Open Writing

My arrival at Istanbul was promising. I noticed a very pretty girl among the Travel Agents holding a large notice with my name, and who was smiling expectantly at me. Well, I do, of course, get used to this sort of thing. Being a gentleman I smiled back.

She then introduced herself and said she was taking me to a hotel. What a way to start a tour! On arrival, however, it was a let down, the pretty girl vanished and I met our Tour Leader and about 30 other Aussies who, like me, had ignored the Aussie Government’s dire warnings of terrorist bombs expected in Turkey especially on Anzac Day.

For the first two days in Istanbul we were taken to the tourist ‘musts’ and then headed for the Gallipoli battlefields and, especially, to attend the Dawn Service. During a lunch stop at the fishing town of Gelibolu, I met with three very elderly Turks, sitting on a bench watching the world go by. We spoke to each other for about four minutes, which was quite a feat as I could not speak Turkish nor they English.

Gradually the names of the battlefields became a reality; the first was Chunuk Bair. It was here that the (eventual) Turkish commander, Mustafa Kemal first saw the advancing Australians and with complete disregard for his own safety directed operations. The Turks suffered huge casualties and it is where Mustafa Kemal, when informed that his men had no more ammunition told them, ‘You have bayonets’ and added, ‘I do not order you to attack, I order you to die.’ Tough opponents indeed!

There was a succession of Australian War Memorials, cemeteries and battlefields, where our Tour Leader explained the military actions, among them The Nek, Lone Pine and Anzac Cove, where the Australian forces landed.

It was on the pebble beach at Anzac Cove that I wandered from the others and was able to feel and experience the atmosphere of the historic area and the boys who died there, confronted with those steep, almost perpendicular slopes with the impossible gorse-covered cliffs and mountains behind, which would have been swept with murderous fire. Visiting the battlefields and cemeteries it was so sad to see so many gravestones with the words, ‘Believed to be Private..’ Or, ‘Believed to be Corporal’..Or, ‘Believed to be Lieutenant.’

At 11.15pm on the 24th, we headed for the site of the Dawn Service. Before long, our stream of tourist coaches, bumper to bumper, moved slower and slower then stopped. So we joined hundreds of others, walking about three kilometers in the dark to the site of the Dawn Service.

There was a bitterly cold wind and when we reached the site it was crowded with young people, so crowded that we could not see the area where the service would be held; the best positions had been taken. A number of people were on the ground in their sleeping bags, selfishly, taking up a lot of very restricted standing room. A small band from the Australian Navy was blaring out mod, rock and roll beat music, deafeningly over loud speakers. I found it distasteful.

A huge screen showed what was happening for those of us unable to see the site because of the crowds. There was no atmosphere of remembrance, of respect, of reverence for the historic occasion. It was more like a mardi gras in Rio de Janeiro. We endured this non-stop cacophonic noise, in the freezing wind, from about midnight until dawn at 5am when the service was held. All then became quiet. I watched the service on the large screen; it was the only way I could see it. I might just as well have seen it at home on my TV; it would not have been so bitingly cold.

The Dawn Service was, to me, a big disappointment. Directly the service ended the rock music started up again. But the trip to the battlefields was well worth it; to step back in history and marvel at what those young boys went through and be touched by their slaughter. At some places the trenches were only about the width of a road apart.

It was satisfying to see so many young people attending the dawn service, but for those of us of a different age group, one would have to decide whether it would, perhaps, be better to visit at a time other than Anzac Day. However, I am glad I went.