A new nomenclature had now to be learnt and to be created. Fusilier Bluff, Geoghegan’s Bluff, the Gridiron, the Birdcages, Border, Essex, Hampshire, Lancashire, Douglas, Frith, Ashton, Burnley Streets or Roads soon became familiar signs. The derivation of most of the names is sufficiently obvious, but the “Eski Line” puzzled the men until some genius among them propounded the brilliant theory that “it’s the pet name of one of the Staff-officer’s wives.” As it was understood that he meant “of the wife of one of the Staff-officers,” the illuminating suggestion was adopted as satisfactory, and men were heard to murmur the name _Eski_ ecstatically. Gully Ravine took the place of Krithia Nullah as the main road to the firing-line. The bed of the gully in September and October was deep in loose red sand which made very heavy going for tired troops, but when the mud came one sighed for the vanished sand. The transport was frequently thigh-deep in liquid mud in those evil days. On both sides stretched the horse and mule lines, and stores and dumps were placed at suitable spots. At the last bend of the gully a wag erected a cairn and labelled it _Third Tower_. This was hailed with delight by parties changing over, as all men who had trained on the Cairo—Suez Road understood that the end of their journey was close at hand. A thirty-yard rifle-range was constructed in the ravine for the training of the reinforcements from the third line, who had had little or no experience of the service rifle, and the modest beginning of a Divisional School came into being in one of the small offshoot gullies where Major Fawcus held his bombing-class. A “rest” was more of a reality in the new area, and it was comparatively safe, but in Gallipoli the word _rest_ held a very different significance from that attached to it at home. It had now become too closely associated with hard work to be really popular, and the _dolce far niente_ illusion had been quite dispelled. It meant heavy fatigues day and night, much digging, the unloading of lighters and the carrying of heavy loads; but a Beach Fatigue had its compensations, for it was possible at times to get a bathe if one was not too fastidious to object to coal-dust and refuse from lighters, nor to the close companionship of the dead horses and mules that floated around. These were constantly being towed out to sea, but the homing instinct, or the current, brought them back again. “W” Beach even boasted a canteen (run by enterprising Greeks), and men who had time to spare and were possessed of patience might, after waiting for hours in a queue, come back with a bit of chocolate and a tin of fruit—rare and precious luxuries. One day would-be purchasers found the military police in possession. The Greeks had been arrested as spies, and were not seen again. In due course the Division ran its own popular canteen on Gully Beach.