31/05/2026
A 1936 pilgrimage to Gallipoli by 620 British veterans, their families and friends, including Sir William Birdwood and Sir Roger Keyes, incorporated a visit to Istanbul. While there they visited Taksim, laying a wreath at the memorial, “In honoured memory of the Fallen of a gallant and chivalrous foe.”
Many will recognise the name of the ship which took them there, the 'Lancastria.' It was sunk four years later off St. Nazaire (on 17th June 1940) in what proved to be the worst ever British naval disaster in terms of lives lost.
“PILGRIMAGE TO GALLIPOLI
“Enterprise of Two Chesterfield Ex-Service Men
“Enthusiastic Welcome at Malta, Istanbul and Salonika
“We publish to-day the first part of an interesting account of the recent Pilgrimage to Gallipoli which was organised by two Chesterfield ex-Service men, Messrs. A. E. Cordwell and C. D. Clark. The pilgrims included such well-known officers as Field-Marshal Sir Wm. Birdwood, of Anzac fame, and Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes. We are indebted to Mr. Cordwell for this interesting article. The concluding portion, with further photos, will appear next week.
“Shortly after returning from my Gallipoli cruise in May, 1934, I met Mr. C. D. Clark, who but for domestic difficulties would have accompanied me then. He was particularly enthusiastic over a photograph of “W” beach, where most of his service in Gallipoli was spent, and suggested seeking out a party of about half-dozen to make the trip overland in 1936. The main difficulties were time and cost, but these had to be faced. We had notices in the ex-Service columns of two Sunday papers in January, 1935, which attracted about 40 replies within a month. Our plans for a small independent party were amended, and we decided to try and get together between 200 and 300 ex-Service men, enough to justify a special train at cheap rates. Taking advantage of the fact that 25th April, 1935, was the twentieth anniversary of the original landings on Gallipoli approached the editors of several daily newspapers for space for a short announcement. Within a fortnight enquiries had mounted to between 800 and 900, rather more than we had bargained for. This put an entirely new complexion on our plans, for we could scarcely hope in our leisure time to complete travelling arrangements for several hundred people, as well as deal with the hundred and one other matters that were sure to arise. We, therefore, approached the British Legion and other organisations, asking them to take the project over from us now that it seemed assured of success. All without exception declined officially to have anything to do with it. We realised that the only means of accommodating several hundreds was by up-to-date liner. Neither Clark nor myself had any status nor rank to support us. Clark finished his military career as a sergeant; I as a private. True that once I attained the dizzy height of corporal, but one day I won a vocabulary competition with the Irish sergeant-major and lost my stripes. Lack of status was our main drawback to further progress, and this was emphasised by the knowledge that an “opposition” cruise was being organised by the 74th Yeomanry Division, with the suppose of eight or nine general. Status we had to have, so one night we decided to created
“THE GALLIPOLI AND SALONIKA PILGRIMAGE COMMITTEE,
“with Clark and myself as sole members, and joint hon. secretaries. Our dual roles helped us materially later.
“Realising that accommodation for several hundred passengers could be provided only by an up-to-date liner, we approached several shipping companies who offered us ships of various tonnage for amounts around £17,000. We could manage about £17 between us, with the assistance of our bank manager, but try as we would the remaining £16,983 eluded us. In a last desperate effort we decided to seek an interview with the officials of Cunard White Star Ltd., at Liverpool. This was granted, and with caps in hand, we meekly assured them that all we sought was the loan of a liner capable of accommodating 600 or 700 people. Many questions were put to us. Some were anticipated and answered there and then. Others were awkward, and our faces were saved only by our dual roles. For by postponing our replies as joint hon. secretaries we were able to consult ourselves later as committee members, and ultimately deliver our replies as joint hon. secretaries. On many subsequent occasions an impulsive faux pas made as joint hon. secretaries was retrieved by later instructions given to ourselves by ourselves as committee members. However, after a few weeks Cunard agreed to place their popular cruising liner “Lancastria,” at our disposal, free of any commitment on our part by way of guarantee. Itinerary and rates were discussed. Our original request for a minimum fare of £21 for 22 days, with calls at Malta, Salonika, Gallipoli and Istanbul was ultimately accepted with very slight amendment. The minimum fare was converted to guineas, and Gibraltar added as a port of call. Salonika was included as one of the main objectives for two reasons. Firstly, there had been only one previous organised trip to that area; and, secondly, it was unlikely that a full complement of at least 600 would be attracted to Gallipoli alone. The enlistment of Salonika veterans was greatly assisted by the support of the Salonika Reunion Association, the only association that ever lifted a hand to help us, and particularly by the co-operation of Mr. G. E. Willis, of Newbury, the Editor of the Association’s quarterly publication, “The Mosquito.”
