Were you watching the cliffs above that narrow beach, barely three, four, five hundred yards across? Cliffs that were almost sheer, covered with a prickly, low-growing bush like our spiny Matagouri? Were you waiting, watching the silent, grey hulks as they arrived like ghosts on the skyline carrying their precious cargo of men - thousands of men?

I was. It’s hard, looking back, to know my own feelings. At any rate, I don’t think I was afraid. I just had a mixture of excitement and wondering what it would all be like.

We’d spent the night before drinking whisky, smoking cigarettes, two and a half thousand men cooped below decks in the holds. Now, I was up by the helmsman, steering towards Turkish searchlights on a calm, balmy, Mediterranean night.

We were just making headway against the current, shadowy forms of destroyers and battleships slipping past us all the time. Our last hot meal was gone and a large tot of rum was the ration to bolster our spirits. We'd had a service at midnight and now each man sat by his ammunition and pack, heavy with bully beef and gear, with the rum sitting on the deck beside him. Anticipating. Waiting.

You could see the padres and chaplains as they moved around, talking. The little red glow of cigarettes lighting up faces as we waited. Then the Armada of ships around us stopped steaming and hove to.

At 2.30am, our first orders were given: "STAND TO ON THE DECKS! SILENCE! NO MORE SMOKING!" So this was the real thing! We stood to in rows facing the water, standing in the dark, waiting to start landing, anticipating our next move.

By 3am the moon was silently sinking below the skyline. Sailors were moving softly, not a sound of any kind could be heard. The sea was as smooth as glass when the boats were finally lowered into the water.

It was 3.30am when the moon finally vanished. There were cliffs on the shore, looming up like large grey clouds in the mist. The order finally came to board the boats. Each man stood to attention and waved his cap silently in the air!

Rope ladders were swung over the sides - cursed things. We moved slowly forward, as if in a dream, swearing silently under our breath as we swung each foot down, the 90lb weight of our pack swinging heavy on our backs. Each man was soon seated, rifle between his knees, everything was accomplished noiselessly.

Our boats were formed in four lines, with a picket boat in front to tow us close to shore and then we had to pull the rest of the way ourselves. Everything was going well. I was amazed at the lack of sound. So many men were there and nothing was heard. I guess the mist must have helped too.

Then an accident happened! One of the funnels of the picket boats caught fire and sent a flare up that could be seen for miles! Suddenly, like a devil out of hell, a voice rang out in the quietness, "You’re going the wrong way! For God's sake, bear over!" But our coxswain wouldn’t move off his course. The voice rang out again. They tried to force us over by coming alongside. Our man still wouldn’t move, so they cut across our bows and made their landing in the same place our boat was heading for.

As we came near the shore, the mist began clearing and the first thing we could see was the flash of a huge searchlight. It appeared to come from the headland to our right. Shortly after, there was another searchlight flash closer to us. Then everything went quiet again and was still. Our orders were not to load our rifles and only to fix bayonets once onshore. We were to line up in the dark, holding the sleeve of the man next to us with our spare hand. What did they expect?

Now, the beach was coming up fast and our picket cut us loose. Suddenly a single shot rang out from the top of the cliff right in front of us. The echo bounced right along the hills, in the still morning light. There was silence, deadly silence, a quiet before the storm. Then it happened. The battle began.

We jumped over the side of the boat into the water. In some places the sea was up to our armpits! Some men were shot just getting out of the boats. Others were shot in the water and sank under their heavy packs. I landed with the water up to my waist. We were all slipping and sliding on the smooth, treacherous stones under our feet. Spray was dancing in our faces from the bullets. We held our rifles high but our packs kept pulling us off balance as we slipped and slid in the water, staggering under the weight.

Onshore, men everywhere were being shot. Men were screaming, terrible sounds, squealing high pitched above the noise. Our units were mixed up. We couldn’t form lines and the men were going down like flies on a dead rabbit.

There was no command, only confusion. Landing on the open beach, the sight was shocking. Dead, dying and wounded lay in all directions. It was hard to stay on my feet, not to trip and fall over them, but our orders were not to stop! Their crying was pitiful, all grown men. I just put my head down and kept going.

