# data[].attributes.body
The landing at Anzac, 1915, Charles Dixon.

# data[].attributes.body
“The highest hopes of the people of Australia and New Zealand have not merely been realised”, proclaimed the Melbourne Argus, “they have been vastly exceeded, and this Commonwealth and the Dominion have in one moment stepped into the world-wide arena in the full stature of great manhood”. The achievement of Australian manhood was proclaimed to be nothing less than the achievement of nationhood. Such eulogies encouraged Australia’s returning soldiers to formulate special claims. Grand achievements suggested commensurate rewards.

Marilyn Lake, “The Power of Anzac,” in Australia: Two Centuries of War and Peace, ed. Michael McKernan and Margaret Browne (Canberra: Australian War Memorial, 1988), 195.

# data[].attributes.body
The despatch and the subsequent news from the embattled soldiers at Gallipoli excited Australians to move to more strenuous exertions in recruiting, especially because the despatch was brought to the attention of schoolchildren all over the nation at the suggestion of the Prime Minister: it was either read out to wide-eyed boys and girls or printed in the State education publications.

L. L. Robson, The First A.I.F.: A Study of its Recruitment 1914-1918 (Carlton: Melbourne University Press, 1982), 43.

# data[].attributes.body
In the short term the sacrifice made outweighed the glory won. Instead of a heady charge into a great victory, ‘The first day we landed we ran into a real live Hell, shrapnel, bullets, machine guns all over the place. I do not know how on earth I ever got out of it alive.’ [Private D. J. C. Anderson] As Lance Corporal Mitchell lay open to the Turk rifles on 400 Plateau, he saw death not as the welcome risk of glory, but, perhaps for the first time ‘as a painful shutting out of all life’s promise’. Illusions faded during the days that followed and he wondered about the romance of battle, and wanted to see the war won and go home intact. By early June he had abandoned even the hope of returning, for he found himself not in a short Imperial campaign, but in a bitter, savage, bloody conflict. Hard truths had shaken the dreams of the past.

Bill Gammage, Broken Years: Australian Soldiers in the Great War (Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1974), 58-9

# data[].attributes.body
There was confusion on April 25 – everywhere and all day – and Bean probably should have written more of it. As much as the examples of ‘Australian manhood’ he offered in such plenitude, this confusion explained why the first day went the way it did. The forays of Tulloch and others who got ‘farthest in’ were important; but so was Bridges’ muddling, the failure to get the field artillery ashore and firing, and the fact that no-one in authority seemed to understand the battle on the left.

Les Carlyon, Gallipoli (Sydney: Macmillan, 2001), 172.

# data[].attributes.body
Map of the Dardanelles Operations

# data[].attributes.body
‘Something was clearly wrong. Everything seemed wrong. The 9th and 10th, on the point itself and on its southern bend were fairly protected from rifle-fire. Many of the Turks were shooting at the destroyers further out; but north of the point where the 11th landed, a machine-gun in the foothills 500 yards to their left was shooting into the men behind the bank, and the grassy tussocks on the sandslope above it gave no better protection. As Lieutenant-Colonel Johnston and Corporal Louch lay there side by side, a bullet thudded into the sand between them. The country was unrecognisable. They had not the least idea as to whether the other tows had yet landed. “What are we to do next, sir?” somebody asked of a senior officer. “I don’t know, I’m sure,” was the reply. “Everything is in a terrible muddle.”

C. E. W. Bean, Official History of Australia in the War of 1914-1918, 11th ed.(Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1941), 256.

# data[].attributes.body
‘A strange light plays over the Gallipoli landing on April 25, and no matter how often the story is retold there is still an actuality about it, a feeling of suspense and incompleteness. Although nearly half a century has gone by, nothing yet seems fated about the day’s events, a hundred questions remain unanswered, and in a curious way one feels that the battle might still lie before us in the future; that there is still time to make other plans and bring it to a different ending.’

Alan Moorhead, Gallipoli (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1956): 128.