_The epic of the Gallipoli landings will, let us hope, one day be written by a pen worthy to depict that immortal tale of heroism, but I doubt if the whole truth can ever be spoken or written. There are some things of which men cannot and will not speak. A word, a sentence here and there, may lift for a moment a corner of the veil, but only those who went through that inferno will ever fully realise its horror._ _Of my boy’s own small part in it all I know a little—but only a_ very _little. The ship was concerned in the landing at—— Beach, and at 10 o’clock one morning he was sent away in his boat to fetch the wounded from the beach in question. Of course other midshipmen were doing the same thing in other boats._ _Batch after batch of men horribly wounded, hideously mutilated, were rescued under fire, and conveyed to the hospital ships. He spoke—brokenly—of the terrible wounds, the all-pervading stench of blood rising up beneath the fierce rays of the sun from his reeking boat; of the magnificent, indescribable heroism and patience of men mangled, and shattered, and torn._ _Once for a time the ship had to go away down the straits for two miles, and he had to read the signals giving orders where to convey the rescued—and so—work on. One day he was on that duty from 10 in the morning until half-past 1 at night._ _”What did you do for food?” I asked—perhaps foolishly._ “_Oh, they threw me down a lump of cheese and a ship’s biscuit, somewhere about midday, when I happened to be alongside._” “_And was that_ all _you had in all those hours? Surely they might have seen you had at least something to eat!_” “_Eat—” he exclaimed scornfully, and then very patiently: “Don’t you see, Mother, it was a question of_men’s lives! _Some were bleeding to death; every second counted—— How could we think of_ eating!” _So—shamed—I held my peace, hearing only that “it was a question of men’s_lives.” _And these were the boys of whom a certain well-meaning but hysterical Member of Parliament wrote to the papers just after the sinking of the_ Aboukir, _the_ Cressy, _and the_ Hogue._ He said it was monstrous to send such mere children to war, and that in point of fact they were of no use on the ships, and only a source of worry to their superior officers! One could wish that he had been present at Gallipoli. Some of those same boys won decorations which they may well wear proudly to-day, for they won them by deeds of magnificent fortitude and valour. Others again gave all they had—their health and their youth, and in some cases their lives, and I think the names of all those “children” are written in letters of flame on the Roll of England’s Honour—England’s Glory._ * * * * * _Some days later they were once more in comparative security. How comparative only those who have realised a fraction of that hell will recognise._ _The ship was guarding the French flank when the end came—but—let it be told in his own words._