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Gunning Brothers

Gunning Brothers

George Cecil and Frank Douglas Gunning were born in Enniskillen, Co. Fermanagh. George, the eldest was born in 1890 and Frank was born in 1894. 

Both worked in the banking sector and after the outbreak of the war they decided to enlist with the 'D' Company, 7th Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers. They trained at the Curragh Camp and departed for Gallipoli in May 1915. 

While at Gallipoli George contracted dysentery and was brought to hospital in Alexandria, Egypt, where he stayed until 1917. In 1918 he was transferred to the Royal Air Force; however by the time he had completed his training the Armistice had been signed.

Frank also contracted dysentery but was shipped back to England to be hospitalised. After a number of weeks in hospital he transferred to the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers and went on to fight in the Battle of the Somme in 1916 where he was killed at age 22. 

They wrote a diary together throughout their time in Gallipoli which was donated to the Dublin City Archives and can viewed there, along with other items. 

The Gunning Brothers' diary will be updated throughout July and August. 

Diary Tracker

Follow the stories of the Irishmen who fell at Gallipoli from a century ago via their personal stories, ephemera, archive material, census details, military archives and diaries.

  1. Gunning Brothers

    Gunning Brothers

    27 August

    The first night after we left Gib we had a concert on board and some of the patients who were not too bad contributed to the evening’s enjoyment, as well as some of the ship’s crew. The funniest thing was a little Englishman with glasses who has one foot in a cradle and covered with bandages. He got up and sand ‘I do like to be beside the seaside’, trying to swank on the prom with his lame leg and a walking stick! It was a typical example of the British Tommy’s cherrfulness, no matter what trouble and trials he may have been through, and in spite of the ghastly sights he may have witnessed only the day previous!

    At Gib, too, we had about fifty Jack Tars drafted aboard who made it more lively. They were going home on furlough, after a long spell of Foreign Service in the Mediterranean. They used to give us a sing-song on deck, but I must say their songs were a bit stale; things that were the rages two or three years ago, they sang accompanied by a Melodeon.

    In the Atlantic, we were followed by the porpoises, as usual, and once or twice we had a good view of a whale or two in the vicinity. It was quit calm in the Bay of Biscany and on the outskirts of it we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a lot of wreckage, boats, oars, planks and lifebelts everywhere. We immediately slowed down, and sailed round it twice, but found nothing living. It was the ‘Mary Jane’ or something of Glasgow which had an explosion on board a few hours previous, but the transport ahead of us had picked up all the survivors. If you ask me, I think she struck a mine. That evening, we passed Ushant and on the morning of the fourth day, we sighted the English coast. In the afternoon, we passed the Isle of Wight Netley Hospital and eventually sailed into dock at Southampton. We passed a pleasure boat full of people bound for Ventnor, and they gave us a great cheer. That evening, of the half a dozen trains awaiting out boat, we were put in the London one and swissed off. The other transports landed at different ports all over the Kingdon. We got out at Clapham Common and in the midst of a most enthusiastic crowd at eleven o’clock at night, were driven off in private motor-cars to the 3rd London General Hospital, Wandsworth. We were very well treated there. After a week, they wanted to send us to a Convalescent Home, but AP and I were not ‘having any.’ We wanted to get straight back to ‘ould Ireland’. So we arrived at North Wall one fine morning, after being up on deck since dawn looking for the first glimpse of Ireland. I had breakfast with Aunt E and then proceeded home, where a wonderful welcome awaited me, which I shall never forget.

    So ends my diary! Except I might add, after two months in Cork, I got my Commission in the 6th Inniskillings, said ‘Goodbye’ to the dear old Dublins, and am now a young pup of a ‘sub. I never regretted one hour of my career as a Tommy, for those were the happiest days I ever had, although in many ways the saddest. 

