Mons, Anzac and Kut

by Edward Melotte

  Friday, April 28th, 1916. HMS Mantis. For the last two days I have been standing by to go to Kut, constantly dressing up for it and then undressing for the heat. A wave of great heat has come and the air is black with flies. Practically no firing, though they tried to shell us yesterday and an aeroplane dropped bombs near here. We have got very little to bargain with, as far as the Turks are concerned, practically only the exchange of prisoners. The operations of this force are not to be reckoned with as a bargaining asset. We are not to retire to save Townshend. Yesterday Townshend saw Khalil at 10 a.m., whom he liked. Khalil said that Townshend would have as great a reception in Turkey as Osman Pasha in Russia, but he demanded unconditional surrender, or that Townshend should march out of Kut. This last is equivalent to an unconditional surrender, and Townshend’s men are too weak. We are all sorry for them. Townshend wired privately, but en clair, to Wilfrid Peek to tell him to tell his wife that his one desire was to leave the army after the war, that he had been disgracefully treated, and was there by no fault of his own, and that captivity would kill him.

  Yesterday morning General Lake sent for me, and talked about the Turks. I said it was quite clear to me that the Turks would procrastinate, if it was only from force of habit, and the end of that must mean unconditional surrender. General Lake was calm. He had been made responsible for things for which other people are answerable. Townshend has telegraphed to say that he has only food for two more days and that Khalil has referred to Enver for better terms. Lake said quite simply that he had expected to be relieved after the last failure and replaced by Birdwood. He said throughout this campaign in India, we had been 60,000 rifles short. Later after lunch a telegram came to Wilfrid from Townshend. In this he told him to tell Repington149 that it was not his fault that he was there. He said that he was disgusted at the way he was treated and that it was not going to end there. He has had no word of praise through all this time. Eleven honours given for his battles, and forty-six to Gorringe for his ‘insignificant’ fight at Kurna. He ended, ‘show my telegrams to Admiral Wemyss’. I said I had better tell the Admiral alone. This I did. He refused to see the telegrams or Peek. I quite agreed. I told Peek to go to the Army Commander and show him the telegram, and say that the strain had been too much for Townshend and that he, the Army Commander, must send him a telegram to cheer and console him as much as possible. Townshend is very anxious that we should negotiate from his side. I think it ought to come from him. I still think Townshend would get better terms for himself than we shall get for him. He has made a desperately gallant fight of it, and his position has not been taken. Lack of food makes him surrender, not force of arms. We, the relieving force, have been checked by the Turks, but I suppose all these men, Lake, Townshend and Nixon, will be made scapegoats. I have just been over this morning and seen his last telegram. In this he warns us to be prepared in case the Turks attack. He says he cannot move out and that if he did get his weak men to move the Turks would not have enough tents for him there, or transport to Bagdad, and that there will be a terrible drama and that 25 per cent of the sick and wounded will die. He says we must insist on the force being paroled and going to India; but we are not in the position to insist on anything at all. I am very sorry about his telegrams to Peek. The Turkish wireless may very well have caught them up, and the splendour of his defence be covered with shoddy jealousy if the telegram is published in Berlin. But there can be no doubt his mind is touched. One has seen enough men and soldiers go off their heads or be affected by shock.

  Sunday, April 30th, 1916. HMS Mantis. The Events of Saturday: Yesterday morning Colonel Beach came to the Mantis at seven and took me off. We rode across the bridge to General Younghusband’s HQ. Nothing that I have ever seen or dreamed of came up to the flies. They hatched out until they were almost the air. They were in myriads. The horses were half mad. The flies were mostly tiny. They rolled up in little balls when one passed one’s hand across one’s sweating face. They were on your eyelids and lashes and in your lips and nostrils. We could not speak for them, and could hardly see.