There were no sand dunes like we expected. I just fixed my bayonet and charged up the beach. Then suddenly, like we were all possessed by the Devil, we were all yelling and rushing towards the cliffs, shouting like demons!

"Imshi Allah! Impshi Allah, Cock-a-bully, Imshi Allah!" Thank God for our training in Egypt! We just threw off our packs so we could storm up the beach to the higher ground. I didn't feel at all squirmish - we were just going for it!

Then the ships closed in and began firing over our heads. There was a hidden Turkish battery on one of the ridges and suddenly they were bursting shrapnel all over us. There were these little black clouds above us which seemed to produce a rain of bullets, spraying in all directions. When the ships opened fire, they added a deafening noise. Small sleeves of flame and yellowish smoke appeared from the turrets. Shells began whining all around us but our boys were still being cut down unmercifully.

Then we were at the cliffs. They weren't too high compared to the ones at home, but they just rose above us and went straight up! The faces were sheer but once I got started, I just went up too. Trouble was, there were sharp spines in my hands from the scraggy, little ground bushes as I tried to grab handholds, but I didn't let that worry me!

Up, up! Bodies flew past us, thrown from over the top, hurtling down. As I looked up, I could see them all up there. Our guys were silhouetted against the skyline; you could see them digging as though they were sinning. Orders were 'no rifle fire till broad daylight' and so they'd taken the Turks with their bare hands and tossed them over the cliffs.

Once we were over the top, we dived into a trench, got our breath back and then just went after those Turkeys. I deliberately jumped feet first and slid down the gravely, sandy sides of little mini-canyons, then I dug my bayonet in to get up the other side again. It was hard to know exactly where those Turkeys were. They would just fire at us as we passed them because they were camouflaged in the prickly, low-growing scrub.

The hardest thing was our men kept going down and we kept getting smaller and smaller in numbers, but our orders were 'to advance, to just keep going'. We would see the shadowy little curs making off and we followed fast but they knew the paths to take.

All of a sudden, there didn't seem to be much opposition in our way. We kept going and soon I was climbing with Crummy - I never knew his real name. We were a long way ahead and we were high enough to see the waters of the Dardenelles. We dug in, but as the day wore on, the question was whether we should go on or not? We were terribly thirsty - a thirst that was hard to bear. It was bad, but we were cut off from our troops. Then Crummy got hit, not too badly, and the machine-gun fire was getting heavy. We seemed to be by ourselves.

The Turks appeared to be bringing massive reinforcements onto the hill above us. The shooting was intense. Five times we grouped together with others and five times we swept forwards and took them, but each time we were driven back. We needed artillery cover to hold our positions.

Later in the day, we decided to fall back for the night and dig in. There was a chap with a donkey and he was taking the wounded down. Crummy went with him. What an awful sight to see our boys cut down like that. Thank goodness I was born a man! I wouldn’t be out of this for anything!

The next day broke with the pale, pink colours of early morning showing a sea lapping blood along the beach, stretching red for five miles from the coast, stretching over the bodies weighed down by equipment. All useless now.

Dark shapes of unmanned cutters drifted pathetically out from the shore, with their burden of dead and wounded men. Going nowhere.

In that narrow cove of beach, the dawn revealed men fallen in tiers of bodies, hiding the sand. Some were still twisting in agony, while relentless waves of men still surged in, eager to gain victory under the hail of bullets.

The ANZACS had shown their confidence and their physical strength the day before and, as the months wore on, they showed their ability to endure, to grimly hold on.

They had found they were not to stride across the Peninsula, but the Turk would learn that to check their invasion on the hill was one thing, to throw them back into the sea, was another.

The mother’s eyes saw
the sons they would never see;
the wives and young women wept
for the lovers they would never know;
the children lost their fathers
whilst sitting on their knee;
and that little country -
buried its sorrow in the mists of memory.

In that bed, where the seas ran red
their manhood died
- to set them free;
In that country
their manhood slept
to give us -
their god children by baptism of fire
- our liberty.