Remembering the Battle for Crete, 1941 - an Eyewitness Account

The Maleme airfield & Hill 107 Cemetery. The capture of the Airfield was  one of the first tasks of the German paratroops 

Tuesday 20 May 1941

 'Well today is the day of days & Sandy Murtagh's birthday too. The long awaited blitz started at 0800hrs in the form of an extraordinary fierce aerial bombardment and machine gunning. The time is now only 1030, the strafing has finished around us and by  the sounds of machine guns & rifles going our companies have engaged  the parachute troops. Parachutists dropped out of huge Junkers troop carriers. The Huns used gliders this morning, for what reason, I don't know. One glider flew very low over us & to all appearances looked perfectly harmless. Probably the gliders were to attract AA fire.' 

This eyewitness account of first day of the Battle for Crete in May 1941, is an extract from the unpublished diary of Private John Edgerton Jury Westbrook of Auckland, a soldier of the 18th Infantry Battalion who is my uncle, known affectionately to all the immediate family as 'Winks'.

... the Jerry planes were given a reception that made several planes stay for keeps

In a letter home, expanding on the first day's events, Private Westbook says he found out later that, rather than drawing anti-aircraft fire the gliders "carried eight soldiers and a pilot. The pilot of one that was captured was a boy of 15." He goes on: "It was an uncanny experience to have a glider pass low over us. It was an immense thing and it made no noise but a low swish-swishing sound. Our first sight of them - they had us puzzled for a while - was during a lull in the bombing. We saw six of these huge things circling round and round very high up." 
He Continues: "The dropping of parachute troops was a great sight. The Jerry planes had been flying round as thick as flies for an hour and a half, bombing and machine-gunning anywhere and everywhere, covering the island in a pall of dust and smoke. Then we saw the first of the huge Junkers flying slowly through the murky atmosphere. We knew what to expect and weren't so very much surprised when we saw the parachutists drop out - the 'umbrella men' as one Greek woman described them. Out they dropped, one by one, their 'chutes opening as soon as they left the plane, 12 to 18 to a plane. Yes, sir, this war sure introduces some weird and wonderful things!"

"Our A.A, guns were by no means wiped out... when the Jerry planes returned, they were given a reception that made several planes stay for keeps."

Graves of German paratroopers at Hill 107, Maleme Airport

In 1990 I visited the battlefields on the island of Crete, an extention of a tour I led to the 75th Anniversary commemoration at Gallipoli. I had inherited my uncle's 1941 War Diary and had transcribed the contents onto my computer. The object was to visit some of the sites that he, and other New Zealanders, had fought over during the furious battle for Crete; the world's first airborne invasion.  At Maleme we visited the cemetery of German paratroopers who were killed during the battle. It is rather sobering to stand amid the graves of former enemies on Hill 107, looking across Maleme Airfield, which is still in use.  The nearby small town of Galatos was particularly moving.  I recorded my impressions, shortly after I arrived home, which I quote verbatim: "Signs of the battle have all but disappeared, although we did notice that the walls of a couple of older, unpainted, balconied houses near the Square still appeared to be pitted with bullet and shell marks after almost 50 years. The Orthodox Church, with grand Ionic columns at its entrance, had recently been repainted. Once a refuge for the wounded, it was once again the centre of village life and was still the largest building in Galatas. Orange trees in the churchyard were laden with fruit. One of my group, standing outside a teahouse just off the Square, suddenly called out. We entered and in the smoky interior, a group of Cretan men, were playing backgammon and drinking strong coffee and raki. They gave us cursory glances and continued with their game. But it was the notice board here that had attracted our attention. A discoloured sign had the emboldened words NEW ZEALAND 21^st BATTALION, and beneath, on an equally discoloured paper were the names of the 145 New Zealanders killed here during the battle. A faded Anzac poppy had been slipped under the edge of the board, a poignant tribute from some other antipodean visitor." 

At the Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery at Suda Bay, seeing the graves of Maori soldiers brought tears to my eyes, they were about as far away from home as they could get. I particularly wished to see the place of evacuation, which my uncle calls first 'Sparta' and then 'Spakhia'. To the Allies it was Sfakia, and now is the attractive Cretan fishing village of Hóra Sfakion ,where we had lunch in a small fish restaurant. I returned to New Zealand, knowing I had modern first hand experience of the some of the areas he had so eloquently described some 50 years previously in his Diary. 

For the continuing events of the Battle for Crete, I now return to Uncle 'Winks' first hand account, continuing with day one of the battle.

'Moved to a position outside of Galatos. A number of  paratroops landed near B.H.Q. & 9 out of 10 of  them were wiped out almost before they hit the ground. The bombing has been very severe throughout the day and it seems as though most of the AA's have been wiped out or else run out of ammo. Standing picquet tonight. The Huns seem to be well equipped with m.g.'s  & ammo. Found a utility bag dropped by parachute. It contains haversacks of rations, ammo, spades & land mines. More parachute (sic) were landed 1700hrs.'

The Greek Orthodox Church in the centre of Galatos

Wednesday 21 May

'Was told that the 19th Bn found some Hun flags and for a bit of fun staked out an area with them. Later on Junkers planes flew over and dropped troops, ammo, motor cycles, pushbikes and M.G.s in the area. Of course the 19th gave them all a royal welcome. The day has been fairly free from bombing, but what bombs were dropped started a couple of big fires at Souda Bay. Harry Marsh said he saw a terrific number of troops landing in the vicinity of the aerodrome.' 

