FORTY
April 25, 1915 GallipoliForever in the annals of brave but foolish endeavours.
The sky over Cape Hellas and the village of Sedd El Bhar at the foot of the Gallipoli Peninsula, was purple-hued and bruised, a sullen sky, dark and heavy, and the fetid humidity of the night clung around the old converted collier troop ship like a warm wet blanket.
Even so, Edgar Garforth shivered slightly as the ship slopped into the weighty oily sea that swelled back from the closing coast, feeling the hard knot of apprehension tight in his stomach. All around him, other soldiers from the 8th Battalion of the Durhams, part of the 29th Division, shuffled and swayed, nervousness rippling along the ranks like wind through a cornfield as the impending invasion and assault on the beaches of Gallipoli loom