  We went into General Younghusband’s tent. The flies, for some reason, stayed outside. He put a loose net across the door of the tent. They were like a visible fever, shimmering in the burning light all round. Inside his tent you did not breathe them; outside you could not help taking them in through the nose and the mouth. We left General Younghusband and went on to the front trenches, where we met Colonel Aylsmee. There Lawrence joined us. We three went out of the trenches with a white flag, and walked a couple of hundred yards or so ahead, where we waited, with all the battlefield smells round us. It was all a plain, with the river to the north and the place crawling with huge black beetles and singing flies, that have been feeding on the dead. After a time a couple of Turks came out. I said: ‘We have got a letter to Khalil.’ This they wanted to take from us, but we refused to give it up, and they sent an orderly back to ask if we might come in to the Turkish lines. Meanwhile we talked amiably. One of the Turkish officers, a Cretan, had left school five years ago and had been in five wars. He reckoned that he had been in 200 attacks, not counting scraps with brigands and comitadjis. The Turks showed us their medals, and we were rather chagrined at not being able to match them, but they and we agreed that we should find the remedy for that in a future opportunity.

  Several hours passed. It was very hot. I was hungry, having had no breakfast. Again they asked us to give up our letter. I said that our orders were to deliver it in person and, as soldiers, they knew what orders were, but that Colonel Beach would give the letter up if their CO would guarantee that we should see Khalil Pasha. This took a long time. The Turks sent for a tent. A few rifle shots went off from our lines, but Beach went back and stopped it. The Turks sent for oranges and water, and we ate and drank. We had to refill these bottles from the Tigris, and up and down the banks were a lot of dead bodies from shot-wounds and cholera. After some time they agreed to Beach’s proposal. We were blindfolded and we went in a string of hot hands to the trenches of the Turks. When it was plain going the Turks, who talked French, called: ‘Franchement, en avant,’ and when it was bad going, over trenches, ‘Yavash Dikatet.’ We marched a long way through these trenches, banging against men and corners, and sweating something cruel. Beyond the trenches we went for half an hour, while my handkerchief became a wet string across my eyes. Then we met Bekir Sami Bey. He was a very fine man and very jolly, something between an athlete and old King Cole. He lavished hospitality upon us, coffee and yoghurt, and begged us to say if there was anything more he could get us, while we sat and streamed with perspiration. He told us how he had loved England and still did. He was fierceness and friendship incarnate. He said it was all Grey’s fault, and glorified the Crimea. Why couldn’t we have stuck to that policy? Then, as we were going off, I said that he would not insist on our eyes being bandaged, showing him my taut, wet rag of a pocket-handkerchief. He shouted with laughter and said: ‘No, no; you have chosen soldiering, a very hard profession. You have got to wear that for miles, and you will have to ride across ditches.’ Then he shook hands and patted us on the shoulder.

  My eyes were bound, and I got on a horse that started bucking because of the torture of the flies. The Turk was angry and amused. I heard him laughing and swearing: ‘This is perfectly monstrous. Ha, ha! He’ll be off. Ha, ha! This is a reproach to us.’ I was then given another horse that was not much of an improvement, and off we three went with a Turkish officer, Ali Shefket, and a guard. Lawrence had hurt his knee and could not ride. He got off and walked, a Turkish officer being left with him. Colonel Beach and I went on. Then our eyes were unbound, though as a matter of fact this was against the orders I had heard given. The Turk Ali Shefket and I talked. He knew no French. He said to me: ‘Formerly the Arabs would not take our bank-notes; now they take them. Once upon a time they would not take medjids; two days ago they took them. To what do you put that down?’ I knew he meant the fall of Kut, but it was not said maliciously. I said that I put
it down to the beautiful character of the marsh Arabs, ‘yerli bourda beule’ (‘here the native are thus’). He laughed and agreed. We passed formidable herds of horses and mules, our road a sand-track. The escort rode ahead of us. The heat was very great, but we galloped. The Turks we met thought that we were prisoners. They saluted sometimes at strict attention, sometimes with a grin, and later our Indians were told in return to salute the Turkish officers, who looked at them as black as thunder.

