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Anzac Jack

A Tribute to the Men of all the Nations that took part in the Gallipoli Campaign of 1915

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 "Anzac Jack": Sgt John Hoey Moore DCM, AIF

Jack Moore (right)  & an unknown NZ Mounted Trooper, Mena Camp Egypt c. Jan 1915 The front cover of the book "Anzac Jack" written in 2004 by his son.
There were many Anzacs. About 50,000 Australians and over 8,500 New Zealanders. I doubt that many encompassed as many of the traits of the Anzacs as did 101 Sergeant John Hoey Moore, DCM of the 14th Field Company, Australian Engineers, Australian Imperial Force (AIF).
  • He was:
    • New Zealand born and proud of it,  but served in the AIF from 1914 to 1919.
    • One of the millions of NZers and Aussies who considered Britain "Home".
    • Part of the (unused) landing party sent to blow up the Forts after the Royal Navy had silenced them, March 18, 1915, before the decision to invade Gallipoli from the west & south was made.
    • A "dawn-lander" with 3rd Brigade AIF at Anzac Cove, 25th April 1915.
    • An Engineer who sometimes fought as Infantry, as well as doing his own work.
    • Wounded at Gallipoli (gunshot wound to shoulder) but returned to duty after treatment.
    • Son of parents who had a big input into the war-time fund-raising effort.
    • Sent back to Egypt to act as an Instructor of new recruits. Went to France at his own request and accepted a reduction in rank to do so, to serve on the Western Front.
    • Awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal ("the poor man's VC") (DCM) as a Corporal in France for leading Engineers and Infantry to complete a given task in 1917.
    • Promoted to Sergeant.
    • Reduced in rank to Sapper (Private) at his own request, probably as result of strain of having men under him killed or wounded.
    • Infected with the Spanish Influenza in the world wide pandemic that killed more people than the war had, but recovered.
    • Honourably discharged at war's end.
    • Killed by his own hand, most probably as a result of the "Demons of War" (as were large numbers of "Returned men").

Medals awarded to Moore

  • Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM)
  • 1914/15 Star
  • British War Medal
  • Victory Medal
One of his sons, also named John Hoey Moore, (himself a retired NZ Army Officer) researched, compiled and edited a book from his letters home and other family research. 

It is a truly riveting story.

More detail.

Short extracts from the book appear below.

Click to enlarge
On reaching Mena camp: We found our camp all ready for us and the natives all busy making roads through it for it is pitched on the desert sand with the roads made of stone. The Royal Engineers from England had been at work and a good water supply had been laid on, together with small tramways which were laid out into the desert. These were to be used to transport rubbish to tips. In a camp like this, cleanliness is before Godliness every time. Afraid the latter is a long way down the list. Here we soon settle down, and considered ourselves very lucky to have tents to live in since most of the Infantry are out in the open.
On the failed attempt by the Navy to force the Dardanelles: Our first experience of war in the Dardanelles was when 20 of us engineers were picked out to join the Royal Marines and go to the Straits to blow up some forts. Of course we were in great glee as we transshipped to the "Cawdor Castle" and after a few days, sailed out of Mudros with the fleet, and within four hours were among the booming guns of the fleet bombarding the forts. It was a fiery spot and we could see the forts and the shells dropping on them, sending up clouds of dust and stones. 

One shell hit a lighthouse like the Rangitoto beacon and it fell into the sea like a house of cards. Another big white house got three shells into it, one took the roof off, the second levelled it to the ground and the third set it on fire. All the time we were watching, something else was going on. First we saw the "Gaulois" (French battleship) towed out with her nose down and propellers out of the water. She had struck a mine. Then violent explosions around the other ships, the "Ocean" began to settle down but still firing, the "Bouvet" (French) sank in three minutes, the "Irresistible" was mined and sank, and the "Inflexible" was brought out badly damaged. 

This all happened between 3pm in the afternoon and 6pm, so you see they were a sad three hours for the British and French Fleets. The old "Ocean" was game, she fought until she was pretty well under and the guns were so hot that the shells burst a few yards from the ship, then destroyers came alongside and took off the crew. The "Bouvet" went down with nearly all hands. On account of this disaster, we were ordered back to Lemnos, as they could not carry on with the operations. The weather was bad, so back we went rather crestfallen.

On the Landing: In a letter home, sent from hospital. They formed up in battle line and steamed out of the harbour, past all the troopships with bands playing. The troopships, French, British and Indian, as well as the Colonials, were all cheering. It was the most thrilling sight I have ever witnessed, for it is one thing to go on a big battleship in a harbour and look at her as we did in New Zealand, but it is quite different to be on one when she is in battle formation, cleared for action and going full speed. Every man felt as keen as mustard. The Dardanelles are only a four hour trip from Lemnos, so to fill in the time from 2 in the afternoon till 2 next morning, they took us for a cruise.

