Day 4 - Part Deux - Gallipoli
Photos here
Please excuse the amount of navel-gazing which goes on in these posts. As you may have worked out by this point, "blown away" would be the most accurate description of my state of mind whilst travelling through Turkey. I’ve decided that while the bits and pieces that I’ve seen are fantastic, if you really want to know about what they look like, or the history behind them, or the stories behind them, the chances are that wikipedia will give you a better description than I could. Well, more accurate, anyway. What I can do here, on this page, is describe how seeing these things, and being in these places, made me feel. Unfortunately, with such an aim in mind, and in a "blown away" mind at that, navels come into direct focus at time, and are locked in the grip of a steely gaze. Yes, I’m being figurative. No, I’m not talking about actual navels. Get your mind out of the gutter. What I’m trying to say is: the navel-gazing will continue. Deal with it. If you don’t like it, read someone else’s blog. I suggest Scott Adams, the writer of Dilbert – he writes a good amusing blog devoid of navels.
Anywho, on with the Turkey day 4. Having left behind the wars of ancient history and mythology, we headed for the site of more recent war and mythology. The tour started off with a ferry trip across the straights, which, my tendency towards sea-sickness notwithstanding, was great. Gorgeous clear skies, flat water, a bit of a breeze tempering the scorching sun, a clear view of the forts guarding the Dardenelles… Idyllic. Getting onto the coach at the other end, we were driven to a restaurant which was providing the lunch that was included in our tour. After lunch, we bought a t-shirt each from a chap who’d set himself up outside the restaurant – Anzac day prints which he had obviously not managed to sell on Anzac day. We paid $5 apiece, probably a huge rip-off – they were the worst quality t-shirts I’ve ever seen. Not that it mattered – I accidentally left mine on the coach at the end of the day anyway...
Onwards we were driven to a museum of the Gallipoli campaign replete with memorabilia from the campaign - full kit from British, Kiwi, French, Australian and Turkish soldiers, numerous letters written by soldiers to various loved ones in remote corners of the world, plus munitions and all the other odds and ends you'd expect. It's remarkable how old the design of the kits was, and how simple, how spartan. When you compare it with the paraphernalia of the modern military, it really was pretty simple stuff that they had to rely on. I'd not like to spend a night out in New Zealand in that gear in the winter, let alone try to brave the Turkish winter in it...
After a short talk from Ali (During which he successfully baited a couple of Aussie girls remarkably well - "Turkish women are hard working - they have many babies. New Zealand and Australian women are lazy, and only have one or two babies...") regarding the perspective Turkish people take on the Gallipoli campaign (they have little or no anger about it, and welcome Anzac visitors in a friendly way), we moved on down to the sea shore.
There was a rather large graveyard fronting onto the shore, and that was the first thing that struck you. Then you turned around, and looked at the cliffs that they must have been assaulting, and you realised that that was what they must have been assaulting. You can't help but think that it could all have been a little better planned... Walking down through the graveyard you start to realise how many young men died in a fairly inconsequential campaign. The feeling would return with a vengeance as throughout the day we visited graveyard after graveyard full of British, and Anzac men who were (mostly) killed before they reached my age.
We went from there on through several graveyards, and then stopped at a point where the road passed directly between the two sets of trenches when they were abandoned. It's incredible - they're about ten metres off the road on either side. They could have had food fights when they got bored of shooting each other, if they'd had any food... Actually, apparently that was the coldest winter Turkey had had in ages - they MUST have lobbed snowballs at each other occasionally...
Wandering around the trenches doesn't really give you a sense of how miserable it must have been. There's a nice scent, and the breeze is refreshing, and the sun shines so cheerily down on you, you can't really get a feel for what those guys must have been through.
Capt. Ali had a few things to say here too. His main points were that the soldiers on both sides had a mutual respect for each other, and that by the end of the campaign neither side was shooting much at the other. I'm not sure how true this is, but it makes for a rosy view of the past. The most interesting thing for me listening to this speech was what it showed about an old submarine commander. He wasn't trying to get across, but Ali's speech and demeanour oozed with his respect for Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, his fierce pride in the Turkish military, and his support of a secular government and nation.
The last stop on the tour was the high ground, the highest point on the Gallipoli peninsula, the main objective of the Gallipoli campaign. The New Zealanders actually captured the high ground, but fittingly for the way the campaign was run, didn't have the reinforcements to hold it. The Turks, led by Ataturk, retook it, effectively ending hopes of a successful campaign.
The high ground commands an absolutely glorious view on both sides, and looking down from there leaves you in no doubt as to why so many men died in an attempt to capture it. Not a few of the people wandering around the memorial would have died of heart attacks if they'd had to climb up to it on foot, let alone against guns and determined opposition.
I'm having trouble summing the day up without sounding corny, so I'll leave you with these words from Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the founder of the Turkish Republic:
"Those heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives… you are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours… You, the mothers who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears. Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well."