Thursday 22 May

'The mosquitoes are very bad. First thing this morning Vic Berryman and I went on a patrol to a white house nearby around which we have seen civilians moving. Coming up from olive trees below the house we came across some people living in a dug out. Poor devils were scared stiff at the sight of us & when we got them to understand that we were English, and friends, one old lady broke down sobbing, & brought out photo engravures of Christ & Mary, made the sign of the cross on us then made us kiss the engravures. A reconnaissance of the place revealed that there were a cluster of houses & many civilians. It is a wonder that they hadn't gone because bullets have been whistling round those houses for two days. The people were both scared and relieved to see us and assured us that there were no Huns in the vicinity. One house produced a cup of hot milk and a slice of bread for us. Sgt. Forest-Brown and I went back later on for water and the Greeks told us of a German utility box in the vicinity so a patrol of us set out to get the contents. One of the Greeks produced a German submachine gun & mags from his shed. We removed it from the utility box and hid it so the Huns wouldn't get it. An inspection  of the box brought forth 8 grenades, 3 land mines and two rifles. Apparently the foodstuffs & the parachute itself were taken by the Greeks beforehand. The Tommy gun is a little beaut and we are going to keep it. Was told that the Huns have captured the aerodrome and the consequence of the naval action last night was 80% of a German convoy sunk and the Italian fleet, once again, getting a hiding. A lot of German material has been captured and their M.G.s used against them. They use three types of bullets; tracer, explosive and ordinary. The Germans captured are a very fine type & all the boys admit it. Went  through the usual machine gunning and bombing by the Luftwaffe. Have been told that the Huns are massing for an attack on Galatos.'

The War Memorial for the Battle of Galatos, as it was in 1990

Friday 23 May 

'Had a pretty hard night. Our sector is the weakest point of the line so we had to double the strength of the piquet and by doing so we had two men awake all the time working two hours on and one hour off. There was another naval skirmish during the night. The mosquitoes are extra ordinarily bad. The situation on the island seems to be pretty well in hand. Was told that the Huns tried to land troops on the aerodrome but our guns just picked the planes off as they landed. The Navy is supposed to come in and blow Hell out of the drome tonight. A very concentrated bombing and machine gunning by Stukas & Heinkels at midday made us all think that more parachutists were going to be dropped here. General activity has been very slight, most of the noise seems to be coming from the aerodrome.'

While Private Westbrook does not mention it and his Brigade was obviously not involved, the fighting inside the town of Galatos was vicious. I found this account, in Crete 1941: Eyewitnessed  by Costas Hadjipateras, particularly poignant: 'The New Zealanders had been pushed out of Galatos leaving the great church full of their wounded, and now they returned with a vengeance. Bayonets had been fixed, the Cretan villagers had fastened knives and bayonets to old-fashioned rifles and had joined the Kiwis in a mad charge through Galatos. Their aspect must have been terrible. The troops were angry and cold-blooded, the Cretans proud and hot-blooded, and the result, as we heard later, was a stunning victory - at least for that day. No German soldiers remained in Galatos on Friday evening.' 

Saturday 24 May

'We moved last night & took up a new position on the other side of Galatos.  I'm not feeling the least bit fresh because of lack of sleep. The situation seems to be pretty shaky as the Jerry has consolidated himself at the aerodrome and has landed large numbers of troops, armoured motor cycles & side cars &  light tanks and has actually advanced about  four  miles. His Luftwaffe has  given us the biggest blitz to date, the planes bombing and droning about for the past six hours without a break. The island has been covered in a haze from the bombing. Machine gun bullets are uncomfortably close. D Coy., whose line runs at right angles to us on our left, suffered severe strafings by Messerschmidts & Heinkels. Junkers transport planes dropped supplies by parachute to the odd troops holding out near Galatos. At 1600 hrs we had to man all posts as a party of  Germans  are advancing along the coast road on D Coy's right flank. Our position overlooks the road. The Luftwaffe made two heavy bombing raids on Kania. Nine Blenheims flew over today and it was  the most inspiring sight we have seen yet. They bombed the aerodrome. They kept the Jerry planes away for two hours. We saw four parachutes coming down from a great height. Probably there was a fight up above.'

New Zealand war graves in the Commonwealth Cemetery at Suda Bay, Crete

Sunday 25 May

'The Luftwaffe has been unusually active bombing Kania again and all around. Started another petrol fire over by Suda Bay. Gave D Coy. another severe strafing. Last night Barney Lawn and I dug our post in deeper and put extra camouflage round it by planting whole grape vines around the trench. The general cave in of our line started about 1630hrs. Barney and I were completely surprised by seeing three men standing on the skyline on D Coy's ridge with their arms up in the air. Machine gun bullets were kicking up the dust behind them and grenades were bursting round them. Several other chaps came running around this side of the ridge but withdrew. The men on the ridge disappeared over the other side and a moment later a party of Huns with a trench mortar came into view. We gave them a bit of a reception and made them go back the way they came. Barney & I were a bit shaken by the bombing & machine gunning by the planes, but this action steadied  us up a lot.  We had several shots at a German creeping around the side of the ridge but registered no hits. We were in a pretty good position but the Jerries put bullets very close. At dusk we were given the order to withdraw. The Jerries had broken through the other companies and were flanking us. Barney & I were the  last two to leave and were being followed through the grape fields by Jerry bullets.  It was a tough little race. We lost the platoon & strung along with the M.G.Bn, an officer of which made us man a line behind the old hospital area. The hospital was a mess of  burned out tents so it goes to show that there is no target immune from bombs as far as the Hun goes.'