  2. Gunning Brothers

    Gunning Brothers

    26 August

    One night it got so bad and still with a touch of dysentery that I was awake groaning all night: so, in the morning, I determined to get the doctor to extract the tooth immediately. I went to him and he nearly killed me. He just put my head tight under his arm, broke the tooth of course, and took it out in bits, so that I had a pain for two nights afterwards as well. You may say it was ‘pretty good comedy’ but that’s what I got when the red-haired Scotch doctor said, ‘I’ll do it in a jiff, laddie, it won’t hurt you, laddie.’

    When we got to Gib, we had to wait for four days till there were seven liners, each with two or three thousand wounded ready to proceed home through the Atlantic with an escort of six destroyers and not one of us was a Red Cross boat into the bargain. I meantime, we got coal and medical dressing and thick khaki uniforms were given out to all the walking cases to prepare for the changes in the climate. Up to this, I am Orangeman, was parading in a bright green shirt like a lady’s blouse; and JB, an RC, had a most glaring orange one which the Nurses had given us. Many a laugh.

    J and I had over this; we had thrown our other shirts overboard when we got on the hospital ship and I am sure the fishes got a fine feed. A few very bad cases, as well as four corpses, were landed at Gibraltar, and it was awful to think on the journey home there were sixty-five burials at sea on our ship alone. 

  3. Gunning Brothers

    Gunning Brothers

    25 August

    Next morning I was bringing him hot milk, and I noticed he was lying stuff, so called the Nurse. He had died in the night and the Nurse cried when she saw that one of her most helpful patients was dead. Though within sight of England’s shores, the poor fellow was buried at sea in the Chanel. I call that very hard luck! If we had arrived one day sooner, perhaps his life would have been saved.

    Just about this time, I got awfully bad with toothache or neuralgia from a stump at the back of my right jaw. For a few nights, it nearly drove me mad, and used to pain my eyes and right cheek terribly. 

  4. Gunning Brothers

    Gunning Brothers

    24 August

    Next morning, we steamed into the right section of the harbour. We intended to land all the bad cases, but the hospitals there were crammed full, and so only a few cases were landed who needed a big operation immediately in order to save their lives. We also tried to get a supply of dressing and bandages and to coal-up, neither of which were we able to supplied with. As usual, the vendors were all round the ship in their blue boats, and one dysentery cases, who was really no worse than I was, bought some grapes thro’ a port-hole at his bunk. Grapes, above all things, to eat. Well would you believe it, the fellow died the next day.

    In the evening, we set sail once more, and on our left as we moved out there were about twenty German prize boats anchored side by side, which had been captured in the Mediterranean on the outbreak of War. We took three days to get to Gibralter, and during that time, AP and I, with some others, volunteered to help the nurses in the different wards, for they were absolutely killed worked day and night. We just helped to bring round the meals and medicines in No. 1 ward at the bow of the boat. They were all Scotch nurses and doctors, and the Matron was young and pretty, and had a smile for everyone. But some of the cases were very bad indeed, and one did feel so sorry for those mortally wounded. One poor soul who was dying had five or six machine-gun bullet-wounds all in his abdomen: all I was told or knew was that, whenever he beckoned for water, I was to give it to him. He lay there moaning softly, and waving a straw fan all the time, and just as I passed asked for water. I gave it to him; and immediately, it trickled out through his abdomen unto the sheets, as he groaned with pain. It was terrible, I can tell you, and I felt so sick afterwards that I had to go up on deck for a while. He was landed in Gib for an operation, but I am quite sure he did. There was also a young chap of nineteen who got shrapnel in the head and was unconscious for ten days. The Sister was delighted when he opened his eyes for the first time, and he was getting on splendidly and always asking us to come and talk to him. But his was a very sad case. He was quite alright till the night before we got to Southampton when he got convulsions. 

