It feels strange for Sarah and I to be here in Gallipoli, visiting the site of a battle that is iconic for its misery and tragedy.

Nearly one hundred years ago, half a million died or were maimed here as the Turks fought desperately to prevent an invading force, Australians among them, from entering their homeland. Now we are warmly welcomed, and free to wander the scene of such unimaginable sufferings.

But it is not primarily the history, monuments or Anzac legend that we have come here for. Gallipoli is now a national park, and nature has reclaimed the ridges and gullies of the old battlegrounds. Native vegetation has grown over trench lines and shell holes; a tangled mixture of dwarf conifers, wildflowers, prostrate shrubs and low bushes. Where once was heard gunfire, now there is birdsong.

It is quite a beautiful and peaceful place. Unfortunately, the weather during our visit has not been ideal for recording, with a stiff, cold breeze blowing in off the sea. Also, being early in the spring season, the birdsong is not as vibrant as it will be in only a few weeks.

Nevertheless I made a recording, from the site of the worst fighting in Shrapnel Valley, just a few hundred metres inland from Anzac Cove.

Blackbirds, for all their familiarity, have beautiful dawn songs, and several were singing heartily this morning. Sardinian Warblers are numerous in the thick scrub across the ridges, and their outbursts of scratchy song were to be heard all day long. Copses of pines are found in places along the ridge lines, and here Goldfinches feed and find song perches. A Goshawk soared silently overhead, and in the far, far distance you can just make out the crowing of roosters from neighbouring villages. The recording finishes with the high-pitched contact whistles of Blackbirds.

Many of the visitors who come to Gallipoli do so to find meaning in what has happened here. In posting this recording, we hope it will contribute to a broader perspective on this place.

Sarah writes: “You can’t help but feel the horror and futility of what happened here in 1915. I have seen images of the area post the campaigns – it looks so barren and scarred. The recovery of the landscape in the 95 years since is consoling in many ways.”

Our friend Jan Wositzky, who has done much research into the story of Gallipoli, has told us of this beautiful poem by Bülent Ecevit:

During the fighting,
the sun seemed to set early,
as if what it witnessed hurt it profoundly.
After the fighting,
wildflowers, wave after wave
replaced the retiring soldiers;
wild roses and mountain tulips and daisies
were spread as rugs on the ground
covering, trench-by-trench,
the wounds of the fighting on the earth.
The sheep turned the bunkers into sheds,
the birds replaced the bullets in the sky.
Nature, with hands holding the plough instead of guns,
captured back the battlegrounds
with its flowers and fruits and greenery,
and life returned to the soil,
as traces of blood were effaced,
turning the hell of the battlefield
into a paradise on earth.

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