Leon Davidson - Scarecrow Army. The ANZACs at Gallipoli

On 25th April 1915, thousands of Australians and New Zealanders landed at an unnamed cove on the Gallipoli peninsula. They had come to fight the Turks. They thought the battle would be over in three days, but months later they were still in the trenches theyd dug at the landing. Gallipoli fast became a graveyard where bodies lay above the ground and the living slept under it. The Anzacs went looking for the adventure of a lifetime.

Before I wrote this book, I knew very little about Gallipoli. For me, Anzac Day was remembering the Second World War because my grandad was in it, and Gallipoli was an Australian movie starring Mel Gibson, without any New Zealanders in it. After researching Gallipoli, Im glad to know more of our joint history, but saddened when I imagine the lives and dreams of those who were killed.

One New Zealand soldier, Gerald Sievers (whose story is told in the fiction sections), had paid for singing lessons and was accepted into the Italian Sistine Chapel choir. His father wouldnt let him go, so Gerald enlisted, only to be killed a year later in a desperate but futile battle. Who knows what could have happened if hed survived. Unlike Gerald, Pete Walden is a fictional character, but his experiences are similar to those of many Anzacs I read about.

I often found it difficult to understand why the soldiers charged to certain death rather than disobey orders. Maybe it was because most of the men, at first, never believed that theyd die. Someone else would, but not them. Maybe it was because no one wanted to be seen as a coward or troublemaker. Maybe it was because theyd been raised not to question authority. They were also part of a much larger operation and disobeying an order could easily have resulted in the death of other men. One Australian soldier whod been told he was too sick to fight, joined an attack and was shot. When asked why hed taken part when he didnt have to, he replied, If I had not stopped this, some other poor beggar would. The men were no longer individuals they were part of an army, and their friends, other soldiers and their country relied on them.

Today Anzac Day is about remembering all military campaigns, not just Gallipoli. We dont look too deeply at why the Anzacs were at Gallipoli, we just blame it on the British, conveniently forgetting that Australian and New Zealand politicians and people willingly joined the war.

How many Australians and New Zealanders know that more British and French fought and died at Gallipoli than Anzacs? Or that the Anzacs didnt land at the wrong place as is commonly believed? History is always selective you never hear the whole story and there are many myths about Gallipoli.

One Anzac was asked as an old man how the war should be remembered. He said it shouldnt be, because eventually it would only be names and dates to people who couldnt imagine what it was really like. This is a story thats not just about names and dates, or myths, but about the lives of the Anzacs who fought there.

What if you were there

Anzac Cove, 25 April 1915.

Ive just got to keep going, following these Australians. Ill find the others soon. Its bloody noisy. These bushes are a bastard. Theres more bodies twisted up ahead must have had bad luck. An explosion above. White smoke and cries of pain. I dont think Ive ever seen such a blue sky. God, Im already knackered.

We need more men, someone shouts.

Something smacks me in the arm and I swivel to whack whoevers done it. My sleeves torn and reddening. Theres mangled flesh through the hole. Bloods dripping from my fingers onto the ground. I only just got up here. I havent even seen a bloody Turk.

Wellington, August 1914.

Two years Ive been working in the wool store and Ive never been able to get the taste out of my mouth or the oil from my hands. I went as soon as I heard the news and a fair Wellington gale blew me into the recruiting office. I stood like a fool as the doctors checked my mouth, and measured my weight and height. That was enough for them and I was chuffed when they told me I was in.

Now Im number 10/87 and Im finally going to do something with my life. Who wouldve believed it, me, a soldier marching off to war to help the Empire?

I wonder if Dad will try to stop me this time.

Wairarapa, August 1914.

I dance and shadow-box down the road and by the time I get home Im full of beans, even though I know Mums not going to take the news well. She doesnt even say hi when I burst in the front door and hand her the tea towels I got for her in Wellington.

Youre not going, are the first words she says. Its their war, they started it, let them sort it out.

King and Empire, Mum, I say, smiling.

I wont let you go, Gerald.

Im 24. Anyhow its too late, Ive already been accepted.

Go tell your dad hes out the back. She doesnt take her eyes off me.

Theres been a bit of rain and the lambs are getting fat on the grass. Dads been working hard the last couple of months but the extra acres hes cleared have aged him and his back looks stiff as. Dads pulling out a sheeps guts when I tell him Ive signed up. Hes still for a moment and Ive got no idea what hes thinking, then he says, You sure youre doing the right thing?

I dont want to work in the wool store the rest of my life.

German fools, picking a fight with all the world at once, is all he says as he turns back to the carcass.

Its hard trying to sleep with Mum and Dad bickering in the next room. Mum mustve cooked her best roast ever tonight. Bugger-all had been said about me going, but my younger sisters and brothers were all keen to hear about what was happening in Belgium, and Id rather remember us singing round the piano than this argument.

I can hear Mum saying, You shouldve let him go to Italy.

No son of mine is going to sing in a choir. Besides, thisll toughen him up, make a man out of him.

In the morning, my mum hugs me tightly and doesnt say a word as Dad grips my hand and says, Make us proud, son.

I will Dad, I will.

Palmerston North, Awapuni Racecourse, September 1914.

Im bored with this training. Weve been given uniforms and rifles, yelled at and marched from here to bloody Timbuktu. And now were outside this room, waiting to find out if were gonna get knocked out.

Sievers.

I go into the room and strip. My weight and height are measured again, another doctor tests my eyes by holding coloured wool in front of them, another man checks my hearing, and then someone holds my balls and says, Cough. Then I have to jump around the room on one leg, then the other and finally they put a tick by my name. I get dressed, then leave the room. A couple of the lads are sent home. Glad its not me, Id hate to have to go back after having said goodbye to everyone.

Wellington, October 1914.

Finally were marching through crowds of people waving Union Jacks and the drums are beating as hard as my heart. It feels grand. The wharfs packed and everyones laughing and talking and hugging, but Im glad Mum and Dad couldnt make it down. One mans girlfriend is pulled off by a cop because she wouldnt let go. We board the ships and crowd the sides to throw streamers and wave goodbye. Ive never felt better in my life.