We were told to enjoy ourselves, so we had a good feed and roamed about the ship, playing with the big guns like a lot of kittens playing with a tabby cat's paws. Within 24 hours, how that old tabby cat used those paws to protect her kittens. It made us glad we were British and had the good old Navy behind us.


We spent a very enjoyable time among the Jack Tars. I was down in the engine room, for it has always been my ambition to see a dreadnought's engines under full speed and it's nice to realise one's ambition, even if you are going to die in the morning. While down there I put my bayonet on the grindstone, in fact the grindstone was fairly busy. It seemed to be the only thing that reminded one of the work on the morrow. As one Jack Tar remarked, "God help the Turks when these blokes get among them". 

We had a bit of a sing song during the evening, then about ten o'clock we lay down on our packs for a few hours sleep, in fact it was my last sleep for a full three days. About two o'clock we were turned out to receive final orders; told that when we reached the beach we would find barb wire and spiked pits. The former we were to cut down and drag away with grappling irons, to clear the way for the infantry to charge the enemy who were entrenched behind these obstructions.

We engineers did not go much on our chance of seeing daylight and I scribbled a few lines to you which I am pleased to say were never sent, for our luck was in, because in the dark we were landed in a different place from the one intended and this place had no obstructions in the shape of barb wire. The Turks depended on the high cliffs from the beach to stop us. Well, after our instructions were given, we had half an hour to wait then the battleships stopped. The moon was just sinking. My what a sight to see, all those big black forms on the water, not a light, not a sound anywhere. 

Then the boats were brought alongside and we filed off into them. Our lads were in a small boat and they packed us in. I was detailed off to take an oar as there were only 2 sailors in our boat. Everything was carried out in real Navy style, every man knew his place, not a sound, the oars were covered with rag bindings to stop rattle in handling, each man had orders to put plugs in any bullet holes that came in the boats. About 4 boats were fastened in line with two ropes and a picket boat towed us. The battleships moved off again and we followed. They steamed for about half an hour, it seemed 10 hours to us, then the ships stood in to the land and we went ahead. 

I think there were about six picket boats with their smoky trail of colonial freight, each silent but pent-up as excitement was in every man to the full. Being at the oars I could not see ahead and I was scared to look round for fear that the great oar which I held in the air on end, would fall. Daylight or rather dawn was just breaking and we could see the other boats and the cliffs more plainly every minute. We must be 200 yards off now and could just see the warships behind us coming up, not a shot yet, were we lucky we wondered, would there be any Turks? 

Then "CRACK," every man's heart gave a jump. I know mine did. Then crack, crack, a few seconds, then a continuous volley. This was in turn added to by the vicious spilling cracking of machine guns, with the zip-zip-zip as the bullets hit the water like a shower of red-hot coals, These were mostly explosive bullets. You could see the little flashes in the air, then above the din came the order "Stand to, cast off, down oars, then pull for your lives." We did pull, expecting to be bowled over any second.

A machine gun was playing on us but luckily just over our heads. At last, after straining at the big oars for what seemed like an hour to me, we grounded. When I looked round, half the boys were out of the boat. I picked up rifle and gear, climbed over the side, stood on a rock and slipped off it. The weight of my gear sent me to the bottom of about four feet of water and it was just as much as I could do to get a footing. I soon dragged myself on to the beach and fixed my bayonet. As soon as the Turks on the beach heard the bayonets being fixed, they did not wait but off up to their trenches on the cliff. We all dropped down and threw off our packs, then up and after them. 

It was hard in the semi-dark to find a way up, but the boys did not wait to look. They scrambled over dead and wounded men up the narrow paths and in ten minutes from landing, the Turks were either bayoneted in the trench or making back for the next as fast as their legs and good knowledge of the country would let them. They were not going to wait to be taken and eaten by these Australian cannibals, as they had been told we were by their own Hun officers. I think the Germans made a great mistake in telling them that for it put the fear of Typo into them. One that we captured later said he wanted to be shot but not cooked alive.  

Well Mother, I must close this letter now but will continue next week as the mail is closing. So goodbye for the present. I hope you had a pleasant birthday.

Kia Ora, Best love from Jack.

  • Webmasters notes.
    • There is no evidence that the Turks used explosive bullets. What the writer saw was probably an early form of tracer round.
    • Typo is a mythical monster from Maori legend.