Please excuse the amount of navel-gazing which goes on in these posts. As you may have worked out by this point, "blown away" would be the most accurate description of my state of mind whilst travelling through Turkey. I’ve decided that while the bits and pieces that I’ve seen are fantastic, if you really want to know about what they look like, or the history behind them, or the stories behind them, the chances are that wikipedia will give you a better description than I could. Well, more accurate, anyway. What I can do here, on this page, is describe how seeing these things, and being in these places, made me feel. Unfortunately, with such an aim in mind, and in a "blown away" mind at that, navels come into direct focus at time, and are locked in the grip of a steely gaze. Yes, I’m being figurative. No, I’m not talking about actual navels. Get your mind out of the gutter. What I’m trying to say is: the navel-gazing will continue. Deal with it. If you don’t like it, read someone else’s blog. I suggest Scott Adams, the writer of Dilbert – he writes a good amusing blog devoid of navels.
Anywho, on with the Turkey day 4. Having left behind the wars of ancient history and mythology, we headed for the site of more recent war and mythology. The tour started off with a ferry trip across the straights, which, my tendency towards sea-sickness notwithstanding, was great. Gorgeous clear skies, flat water, a bit of a breeze tempering the scorching sun, a clear view of the forts guarding the Dardenelles… Idyllic. Getting onto the coach at the other end, we were driven to a restaurant which was providing the lunch that was included in our tour. After lunch, we bought a t-shirt each from a chap who’d set himself up outside the restaurant – Anzac day prints which he had obviously not managed to sell on Anzac day. We paid $5 apiece, probably a huge rip-off – they were the worst quality t-shirts I’ve ever seen. Not that it mattered – I accidentally left mine on the coach at the end of the day anyway...
Onwards we were driven to a museum of the Gallipoli campaign replete with memorabilia from the campaign - full kit from British, Kiwi, French, Australian and Turkish soldiers, numerous letters written by soldiers to various loved ones in remote corners of the world, plus munitions and all the other odds and ends you'd expect. It's remarkable how old the design of the kits was, and how simple, how spartan. When you compare it with the paraphernalia of the modern military, it really was pretty simple stuff that they had to rely on. I'd not like to spend a night out in New Zealand in that gear in the winter, let alone try to brave the Turkish winter in it...
After a short talk from Ali (During which he successfully baited a couple of Aussie girls remarkably well - "Turkish women are hard working - they have many babies. New Zealand and Australian women are lazy, and only have one or two babies...") regarding the perspective Turkish people take on the Gallipoli campaign (they have little or no anger about it, and welcome Anzac visitors in a friendly way), we moved on down to the sea shore.
There was a rather large graveyard fronting onto the shore, and that was the first thing that struck you. Then you turned around, and looked at the cliffs that they must have been assaulting, and you realised that that was what they must have been assaulting. You can't help but think that it could all have been a little better planned... Walking down through the graveyard you start to realise how many young men died in a fairly inconsequential campaign. The feeling would return with a vengeance as throughout the day we visited graveyard after graveyard full of British, and Anzac men who were (mostly) killed before they reached my age.
We went from there on through several graveyards, and then stopped at a point where the road passed directly between the two sets of trenches when they were abandoned. It's incredible - they're about ten metres off the road on either side. They could have had food fights when they got bored of shooting each other, if they'd had any food... Actually, apparently that was the coldest winter Turkey had had in ages - they MUST have lobbed snowballs at each other occasionally...
Wandering around the trenches doesn't really give you a sense of how miserable it must have been. There's a nice scent, and the breeze is refreshing, and the sun shines so cheerily down on you, you can't really get a feel for what those guys must have been through.
Capt. Ali had a few things to say here too. His main points were that the soldiers on both sides had a mutual respect for each other, and that by the end of the campaign neither side was shooting much at the other. I'm not sure how true this is, but it makes for a rosy view of the past. The most interesting thing for me listening to this speech was what it showed about an old submarine commander. He wasn't trying to get across, but Ali's speech and demeanour oozed with his respect for Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, his fierce pride in the Turkish military, and his support of a secular government and nation.
The last stop on the tour was the high ground, the highest point on the Gallipoli peninsula, the main objective of the Gallipoli campaign. The New Zealanders actually captured the high ground, but fittingly for the way the campaign was run, didn't have the reinforcements to hold it. The Turks, led by Ataturk, retook it, effectively ending hopes of a successful campaign.
The high ground commands an absolutely glorious view on both sides, and looking down from there leaves you in no doubt as to why so many men died in an attempt to capture it. Not a few of the people wandering around the memorial would have died of heart attacks if they'd had to climb up to it on foot, let alone against guns and determined opposition.
I'm having trouble summing the day up without sounding corny, so I'll leave you with these words from Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the founder of the Turkish Republic:
"Those heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives… you are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours… You, the mothers who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears. Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well."
posted by Not My Former at 5:21 PM
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