July 7th
Got up just before 6 a.m. and found that the ship had weighed anchor. It is a beautiful morning, and the sea and green hills of Lemnos look very fresh. We pass slowly through the Fleet, which looks very formidable, yet which at present is unable to help us on our way. So out of the harbour to sea.
The past seems now like a horrid dream, as one lives idly on board in every luxury that one could have.
At times I feel a shirker, yet when a medical officer sends one off the Peninsula his orders take precedence of an order of one’s superior officer on the Active List, and once you have left you are passed on from doctor to doctor and clearing station to hospital, and one’s future remains in the Medical Authorities’ hands.
Personally I am feeling much better, the fainting feeling having left, and the rheumatism nearly so. But war is so horrible that I wish it was all over. I’ve seen more of the horrible side than some of those in the fire-trenches, who sit comparatively safely there until the attack (this only applies to the unique situation in Gallipoli), and then with one objective in mind, namely to get another trench in front, they leap out and charge.
Most of them say the feeling is exhilarating and glorious, and those of the slightly wounded say they felt, when wounded while running on cheering, as if some one suddenly hit them with a hot stick. However, the risk I have run is not nearly so great as infantry run; but in future give me gunnery every time, they having the most thrilling and interesting work to do of any branch of the Service. However, let us hope our future will not hold war and its horrors in store for us.