Ardnish Was Home Episode 28

November 26 brought disaster. An enormous storm hit us. Torrential rain and gale force winds hit at teatime and again two hours later when it was dark. Tents were blown down, causing misery to the injured men inside. All who were able rushed outside and did their best to put in new posts and hammer pegs back in. But the ground became so wet and soft that the pegs were just ripped straight out again.

The big tent was completely shredded and lay flapping in the wind. Everyone was soaked and miserable.

The next day, it continued. Relentless freezing rain and sleet with 70mph winds. To make matters worse, the Clearing Station started to get very busy, with a steady stream of men coming down with exposure and exhaustion.

We had managed fairly well with 200 patients, but by the night of the 28th we had over 800 men seeking help and shelter.

The three cooks did an incredible job providing tea and hot food for everyone. That night, the rain turned to snow and the temperature dropped to -18 degrees.

Apparently, five soldiers who had tried to take shelter were found dead the next morning, their soaking uniforms frozen solid. No wonder we saw so many casualties.

Too rough

We desperately needed to get men on to the ships as soon as possible, but the sea was too rough for the ambulance boats to work. The beetles were best for the job, being covered, but they didn’t hold many.

It was eventually decided that we would send some men back, and myself and DP were to be on one of the first boats.

I told DP that we would be leaving that afternoon. “What about my pipes?” DP asked. “Can we take them?”

I had to tell him that there probably wouldn’t be any room.

Later, DP called me over and asked if we could write “Colonel Macdonald, Lovat Scouts” on them. Then, there might be a chance they’d get to him. He’d know whose they were.

I agreed, and told him I’d put them in the headquarters tents. I knew how much they meant to him. The colonel wasn’t exactly well, either, however. He was suffering from dysentery, and important though the pipes were to DP they surely wouldn’t matter much to his CO.

If there was a retreat from the peninsula, space would be at a premium, and I felt sure the pipes would be left behind. Still, DP seemed pleased and confident they would be in safe hands and that, for now, was what mattered.

Prissie came on the first boat out, too, along with Dr Sheridan, a couple more medics and 15 injured soldiers. Sailors held the boat steady as we loaded the men, wading out waist-deep into the waves.

We were about halfway across the 800 yards to the Gloucester Castle, I guessed, with the boat being thrown about like a cork, when there was a huge wave and water began pouring in through the hatch.

There was much shouting from the sailors. The struggling engine missed its beat, and after a minute it packed in.

Our hearts were in our mouths, with not a word from the anxious passengers.

A couple of the sailors were in the hold with us, with the cover off the engine, cursing about water in the fuel.

We couldn’t see anything, and felt helpless as the waves crashed relentlessly on top of us.

Attention

There was about a foot of freezing water in the hold by now, and we were soaked. A man was standing on the deck and waving, trying to catch the attention of other boats so we could get a tow.

An injured officer pulled himself on to the deck to see what was going on. He told us that we were drifting parallel to the shore, that he could see the ships but they were a mile away.

I put my arm around DP and pulled a blanket around his shoulder. He was shivering so badly with the cold.

Then, one of the sailors shouted that we were heading for the rocks and we’d have to get out as quickly as possible. It was terrifying.

We just sat, surrounded by the noise of the sea and the commotion from the deck as the sailors tried to manoeuvre the boat using oars. But it was hopeless.

With a great crash and the sound of ripping wood we thumped into the rocks.

What seemed like an eternity passed as the beetle was dragged by the sailors out of the worst of the surf and we were helped out through the waist-high waves on to the safety of the rocks – though they were treacherously slippy with the water freezing on top of them.

Despite there being a man on each side of DP, he slipped and fell again and again as he blindly inched his way forward.

He wore a sling on the injured side, so he couldn’t put an arm out to protect himself if he fell. He was in a lot of pain, wet and cold and shaking like a leaf.

We crawled in the evening light to the relative shelter of the cliffs to try to escape the snow. The sailors had rescued a canvas tarpaulin from the beetle and, using the oars, a windbreak was erected.

There was no food or means of making a fire. Everyone huddled against each other and a miserable cold night dragged by.

This was the first time DP had walked anywhere since he’d arrived at the Clearing Station. I knew that if we were going to move around at all I would need to help him get about.

Unconscious

Three other men were terribly injured. One who had been unconscious for several days but recently come round was mentally not with us. Another had just had his lower leg amputated, and there was a Catholic priest who was paralysed from the waist down.

The next morning, we discovered that one had died. The more able men buried him under a pile of rocks.

The officer and a few of the others discussed plans. Clearly, DP and some others weren’t fit to move at all.

We were only a few miles to the north of Suvla beach, yet we were unsure who would or would not make it. Where could the less strong men go for shelter until help could be sent?

We couldn’t see anything, and felt helpless as the waves crashed relentlessly on top of us

More tomorrow.

Ardnish Was Home is published by Birlinn. The third novel in the series, Ardnish, was published in 2020. www.birlinn.co.uk