Mons, Anzac and Kut

by Edward Melotte

  Monday, May 1st, 1916. HMS Mantis. I came back last night. I saw General Lake this morning to report. I told him I had the strongest instinct that Khalil had got something up his sleeve. I didn’t think that it was a knavish trick or that he would use his permission for the evacuation of our wounded to cloak a manoeuvre, but I felt certain he had some near thing in view. A letter came in from Khalil. The ships could go. He wanted boats to send the prisoners to Bagdad, and 20,000 tons of coal as some of his ships had been sunk. General Money first proposed to reply that we needed our ships as we were bringing up reinforcements, which I thought a good answer, but Money finally rejected it, and left it that His Excellency would understand that we ourselves needed all our boats these days. Beach went up this morning with two boats, but they stopped him at No Man’s Land.

  Tuesday, May 2nd, 1916. HMS Mantis. Last night I went on the P23 bound for Kut with a rather tiresome Padre whom Beach asked e to get through. It rained and blew in the night and was uncomfortable on deck. I got up at 4.00 and we started at 4.30. They opened the bridge of boats for us. A launch followed for me, for I was to get off before entering neutral territory. At the Neutral Zone I found white flags and Major Anderson of the 19th Brigade, who seemed tired and nervous. All the way up there had been a sort of feeling of expectancy and uncanniness, from the Indians shading their eyes from the rising sun, and our own troops staring at us. There was something eerie in the air, and the curious spidery observation posts in that flat land heightened this atmosphere. Anderson said the Turks would allow the boats to go out. I telephoned to Beach who was leaving and he told me to do the best I could; also that he had telephoned about my going to India to see prisoners. I took a white flag and went out into No Man’s Land and found the man I had talked to before, the Cretan’s brother. I said: ‘What does it mean? This is neither peace nor war.’ He said it was our fellows shooting on the right bank, and there was quite enough shooting to make one feel uncomfortable. I said that Khalil had given me his word that the boats could go up, even if there was an offensive. This was telephoned to him. Then our men loosed off with a machine gun while I was talking. The Swine and the Cretan then came out to say they had done it, and later the Cretan alone to say that our boats could not go through until the others had returned from Kut. It might not be necessary. I gave him Bobby Palmer’s photograph and asked him to read Ali Jenab’s writing. He told me that Bobby Palmer was dead, very kindly and sadly. I went back again very tired, and found a number of burying parties which I stopped from going further. There were several bodies on the river bank that looked to me like cholera. There has, by the way, been 150 cases in the last three days. Then I shaved while the Turks looked on in the distance, and telephoned to Beach who was then leaving. He said ‘bring the boats back’, which I did, all four of them. The only other news is that the Turks have dug in below us at Sheikh Saad, so there is something more ahead. I expected that.

  Wednesday, May 3rd, 1916. HMS Mantis. Oh, you foul land of Mesopotamia! This morning poor bodies raced by on the stream, and I have spent most of the day walking amongst the ruin of battle. I was sent a couple of messages and went ashore to see General Brown and General Gorringe. They said that they wanted to know why our boats hadn’t come, that the Turks had been shooting on the right and had sent out 200 men strong white-flag parties to bury the dead. I said I thought that it would be all right about the ships, and if nothing happened I could go and see Khalil himself tomorrow. The fact that they didn’t want us to send more proved that they were playing the game, but I also thought that they would like to nag us into doing something indiscreet, and asked Gorringe to give orders that there should be no firing except under instructions while they had our hostages. He sent me off to see the Turks.

  I rode fast through suffocating heat, with an Indian orderly. At the bridge I found our two ships, the Sikhim and the Shaba, which had come through from Kut. They were banking above the bridge, which was being mended. This altered the whole situation, since the General had sent me out to complain that they had not been let through, and I galloped back. After a talk at HQ, it was decided that I was only to thank Khalil.

  I jumped the trenches and finally arrived at the main trench, where my horse stared down at a horrified circle, lunching. The circle said that no horses were allowed there and that none had ever been there, and that my horse, or rather Costello’s, would be shot immediately by the Turks. So I went to General Peebles, who was lunching farther along in the same trenches, and he had her sent back. I then walked out with a white flag. Anderson wouldn’t come; I don’t know if was pique or nerves. I saw a couple of Turks. They wanted us to send up two ships to-morrow. I asked them not to send out the bearded Colonel and said I could not stand him, and they agreed. It was blazing hot; a Turkish officer and I sat out between the lines.

