Netley Diary 1915-1916

By Alec Riley

"I was after all the experiences I could collect, and wanted to know what a great military hospital was like ... I had to go to one, and decided on the grand style of doing it."

Corporal Alec Riley was a signaller in the British Army's 42nd (East Lancashire) Division who served at Gallipoli in 1915. Four months on the peninsula left him de

• Language: English
• Publisher: Little Gully Publishing
• Release date: Feb 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645235982

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Netley Diary

1915–1916

Alec Riley

Edited by Michael Crane and Bernard de Broglio

Little Gully Publishing

2023

Diary text © copyright Alec Riley

Annotations, biographies and maps © copyright Michael Crane, Bernard de Broglio

Images copyright expired or no known copyright restrictions

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Cover images: Electrical department, Royal Victoria Hospital; HS Aquitania

First edition, February 2023

ISBN 978-0-6452359-6-8 (hardback)

ISBN 978-0-6452359-7-5 (paperback)

ISBN 978-0-6452359-8-2 (ebook)

Little Gully Publishing

littlegully.com

Table of contents

Foreword

Preface

Chapter 1: Helles to Netley

Chapter 2: Netley I

Chapter 3: Netley II

Chapter 4: Shorne Hill

Appendix I: Brief history of the Royal Victoria Hospital, Netley, 1863–1978

Appendix II: Biography of Alec Riley

Appendix III: Biography of ‘M’ — Margaret Isherwood (née Riley)

Appendix IV: Biography of Charles Ormesher

Appendix V: Biography of Arthur Poole

Abbreviations and acronyms

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

Index

Footnotes

Maps

Map 1: Helles

Map 2: Helles—Mudros

Map 3: Southampton and surrounds

Foreword

‘I was after all the experiences I could collect, and wanted to know what a great military hospital was like … I had to go to one, and decided on the grand style of doing it.’

Second Corporal Alec Riley was a signaller in the British Army’s 42nd (East Lancashire) Division who served at Gallipoli in 1915. Four months on the peninsula left him debilitated, suffering nine septic sores and no less than four diseases—diphtheria, jaundice, enteritis and dysentery. Riley was evacuated by sea to the island of Lemnos, 50 miles from Helles. Here he survived five weeks in the care of an Australian field hospital before being stretchered onto a hospital ship bound for England. It was during the passage home that Riley decided on ‘the grand style of doing it’ and chose the Royal Victoria Hospital, Netley, as his destination.

Figure 1. Veterans of the South African War, wearing hospital blues, on the pier of the Royal Victoria Hospital, Netley, c.1900.

Riley knew of Netley from a boyhood spent immersed in stories of the Boer War (1899–1902). The grand military hospital featured prominently in the popular illustrated papers of the day. Sick and wounded soldiers, repatriated from South Africa, were pictured against the palatial backdrop of the hospital, or visited at their bedside by Queen Victoria herself.

The long-reigning British monarch, disturbed by the woeful medical care afforded her soldiers in the Crimean War (1853–1856), had spurred plans for a military hospital that was modern and fit for Empire.

The site chosen for the hospital was a 200-acre plot of land situated four miles to the east of Southampton, near the village of Netley on the south coast of England.

When the Royal Victoria Hospital opened in 1863, it was the largest military hospital in the world, with 138 wards and 1,000 beds. It was also the world’s longest building, stretching a quarter mile in length. A grand façade of 200 windows with elegant dome and towers was presented to ships passing on Southampton Water.

Figure 2. Aerial view of the RVH during the First World War. To cope with the flood of casualties, three temporary hutted hospitals were erected in the grounds behind the main building. The psychiatric hospital, D Block, is the large building top-centre. The isolation ‘cottage’ where Riley spent his first days at Netley is situated to the right of the D-shaped garden feature in the centre-right of the photograph.

But the vanity of the architect had trumped the care and convalescence of its patients. ‘A lasting memorial to the worst type of Victorian architecture,’ thought Alec Riley. ‘It was built without regard to the benefit of sunshine in the wards.’

A volunteer nurse had a similar appreciation. ‘Behind all this glass so admired by some of the public the poor patient either froze in his bed in winter, or blistered in heat in the summer. Of those in the dark wards behind, theirs was an unhappy existence too. No view from the front and only the kitchen, coal heaps and general administrative collection at the back, not very health giving to stricken soldiers.’[1]

They were not the first to criticise the hospital’s design. Florence Nightingale was Netley’s most trenchant critic. Her heroic efforts nursing Crimean War sick and wounded had laid bare the failure of military health care, and inspired the reform that led to the Royal Victoria Hospital. But Nightingale was appalled by the plans for the hospital and lobbied unsuccessfully to have them changed. She was unhappy with the design of the patient wards, particularly the lack of natural light and ventilation, which she believed were crucial to the healing process.

