Lachlan, Eileen, and Hugh McLeod, Dunedin. South Island.

 

‘As time went by and our troops made progress towards the hilltops, I needed to go further afield to deliver and receive messages, orders, and information on the progress and direction of the forward units. I adopted a sprint that, in slow motion, would have looked as though I were dragging a heavy weight as my head bobbed up and down. I streaked along those trenches like a mechanical toy until the moment a Turkish sniper took

half my face away. By luck or by design, it mattered not.

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‘One moment I'd been going flat out, running smoothly like the wind. There may have been cheering, as there sometimes was, but I had my head down as I drove towards my target platoon. Suddenly, my head was wrenched around, and I thought my neck had been broken.

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‘The last thing I remember was tumbling down the hill like a dropped bundle of sticks. When I stopped skidding and falling end over end, I lay for a moment to catch my breath and take stock of what had happened. Then there was nothingness.’