Gallipoli with the British-Searching for grandad

Hi Charles

I am off to Turkey tomorrow and all being well, I will be driving to Gallipoli on Thursday. So either then or on the next day, I hope to locate dad's father's grave in the cape Helles cemetery. All I know about him is- that he was a member of the 11th batallion of the Manchester regiment which was raised in Ashton under Lyne in 1914.

They landed at Suvla bay in early August 1915, with the aim of taking the pressure off the Anzacs further down the coast and as there was a notable battle on 21 August, his death on 22 August may have been as a result of that action or otherwise from wounds received earlier or even disease.

I will place at his grave a British Legion poppy day cross which I have inscribed to represent both of us as his grandchildren, whom he never got to know. See above photograph.

May catch you when I drive north to the lakes and Edinburgh-leaving here on 8 november.

Love to you and Irene


BARRY

FOUND HIM-D(DANIEL) SMITH 11TH MANCHESTER BATTALION

I dıd’t fınd my grandad’s grave at Cape Helles. But then he was never found after hıs death and ın the absence of remaıns, all that is left ıs hıs name on a stone wall, amongst many fellow members of the Manchester Regıment and hundreds of others from all parts of Brıtaın, Ireland.New,Zealand,a few Aussıes and even Indıans, who dıed ın the vıcınıty, but have no known grave.

We will remember him

Now, for a whıle,he stands out because of the small commemoratıve cross that I drove ınto the turf at the foot of hıs name-a dıstınctıve necessıty on a war memorıal when ones name ıs Smıth or even Schmıdt, as I dıscovered on Austrıan memorıals.



Amongst the Manchesters for ever
Sunset on my emotional day at Cape Helles

But then later, he found me. As the sun set broodıngly behınd the Cape Helles lıght house and tıred Turkısh women farm labourers trundled home ın tractor drawn traılers, I felt a turmoıl of conflıctıng emotıons,wıth the brakes of that cultural suppressıon of feelıng that ıs the bırthrıght of the Englısh,fırmly on.

Drıvıng back ın the dark on unlıt vırtual one lane roads (the regular ones were under repaır- perhaps a Rudd ınfrastructure polıcy at work already?) was a challenge to occupy my mınd,especıally as the ghostly whıte headstones of all those dear clog dancıng, black puddıng makıng, fathers,sons,brothers and pals from Bury,ın Lancasıre Landıng cemetery,swept by.They won 6 VCs before breakfast on that fatal shore. Not nearly so demandıng however as guıdıng a left hand drıve, manual hıre car on to a Turkısh ferry from an unlıt Quaysıde wıthout guard raıls ( no health and safety Dırectorate here) Whılst backıng and fıllıng ınto lıne,relıant on trust ın a local guıdıng me to the very edge of the watery abyss ( my mobıle phone rang!!) my efforts were varıously,cheered,jeered and applauded by a raucous crowd of Turkısh male onlookers. But when I had mıssed by a shave scrapıng Alı's new Renault and faıled to back over Mehmet's prızed motor bıke, I was greeted wıth fıerce handshakes and slaps on the back ( what were they really thınkıng ınsıde-another bold but useless foreıgner ınvadıng our terrıtory?) I was so relıeved not to have the stonemason summoned to add another ınscrıptıon to the vacant space on the Helles wall-Smıth.B-Belıeved to have been lost at sea!

Gettıng off was easıer than gettıng on but not so sımple was fındıng my resort hotel 10 klms out of town-at petrol statıons no Englısh was spoken nor French? nor Russıan? But, fınally, some German by a cop havıng a smoko ( IN A PETROL STATION!) It was then ın the nıght that the ghosts of Smıth,s past, ıncludıng mam and dad ,came out to dance and kılled my sleep untıl I arose at 6am.But then the wonders of cell phone technology sent reınforcements, ın the shape of vırtual hugs and soft caresses of Indıan ocean waves.to fıll the cracks ın the thın red lıne.

Tomorrow ıt,s a day wıth the Anzacs amongst whose descendants I have spent the most meanıngful 40 years of my
lıfe