2580 Corporal Clarence Frederick Bull, (9/9/1878-8/8/1915). "all sense of time was lost"

DEATHS.

BULL —August 8, 1915. killed in action at the Dardanelles, Clarence Frederick Bull, beloved husband of Alice Bull and eldest son of Frederick Bull, of Waddington; in his thirty-seventh year.   -Lyttelton Times, 3/9/1915.

THE ROLL OF HONOUR

CORP. CLARENCE FREDK. BULL. 

Corporal Bull, who has been killed in action, was the oldest son of Mr. Fred. Bull, Waddington, Canterbury, the well-known sheepbreeder. Corporal Bull was born in Canterbury, and educated at Warwick House School, and at the Otago Boys' High School. He was one of the original settlers of Highfield, Canterbury, selling out and eventually settling at Alfriston, Manurewa. A few months before the war he sold out, and was latterly employed in the land department of A. S. Paterson and Co. He saw service with the Fifth Contingent in South Africa. His wife is residing with her people at Motu, Gisborne.  -Auckland Star, 6/9/1915.

Clarence Bull, living in Auckland, enlisted in the Auckland Mounted Rifles at the beginning of the war.  He had served previously in the South African War, and was promoted to Corporal not long before his death.  On August 8, 1915, the AMR was in support of the New Zealand troops who took Chunuk Bair, the strategic hill on the Gallipoli Peninsula.  The fighting was very hard, with desperate opposition and heat and thirst.  The Official History of the AMR describes the scene: "About noon the A.M.R. were summoned to the line, and in small parties they dashed down a steep slope and up a more gradual slope to the line. They were sent to the left, and started to dig in, but there was little time to dig. Again and again came the Turks, and again and again they were hurled back. Never was there a respite throughout this terrible Sunday. Bombs came over the crest from unseen hands without cessation. Many were caught "on the full" before they burst, and pitched back among the enemy. This was not done by one man or two, but by every man who got the opportunity. Mason, of the 3rd squadron, was particularly prominent in this respect. Ken Stevens, of the 11th squadron, on one occasion fumbled one of these live bombs, which fell over his shoulder. Quick as lightning he turned round and dropped his hat over it. He himself was wounded by the bomb when it exploded, but the hat undoubtedly smothered the burst and saved others in the near vicinity.

The day grew hotter, thirst tortured this band of Spartans, fatigue dazed them, but doggedly, blindly, automatically almost, they fought on. All sense of time was lost — it seemed that they had been fighting for an eternity. Then came night, but though it brought a cooler atmosphere, it did not bring water, nor did it bring a respite. But the defenders, now few in numbers, hung to the inferno they had gained. Some time after dark there was a call for the A.M.R. to go out and lie ahead of the shallow ditch that had been scraped in the flinty clay. It was then that the men realised for the first time that the Regiment had practically ceased to exist. This advanced post was a living hell, and soon the remnant was called back to the line.

Waddington Cemetery.