Monday 26 May

'At  0200 this morning Bill Lancaster woke us up and told us that everybody had gone so we hopped it, too. We found the rest of the Battalion not far from our last camping area. At 0400 the Battalion pulled out and we went to the area we first occupied when we arrived on the island. Had a short sleep under the trees till daylight then tunnelled into some briars in a drain & Barney & I had a good sleep well secured from planes. At 1100 hrs woke up & was told by Vic Berryman that there was a ration dump nearby so Barney & I paid it a visit and acquired some tins of pineapple, milk & beans. When we arrived back we were told by Jock McGruther to get three days rations & be ready to move. We pulled out about midday and were strafed shortly after. Capt Lyons, M.P. (Captain Jack Lyons was the Labour MP for Waitemata) & his batman were killed & I heard later, Jock McGruther was injured. We were given instructions to make our way to Souda Bay then strike south to Sparta (presumably Sfakia). I was with a small party for part of the time but lost them. Stumbled across a Tommy camp, had a cup of tea then joined C.Coy. who had arrived & were being treated to tea. We marched about eight miles along the coast road before we turned in for the night. During the day, a lone Dornier dropped some leaflets containing dire threats.'

Tuesday 27 May

 'Had a freshening wash and the first shave since the start of the blitz, in a creek nearby. We pulled out from here in sections of six and were given instructions to make our way to Neon Corinth, six miles away, and wait there until nightfall. From there we were to hike it to Spakhia on the other coast some 34 miles away and all our travelling was to be done at  night. Jack Purchase is the section leader of the one I'm in. There are quite a number of troops on the move. The day was very hot & the march over the country pretty stiff. We arrived at Neon Corinth about 1400hrs and moved out as a Company at 2100 hrs. There was a terrific congestion on the road and trucks were having great difficulty in passing the troops.'              

Wednesday 28 May

 'At 0400hrs this morning we pulled off the road and climbed a hill and turned in. The marching was pretty tough. We must have done about 16 miles. Just before midday we pulled out, and after walking a few miles met up with A Coy by a well, waiting for transport. We had to do the same and were transported to a pleasant little valley with countless little wells in the fields. We have to take up positions and have to form protection against parachutists. Looks as though we have to do another rear guard action. The planes have spotted the troop movements & have been doing a bit of bombing & machine gunning & I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to see some parachute troops dropped. Artillery sounds can be heard so I hope we don't linger to long. Passed some Aussies today with two Greek girls. The girls must be the same ones that the Aussies smuggled out of Greece. The girls were marching with the boys and looked surprisingly fresh.'

Thursday 29 May

 'Pulled out 0500 hrs and took up another position a further four miles towards the coast at the head of the valley. Had a pretty easy day of resting. 1845 Stukas and Dorniers flew over and it looks as though they have been blitzing the port or ships. 1900 hrs rifle, M.G & artillery fire can be heard in the hills at the other end of the valley. Looks as though the Jerries have caught up. We are moving out from here at 2000 hrs. with 2 days water. The Jerries have broken through a Tommy Regt. and the Commandos and our A Coy is holding them at the pass at the head of  the valley. A Coy pulled out and passed us on trucks. They, only 40 strong  kept the Jerries back for five hours, so I hope the Aussies, who are two battalions strong, can keep them back for 24 hrs. The marines are taking up a rearguard action, too. (Despite all their tribulations, the New Zealanders still had time to take an interest in how the rest of the War was going) Heard that the H.M.S. Hood  had been sunk by the German ship Bismarck and that the latter in turn, had been sunk by the H.M.S. King  George  V. Also heard that Tripoli had been surrounded by the British and Syria had gone Free French.'

Friday 30 May

 'Waited on roadside till 0400hrs, then moved some four miles further on towards the beach and holed up under pine trees on slopes of hills overlooking the beach. On our way to this place we passed a long line of Tommies and it seemed as though they would panic any moment. Only about 1 in 6 of them have not thrown away their rifles. At 1315 a systematic shelling of these slopes made things a bit uncomfortable and the Tommies were the first to move. We moved out ¾ hr later and tried to clear the road to the beach of wrecked trucks, of which there were a great number. It looked as though they had been strafed, well strafed, and a few dead were still lying about. Found one wounded chap in the back of a truck. He had been there for two days. We got him shifted by the medicals. Half way through our job, Huns were sighted coming down the gully this side of our former bivouac area,  so we took up positions on the slopes. At 1700hrs, we withdrew and rested up in bushes nearer the coast. The Aussies are  keeping the Huns occupied. It seems as though we,  the  4th Inf. Bde., will be getting off first tonight. Found out today that we have had five casualties in our Platoon - Jack McGruther, Sandy  Murtagh, Barney Lawn, George Edmonds & Sid Pausina - all wounded. "Wog" Keane is missing but may turn up. At 2000 hrs we moved down through Spakhia to the beach and embarked about midnight.'

