Sec.3

The Rangoon had taken aboard at Alexandria a number of new officers who, after being wounded on Gallipoli and treated in Egypt, were now returning as fit for duty.  One showed a long, white scar across his scalp, where a bullet had just missed his brain.  Another, who had still two bullets in his body, had been with our schoolfellow Moles White in the River Clyde on the great April morning.  These were people to be stared at and admired.  They occupied exactly the same position to us as the bloods did when we were at school.  They spoke with ease and grace of Mudros Harbour, of the great April landing at Helles, of the Eski Line, the River Clyde, the Gully Ravine, and Asiatic Annie.  We felt very near the trenches, when they thus tossed fabled names about in commonplace conversations.  They never used the name “Gallipoli,” but always “The Peninsula.”  We made a mental note of this.

And they affected very shrewd ideas about the surprise push that was coming off; but since they only nodded their heads wisely and refused to be drawn, we suspected that they knew no more about it than we did.  They would point, with the pride of previous knowledge, to the purple-hilled islands of the AEgean that we were passing all day:  Rhodes, and Patmos, and Mitylene.  They laughed with damnable superiority at our extensive kit, declaring that for their part they had left everything at the base, and were carrying only a few pounds of necessaries to the Peninsula.  Some of them walked the deck in private’s uniform, maintaining that it was suicide to go to the Peninsula trenches in the distinctive dress of an officer.  They were quite modest, simple folk, no doubt, but they certainly thought they were the only people who realised that there was a war on.

Jimmy Doon, who had heard nothing of his lost draft at Alexandria, and was much relieved thereby, became incorrigible when he smelt the whiff of the trenches brought by these heroes.  He would invite our subscriptions to the daily sweepstake with the words:  “Come along, fork out.  Last few sweeps of your life.”  And he would take me aside and say:  “I suppose I shall be daisy-pushing soon.  Tedious, isn’t it?”

Late one afternoon, when we were only an hour’s run from Mudros, there came by wireless the inspiring news that solved the riddle of the chain of transports in the Mediterranean and the empty hospitals in Alexandria.  The simple typed message that was pinned on the notice-board, and could scarcely be read for the crowds surrounding it, ran:  “We have landed in strong force at Suvla Bay and penetrated seven miles inland.  Ends.”