“The preliminary work was settled after several months’ anxieties, and in July, 1935, literature was prepared and distributed, and bookings commenced. Other setbacks had to be surmounted from time to time, mainly due to the reluctance of many to book for Mediterranean ports during the Italo-Abyssinian dispute. Some idea of the difficulties of organisation can be gleaned from a typical example. On Nov. 11th each year, about 10,000 ex-Service men attend the British Legion festival at the Albert Hall, London. We thought this good propaganda ground, and accordingly made our way there with 6,000 printed notices of the trip, the distribution of which we had arranged through a troop of uniformed Boy Scouts in charge of three Scoutmasters. In addition we distributed 1,200 descriptive pamphlets through three special trains conveying ex-Service men from an Armistice Day rally. The net result from these efforts was one postcard, to which we replied but heard nothing further.
“By November bookings totalled only 200 instead of about 400 as anticipated. Cancellation of the trip was under consideration by Cunard, but we were given, at our urgent request, a further two months to show our mettle. Publicity was wanted, free of cost, of course, as we had no funds. Leaders of national repute would have given us a good lever for publicity, but we hesitated on account of our rank to approach them. Something desperate had to be done, however, to save the whole scheme from failure. We approached General Sir Ian Hamilton, and through him Field Marshal Sir Wm. Birdwood. “The Soul of Anzac” notified his willingness to join us. We wrote Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes, and much to our surprise and delight, he, too, joined up. Captain Unwin, Ashbourne’s V.C., was another notable capture. The three names secured us all the publicity we needed, and by March the pilgrimage was assured.
“There sailed from Liverpool on 1st May
“620 PILGRIMS,
“including 14 from Chesterfield, viz., Mrs. Hopkins, Mrs. Blackshaw, Miss Millard, Mr. and Mrs. Scrimshaw, Mr. and Mrs. Nuttall (Staveley), Messrs. Wharton, Senior and Britt, Mrs. Bennett, ex-Inspector Bird, Mr. Clark and myself. Immediately before sailing. Sir Wm. Birdwood inspected a contingent of ex-Gallipoli veterans from Preston, and accepted from them a wreath to be placed on Cape Helles memorial. Many hundreds were at the landing stage to bid us bon voyage, including many whose thoughts would be with us until our return.
“Everyone soon settled down, and by evening we were a happy congenial crowd.
“The first unexpected reunion occurred within a few minutes of sailing, when two Salonika nurses met after nearly 20 years, neither of them aware that the other had booked for the voyage.
“An office was fitted up for Clark, Willis and myself known as the Pilgrimage Canteen. This was tastefully decorated with flags, signs of every Division which served in Gallipoli and Macedonia, and wreaths. Over 180 wreaths had been sent by various Corporations, Divisional and other ex-Service organisations, the British Legion and private individuals, and made what was undoubtedly the most impressive display that had left these shores for any front since the war.