The fishing port of Khora Sphakion in 1990, from where the New Zealanders were evacuated on 31 May 1941

 Saturday 31 May

 'Well, once more we are on the high seas. Our convoy of  two destroyers, the H.M.A.S. Napier  & Nyzam pulled out from Spakhia Bay at 0200hrs. During the process of embarkation we formed  a cordon of fixed bayonets around the beach to stop any unauthorized persons from crashing in. Only a certain number from certain units were to be embarked, all the rest had to take chances until tomorrow night. The first thing we received on board was a packet of Woodbines then a feed of stew, bread & jam. The Aussie crew treated us real fine & were all after souvenirs such as Lugers, Jerry Tommy guns etc. The ship I am on is the Napier. I had a shower & a shave - the first since the start of the blitz - then tried to sleep on the floor. I was told that our speed was 30 knots & that we would reach Alexandria at 1400hrs. At 1200hrs we were attacked by Jerry bombers, two near  misses making the ship buck around a bit. Damage was done to part of the radio equipment & one of the engines. We didn't make port until 1900hrs. A movie camera was there & a Y.M.C.A. reception committee who gave us two bars of chocolate, 1 pkt biscuits, 1 orange, tooth brush & paste,  soap & a hot cup of tea. Shortly afterwards we embarked on truck belonging to a South African unit which took us to Amriya. There we were issued with a complete messing outfit & given a hot dinner of  stew, potatoes, bread & butter. The Y.M.C.A. was on hand again & we were given chocolate, cigarettes, soap, shaving soap & razor blades. Were shown to a tent & turned in for a decent sleep.'

Private J.E.J. Westbrook was from Auckland and had had aspirations of being a writer, having worked before the War as a publisher's assistant. He was a third generation descendant of the prominent Wairarapa couple, John Milsome Jury and Te Aitu-o-te-Rangi Jury and was born in 1915 in Apia, Samoa. His paternal grandfather was George Westbrook, who was a prominent trader in Apia. Known to his friends as Jack, he was known to the immediate family as 'Winks'. Private Westbrook enlisted in the first days of the War and was on the first draft of troops sent the the Egypt in January 1940. In 1941, he began his diary 'because interesting things should happen this year.' Private Westbrook served through the bitter Greek Campaign before being evacuated to Crete. In November 1941, he was part of Auchinleck's 'push to the wire' and the relief of Tobruk. The last entry in his Diary, on 30 November, reads: 'We seem to be on the defensive & things are looking a bit sticky.' Private Westbrook was killed on the morning of the 1st December 1941 during the furious Battle of Sidi Rezegh in Libya.

My paperback books on my Overland travels in Asia, Europe & Africa in the early 1970s and the experiences of a tour guide on the Asian Overland routes & leading Camel Safaris in Rajasthan in the 1980s are available from Amazon.

Tales from the Road: Reminiscences of a Tour Leader

Overland coach crossing the Chambal River near Agra, India 1980

As the current covid-19 virus pandemic has now put an end to most recreational travel for the foreseeable future, perhaps it is now timely to reflect on the  forty years I have spent as a tour leader. It is a world that changed dramatically over that time. 40 years ago there was no social media, no cellphones, no emails, no texting. If something went wrong we were on our own. If it was serious, and we were lucky, we might be able to find a telex machine and, maybe, have to book a time. Despite a tape being made, more often than not, the message would come out scrambled at the other end and would have to be repeated. Telexes, charged on a per minute basis,  were  costly, especially when you were trying to one-finger type a reply - not many of us had had typing experience in those days!   An International phone call, also expensive, would have to be booked - in India sometimes two or three days ahead, and then you could not guarantee that your space would still be available, or if the call would actually get through. On Overland tours, we would have to book hotel rooms in advance by telegram, and there was no way of knowing if the  booking had been received - often it hadn't. But we managed, it was all taken for granted, and despite many frustrations, we coped with all types of issues. I will start this series of reminiscences with border crossings, one of our most important tasks and a source of endless frustrations and delays, but it did all depend on how you initially handled officious, self-important officials. 
To say I was tossed in at the deep end on my first tour was certainly not an understatement. I had completed a Sundowners European training trip a few weeks earlier and it was in early June 1979 when I was sent down, from London to Istanbul, with Merv, a Kiwi driver with an empty coach. We had to pick up the second half of a Kathmandu - London Overland group of maninly Australians and New Zealanders, who were flying in to Istanbul from Kabul, Afghanistan. Merv and I were to take them through Turkey into Syria, Jordan, to Jerusalem, then across the Syrian Desert to Baghdad and through Iraq to the northern border with Turkey. Istanbul and Cappadocia, the first two stops on the tour were the only places I had been to - Istanbul just a couple of months earlier on the training trip, and Cappadocia, I had visited 9 years earlier!  At the time there had been serious unrest in Afghanistan, and Iran was in the throes of the Islamic Revolution. Client safety could not be guaranteed, so Sundowners had made the decision to fly the group from Kabul to Istanbul. Turkey was also having its problems at this time, and as it was difficult to purchase diesel in the country we had purchased two 44-gallon drums of diesel at Alexandroupolis. But at the border, the Greek customs, no matter how much we argued, would not let us take the diesel out of Greece.

Galata area of Istanbul in 1979

On the the appointed arrival day we went to Istanbul Airport and I headed in to check the flight arrival information, and the scenario went something like this:

'Where is the information lady?'  
 'Taking chai' - I could see her with an officious bespectacled gentleman in the next office. 
'Does she speak English?'  
'Yes' – sigh of relief. She saw me and returned. 
'At what time does Ariana flight F6711 arrive from Kabul?'
 She consults her list, which I can see says arrival time is 1500 hours – not so late after all. 
'It has already landed.' 
'Whaaat?' 
'Landed 1230 – new time.'
'Where are passengers?'   Shrug! 
'You are sure flight has arrived?'
'Sure – passengers gone.'
Now what to do! 'Where have the passengers gone?'
 Another lady enters the office. The is a conversation in Turkish, which I had been told was somehow related to Finnish, not that this was any help to me! There are glances in my direction. 
Then – 'Sir, sorry, flight now arrive in one hour.'  Which was more or less the time I had been told by London that it would arrive.
At 1415 Afghan Ariana flight F6711 touches down in Istanbul.

