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The Dardanelles: Colour Sketches From Gallipoli
The Dardanelles: Colour Sketches From Gallipoli
The Dardanelles: Colour Sketches From Gallipoli
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The Dardanelles: Colour Sketches From Gallipoli

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"The Dardanelles" by Norman Wilkinson is a book that illustrates war in colored paintings and water-color drawings. The author well-describes the battles and conditions in the trenches as well.
Norman Wilkinson CBE RI (1878 – 1971) was a British artist who usually worked in oils, watercolors, and drypoint. He was primarily a marine painter, but also an illustrator, poster artist, and wartime camouflage. Wilkinson invented dazzle painting to protect merchant shipping during the First World War.
Excerpt:
"THE LANDING AT SUVLA BAY, AUGUST 6-7
The strictest secrecy was maintained with regard to the new landing in Gallipoli, thus preventing anything but the vaguest rumours leaking out as to the point chosen for disembarkation. It was presumed that the Turks must have taken every possible protective measure to guard against surprise. I was very fortunate in being attached to the ship which the Admiral conducting operations had chosen as his temporary flagship.
It is difficult to give any idea of the strange feelings that possessed us as we crept through the darkness on the night of August 6, knowing that big events loomed ahead. Would it be a surprise to the enemy?"
LanguageEnglish
PublisherGood Press
Release dateMay 19, 2021
ISBN4064066202040
The Dardanelles: Colour Sketches From Gallipoli

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    Book preview

    The Dardanelles - Norman Wilkinson

    Norman Wilkinson

    The Dardanelles: Colour Sketches From Gallipoli

    Published by Good Press, 2021

    goodpress@okpublishing.info

    EAN 4064066202040

    Table of Contents

    CHAPTER I FIRST IMPRESSIONS

    CHAPTER II THE LANDING AT SUVLA BAY, AUGUST 6-7

    CHAPTER III OFF THE LEFT FLANK AT HELLES

    CHAPTER IV TRAWLERS IN THE DARDANELLES

    CHAPTER V BEACH-PARTIES

    CHAPTER VI SUBMARINES

    CHAPTER VII WOUNDED

    CHAPTER I

    FIRST IMPRESSIONS

    Table of Contents

    Before entering upon the subject of this chapter I cannot help a passing allusion to the lack of pictorial records of this war—records made by artists of experience, who actually witness the scenes they portray.

    Our descendants will surely regret the omission when they try to gather an impression of the greatest war in history from the inadequate material obtainable.

    I do not lose sight of the fact that many professional artists are fighting with our army in France and elsewhere. But life in the trenches is so arduous that it is doubtful if many records will come to us from this source.

    The start of my journey was not at all what I had intended. I had imagined myself busily sketching our departure and attempting to get some of the delightful colour and abundant movement of the lower Thames.

    In actual fact, I spent most of this time lying on a settee, trying to overcome the effects of inoculation, though rather cheered, it is true, by the thought of the annoyance set up amongst the millions of germs inhabiting my system.

    I made several efforts to go on deck, but was forced each time to give in and return to my cabin.

    This was the more annoying, as we were passing through what to any traveller by sea, and to me especially, was the most interesting zone: full of romance and mystery, with stories of sunken submarines, rumours of nets and mines, and all the strange happenings of this strangest of wars.

    There was naturally a certain amount of speculation on the steamer as to the possibility of attack by submarine: this new factor in modern warfare, which, from a romantic point of view, has so largely conduced to the elimination of spectacular fighting.

    At the time of sailing we had heard of submarine activity in the western entrance to the Channel, though the apparent indifference of the passengers was a wonderful testimony to the calmness of the Briton in the presence of a very real danger. However, hopes ran fairly high that we might soon get into safe waters, as we were favoured with a fairly heavy summer gale, which should, with luck, see us well round Ushant and down the bay.

    We were pushing along doing a steady ten knots with our fore-deck frequently taking it green; but, well loaded as we were with general cargo, the ship was wonderfully easy in motion. This was in comforting contrast to a tramp-steamer close by, which looked as if she wanted to see how far she could roll without turning over.

    Ships bound for the Mediterranean and to other parts are more scattered nowadays than formerly. Since the war they have avoided the recognised trade routes. Probably there may be enemy submarines bound out to the Eastern Mediterranean, but the likelihood of attack from these appeared to us small. After all, they would surely reserve their stock of torpedoes for a more important quarry, and, in any case, would hardly be likely to advertise their presence before arriving in their intended zone of operations.

    During the night we passed a number of patrol boats keeping their ceaseless vigil. The patrol service will, when the war is over, undoubtedly reap the full meed of praise to which they are entitled. It is utterly impossible for the landsman to grasp the soul-wearying work on patrol vessels. Frequently of quite small tonnage, keeping the seas in every kind of weather, not bound anywhere in particular, but just slogging to and fro on a set beat, rarely thought of except by the relatives and friends of those serving in them.

    We reached Gibraltar in two or three days, during which

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