  There is one incident not recorded in the diary that is, perhaps, worth mentioning, as it had a curious result that will find its place in the sequel to this journal, if it is ever published. On one of the occasions when I was talking to the Turks between the lines, a general fire started from the British and the Turkish trenches. The Turks, for the honour of their country, and I, for the honour of mine, pretended to ignore this fire, and we continued to discuss our business, but in the end the fire refused to be ignored, and, with loud curses, we fell upon the ground and there attempted to continue the discussion. I suggested to the Turks that the whole proceeding was lacking in dignity and that it would be better for each to retire to their own trenches and resume negotiations when circumstances were more favourable.

  Next time I returned I was informed that one of the Turks had been hit whilst returning. I naturally said how sorry I was, and that I hoped they would not think it was a case of mala fides, as it might have happened to one of us, and wrote a note explaining my regret.

  Diary. It was curious and bitter sitting in that peaceful field talking amicably with the Turks between the lines, with maize round us. The river murmured and the larks were singing, while the stiff clay held the knee-deep prints, like plaster of Paris, of the Black Watch and the others, who had charged across that foul field, when it had been a trap and a bog.

  Thursday, May 4th, 1916. HMS Mantis. Very tired to-day. I rode back last night from the Turks, very fast. The flies made it impossible to go slow, horses couldn’t breathe. At the bridge, I found that the traffic was going the other way and had to hold up an unfortunate brigade to get across, hating to do it.

  I met Green Armitage, who had just come from Kut. He had got Townshend’s three terriers, who barked like mad. He said that there were three Turkish officers on board the Sikhim, who were asking for me. I didn’t know what to do, as I wanted to go to HQ, but dashed on board and found they were Ali Shefket and Mehmed Jemal and Salahedin Bey, inspector to the Agricultural Bank of Smyrna. Our people on board wanted me to stay. I told them I would come back. I saw the sick and wounded Indians being carried away, terribly emaciated. I reported at HQ, where, apparently, half a dozen entirely contradictory orders were being prepared for me. I then went back in a launch to the Turks, who were reported to be taking notes of our position from the bridge. On the Sikhim I found crowds of our officers with the Turks and a general jollification going on. I did not understand how or why they had been allowed to come down. All the Intelligence came along to see what the Turks could tell them. I was fed-up with the whole business, and disliked the Turks being on deck. I said to them: ‘Of course, it’s a pleasure to have you here, as guests, but we would much rather give you hospitality in London, for there we can show you everything, and, unfortunately, that’s not the case here. So in future, if you please, Turkish officers will not accompany the boats down.’ They agreed to that.

  The same tiresome Padre, Clerk Gibson, came bumbling up again. I think he wanted to go to Kut for the adventure, and I had no sympathy, as he would have meant another mouth to feed. The Turks made no particular objection to his going, but they said there was already a clergyman there, so I tol
d the Padre he could go if he liked, but that if he went he ought to stay and let the other chaplain come back, as the other had had all the hardships of the siege. He thought I was brutal, but cleared out and gave no more trouble. It seems to me, however, that he runs a fair risk, like the rest of us, of being made a prisoner.

  I wish the Admiral was here. The Turks on board said that they had hung seven Arabs. I said that Khalil had said he had no intention of doing so. The Turks answered that these men were not natives but vagabonds. I felt Khalil meant to do it when I talked to him. It makes me angry. We talked of the future. I said it wouldn’t be easy for Turkey to disassociate herself from Germany, even if she wanted to. They replied: ‘How long did it take the Bulgars and Serbs to quarrel?’ They said Khalil had sent special messages to me; and I asked them to return them and arrange that in case of necessity I should be able to get straight through to him. I didn’t sleep much. This morning I went up with them to Sanayat, where Husni Bey took their place. Then I came back by launch to the bridge and found a motor, which I took to HQ.