Varanasi, on the Ganges, was the first stop after crossing the Nepalese/Indian border

Border crossings, in the pre-terrorist era, could also be trying and frustrating. As long as you humored the border officials, you could get through relatively quickly. But you you tried to hurry them along, became arrogant or argued, the process could be lengthy. There were, of course, some border crossing that you knew would be slow, no matter what. The Nepalese-Indian border was a case in point. 
The Nepalese were never a problem but with the Indians there was a definite procedure. We would arrive at the Indian side of the border at about 10.30 and having collected all the passports would take them into immigration. The head immigration officer, with appropriate head movements, would look at all the passports then say: “Border is closed.” To which I would reply: “No, no, it is only 10.30. Border open.” There would be a slight pause, he would look at the stack of passports again, sigh, then say: “I not be having pen. Nothing to write with. Cannot do passports!” I would be prepared for this. “Ah, I have pen here for you.” With a shrug of the shoulders, he would process two or three passports, look up at me, then at his colleague who was sitting alongside doing nothing, and say: “My friend, he not be having pen. Two can work faster than one” With a sigh I would say: “I have another spare pen here.” With head movements that only Indian officials can emulate, they would process a few more passports, then: “Chai? You have chai.” “OK” and after a few minutes, cups of ‘chai’ would appear and there would be a break, with appropriate small talk, before the passport process continued, now a quicker pace. I could see members of the group pacing up and down the muddy street outside, looking impatiently into the office. Eventually all formalities were complete, usually after about two hours or so,  and we would be on our way. If one was arrogant or demanding, as some new tour leaders could be, it could take twice as long. Patience and pleasantness always got things done quickly - at least by the standards of India.

The Zamzama, or Kim's Gun, outside the Lahore Museum, Pakistan

Crossing into Pakistan was quite different. Since 1977 Pakistan had been under the rule of General Zia ul-Haq, who had introduced stricter Islamic law than had previously been in force, especially as it applied to alcohol. There was still a big illicit demand for alcohol, and we were always expected to bring in anything alcoholic, particularly whisky, usually cheap Indian whisky which was, of course, much safer than the methyl alcohol which every so often would claim Pakistani lives. We would always load up two or three cases of Indian whisky in the luggage lockers, concealing them appropriately among the suitcases. When we arrived at the border, the Pakistani Customs and Immigration officials knew the routine. I would take the passports into the immigration office and a couple of bored officials would start processing. After about 10 minutes one would say: “You have present for us?” I would hesitate, feigning deep contemplation, before saying: “Maybe I have bottle of beer.” Their eyes would immediately light up. “Yes, good!” So I would disappear to the coach and come back with a couple of bottles of Indian Golden Eagle or Rosy Pelican beer, which I would surreptitiously sneak into the immigration office.  In a relatively short time all the passports would be stamped. Meanwhile on the coach, a couple of Customs officials would undergo a search, accompanied by the driver. This always began with the overhead luggage racks. We would always make sure there was an almost full bottle of Indian rum in the rack, partially concealed by a coat or bag. The rummaging officer would uncover the bottle: “Ah, what is this?” To which the answer would be “Oh dear, one of our passengers must have forgotten it was there.” The Customs officer would give a knowing grin and say: “Alcohol forbidden in Pakistan. We must be taking.”  “OK, fair enough. We understand.” And that was usually the end of the Customs search, or if they did go on it was only in a half-hearted way for another few minutes and then we were free to go, the head official saying he would see us at the Hotel International in Lahore. Later in the evening he would turn up at our hotel and we would give him a bottle of whisky. 

Overland coach in the Dasht-i Lut Desert on the road to Mirjaveh, Iran

On one tour in November 1979, we had driven, rather quickly, across Iran to the eastern border post of Mirjaveh. Iran was in a state of flux under the new Islamic rule of Ayatollah Khomeini. A couple of days before we left London,  the Revolutionary Guard had just seized the American Embassy in Tehran and were holding American diplomats hostage. We had expected this all to be resoled by the time we crossed from Turkey. It hadn’t, but we encountered surprisingly few hassles when we had entered Iran. We kept well away from the hotspot of Tehran, and headed south to Isfahan. Everything went relatively smoothly and we reached the border at Mirjaveh one afternoon around 2pm.  We had hoped to complete exit formalities and enter Pakistan that evening, but the Iranians had decided to close their side of the border for no apparent reason, it would reopen at 4pm we were initially told. There was no one else waiting at the border post and, as 4pm approached, we were now told that the border would not now open until the next morning, again no reason being given. A lone Iranian customs official was on site and after Colin, the driver, and I had tea with him, he said he would make sure we went through first thing in the morning. There were no eating establishments in Mirjaveh, so our Customs friend told us that if we followed the railway line there was a fence-gate on the border with a hole in it and, a hundred yards or so further on, was the small Pakistani village of Taftan where there was a basic restaurant. We should keep in mind that the time in Pakistan was one and half hours ahead of Iranian time, and the restaurant would also accept Iranian currency. As dusk fell, we made our way along the railway line to the fence-gate and, sure enough, there was a hole in the fence. We could see the few buildings that was Taftan up ahead. As we strolled along in the half-light, we could see, in the distance, the snows of the 4000 metre high volcano Kuh-i Taftan reddening in the setting sun.