  At last we came to Khalil’s camp, a single round tent, a few men on motor cycles coming and going, horses here and there and the camp in process of shifting. Later on, Khalil said that the flies bored him and that he meant to camp beside the river. Colonel Beach asked me to start talking and get on terms. I said to Beach that I thought we had better begin with the unimportant points. I said to Khalil, whose face I remembered: ‘Where was it that I met your Excellency last?’ And he said: ‘At a dance at the British Embassy.’ Khalil, throughout the interview, was polite. He was quite a young man for his position, I suppose about thirty-five, and a fine man to look at – lion-taming eyes, a square chin and a mouth like a trap. Kiazim Bey, who was also courteous, but silent, was his CGS. These were the points to be discussed:

  a. The Exchange of English and Turkish ladies, plus our surrender of twenty-five Turkish civil officials.

  b. Our sick and wounded to be brought down from Kut.

  c. The exchange of sound prisoners.

  d. What happened to the Julnar?

  e. Terms: guns, men and money.

  f. Permission to send up drugs.

  g. An appeal, on various grounds, neither to hang nor to persecute the civil population of Kut.

  The Turks had taken the English ladies in Bagdad. Their husbands were sent across to Alexandretta, where I met them last year; some of them, worse luck, are now prisoners again. We had Turkish ladies at Amara and also twenty-five Turkish civilian officials. This exchange was arranged. They were to meet each other at Beyrout.

  I went on to speak of the Julnar. He said that there had been two killed on the Julnar. He was afraid it was the two Captains. He was sorry. It made Beach and me very sad. Poor, nervous, gallant Firman, he had had forty-eight hours’ leave in four years, and fine old Cowley, a splendid fellow. Well, if you are to be killed trying to relieve Townshend it is not a bad end.

  After that, I began talking of the treatment of the Arab population in Kut. I asked Khalil to put himself in the position of Townshend. I said that I knew that he could not help feeling for Townshend, whose lifelong study of soldiering was brought to nought through siege and famine, by no fault of his own. I said that the Arabs with Townshend had done what weak people always do: they had trimmed their sails, and because they had feared him, they had given him their service. If they suffered, Townshend would feel that he was responsible. Khalil said: ‘There is no need to worry about Townshend. He’s all right.’ He added that the Arabs are Turkish subjects, not British, and that therefore their fate was irrelevant, but that their fate would depend upon what they did in the future, not upon what they had done in the past. We asked him for some assurance that there would be no hanging or persecution. He would not give this assurance, for the reasons already stated, but said that it was not his intention to do anything to the Arabs. Then Lawrence turned up.

  We discussed the question of our sick and wounded. He said that he would send 500 of them down the river, but he required Turkish soldiers in exchange. Beach and I said that he gained by having sound men instead of wounded, to which he agreed. He wanted us to send boats to fetch these men; he said that he was sending them drugs, doctors and food. We shied away from the Julnar because we felt he would say that her stores had been burnt or destroyed. We asked him for the exchange of our prisoners in Kut against the Ottomans we had taken. He at first said that he would exchange English against Turk, and Arab against Indian, neither of whom were any use. I said that some Arabs were splendid fellows and very brave. He then pulled out the list of the Turkish prisoners of ours, and went through the Arab regiments, swearing. He said: ‘Perhaps one of our men in ten is weak or cowardly, but one in a hundred Arabs is brave. Look! These brutes have surrendered to you because they were a bally lot of cowards. What are you to do with men like that? You can send them back to me if you like, but I have already condemned them to death. I should like to have them to hang.’ That ended that. We must see that Arabs are not sent back by mistake.

  He then said that he would like us to send ships up to transport Townshend and his men to Bagdad; otherwise they would have to march, which would be hard on them. He promised to let us have these ships back again. Colonel Beach said to me, not for translation, that this was impossible. We have already insufficient transport. He told me to say that he would refer this to General Lake. We then talked about terms and the exchange of the sick and wounded. On this, Khalil said he would refer to Enver or Constantinople as to whether sound men at Kut would be exchanged against the Turkish prisoners in Cairo and India. He did not think it likely. He was going to give us the wounded in any case, at once. He would trust us to give their equivalent.

  Guns: Townshend had destroyed the guns. Khalil was angry and showed it. He said he had a great admiration for Townshend, but he was obviously disappointed at not getting the guns, on which he had counted. He said: ‘I could have prevented it by bombarding, but I did not want to.’ Later, one of his officers said to me: ‘The Pasha’s a most honourable man; all love him. He was first very pleased and said that Townshend should go free. After that something happened, I don’t know what, and now Townshend will be an honoured prisoner at Stamboul.’

