make me make a bad impression. Do you if we're ever late because of me darling? I'll be the first to admit it. They wouldn't believe it if you did they'd automatically suspect me I can't imagine why maybe can I David it's five minutes after seven. She isn't here in five more minutes. I'm gonna telephone her. She'll be here I suppose you're psychic with her. Yes, I am I suppose in your mind's eye you're picturing your coming down river road on her bicycle It does. I suppose you can tell me exactly what she looks like. I am not interested in other women on bicycles. Oh sweet Well, Mrs. Warren says she's an excellent babysitter. You don't have to keep saying that. Well, I know how you worry about Bobby Even though I know you don't like even me to know it This babysitter takes care of mrs. Warren's grandson. What do you think of that? She does? Yeah, grandmothers are a lot fussier about grandchildren than they are about children wonder why Get dressed. I'm getting dressed. I'm all dressed. You don't look it So This babysitter's good enough for mrs. Warren's grandson's good enough for you. Doesn't this babysitter have a name? Of course she has a name. And why don't you call her by it? Well, how would you know who I was talking about if I was talking about harriet? You know anybody called harriet? No, can't say as I do. I were talking about harriet. You wouldn't have any idea who I was talking about Is harriet the babysitter's name? No No, you are really frolic from the night mrs. Norton. Of course because I am stepping out with my man How do I look my man? Not bad. Oh, that makes me feel very glamorous. Not bad Wash my hair Looks clean Well, I think I'm gonna have you take a course in beauty culture. So you'll appreciate me a little more I appreciate you. All right Never know it. Well, I married you. Well, that was nice of you. I think so Especially since I've been rushed ever since you rushed me before I rushed you remember Now it's your turn. You almost dressed. I'm just a few finishing touches I think you look nicer without the finishing touches You see how freely I give compliments. Well, things given freely have less value True with compliments. Why isn't that girl here? Yes, you'll be here. Just the one time. I'm ready on time. The babysitter's late She's not very late. That's all David listen, it worries me. Maybe she's forgotten. Now, why on earth would she have forgotten? She's going to be paid. She will forget. She might have. I would if I was she Well, you is not she. Oh, I wish I was.  Yeah, that's right. That's right. Well, stop worrying. She is not you. Thank goodness She'd be married to you. Not me.  All right. What if she isn't there and you'll know she's on her way over here No, I know why I married you. You're so bright. Well, you need me Now go on. Call her up. She's gone. We'll be wasting a nickel But if you insist, I'll Operator Hello, will you give me Eastbrook 718 ring two? I know her number by heart David. Extraordinary It's ringing. What time is it now? It's still early not as early as it was but it's not as late as it's going to be I suppose I think we'll have fun tonight. Probably not. But remember, this was your idea not mine I didn't want to go and I still don't you got us into it I'm not a bit. Sorry.  Why not? Well, figure it out for yourself.  Listen, you know, it took me hours pressing this dress this afternoon There are yards in this yard Oh, we're certainly lucky. We got the babysitter tonight. She's booked every other night this week every other night. Does she answer? Not yet Wonder what we'd have done if we couldn't have gotten her tonight. Now. What's the use of worrying about it now? No use. No use Listen, Dave, now I'm really worrying. There's no answer.  Where else would she be if she's due here? Well, that's why I'm worrying I'll put the phone down holding it off the hook won't bring her here any faster Why is something like this always have to happen? Nothing has happened. How can you say that? Here we are all dressed up ready to go And she's not here Now you want to go downstairs? I suppose so doesn't make much difference Stop frowning.  There's something isn't your fault Oh, I should have let it go by without comment. Don't break your neck on the stairs. Try not to Time is it not darling? Take it easy. Come on in the living room. I'll smoke my pipe and you stop worrying David it's at least a half hour's drive. We have to be there at eight I wish I could remember to put the matches in the suit that I'm wearing instead of the suit that I took off If we left right away, we would be there at quarter of eight and that's early I know it'll take me at least 15 minutes to show the babysitter around before we leave I have half a mind. Now go on.  Warren and give her a piece of my mind What did mrs. Warren got to do with anything? The babysitter takes care of her grandson. Don't you remember half the things I tell you? No, you don't No, I do my best If I just call her up and ask her if this girl's usually late, that'll be a great hail. Go ahead. I will I will Hello, hello operator. Give me eastbrook 417 ring one. You know that number by heart too. Mm. Have a big heart Oh, hello mrs. Warren this mrs. Norton Ms. Warren, I'm calling up about the babysitter you recommended to me. I She's what? She's it's your grandson Oh mrs. Warren. She can't be she David, what do you think of that? She made arrangements for two dates in one night. This is terrible Hello, mrs. Warren. I'm sorry. I was just talking to my husband See we're supposed to go out tonight and Oh This is the night she always goes to your daughter's Well, she's there on the wrong night. That's all What? Are you sure mrs. Warren? Oh, no Well, thank you for telling me Goodbye Well, what's the matter?   I've been going around all day thinking today was Tuesday Tuesday Well, I don't know if does that have to do with anything. It felt just like Tuesday I just can't believe it isn't Tuesday. Just what does Tuesday feel like? The way today felt like Listen, are you sure it's monday? Yes, it's monday. I'm positive in monday across my heart and hope to die.   That's what I said. Why? Because it's monday and our appointment to go out was for Tuesday Oh, david Please Please what please stop wiggling your nostrils and take me over your knee and end the agony claudia Come over here These broadcasts are adapted for radio by mania star and the entire production is supervised and directed by william brown maloney There's a comforting assurance about old friends old books old tunes a kind of tried and true quality. We all value There's that same assurance of quality about coca-cola Through the years well over 60 by now that quality has never varied Coke is always delicious always refreshing Every day monday through friday claudia comes to you transcribed with the best wishes of your friendly neighbor who bottles coca-cola So listening and tomorrow at the same time And now this is joking saying au revoir and remember Whoever you are whatever you do wherever you may be When you think of refreshment Think of coca-cola For coca-cola makes any pause the pause that refreshes And ice cold coca-cola is everywhere