Elixir for photographers, writers and travellers

Anzac Day is rapidly becoming more significant than Australia Day in Australian culture. Australia Day fireworks sparkle a little less but the crowds at Anzac dawn services increase each year. Flying the Aussie flag is more common and the Anzac football matches are just marginally less important than the AFL Grand Final.

Surely, the ultimate homage is to visit Anzac Cove in Turkey where the narrative was born. The Australian and Turkish Governments are already very concerned that they will be unable to handle the crowds.

When our group of photographers and writers visited Anzac Cove on a dreamy, overcast day in 2011 we were virtually the only living humans on the beach. I wandered alone reflecting on what had transpired 97 years beforehand.

Attaturk led Turkey to a bloody victory over teh Australian and allied troops. One of the greatest military leaders in modern times, Attaturk told his troops,

'I don't expect you to fight for your country. I expect you to die for your country'.

In post wart Turkey Attaturk created a template which was to guide Turkey to be  a role model as a modern, secular Islamic state. He praised his foes and he honoured women

“Everything we see in the world is the creative work of women.” 

Turkey is an elixir for writers, photographers and travellers. Our 'Turkish Delight' Tour starts on September 29 2013.

To view the 2013 itinerary.

If you would like more information about Turkish Delight or to book for the information evening on Wed 30 January please contact Helen on 08 9386 5385 or email Turkish Delight 2013.

For Jack. Written at Gallipoli, 21 September 2011

For Jack (Captain John McIntyre)

You landed here.

You, your friends from Kal, the training camps,

and from the ship transporting men and horses,

to your first taste of war.

You landed here.

And today’s blue waters still look stained

with the blood of men shot down

as they set foot on Turkish soil.

And today’s cloudy skies

echo still with cries of surprise, and fear and pain.

You landed here.

But family history says little of the days, the nights.

Did you, once landed on the beach,

scramble on through undergrowth, take shelter

among trees, in trenches swiftly dug

wherever clay earth would yield?

I know no tales of you or the men, who

followed you, their captain,

of how you survived where others died, on shaly hills,

among the cypress and the guns.

You landed here.

And did you see that camaraderie

grow between two countries’ foes,

that shines within the Anzac legend,

where Turkish soldiers bore the Aussie privates

to safety and to solace?

You landed here.

But left your friends and comrades,

some roughly buried,

others in their trenches, melting into the Turkish countryside,

to remain forever part of this most challenged shore.

Today we remember them in neatly ordered rows

beneath the peaceful shade of oaks

in scenes that quite belie the chaos

of those two hundred and forty days.

You landed here – and left.

And there are no stories of your going.

Were you stretcher-borne,

from field hospital, to waiting ship,

thence to a safe recovery?

Or did you press further inland,

before obeying the army’s call

to leave the Dardanelles and move on to another

field of war, in France?

You landed in France, where you remain.

In Sommieres, at end of day, a ricocheting bullet

did the work the Turks had failed to do, when,

having left the trenches, near the tents,

you fell into your best friend’s arms,

and now lie beneath a wooden cross.

The only relic that reached home,

the New Testament from your left breast pocket

that still bears the bullet’s furrow.

Anzac Cove, Gallipoli. Wednesday 21 September 2011