10.20 a.m
Imbros is peaceful and beautiful, Gallipoli beautiful and awful. We have moved closer in to the beach and they are trying to hit us from the shore. Two shells have just dropped near us, twenty yards away; the din is ear-splitting, especially from Queen Bess. I can hear the crack-crack of the rifles on shore, which reminds me of Bulford. I shall be glad when we land. This boat is getting on my nerves. We are just off the “Horse of Troy,” as we call the River Clyde. Are we going to land at “V” Beach? I can see no sign of life there. Nothing but columns of earth thrown into the air and bits of the houses of Sed-el-Bahr flying around, and always those crouching figures behind the sand dunes. Only the Royal Scots left on board. Perhaps they are going to land and make good. I get near Milward to see if he has any orders. He goes up to the bridge to take a signal.