Anzac - The Shell Green Cemetery

The Gallipoli Houses

 

 

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SHELL GREEN CEMETERY

Shell Green Cemetery

the Gallipoli Houses

 

 

memorials and cemeteries in gallipoli

 

IF STONES COULD SPEAK - ANZAC

 

 


private Roy Barker Facey

 

 

 

In his book "A fortunate life", Bert Facey describes (p. 269) how he helped bury his brother, Roy Barker Facey :

… I helped to bury Roy and fifteen of our mates who also had been killed on the twenty-eight.  We put them in a grave side by side on the edge of a clearing we called Shell Green.  Roy was in pieces when they found him.  We put him together as best as we could –I can remember carrying a leg- it was terrible.



 

Last updated : 01/02/08

come to attention, his right had drawn up smartly in the Turkish salute.  Presently, he bent down and dropped on the grave a few sprigs of heather that he had gathered on the hillside.  Then we turned and walked back to the jeep together."

"Return to a legend", published in "The New Yorker", April 2, 1955, Alan Moorehead.

(*) Colonel Sükrü Şirer who accompanied Alan Moorehead on his visit to the Gallipoli Peninsula in 1954.

Did I tell you that Colonel Wilson succeeded to the command of the 5th Light Horse when Colonel Hubert Harris was killed !  Poor Colonel Harris was one of nature's gentlemen and a real good soldier.  He was shot in the jugular through a loophole one night and only lived a few minutes after.

"Love Letters of an Anzac" , Oliver Hogue (trooper bluegum), p. 186-187

 

The cricket match on Shell Green, played in full view of the Turks to convince them that everything was normal and that the Anzacs were there to stay. picture reproduced from “Gallipoli Illustrated”, (Blair Athol 1981), Kit Denton, p. 136

"On the last day of my stay, we went over to the Peninsula for a final visit, and I asked the Colonel (*) if he would mind stopping for a few minutes at a cemetery that lies in a particularly rugged valley just above Anzac Cove.  I explained that I thought an uncle of mine was buried there.  We found the grave easily, a plaque in the ground no different from the others, but still moving for me, since it had my surname upon it. It appeared that Uncle Frank was only twenty-four when he died, and that he must have been killed in the first rush up the beach, for the date on the stone is April 25/26, 1915. Hearing a sound at my side, I glanced round and saw that the Colonel had

 

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