An encounter on the Quetta - Mirjaveh road, Baluchistan, 1980

The little restaurant in Taftan had goats running around the tables and the food was Baluchi cuisine, more akin to spicier Indian and Pakistani food than the blander chelo kebab and rice we had been eating since entering in Iran. The restaurant owner greeted us with a "Welcome, welcome. No gentlemen here, only Baluchis!"  After a satisfying meal of curried vegetables and rice, we crept back along the railway to Mirjaveh, losing the hour and a half we had gained, to spend the night, as best we could, in the Iranian Quarantine Centre. Next morning, true to his word, our Iranian customs friend made sure that we were first through the border, and after clearing Pakistani formalities and changing money in Taftan, we bouncing our way over atrocious roads towards Quetta, still another 20 hours away.

On the return journey about three months later, we had managed to time our arrival to be at the Iranian border when the officials arrived in the morning. Besides passports, they would want to see vaccination certificates for cholera, typhoid and para-typhoid. On checking the vaccination certificates,  I realised we had a problem. The vaccination certificate of one of our ladies had not been signed and stamped by her doctor in Australia and that meant she would probably have to be re-inoculated by a local Iranian unless we could find some way around it. When the officials did arrive and began checking the documents I began to shuffle around the passengers, moving them from one queue to another. The passports were all checked successfully, and we had managed to confuse the medical officer enough to enable all the vaccination certificates to get through, with the rogue one going unnoticed and, thankfully, we were soon on the road to Zahedan.  

The rocky Syrian Desert on the road to Baghdad

The Iraqi border with Jordan was in the middle of the rocky Syrian Desert. We cleared Jordanian immigration at the unimaginatively named H4, formerly a pumping station on an old oil pipeline between the Iraqi oilfields and the port of Haifa. It was around a 3 hour drive to reach Iraqi immigration. It was close to midnight when we arrived at Rutbah Wells and entered the immigration compound. The few bored, uniformed officials immediately brightened up when we arrived. After all, the night so far had been spent processing a few long-distant lorry drivers carting goods through to Baghdad from either Amman or Damascus. A coach load of Western travellers, including a large number of young females was a different matter and perhaps the night wouldn’t be so boring after all! Feigned horror at the number of passports but first forms had to be filled out, then the usual delaying tactics – small talk in pidgin English and French, cigarettes offered –‘No thanks, sorry I don’t smoke’ – ‘you smoke!’  ‘Take it', Merv, the driver, hissed 'It might get things moving’ – a hesitation, then a reluctant ‘OK’. Spluttering and coughing, trying not to inhale too much of the, at least to me, rather strong acrid smoke we managed to get some of the male passports processed. Then ‘we need to see all the ladies’, ‘Why?’ A sly grin: ‘To make sure they are the same as their photos.’ A rather dubious excuse as they hadn’t wanted to see the men, but we had no option but to comply. One by one the girls filed through to the slow, leering scrutiny of these officials. I noticed one passport had been put aside. When all passengers were back on the coach I asked for the passports and all were given to me except the one put aside. ‘Why not that one?’  ‘We need to see her again’. It was the passport of Sylvia, a blonde Swiss girl. ‘Why?’ ‘We need to see.’ So I had no choice but to get Sylvia back again before these leering officials. They asked a few inane questions, obviously mentally undressing her, but finally – ‘OK you go.’ The passport was handed back and we were finally on our way through what was left of the night to Baghdad.

Our journey around Iraq went smoothly and after a night in Mosul, and a short stop at the ruins of Biblical Nineveh we headed to the Turkish border at Zarkho. Merv and I spent about 2½ hours on the Iraqi side of the border hassling with the officials. About halfway through the passport process, a group of Iraqi officials entered with a young black man and after a conversation in Arabic, pushed his passport in front of the officials. I noticed that it was a Ugandan passport and the surname name was Amin. The young man said nothing but looked at me and gave a rather weak apologetic smile. His passport was processed in just a few minutes and he was ushered on his way. When I thought about it afterwards, I realised that this was probably Jaffar Amin, a son of Idi Amin, the former dictator of Uganda who had been deposed just a few months earlier. Amin and his family had fled into exile in Libya, but had been asked to leave and moved on to Iraq before finally being granted asylum in Saudi Arabia. Once young Amin had gone, things seemed to speed up and we finally crossed to the Turkish side where all passport formalities took about half an hour and we were on our way to Mardin. 

A dip in the Euphrates River in Birecik, Turkey, after leaving Iraq

My paperback books on my Overland travels in Asia, Europe & Africa in the early 1970s and the experiences of a tour guide on the Asian Overland routes & leading Camel Safaris in Rajasthan in the 1980s are available from Amazon.

Anzac Day: A Time of Reflection

Irises now flower on the beach at Anzac Cove, Gallipoli Peninsula - island of Imbros on horizon.

A gentle Mediterranean breeze blows through the purple irises now flourishing along the Anzac Cove foreshore. The waters, aquamarine close inshore, graduate to a deep ultramarine where Imbros, now the Turkish island of Gökçeada, appears, smudge-like on the horizon.  It is hard to believe that 105 years ago this benign stony beach was one of blood, noise and death. 
I turn around as the gentle Aegean zephyrs waft inland, stirring the scrub covering former battlefields with evocative names, such as Plugge's Plateau, Quinn's Post, the Nek,  Baby 700, Battleship Hill, Johnston's Jolly and, further up the Sari Bair Range, Lone Pine and Chunuk Bair.  I can see the steep escarpment leading up to the ridge, dominated by the high distinctive bluff known as the Sphinx. I cannot even try to imagine the hell that the Australian and New Zealand soldiers went through, trying to gain a foothold, under fire, on this ridge which, through sheer grit, tenacity and the loss of many mates, they eventually did. 

