The amalgamation of battalions was put off as long as possible, but later, in October, there was no alternative. The 5th and 8th Lancashire Fusiliers were then combined under Lieut.-Colonel F. W. Woodcock, and the 6th and 7th under Major Alexander; the 5th and 6th Manchesters under Lieut.-Colonel C. R. Pilkington (Lieut.-Colonel Darlington having been evacuated with fever), and the 4th East Lancashires and 9th Manchesters were split up among other battalions. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO GULLY RAVINE AT GULLY BEACH.] [Illustration: GULLY RAVINE. HEADQUARTERS OF SIGNAL CO. AND 2ND FIELD CO. R.E.] [Sidenote: _New Ground_] In the new area, which had previously been held by the 29th Division, now at Suvla, there were many changes, on the whole for the better. The men were not sorry to see the last of Krithia and Achi Baba Nullahs, of the Vineyard and other scenes of carnage. Yet the names conjure up other memories, not wholly painful—of heroic attempt and gallant performance, of courage, self-sacrifice, and devotion to duty unsurpassed in any theatre of war, of cheerfulness in adversity, of enduring friendships, of doggedness and determination, of great pride in the comrades who had fallen, whose graves, marked by biscuit-box crosses, lay thick in the Krithia Nullah beyond Clapham Junction. The Eski, Australian and Redoubt Lines, Wigan, Stretford, and Oldham Roads, Burlington Street, Greenheys Lane, Ardwick Green, Clapham Junction, Cooney’s corner (where it was wise to make good speed), Romani’s Well, which could always be relied upon for a supply of deliciously cool water, the olive-grove beside it, most peaceful and popular of bivouacs—these were seen for the last time, but the memories that cluster about them will never be wiped out. The mention of the names brings back the scene, the sounds, the smells—the gullies thronged with men and animals, the R.A.M.C. carrying the wounded down to the dressing stations, the transport toiling up with rations, the linesmen of the Signal Company coolly and efficiently laying lines and repairing wires under shell and machine-gun fire, the despatch riders driving furiously over ground that no motor-cycle was ever meant to negotiate, those good men of the Zion Mule Corps, the Hindus driving their well-cared for, well-trained and (to them) docile mules, or at rest making chupatties, the smell of wood-fires—and of manure incinerators—the lines of animals, neighing or braying, the dumps, the incessant crack of rifles, and, above all, the flies and the mud.