Netley, and its auxiliary hospitals, would be home to Riley for 11 months. This diary records his experience of the ‘great military hospital.’ It will be seen that it was not all bad.

A brief history of the Royal Victoria Hospital (RVH) has been included as an appendix.

* * *

When war broke out in Europe in August 1914, Alec Riley was 27 years of age and working as a clerk in his merchant father’s salt warehouse in Manchester. He was also a part-time soldier in the Manchester Regiment with nine years’ service under his belt.

On 10 September 1914, Riley sailed from Southampton for overseas service with the East Lancashire Division (later redesignated the 42nd Division). They were dispatched to Egypt to defend the Suez Canal against Turkish troops massing in Palestine.

Riley and the Divisional Signal Company, of which he was a part, manned signal stations in and around Cairo, and conducted route marches and training in the desert. The men also had ample opportunity to explore the local attractions.

At the beginning of May, the East Lancashire Division was sent to Gallipoli to reinforce the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, which had landed on the peninsula at Anzac and Helles on 25 April 1915.

After disembarking at V and W Beaches on the southern tip of the peninsula, the division was soon in the thick of things. Riley watched the infantry go into action on 8 May 1915.

The Lancashire Fusiliers of our division were advancing, and we went to the top of the tumulus to watch them. The white smoke became so thick that we could not see much; but against it and amongst it we could see red flashes of bursting shrapnel, and occasionally we saw men moving about. Our battery ran short of shells, for it was firing six rounds per minute per gun. Men were detailed to carry 18-pounder shells from the ammunition wagons in the rear to the battery. The noise was deafening, particularly when the naval guns started. From the discharges of the nearest guns we felt the wind blowing on our faces and up our sleeves. Ammunition wagons came up at the gallop. When the firing died down our heads ached with noise and excitement. Whatever else it had done, it had made a mess of the ground.

Helles was the main area of operations for the British and French forces, and the fighting there was some of the most intense and costly of the campaign. Riley took part in two major battles at Helles, the Third Battle of Krithia (4 June 1915) and the Battle of 6/7 August.

Figure 3. Gallipoli, 1915. In the firing line. ‘Periscopes were like magnets,’ wrote Riley. ‘They could attract bullets, and many a broken mirror dropped in pieces down the chute.’

Figure 4. Gallipoli, 4 June 1915. Third Battle of Krithia. The 6th Manchesters attack.

Late August 1915 found Riley at a signal station on the left flank, overlooking the Aegean Sea. He was beginning to ‘feel wrong’ and contemplated reporting sick. On 2 September, when relieved as part of a scheduled rotation, Riley and his section moved back to company headquarters near the entrance to Gully Ravine.

… we came to the entrance of a small ravine in the cliff to our left, about 250 yards beyond Gully Beach, and at the end of a low and narrow trench we came to a rocky hollow with a rocky wall in front of us. We called this place ‘Little Gully.’

Over the next week, Riley became more and more tired. He was worn out, covered in septic sores, ‘a disgrace to the section.’

I had a septic place on my right heel, and was walking with the back of my boot doubled in and the boot tied on. I was not wearing my tunic, my shorts were ragged, my helmet dirty and battered—for it had been my pillow for weeks, and with the top bashed in, it made a good one—my hands, legs and foot bandaged.

He reported to the dressing station the next morning, Thursday 9 September.

… the MO asked me a few questions, ordered me to be ‘detained’ and told me to get down on a stretcher. I had obeyed many orders, but never one like that before; and at first I could hardly realise what it meant. That it might be the end of Gallipoli for me seemed impossible and unnatural. I was not surprised, and yet it seemed as if the impossible had happened.

One of our attached men had come with me. When I was detained, I sent him back for my kit, so that I could select what I wanted. When it came, I kept my camera, films, diary, papers of all kinds, woollen-helmet, body belt and, of course, Our Mutual Friend, which had its use later on. I kept, also, one or two fragments intimately concerned. I lost my purse and about forty piastres, and a few other relics. I had my British Warm, and needed it shortly.

It was strange to lie there, enjoying the luxury of having somebody to look after me; but I couldn’t sleep or even rest comfortably, for shorts, shirt and tunic were full of lice. Hell, doubly heated, was not hot enough for them.

On the morning of Friday, September 10, the MO labelled me for Mudros. As this meant getting away, even if only for a short time, I was content. He said I had jaundice. I packed all my small kit and