“ROUSING RECEPTION AT MALTA
“We entered the Grand Harbour at Valletta at 1 p.m,, on May 7th, and dropped anchor at the Fish Market. All on board lined the decks to gain their first close impression of what is recognised as one of the most hospitable islands of the Empire. Soon a small launch, flying the Blue Ensign, could be seen approaching the “Lancastria” from shore, and a moment or two later a “Welcome Party” of 16 serving and ex-officers climbed the gangway and were escorted to the lounge, where they were introduced to the principal members of the Pilgrimage. One of the party, Major P. R. Mundy, commanding the 2nd Batt. S.W.B.s in Malta, placed himself and his car at the disposal of Clark and myself, and conducted us on a tour of the island, breaking the journey for a half-hour at his own barracks for tea at the Officers’ Mess with himself and his junior officers. Returning to Valletta at 6 p.m. we were taken direct to the Casino Maltese in the Strada Reale. The Casino is the principal civilian club,
and its members, immediately on hearing of our intended call, invited all passengers to cocktails. Here we had our first taste of Maltese hospitality. The Strada Reale was packed with enthusiastic crowds, each individual of which seemed to be bent on outdoing his neighbour in the warmth of his welcome to us. Once inside the Casino, the members made themselves busy running about to ensure that all their guests were happy, and none short of a cocktail even for a moment. The band of the 2nd Batt. S.W.B.s (one of the first battalions to land in Gallipoli in 1915) played in the magnificent ballroom, and gave the opportunity to many of us to give vent to our delight by dancing. Our stay seemed all too brief for ourselves and for our hosts; they seemed half afraid when we had to leave that they might have left undone something they ought to have done, and all our assurances on this point did not console them. But our time table had been carefully mapped out for us, to give us the maximum pleasure in the time available. So 70 of us were hurried off to the Osborne Hotel for dinner. Here the Governor, Lt.-Gen. Sir Charles Bonham Carter presided. Seating arrangements ensured that we should each be seated next to one of our hosts, a happy thought that added to the evening's enjoyment, both for ourselves and our hosts, for the latter were thus assured of the opportunity, once in a while, of a chat with their fellows from home. The announcement by the Govenor [sic] that three short speeches would only be made, to take up not more than 12 minutes in the aggregate, was well received. But what the speeches lacked in length they gained in substance. All proceedings throughout our stay were broadcast. I hope Mussolini listened in to some
“STRAIGHT TALKING BY ADMIRAL SIR ROGER KEYES,
“when he said “Whatever the Italian Command thought to the contrary, our Navy is still invincible, and willing to tackle any force which dared to challenge it whatever their armaments. I hope that this will go over the water to Italy and to other parts. They may think we are tired and beaten. Well, let them try and we will show them.”
“Well filled with a dinner that would have satisfied the most fastidious gourmet, and primed with a variety of wines, we were all ready for our parts in the grand finale at the Manoel Theatre. With the co-operation of the Army and Navy, the proprietors had lavishly decorated the theatre. The boxes were draped with regimental colours, whilst across the stage hung an outsize in Union Jacks, inscribed with the solitary word “Welcome,” in glittering silver letters. In addition to 500 or more passengers some hundreds of Maltese residents, Service and civilian, were present, until there was neither sitting nor standing room available. The band of the 1st Battn. K.O.S.B.s (the battalion landed at “Y” beach in 1915) gave us a musical treat and who can do so better than a Service band? — ultimately leading up to community singing, with the accent on “community.” Other community singing I have heard seemed but a solo by comparison. The Times of Malta said: “His Excellency the Governor, Field Marshal Sir Wm. Birdwood, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Rogers [sic] Keyes, and their parties joined in the singing as lustily as any.” This was no mere “journalese,” but from my own personal observation the bare truth. I shall always cherish lively memories of those distinguished persons, and of many of the elite of civilian Malta abandoning themselves without false shame or hesitation to old favourites, particularly “Mademoiselle from Armentieres.” We finished at 11.56 p.m. with “Auld Lang Syne” — and where has it ever been sung with more sincerity? — and made our way to the ship. I could not help feeling, and my sentiments still remain unchanged, that Italy still has many decades of the most violent propaganda before her to alienate the sympathies of our most magnanimous and devoted Maltese friends. The closing words of our telegram of gratitude to the Governor were well chosen — “We shall never forget.”
