The European winter of 1917–18 was a time of change for the Australian Imperial Force. In Australia, two plebiscites to introduce conscription had failed, and plans to raise a sixth Australian division were scrapped. Recruits originally destined for this new division were distributed among the existing five divisions, which had suffered significant losses in the fighting in September and October 1917, during the Third Battle of Ypres. In November 1917, having been withdrawn from the line the month before, the five Australian divisions were reorganised into one Australian Corps and attached to the British Fourth Army. The British and New Zealand divisions that had been part of II ANZAC became the British XXII Corps, part of First Army. General Sir William Birdwood, who had been Commanding Officer of I ANZAC, was originally put in charge of the new corps, but in May 1918 he was made Commanding Officer of Fifth Army. As a result, Major General John Monash was promoted to lieutenant general; the Australian Corps was in his command from May onwards, marking the first time an Australian was in command of a fighting unit at corps level on the Western Front.1

On 25 April 1915, when John Simpson Kirkpatrick set foot on the Gallipoli peninsula as part of the Australian Imperial Force (AIF), it is unlikely that he had an inkling of the frequency with which his story would be told, retold and mistold to generations of Australians. Nor is it likely he had any idea of the extent to which that story would grow, distort and become part of Australia’s national creation myth. The idea that the Australian nation was ‘born on the shores of Gallipoli’ through the sacrifice, endurance, initiative, resourcefulness, mateship and larrikinism of the Anzacs codified the First World War as a moment of national significance in the formation of an Australian identity. Kirkpatrick’s story is entirely enmeshed in this myth-making; as ‘Australia’s most famous stretcher-bearer’, he has come to embody both the ‘Anzac spirit’ and the work of the Australian Army Medical Corps (AAMC) in the First World War.1

This chapter focuses on Callwell’s role in the inception, conduct and aftermath of the Dardanelles Campaign (1915). Callwell occupied the important position of Director of Military Operations (DMO) at the War Office (1914-15) and therefore played a central role in shaping policy and strategy. He was also a key witness at the Dardanelles Commission (1916-17), an enquiry set up to investigate the causes of the Allied defeat. Finally, Callwell wrote extensively on the campaign, including his book The Dardanelles, published in 1919 as part of his Campaigns and Their Lessons series.

This chapter argues that Charles E. Callwell (1859-1928) has been unfairly neglected in the historiography of military thought. He is best known for his book Small Wars, first published in 1896, but this has often been studied in terms of modern counterinsurgency, rather than being placed in its proper context. Callwell ranged widely across most of the burning defence questions of his day, and many of the books and articles that resulted are presented here for the first time. The chapter includes a brief summary account of his life and major works.

This chapter explores some of the major strategic questions faced by Callwell as Director of Military Operations, including the German colonies, Salonika and Mesopotamia. It also assesses his views of other important issues with which he was concerned, such as munitions, manpower and the army’s relations with the press. The chapter looks at his time as an ‘odd-job’ man for the War Office (1916-18), during which he was engaged in various interesting (and not unimportant) roles. Finally, it examines his later works, especially his autobiographical and biographical work. Most infamous is his study of Sir Henry Wilson, a highly controversial work.

This chapter argues that we can use Callwell’s life and work as a lens to shine a light on important issues, such as the idea of a ‘British way in warfare’, the conduct of colonial warfare, and British strategy before and during the First World War. Studying Callwell tells us much about the man himself, but also about the times in which he lived and the army of which he was a part.

This chapter begins by discussing what Callwell meant by the term ‘small war’. It then provides a survey of his contribution to the literature, before explaining why it matters in the context of nineteenth-century British military thought. It then provides a detailed analysis of what Callwell had to say about small wars, and why it matters. Finally, it explores some of the responses to Callwell’s work, both at the time and subsequently.

This chapter examines Callwell’s contribution to the ‘naval school’ that emerged as a result of increased interest in matters of imperial defence in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It argues that Callwell’s work was distinctive, based on his position as a ‘khaki-clad maritime theorist’, a soldier looking at amphibious warfare from the landsman’s perspective. It also explores Callwell’s time at the War Office, 1903-7, during which he was a practitioner as well as a theorist of strategy. Finally, it assesses Callwell’s literary output during his retirement, especially his writing on the Territorial Army.

This chapter provides an overview of Callwell’s early life and work. It discusses his schooling, and his first experiences of active service, and his regimental service with the Garrison Artillery. It also examines his time at the Staff College and with the Intelligence Division (ID). It argues that a study of his early career offers an interesting perspective on the workings of the late Victorian army.

This chapter looks at Callwell’s experience in the South African War (1899-1902), first, as part of the Natal Army and then in the protracted counter-guerrilla operations that followed the ‘conventional’ phase of the war. Callwell’s experiences of battlefield conditions and in counter-guerrilla warfare were central to his writings, especially The Tactics of To-day (1900), in which he argued that a tactical revolution had taken place.

In August 1932, Field Marshal Lord Allenby, formerly the commander in chief of the EEF, spoke to members of the British Legion in Portmadoc, Wales. Many of the Welsh Legionaries in the small crowd had served with him in Palestine.1 Others had likely been with the Welsh Regiment or the Royal Welch Fusiliers in Macedonia and Mesopotamia. Fourteen years after the war had ended, he informed the gathering, he still heard and was often pulled into ‘disputes as to which theatre of operations, which front or field of war, was the scene of worst hardship. France, Palestine, Salonika, Dardanelles, Mesopotamia, or elsewhere.’ On the day, Allenby was in no mood to put one campaign above the others. All had suffered equally. ‘From what I saw of war; in Flanders, France, Palestine, and Syria’, he told the Legionaries, ‘and from what I know, from others, on other fields; I am assured that, whether in East or West, or Sea or Land; from the ice and snow of Northern Russia, to the torrid heat of East and Central Africa there was nothing to choose’.2 His speech, in any case, was meant to impress upon the crowd of ex-servicemen the folly of war and the need to learn from past mistakes at a time when the world political situation was deteriorating and disillusionment with the war, focused overwhelmingly on the horrors of the trenches of France and Flanders, was perhaps at its height.