The Nek & the Sphinx dominates Anzac Cove

I have visited the Gallipoli battlefields many times since my first visit in 1979. I have always found it deeply moving to walk among the gravestones, especially when one sees the ages of some of these Anzacs. I have seen the graves of 16. 17, 18 year olds, Victoria Cross winners, Captains, Lieutenants, soldiers of the Indian mule corps, Newfoundlanders, Gurkhas and Sikhs, many with thought-provoking epitaphs: 'He Sleeps where Anzac heroes came to do or die'; 'He died a man & closed his life's brief day ere it had scarce begun'; 'Sunset and evening star and one clear call for me'; 'We know that it is well with you among the very brave, the very true'.

A selection of Anzac & British graves in the different cemeteries on the Gallipoli Peninsular

The Ottoman soldiers fought with a tenacity that surprised all the Allied soldiers who landed on the Peninsula and a healthy respect for 'Johnny' Turk soon developed. There was also the realisation that the Turkish soldiers were defending their Homeland from foreign invaders. Turkish losses were colossal and most of their graves are now located at the Çanakkale Martyrs Monument neat Cape Helles.

Graves of Turkish soldiers at the Canakkale Martyr's Monument on the Gallipoli Penusla

 For Australians Lone Pine is their special memorial, with the names, not just of Australians but also of many New Zealand whose resting places are 'known only to God.'  The original 'lone pine' (Pinus brutia) was destroyed during the fighting of August 1915, but today's tree, now part of the monument, is from a seed of the original tree. Many seeds were taken back to Australia, and a tree in the gardens at the Shrine of Remembrance in Melbourne is one of these.

Lone Pine memorial and cemetery on the Gallipoli Peninsula

Further along Sari Bair ridge is the New Zealand monument at Chunuk Bair, which was one of the crucial objectives of the Battles of August 1915. Inscribed on the monument are the words 'From the Uttermost ends of the Earth', which are really most appropriate. It brings to my mind a passage from Maurice Shadbolt's Once on Chunuk Bair: "Imagine some Eskimo archaeologist four thousand years from now – Digging here and finding a barbarian tribe from the Pacific really did fight here."

Also inscribed on the Chunuk Bair monument are the names of the Maori dead of the battle, this being the first major action fought by the Maori Contingent, which later became the Maori Pioneer Battalion. There had been some controversy about the Maori Contingent being kept in Malta by the British War Office, who were not keen on 'native races' being involved in a 'European' conflict. Sir Ian Hamilton, overall commander at Gallipoli, records in his Gallipoli Diary: "Have asked that the Maoris may be sent from Malta to join the New Zealanders at Anzac. I hope and believe that they will do well. Their white comrades from the Northern Island are very keen to have them."

Monument to the New Zealand Expeditionary Force with Maori Contingent names, Chunuk Bair.

Turkish losses during the campaign were colossal. The Turks fought with a tenacity from the beginning, that caught the invaders by surprise, and was quite contrary to what they had been led to believe before the Campaign began. The Anzacs soon built up a healthy respect for the Ottoman soldiers and there was the realisation that the Turks were fiercely defending their homeland from foreign invaders. Most of the Turkish graves are now at what is known as the Çanakkale Martyrs Monument, further down the Peninsular towards Cape Helles. 

The nearest town to the battlefields, on the European side of the Dardanelles, is Eceabat, a town that in recent years has thrived on the Anzac story. The main ferry crossing of the Dardanelles is between Eceabat and the larger town of Çanakkale on the Asian side and it is in the Çanakkale Consular Cemetery that the last New Zealand soldiers, 11 men of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles, were buried in December 1918. The Canterbury Mounted Rifles had been sent to Gallipoli in December 1918 to assist in locating and burying the allied dead but unfortunately another killer struck - that of the 'plague of the Spanish Lady', the horrific Spanish influenza pandemic that swept the world at the end of World War One.

The town of Eceabat has one of the largest and most interesting memorials of the conflict.  Both Australian and Turkish trenches, complete with bronze soldiers from both sides, oppose each other in a static battle in the middle of town. Busts of Turkish heroes of the conflict line the waterfront, and the entire diorama is overlooked by a large statue of Mustapha Kemal (later Atatürk), the overall Turkish commander. It is a most impressive memorial.

The Australian trenches of the large War Memorial in Eceabat.

Today large container ships now pass unhindered through this strategic waterway, heading through to Istanbul and the Black Sea ports of Romania, Bulgaria, Ukraine, Russia and Georgia.

A container ship enters the Dardanelles heading towards Istanbul and the Black Sea

As they head along the Strait they cannot fail to see, on a hillside above the village of Kilitbahir, the Dur Yolcu monument of a soldier beneath a Turkish flag with the words by the poet Necmettin Halil Onan, which translated from the Turkish, reads:

Traveller Halt!

The Soil You Tread

Once Witnessed the End of an Era.

© Neil Rawlins  text & photography

Past posts relating to the Gallipoli Peninsula:

                                  Anzac: the Turkish Monuments of the Gallipoli Penisula

                                   Some Surprising Facts about the Gallipoli Campaign

My paperback books on my Overland travels in Asia, Europe & Africa in the early 1970s and the experiences of a tour guide on the Asian Overland routes & leading Camel Safaris in Rajasthan in the 1980s are available from Amazon.