Another, later letter. Well Mother, I said I would go on with my tale of the landing. My last letter dated about the 4th June gave our trip from Lemnos to the landing at dawn on Gabe Tepe when we drove the Turks off the beach. I can give an idea of the country with a rough sketch and you see what was in front of us. 

Perhaps it was just as well it was dark and we could not see what we were taking on. If you have ever climbed Karangahake mountain you will have some idea, for Karangahake is hard enough but when you have to carry five days provisions, 300 rounds, rifle etc and drive a lot of Turks out of their fortified positions on the way, it's really hard. We did not know the tracks and the hills were covered with scrub about four feet high.

In this scrub as well as in the trenches, the enemy had concealed machine guns, painting the guns, their faces and hands green so that we could not see them in the green scrub. My, they thinned our ranks out very often, 4 of my mates killed and 4 wounded before we had got 10 yards. One of them was named Moore. The boys dropped to take off their packs on the beach, then one officer near me stood up and said "Ready Boys? Now for them. Never let it be said of Australia". 

That was all they needed and although there are not many of the Third Brigade left, their memory will live through that charge like that of the Light Brigade. By the time the sun was up, the crests of the hills were ours and the Turks were all dispersed but they had split up into one and twos and were picking us off from hiding places in the cliffs and scrub. One hardly knew where to turn to get at them so we were given the order "dig in" for the Turks, reinforced, were coming on to us again. 

We engineers were set to work to turn the old Turkish trenches so that they would suit our defence and when this was done there was no hope of them shifting us, although we ran out of ammunition and had to stop them with the bayonet. As soon as daylight came the shrapnel came. It caught our boys like a thunderstorm.  The first time one hears the whir of a shell coming towards you and you are in the open, it's like being caught in the middle of a railway tunnel and hearing the express coming through. All your senses are numb for a few seconds then it bursts over you and you wake up to find you are not hit.

  • Webmasters notes: 
    • The writer was, at the time, under the impression that they had been landed at the appointed place, namely Gaba Tepe, not the actual landing place of Ari Burnu, over a mile north.
    • Karangahake Mountain is about 5kms from Jack Moore's birthplace at Paeroa, New Zealand. 
    • Shrapnel was a projectile which burst in the air and scattered 12mm lead balls among ground troops. It later referred to shell casing fragments which had the same purpose and effect.
On being wounded: I see by the paper that our friends the Turks, left 7000 dead and wounded on the
field the night I was hit. My it was great to see them coming up, you could not miss them even with eyes shut. I got three shots into the chap who put the window in my shoulder, before I dropped off the
parapet. He never stirred again, but my, the kick of the rifle did shake the broken bones up in my shoulder. I waited for a while until I saw the Turks on the run, then I toddled off, after saying Good Luck to the boys, down to the beach about a mile from the firing line. They could not spare anyone to go with me so with a few spells on the way, I managed to get there all right. My boots were full of blood by the time I got to the bottom of the hill and I felt pretty sticky. 

At the dressing station I was soon fixed up and I knew I was not much hurt, for in the field we say a man's hurt when he's got a leg or two missing, or the side of his head off, whereas I'll be back again, I hope, before long. Well after that I have not much to tell, they put me on a stretcher, put the stretcher on a boat and we were towed through a choppy sea, with the bullets still dropping round us, to the hospital ship, Sudan, where the stretcher was picked up by the winch and hoisted aboard like so much cargo, run down a lift into a ward on the ship and our blood-soaked clothes cut off. We were then washed and put to bed by Jack Tars who, for their care and tenderness, equal any nurses that ever I have seen. The ship, which belongs to the Navy, was beautifully fitted out and we were soon leaving the booming of the guns which had been ringing in my ears night and day for close on a month.

On life on a troopship. I have tried to describe troopship life before, but like a lot of the life we get on active service, only by having to go through it does one know what it is like.

This is my 23rd week on transports and by the time this voyage is over, I will have spent more than six months. No wonder we are glad to get to England and live like ordinary beings for a while, instead of sheep in a slaughterhouse pen, That's what it is like on this ship. We are packed like sardines when you open the tin. On the deck above us, there are 500 horses and mules. These so-called friends of mankind take savage delight in stamping and braying all night. Mingled with vocal snores from sundry soldiers, the night is hideous. You have to lay on your side, for if you lay on your back for a change, you take up more space than each man is allowed which is eighteen inches wide and six feet long.

The "Afric" from Australia was a saloon trip compared with this which we have to put up with now.

After being wounded at Gallipoli Moore went to England, back to Egypt then to the Western Front.

 
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Graveyards of Gallipoli:  a Tribute to the Men of all the Nations that took part in the Gallipoli Campaign of 1915