  5. Gunning Brothers

    Gunning Brothers

    23 August

    I don’t know what time we left, but the following morning, we steamed into Mudros Bay, Lemnos and lay just next to Sir Thomas Lipton’s steam yacht, also a hospital ship, but on a smaller scale than ours. Well, as good luck would have it for me, Lemnos was overflowing with wounded: so they could not take many more ashore to the Hospital there. We then went further into the bay and up along side (would you believe it) our old transport Alaunia. She had been fitted up as a hospital ship in a few days, and it was arranged, as she could take 2000 cases, to fill her with three ship-loads of wounded.

    There was quite a party on board of chaps I know in the Dublins… We dysentery cases, managed to be put in the same ward: so it was nice having chaps we knew well to talk to. I don’t believe there were six doctors for the 2000 cases, and the poor nurses and RAMC had to work night and day without ceasing.

    Well, we got to Malta the following evening. We made a rush to get berthed before dark, but were too late; so had to anchor off Valetta just near a big fort on a rock. 

  6. Gunning Brothers

    Gunning Brothers

    22 August

    But, early in the morning, there was a lot of shrapnel which fell quite close to us, but I felt so weak, I didn’t care if it did hit us. When the Orderly came round, he told us that one of the shells did not burst, but stuck in the ground. He and a friend opened it; and instead of bullets, it was full of splinters of wood and scrap-iron: so perhaps the Turks were running short of shells at that time. It was a pity we could not have got shipped off immediately, for here were some wounded cases who needed comfort and quietness very badly. As it was, that afternoon we were all shifted to the 30th Field Ambulance, as the 31st were given orders to move elsewhere. The next morning, we were all brought down to the beach and labelled like parcels by a doctor, my destination was to be Lemnos, and my illness dysentery. On the way, I noticed two big French 75” guns that had been landed, and in the distances I saw a shrapnel light right on a group of Sikhs and their mules. I am sure there were a few casualties, and the mules were awfully frightened. We lay under the shelter on the beach for hours before we were taken off by the boats. On the low cliff on our left, there were rows of graves and wooden crosses, and the shrapnel continually fell among them. There was a little dog on the beach, too and he bark and growl whenever a shell fell near. He belonged to one of the sailors who were putting the wounded into the boats and lighters. I heard one of them say he had been so busy packing the boats that he had no time to have something to eat since the night before. At least the pinnace, with four boats in tow behind, arrived to take our batch off, and I can tell you we were glad. Those who could not sit up were put in stretchers on the lighter instead.

    Another thing I might mention, though rather a gruesome sight, was that there were any amount of RAMC Orderlies on the beach washing awfully blood-stained stretchers. They would throw them out into the sea and let them drift in again.

    Anyway, to proceed, on we were towed, passed the battleships and transports, out to the hospital ships which lay further out still. Our destination was the P&O Liner Delta which was now a beautiful hospital ship, splendidly equipped. As we arrived at the gangway, a Sister gave us each a packet of Flag cigarettes, doctors looked at our labels as if we were parcels, and we were detailed for the different wards. All afternoon, we lay in our bunks while an awful cannonade was being made by the battleships, and the noise was awful, the whole boat quivering with the vibration. Since then, I believe that was the day our troops advanced to within a mile of the railway line, and I don’t believe they ever got any further. But it was awfully homely to see the Nurses flying around business as usual, for it seemed ages since we last saw any of the fair sex. We were given hot milk, and it was delightful. The Sister kept coming round to us every hour or so, and insisted on us taking medicine each time. And such medicine, the most awful taste imaginable: how I longed for a sweet or something to swallow after it each time. Lying asleep at the top of the stairs was a prisoner, a wounded Turk, and somehow you felt sorry for him, all the same he was lucky in a way, for he knew he would be well-treated.

    The seamen and cooks on board were all Lascars and all sorts of Indian castes. Through the hold I saw one chap, at sunset, worship the sun by saying his prayers. He had a little mat tied round his waist which he took off and barefooted, he started salaaming and bowing up and down. It was a curious sight for me. 

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