Donkeys formed part of the population of the Peninsula.  I am referring here to the four-footed variety, though, of course, others were in evidence at times.  The Neddies were docile little beasts, and did a great deal of transport work.  When we moved out in August, orders were issued that all equipment was to be carried.  I pointed out a drove of ten of these little animals, which appeared handy and without an owner, and suggested to the men that they would look well with our brand on.  It took very little time to round them up, cut a cross in the hair on their backs and place a brassard round their ears.  They were then our property.  The other type of donkey generally indulged in what were known as Furfys or Beachograms.  Furfy originated in Broadmeadows, Victoria; the second title was born in the Peninsula.  The least breath of rumour ran from mouth to mouth in the most astonishing way.  Talk about a Bush Telegraph!  It is a tortoise in its movements compared with a Beachogram.  The number of times that Achi Baba fell cannot be accurately stated but it was twice a day at the least.  A man came in to be dressed on one occasion; suddenly some pretty smart rifle fire broke out on the right.  “Hell!” said the man, “what’s up?” “Oh!” said Captain Dawson, “There’s a war on—­didn’t you hear about it?”

THE SWIMMING

One thing that was really good in Anzac was the swimming.  At first we used to dive off the barges; then the Engineers built Watson’s pier, at the end of which the water was fifteen feet deep and as clear as crystal, so that one could see every pebble at the bottom.  At times the water was very cold, but always invigorating.  General Birdwood was an enthusiastic swimmer, but he always caused me a lot of anxiety.  That pier was well covered by Beachy Bill, and one never knew when he might choose to give it his attention.  This did not deter the General.  He came down most regularly, sauntered out to the end, went through a lot of Sandow exercises and finally jumped in.  He then swam out to a buoy moored about a quarter of a mile away.  On his return he was most leisurely in drying himself.  Had anything happened to him I don’t know what the men would have done, for he was adored by everyone.

Swimming was popular with all hands.  Early in the campaign we had a Turkish attack one morning; it was over by midday, and an hour later most of the men were in swimming.  I think it not unlikely that some of the “missing” men were due to this habit.  They would come to the beach and leave their clothes and identity discs ashore, and sometimes they were killed in the water.  In this case there was no possibility of ascertaining their names.  It often struck me that this might account for some whose whereabouts were unknown.