The Great Byzantine Cathedral of Istanbul

Hagia Sophia Cathedral at tulip time

For me, one of the most impressive buildings in the world is the great Hagia Sophia Cathedral, the Church of the Holy Wisdom,  in the Turkish city of Istanbul.  For almost 1500 years, this great domed Cathedral has stood in the heart of what was once Constantinople. Its great dome has stood a thousand years longer than that of St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican.   It is the third church to be constructed on the site, the first dating from the 4th century and the second from the early 5th century.
During the Nika riots of 532, the 2nd Church of the Holy Wisdom was almost completely destroyed - just a few pieces of pediment remain. Much of Constantinople burned and around 30,000 rioters killed when the rebellion was suppressed by Belisarius, the Emperor Justinian's general.

A section of the pediment of the 5th century St. Sophia, destroyed during the Nika riots of 532

Shortly after the suppression of the riots, the Byzantine Emperor Justinian I commissioned two architects, Isidore of Miletus and Anthemius of Tralles to formulate plans for a new Cathedral, which was built in just 5 years and dedicated in 537. However, in 558 the main dome completely collapsed in an earthquake. It was subsequently realised that the original dome had been  built far too flat. Isidore the younger, nephew of Isidore of Miletus, was called in by Emperor  Justinian. This time lighter material was used and a ribbed dome, elevated  by around 6.5 metres, was erected.  Justinian also ordered 8 massive Corinthian columns to be brought from Baalbek in Lebanon as additional support. The Cathedral was re-consecrated in 562 and this is the amazing building that we see today. For over 900 years Hagia Sophia was the centre of Greek Orthodoxy, except for 57 years in the 13th century, after  Constantinople was sacked by the Christian armies of the 4th Crusade, when  it became a Roman Catholic Cathedral. In 1453, Constantinople was captured by the Ottoman Turks, and the Cathedral, with the addition of minarets, became the first Imperial mosque of the Ottomans.
In 1935, after the establishment of the Turkish Republic by Kemal Atatürk, this great Cathedral-cum-Mosque became a museum, and work began on the uncovering of the spectacular Byzantine mosaics which had been plastered over during the Ottoman rule.

The Deësis Mosaic & Byzantine arches on the upper level of Hagia Sophia

Over the years, I have visited this great building many times, and have always experienced a overwhelming sense of awe when I have passed through the Imperial Door into the main body of the Cathedral.

The Imperial Entrance to Hagia Sophia

On the granite step, each side of the entrance, are depressions, made over the centuries, I have been told, by the  Varangians, the 'Anglo-Saxon axe-bearers', bodyguards of the Emperors, who stood here,  Stepping through the door, into the gloom of the main body of the church beneath the great dome, is like stepping back in history, and is definitely awe-inspiring. Perhaps best described by Doreen Yarwood in The Architecture of Europe: 'The interior of S. Sophia is monumental; the architectural design is simple but the effect dynamic in its quality of light and open space. The central dome is 180 feet above ground, supported on gigantic pendentives which in turn stem from the four semi-circular arches and enormous, ground-standing piers.'

The interior of Hagia Sophia is a unique blend of Christian & Islamic iconograohy

On the main piers are circular panels with the names of Allah in Arabic, a reminder that this was, for many centuries, a Islamic place of worship. The interior of the great dome still retains, in gold-lettered archaic Arabic, the many names of Allah inscribed on the plaster  which still covers the original Byzantine mosaic, probably of Christ Pantocrator. The very fine Byzantine mosaics in other areas of the building have had the covering plaster painstakingly removed, revealing the incredible workmanship of these ancient craftsmen.

Panels with names of Allah & a mosaic portrayal of the Virgin Mary with the infant Christ in one of the semi-domes.

In the middle of the Cathedral is the marble omphalos, the navel of the world, the spot where  the Emperors of the Byzantine Empire were crowned. Also in this section of the Cathedral are  two huge marble lustration urns from Bergama (ancient Pergamon), for the storage of anointing oils.

The omphalos, or navel of the earth - the spot where the Emperors of Byzantium were crowned.

One of the huge marble lustration urns from Bergama

The passage to the upper level is wide with rough cobbles, designed to stop horses hooves slipping as they transported dignitaries to the upper levels.

The passageway to the upper level of Hagia Sophia

It is on this upper level that some of the finest mosaics can be seen. These include the famous Deësis, the Comnenus and the Empress Zoë mosaics, and on each of the large triangular pendentives are seraphim, or archangels.  Also on this upper level is a 19th century marker which is supposedly the site where the grave of the 41st Doge of Venice, Enrico, or Hendricus Dandolo who died in 1205, was originally located. The original grave was destroyed after the Ottoman invasion, and he remains the only person who was buried in Hagia Sophia. Enrico Dandolo was the blind and aged - reputedly around  97 - Doge of Venice who led the Venetian soldiers and sailors in the 4th Crusade. The aim of the 4th Crusade had originally been to attack Cairo, but due to the inability of the Crusaders to pay back money owing to Venice, the force first attacked Zara (modern Zadar) then, against Pope Innocent III wishes, besieged Constantinople in 1203. After the city fell the following year and an orgy of looting and killing followed. The result being a Catholic State was established that lasted until 1271. All part of the intrigue that makes this building so interesting. 

The famous Comnenus mosaic in the upper level of Hagia Sophia

A seraph, or archangel on one of the pendentives in Hagia Sophia

Everything about this building is impressive. But it was on my last visit to Hagia Sophia, that it suddenly struck me, that people had been regularly worshipping under this massive dome for longer than the genus homo sapiens have lived in my native New Zealand. Definitely thought provoking.

The massive outer walls & a minaret of Hagia Sophia

My paperback books on my Overland travels in Asia, Europe & Africa in the early 1970s and the experiences of a tour guide on the Asian Overland routes & leading Camel Safaris in Rajasthan in the 1980s are available from Amazon.