  I said that the third condition we had offered was financial support for the civilians of Kut. I said we had offered one or two million, purposely adding on one million on my own. This he brushed aside, and again returned to his proposal that we should send up boats to transport Townshend’s sick and wounded to Bagdad. Beach said we could not look at it, we simply had not enough ships for ourselves at the moment and no reserve supplies. This, of course, he said to me. I then spoke of the generally difficult situation and asked him if all this was possible without an armistice. He said very strongly indeed that he was entirely against an armistice, and that he wanted his assurance given to General Lake that even if there was a ‘general offensive’, the ships could still come and go. Beach told me to say that we also had no idea of an armistice. He yawned, I thought more rudely than negligently, and I said the heat made us all sleepy. He apologized and said he had had much work to do. He had seen Townshend that morning. He was all right, but had had slight fever.

  Our final understanding with Khalil was that we were to notify him when we were sending up boats, so that he might clear the river. He laughed and said that he had forgotten all about the mines. I laughed and said I had remembered them, but had not liked to speak of them.

  We ended with mutual compliments; I told him that we admired his name as a soldier and his chivalry, and that we thought the Turks clean and splendid fighters. He answered with appropriate compliments, and we said good-bye to him and Kiazim Bey. He called me aside and said that he hoped we should be comfortable that night, and that we were to ask for all we wanted. He was glad to continue an acquaintance that had been begun at the Embassy in Constantinople on the occasion of a dance. We rode away; all the Turks saluting. I talked to Ali Jenab Bey who now seemed a fast friend, and said how angry the Germans would be to see us together. Our final understanding with Khalil was that we were to notify him when we were sending up boats so that he might clear the river.

  We rode on, and before sunset, came to the Turkish camp. There the three of us sat down and, as far as we could for the flies, wrote reports.

  The Turks gave us their tent, though I should have preferred to sleep out. They gave us their beds and an excellent dinner. We all sat and smoked after dinner for a few minutes under the stars, with camp fires burning round us. The Turks and I talked like old friends. Muezzin called from different
places and the sound of flutes and singing came through the dusk. Then Colonel Beach decided that I had better stay and go to Kut, where I was to meet him and Lawrence, who would come up with the boats to take our prisoners away. I didn’t believe that Khalil would accept this sort of liaison business. Beach wanted to go straight back, but would not let Lawrence or me. We pointed out that, if he got shot in the dark by our people, it would upset everything.

  I dictated a French letter to Lawrence, asking for permission for me to stay and go across to Kut. I cannot think how he wrote the letter. The whole place was one smother of small flies, attracted by the candle. They put it out three times. Beach and I kept them off Lawrence while he wrote. We got an answer at about two in the morning. Khalil said that it was not necessary. All this happened on April 29th.

  To-day. April 30th. We left at 4.30 this morning, and this time rode all the way with unbandaged eyes. We ended up on the river bank amongst dead bodies. We walked across to our front line and Colonel Beach telephoned to HQ. While he was doing this a Turkish white flag went up and we went out again. After several palavers, Ali Shefket came out and said that the river was clear of mines. Beach and Lawrence went back to HQ.

  Our boat could go up if it arrived by 2 o’clock in the afternoon. I, with the Cretan, the man of a hundred fights, Ali Shefket and others, went across. A fierce bearded Colonel came out, arrogant and insolent, talking German. He boasted that he knew Greek, but when I talked to him in Greek, he could not answer. He then harangued me in bad German, talking rot. I said, in Turkish: ‘Neither you nor I can talk good German, therefore let us talk Turkish.’ ‘Yes,’ said the other Turks; ‘it’s a much better language.’

  The ship tarried. At 5 o’clock in the evening she was in sight, but she could not have arrived for another hour. It was decided that we could do nothing that night and that she would have to be put off until next day. A monstrous beetle, the size of half a crown, crawled up my back. The Turks were as horrified as I.