I have elsewhere alluded to the stacks of food on the beach.  Amongst them bully beef was largely in evidence.  Ford, our cook, was very good in always endeavouring to disguise the fact that “Bully” was up again.  He used to fry it; occasionally he got curry powder from the Indians and persuaded us that the resultant compound was curried goose; but it was bully beef all the time.  Then he made what he called rissoles—­onions entered largely into their framework, and when you opened them you wanted to get out into the fresh air.  Preserved potatoes, too, were very handy.  We had them with our meat, and what remained over we put treacle on, and ate as pancakes.  Walkley and Betts obtained flour on several occasions, and made very presentable pancakes.  John Harris, too, was a great forager—­he knew exactly where to put his hand on decent biscuits, and the smile with which he landed his booty made the goods toothsome in the extreme.  Harris had a gruesome experience.  One day he was seated on a hill, talking to a friend, when a shell took the friend’s head off and scattered his brains over Harris.

Before leaving the description of the officers’ mess, I must not omit to introduce our constant companions, the flies.  As Australians we rather prided ourselves on our judgment regarding these pests, and in Gallipoli we had every opportunity of putting our faculties to the test.  There were flies, big horse flies, blue flies, green flies, and flies.  They turned up everywhere and with everything.  While one was eating one’s food with the right hand, one had to keep the left going with a wisp, and even then the flies beat us.  Then we always had the comforting reflection of those dead Turks not far away—­the distance being nothing to a fly.  In order to get a little peace at one meal in the day, our dinner hour was put back until dusk.  Men wounded had a horrible time.  Fortunately we had a good supply of mosquito netting purchased with the Red Cross money.  It was cut up into large squares and each bearer had a supply.

THE ARMISTICE

On the 23rd of May anyone looking down the coast could see a man on Gaba Tepe waving a white flag.  He was soon joined by another occupied in a like manner.  Some officers came into the Ambulance and asked for the loan of some towels; we gave them two, which were pinned together with safety pins.  White flags don’t form part of the equipment of Australia’s army.

Seven mounted men had been observed coming down Gaba Tepe, and they were joined on the beach by our four.  The upshot was that one was brought in blindfolded to General Birdwood.  Shortly after we heard it announced that a truce had been arranged for the following day in order to bury the dead.