“The cheery farewells of our hosts gradually faded away as the ship drew out of the harbour shortly after midnight, and before long Malta was but a misty shadow across the moonlit sea. Course was laid for Salonika. The two days’ voyage took us past a host of islands, all surrounded by a pale blueish, almost transparent mist, which seemed to emphasise the distant past of their greatness, into the placid waters of the AEgean Sea. On Saturday evening. May 9th, but 12 hours before we were due to land at Salonika, news reached the ship of the fatal riots there, in consequence of which a landing was out of the question. This was a sad blow to nearly half of the passengers, for nearly 300 had joined the pilgrimage primarily to visit the graves there, and to renew acquaintance with former camp and hospital sites and other spots where the more exciting days of their youth had been spent. To many the blow was stunning, for they had saved for years to realise a long cherished ambition. But there was no alternative to changing course direct for Istabul, [sic] better known as Constantinople. Time heals wounds, and even the few hours sleep immediately following the bombshell of Saturday night softened the disappointment. Further messages from shore during the day led to a cautious announcement by the Captain that, failing a recrudescence of rioting, an attempt would be made to fulfil the call on the homeward voyage.
“ISTANBUL.
“This good news fortified the passengers sufficiently to enable them to enjoy the sights of Istanbul, which we reached on the Sunday afternoon. News of the change of course had reached the British authorities there overnight. This distressed the small party from the British Embassy who had come to welcome us, for their plans for whoopee on the following Thursday were incomplete, and incapable of advancement by four days. The Turkish Sunday is now “A L’Anglais,” so it was impossible for them to get into touch with their main party even by phone. When I was shown the projected programme I realised what we had to miss. But as circumstances were beyond their, and our, control, the best had to be made of a bad job. Arthur Whittall — the Whittall family seems ubiquitous in every British settlement in the Near East — an Embassy official whom I had the pleasure of meeting two years ago there, came up to scratch as usual, and soon had a few pleasant surpises [sic] up his sleeve for the following afternoon. After a call at the Embassy, a party of us, led by Sir Wm. Birdwood and Sir Roger Keyes, laid wreaths on the Turkish memorial at Taxim, a gesture much appreciated by the Turkish population. A British Legion wreath was laid by Major Lings, and one from ourselves. The latter was inscribed bi-lingually in English and Turkish, “In honoured memory of the Fallen of a gallant and chivalrous foe.” A reception at the British Club followed. Just a pleasant informal meeting with the members, with Sir Wm. Birdwood again on his rounds with a cheery word for everyone. This was characteristic of him everywhere, and provides a clue to his popularity with the Anzacs and their adoration of him. After an hour at the Club, Whittall took a few of us for a ride out into the villages, returning to Istanbul by the road skirting the Bosphorous; Although the complete westernisation of Istanbul had struck me forcibly two years ago, I scarcely conceived its spread to the villages. There was little except dirt to distinguish these and their inhabitants from their English prototypes. On the way to the ship I noticed a Greek funeral procession — lstanbul has a large Greek colony. Preceded by two Greek Orthodox Greek priests in their black and gold robes, the coffin was carried by six bearers in national costumes. Noticing the lid of the coffin open I followed the procession to church. There the lid was removed, exposing the body of a middle-aged lady. The mourners immediately crowded round the coffin and covered the body with flowers, and ultimately left it lying in state for the few remaining hours before interment.
“We left Istanbul and our friends there amid mutual expressions of disappointment that our arrival four days in advance of schedule had upset our plans instead of our digestions. Twilight soon hid Istanbul from view, and we steamed steadily through the night to Kelia Bay.
