This article was written by DJ Coode

Gallipoli Cemetery Photos by DJ Coode

I began reading Birds Without Wings merely as a follow up to Captain Corelli's Mandolin. Louis de Bernieres' prize winning novel, set on the Greek island of Cephallonia during World War II is still, to my mind, one of the best books of recent years. The way the opening chapters gradually come together and explode into a love story is brilliant, with the characters rather than the location being the focal point. I suppose I half expected Birds Without Wings to be along similar lines but, instead found it was Anatolia, the Gallipoli peninsula and the tragic last years of the Ottoman empire which took centre stage.

By coincidence, my partner and I had planned a year or two earlier to go to Gallipoli. Our reason had been mainly historical and, in particular we wanted to be there on Anzac Day - 25th April - when there is a modern day invasion of Australians and New Zealanders, paying their respects to forefathers injured and killed in 1915. But as the story in Birds Without Wings unfolded, I became more and more intrigued in the background to the war, the lead up to it, the aftermath and how Mustafa Kemal rose to power during that time.  So I pondered these questions:

Why is modern day Turkey a secular state? Why is there so much hatred and bitterness between the Turks and Greeks? What qualities did Kemal have that made him such a successful leader? Above all, I wanted to trace where the story was written and hope to understand more.

Even before starting chapter one, there is a dedication from de Bernieres. This is not only to all the victims who were persecuted and killed, but also to his grandfather who was severely wounded at Gallipoli 'in whose steps I trod while researching part of this novel.' For me this gave the book added meaning and, I wanted to imagine him there when we trod in those same steps, but first we had to locate exactly where Gallipoli was. One problem is that the name has changed, like many others in the region, and today it is known as Gelibolu. Tucked away in the far north western corner of the country, where Turkey is geographically part of Europe, there is a peninsula jutting out into the Aegean Sea, both facing Greece and bordering it and, it is this proximity to its old enemy that is central to the story in Birds Without Wings.

Our journey started on the far side of Greece but, it was not until we reached Thessalonika, that the footsteps began. This is where Mustafa Kemal was born when it was known as Salonika and in Macedonia, part of the Ottoman Empire and thus under Islamic rule. On the drive towards the Turkish border we saw our first mosques and many women wearing scarves and, I started to understand something of how, when borders move, the lives of the inhabitants can be so dramatically changed. In Kemal's time Muslims and Christians lived side by side and this, sometimes uneasy, mix of cultures was very much instrumental in shaping his future ideals.

In de Bernieres book Gallipoli does not play a part until halfway through but for us it was our next port of call. I noticed on the map that most of the peninsula is actually a National Park but we had not expected such beauty. Or colour. Or peace. Karatavuk, the character in the story who goes to fight there, did describe it but I guess I thought it would have changed. But it hadn't. The pine trees and the spiky shrubs, the tortoises and lizards, the oleander and the thyme, the ravines and the stony cliffs, the birdsong and the wild flowers were all there in their natural glory. It was wonderful although, for me, the most poignant part of the scene were the poppies in the fields, each of which Karatavuk imagined 'was a message from a soldier' and which were 'scarlet because of a soldier's blood.'

Both Karatavuk and Mustafa Kemal arrive at a place called Maydos, which today is Eceabat. In their day it was an attractive and wealthy town with many Greek jewellery shops but, all we saw were the Vegemite bar and the Boomerang cafe designed to provide a touch of home for the many Australians and New Zealanders who visit Gallipoli. We eventually decided to stay near Seddulbahir, in order to explore the area. This was where the British landed and it was important to my partner who was interested in the Royal Navy connection. Our first lesson was the strategic importance of the Dardanelles, the narrow straits separating Europe from Asia and giving access to Istanbul, the Black Sea and ultimately Russia and beyond. The campsite we found had unsurpassed views across this historic stretch of water and, there were even gun emplacements, with ship silhouettes still painted on the walls: what must it have felt like to be looking out as the huge warships approached? The first attacks actually took place further up the channel, between Kilitbahir and Canakkale where today ferries cross, including the one that eventually took us further south.

Having absorbed the general lie of the land, I wanted to put events and places into context. Karatavuk's war, and the landing of the Australians and New Zealanders, actually took place up on the west coast around what is today known as Anzac Cove. This is where he came under the command of Kemal and their paths crossed. The land here was very hilly in places and Karatavuk recalled that 'Mustafa Kemal made us train continually . . . marching us at high speed . . . so that we would be strengthened and know the terrain.' I can vouch for the difficult terrain with its ravines and gullies, as we tried to get from one cemetery to another by bike one day and ended up very out of breath. What was less easy to picture was the carnage and horrors of those nine months in 1915, for even the cemeteries were beautiful and colourful and calm. Except on Anzac Day there seemed to be no other visitors and, although they had names such as Shrapnel Valley, I really had to focus to try and imagine the corpses and the fighting, the dysentery and the smell.

Finding the locations that are in the book was easy but I was intrigued with Kemal himself, both his actions at Gallipoli and what he went on the achieve. As a commander, his military strategies were crucial factors in the Ottomans winning the war, but he also cared about people, the enemy as well as his own men, and there were examples of humane acts, such as when the fighting was halted and both sides worked together to bury their dead. Time and again his courage and leadership were an inspiration to the troops and Karatavuk recalled Kemal stopping to speak to him and commending him on how well he cared for his rifle, saying 'I will remember this proudly for the rest of his life.' What, for me though, best summed up the man's compassion was his famous heartfelt quotation, on a huge stone tablet standing amidst the cemeteries:

Those heroes that lost their lives . . . are now lying in the soil of a friendly country . . . there is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets . . . you the mothers who sent your sons . . . they are now lying in our bosom . . . and have become our sons as well.

As well as the dozens of Commonwealth cemeteries and monuments, all recalling the events from the Allied aspect, we spent time at the huge Turkish memorial which stands proudly at the entrance to the Dardanelles. Here there were always coach loads of school children, being shown where the famous victory took place and being told of its importance, and that of Kemal, in the history of their land. Although the British had been defeated, I felt something of their Turkish pride and much of this was from reading Karatavuk's story and viewing the conflict from the other side.

After two weeks on Gallipoli we decided to move on. Although we were never going to find Eskibahce, the fictional town in the book, we must have driven through many similar places where the inhabitants used to be both Muslim and Greek and, the story shows how the two communities lived peacefully side by side, thinking of themselves simply as Ottomans. This part of Turkey though had always had a turbulent past going back thousands of years. It once belonged to Greece and there are the remains of their ancient cities, such as Bergama and Troy, which we visited on our journey down the coast.

The events that followed World War One also brought dreadful misery to the region. Under Mustafa Kemal, now known as Ataturk or Father Turk, Turkey became an Islamic country and this led to the deportation, in the 1920s, of the Greek speaking population and the desecration of their churches and tombs. In retaliation, Muslims on the island of Crete were forcibly removed to Anatolia and the mosques and graveyards they left behind were destroyed. Other than a ruined church, I was not able to discern any trace of that upheaval or destruction, although there are statues and monuments to Ataturk everywhere. I even saw his image on the collar of a school shirt. However, as we travelled round, I watched the faces of people going about their daily lives and often wondered which of them had forefathers who had come from Greece and, what they themselves knew about those traumatic times.

De Bernieres cleverly allows three of the characters in the novel to escape by boat to Cephallonia, and, thus straight into Captain Corelli's story. Maybe there are people on the Greek island, themselves with ancestors who had been forced to leave in 1923. When we finally left the country it was with many happy memories, especially of the friendliness of the people, but more than that the journey had really brought the book to life.

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