This particular piece of work was under the supervision of Major Neill, and, as it had to be done in record time, his task was no easy one, but, fortunately for him and his Company, the Turks never spotted what was going on, and before we left these parts Major Neill saw the guns safely emplaced without suffering a single casualty. All this stone work on the steep sides of a hill, coupled with heavy marching to and fro, and scrambling up and down, was not good for the men's clothing, which soon got worn, ragged and dirty. A false step on a slippery slope meant that the seat of a man's flimsy shorts was rent asunder, and it was quite usual to see the tail of a shirt hanging out! Yet, no matter how ragged and disreputable-looking the men were, I found it impossible to get any renewal of clothing, although it was freely handed out to other units. It seemed as if it were a joy to some people to be able to withhold necessary articles of clothing, such as shirts, boots, socks, shorts, etc., and keep the men working on dirty jobs, and then say with glee, "Look at the ragged dirty Jews." It must be remembered that we could not obtain enough water even to wash our faces, for every drop had to be carried up the precipitous sides of the hills on camels as far as they could clamber, and then by mules and donkeys up the steeper parts. Often there was a shortage of the precious fluid even for tea-making. I wrote urgent letters again and again, and protested that the men were unfit to march for want of shoes, and that many of them were actually exposing their nakedness for want of clothing. I sent my Quartermaster, Lieutenant Smythe, day after day, to the Ordnance Stores trying to extract necessary articles, but all in vain! We were nobody's children, and consequently we could get nothing. I saw the Brigadier, and represented to him that in many cases our men were ragged, shirtless, sockless, and bootless, but if he made any representations on our behalf there was no result. Had we belonged to a Brigade instead of being merely "attached" most of our troubles would never have arisen, but the policy adopted by the local Staff was to keep us as "wandering Jews," pitched from one Brigade to another, in a continuous round of General Post. It was a heart-breaking experience as any soldier will understand. At last I rode over to my old Gallipoli friend, Colonel O'Hara, who was on the Staff of the 10th Division, and he, like the good soldier that he is, helped me out of my difficulty as far as it lay in his power. What a difference it makes when one meets a good Staff Officer! Not nearly enough care is given to the task of selecting the right men for this all-important branch of the Army. They are too often selected for any reason except the right one, viz., efficiency.