“GALLIPOLI
“Sunrise saw the “Lancastria” safely anchored a few hundred yards from Maidos, the old Turkish base camp. An official welcome by the Vali (Governor) of Chanak and a number of important Turkish officials soon set at rest the minds of those who had come to revisit Gallipoli — or Gelibolu, as the Turks know it. For there had been in the minds of all the haunting though unexpressed fear that re-fortification had begun and that a landing might in consequence be prohibited, or at least impeded. Our welcome was, however, spontaneous and sincere, and every facility was given to make our stay comfortable.
“Gallipoli even to-day is for the most part uninhabited except for storks, wild boar, jackals, tortoises, lizards and scorpions. The scarcity of motor transport can therefore be readily appreciated. Yet, after weeks of scouring over half Turkey. Thos. Cook's had managed to secure a hundred or two vehicles — to call them cars would make even a dilapidated Ford hang its bonnet in shame — some of which had to be brought overland more than 200 miles before being ferried across the Straits. The “roads” were mere tracks marked out by a succession of potholes, sharp boulders and occasional sheets of corrugated iron left over from the war; these tracks were selected as roads presumably on account of the improbability of their ever being negotiable by wheeled traffic. To have driven over the surrounding country would have been mere child's play, but your Turkish driver is made of sterner stuff.
His manipulation of the steering wheel, while he himself, with his passengers, was in mid-air rebounding from a bump, was matter for admiration. The loss of a few nuts and bolts does not disturb his equanimity in the least, and he is in his seventh heaven of delight when he can hear a melody of metallic sounds, which seemed to me to emanate from the irregular proximity of the back axle to the front. Somehow the vehicles stood the test better than their passengers, and at least did one good turn by bringing the crowd into closer touch with one another than even all deliberate attempts on board to this end had done. Springs did not spring, and upholstery was a luxury yet unknown. Probably Mrs. Hopkins has found, after our two days' ride, that standing still a more comfortable and less painful posture than sitting.
“On the first day the 10 miles or so
“TO ANZAC
“were completed within four hours, with short intervals at Lone Pine, The Nek, and Sari Bair. Brief services accompanied by wreath laying were held at Lone Pine, the Australian Memorial, and at The Nek, the Turkish Memorial. From Sari Bair, the New Zealand Memorial, a magnificent panorama of the Anzac and Suvla fronts is obtained, and one could but marvel, on viewing the ravines, hills, gulleys and thick scrub, that any attacking force could ever have landed, let alone survive for several months. Salt Lake was spread out before us, and one thought of the fate of the London Yeomanry charging gallantly over the strip of land from Lala Baba, only to be mown down and later burnt to death by the hundred by flaming scrub set alight by shell fire. From Sari Bair several cemeteries can be counted, as from Lone Pine. Some, but a hundred yards or so apart, bear grim witness to the severity of the fighting 21 years ago in what must now be one of the most peaceful and desolate spots on earth. We pass cemeteries with names reminiscent of trench days —Courteney’s Post, Quinn's Post, Johnstone's Jolly, 7th Field Ambulance, Shrapnel Valley, and others. It is hard to believe that those who lie there are not conscious of our visit. We are touched by the sad joy of one lady passenger who, holding in her hand a rough sketch map sent by her husband’s commanding officer in 1915, has assured herself that she was standing on the spot where her husband — one of the Army of the Missing — met his death. Many roam about locating old “hot corners,” whilst others find comfort in sitting at the entrances to their old dug-outs, which, in 1915, they would have given fortunes to leave far behind. What is it that lures us back to these haunts of vile memory, haunts which we could not then curse sufficiently except by interposing an oath between split syllables? I have often thought of this, and can come to but one conclusion — these haunts are the connecting link between us who returned and those good pals of ours who remained.
“That evening we entertained a hundred or so-residents of Chanak, including the Vali, to dinner on board.” [1]
[1] 'The Derbyshire Times,' 5th June 1936.
