At dawn we go to Gallipolli

Nothing could have prepared me for the for the sight of gravestone after gravestone, after gravestone. they belong to boys aged 16,17,18 and for men aged 29, 35, 40, who landed here from 25 April 1915,onwards and mostly died here over the next few months. The marked stones lie tilted to the sun above the cool blue Aegean sea. Nothing can stop the pricking of tears to read this inscription
1113 Private H J Burton, died 30 November 1915, aged 18
Only a boy but died as a man for liberty and freedom
His Mum and Dad
Standing on the stony beach near Anzac cove, looking up at the steep cliffs called Sphinx and Nek, nothing can stop the sense of grief, of sorrow at the futility of the plan to capture the Dardanelles, the terrible terrible loss of ‘the flowers of that generation.’
Without its blood red history, Gallipolli would be a beautiful peninsula of beaches, sandy and rocky coves, low hills and steep eroded cliffs. It is now covered again with the scrub and pine trees which were stripped off in the battle, and which even now still conceal unnamed and unclaimed bodies. A road runs along the beach and up to the highest point, Chunuk Bair, which the Anzacs held for three triumphant days, before succumbing to the defending Turks. Now a huge statue of Ataturk stands astride the land, the crescent and star of the Turkish flag streaming above him.
He was ferocious in battle, but magnanimous in triumph.
Hs message to the mothers of the boys and men who died is carved in stone
Those heroes who shed their blood
And lost their lives
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 now rest side by side
In this country of ours.
You the mothers
Who sent your 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 in this land,
they have become our sons as well.
It was really a battle in vain. The losses of life on both sides were too great, the tactical gains too small, for the five month campaign to continue. So it all ended as it began- the dead were buried and identified, or not, the wounded left or died, the Dardanelles stayed in Turkish hands.
We had left Istanbul at dawn, to drive the five hours to get to the Gallipolli Peninsula. Our guide promised us ‘one of the most emotionally touching places in Turkey’. And indeed it was
Each year 20,000 people turn up for the commemorations on 25 April. The sloping ground forms a natural amphitheatre overlooking the bays and sea. There are tour buses by the hundred, space is at a premium.
From the commonwealth ,and all over, people also come throughout the year and make a quieter pilgrimage, away from the crowds. I was with a group of young Australians and Kiwis and English, walking along slowly, hardly talking, stooping to read the names on the graves, and on the Battalion lists. Alongside were young and old Turkish people. From everywhere people come and stand , as we did, on the beaches, grassy slopes, rocky outcrops, or n the shallow trenches, and try to recall the bravery, confusion, terror, and determination shown by the soldiers who came ’from the uttermost ends of the earth.’ They were doing as they were commanded by men far away from the impossible battle field.
Our group stood at the New Zealand memorial as the sun dropped towards the sea . The peacefulness of the scene belied its history of explosions, gunfire, bayonet charges, trench fever, frost bite, sunburn, dysentery, heroism, camaraderie, and all the elements of war.
At the going down of the sun, we shall remember them.

PS. Our guide was a Turk, Erol, with Fez Travel . He gave us an excellent historical background as well as an overview of the events around Gallipolli. Fez Travel operate Anzac Day tours, for several days each side of Anzac Day http://www.feztravel.com/