Charles Kingsford Smith And Those Magnificent Men - Plot & Excerpts
We are lousy, stinking, unshaven, sleepless…I have one puttee, a man’s helmet, another dead man’s bayonet. My tunic rotten with other men’s blood and partly spattered with a comrade’s brains.LIEUTENANT ALEC RAWS, FROM MELBOURNE, WRITING TO A FRIEND, ABOUT CONDITIONS IN THE TRENCHES ON FRANCE’S WESTERN FRONT1At last, the longed for news came through to Charles Kingsford Smith and his comrades. They were going to Gallipoli! True, they would have to leave their motorbikes behind, at least for the moment, but hopefully if they were able to break through against Johnny Turk and get into the open country leading to Istanbul, then the bikes could follow them over. The main thing was, they were going…Kingsford Smith set about packing his kitbag, with his main worry being whether to take his photo of Nellie Stewart or leave it safely behind in storage with his other effects.2 In the end, he decided to take it.In the wee hours of a desperately cold morning in the last week of September 1915, the eighteen-year-old devotee of all things mechanical wearily waded the last few yards through the waters and onto the shores of Gallipoli.
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