  At dinner to-night Reuter’s came in, and the doctor, in a perfectly calm voice, read out to us that there now seemed some chance of checking the rebellion in Ireland. Somebody said: ‘Don’t be a fool. Things are bad enough here. Kut’s fallen and we shall probably be prisoners. Don’t invent worse things.’ The doctor said: ‘It’s an absolute fact,’ and read it out again. Then somebody said: ‘Those cursed Irish.’ Then an Ulsterman leapt to his feet and said: ‘You would insult my country, would you?’ Then there was a general row. After that, everything seemed so utterly desperate that there was nothing to be done but to make the best of things, and we had an extremely cheerful dinner. We must have missed a lot of news. Let’s hope this Irish business is the bursting of a boil. I am more afraid of the treatment than the disease.

  Friday, May 5th, 1916. HMS Mantis. Vane Tempest150 came back from Kut with unpleasant stories. He said that our officers had been looted at the point of the bayonet by the Arabs. He had seen four men hanging and one man hanged. This was a curious incident. This man, as he was going to execution, threw Vane Tempest his tesbih (his rosary), the ninety-nine Beautiful Names of God. Vane Tempest had still got it. It means ‘I commend my cause to you. Take up my quarrel.’ I told Vane Tempest if he was superstitious he ought never to part with it.

  Now there is a new position. They can float down all their guns and stores. There is a fight coming, but I wonder where. There are 800 men, Arabs and Turks, below Sheikh Saad with three guns. The country is up behind us. We have only half a day’s provisions in reserve. It is going to be very difficult to hold this line. The guns have begun booming apparently behind us. I wish Edward was here, and hope he is all right, with my kit. I want it badly, but I got some stuff from Percy Herbert this morning who, if he can honourably avoid it, does not mean to give enemy shellfire any encouragement. It seems to me we have a most excellent chance of being cut off, and that I personally shall have another Mons, Anzac experience. These men here are starved in every way, ammunition excepted. They are not even given cigarettes and have to pay six times their price to the Arabs. Last night the Arabs were looting all over the place. One man told me this morning a sick officer in the 21st Brigade found five Arabs in his tent and lost everything. Lucky for him he remained alive.

  Saturday, May 6th, 1916. HMS Mantis. Sheikh Saad. Yesterday my typewriter broke. A jolly mechanic more or less repaired it and refused money. ‘It’s all for one purpose,’ he said. HQ suddenly determined to come down to Sheikh Saad in the afternoon. General Gorringe and General Ratcliffe went off, strafing like mad. Then the Mantis sailed. I found Edward on board the Blosse Lynch, with 200 ‘sea-gulls,’ as he called the sepoys. He was very upset about the Irish news, but glad to have found me.

  I walked at night with Bernard Buxton into the Arab village to find HQ. A curious sight: Devons and Somersets, Gurkhas, Arabs and frogs all mixed up together. The Somersets were very glad to meet a friend. This morning, after going through the evidence with the other officers about Bobby Palmer, I sent a telegram to Lord Selborne. They did not doubt the evidence of the Turks that he was killed.

  This morning I walked along the banks of the Tigris, while bodies floated down it. After a time I found the 4th Devons and John Kennaway, Acland Troyte151 and the rest, also half a dozen Dulverton men, Webber amongst them. I promised them cigarettes and that I would send messages home. The newest ones were depressed. They complained of shortage of food. Their camp isn’t too bad. Three miles away, one can see Lot’s Tomb, with generally, they say, a Turkish patrol on it. Sheikh Saad is supposed, J.K. says, to be Sodom. If you took our troops away, another dose of brimstone would do it and its inhabitants a lot of good.

  Then I saw Captain Beck of the Indian Supply and Transport, an ex-Irish Guardsman. He was miserable at the way that his men were treated. He said: (1) The drivers did not receive pay equal to sepoys, nor did they receive allowances, which mountain battery drivers and ammunition column drivers did receive. The work the transport drivers did was equally dangerous and more onerous. (2) There were no spare men. A transport driver went sick and the next man had to look after his animals. (3) They got no fresh clothes. Their clothes were in rags. (4) They had 21-lb. tents for four men. In a hot or a cold climate this is unhealthy; very bad here. Also they have only one flap, so later on they’ll be bound to get sunstroke. (5) They do not get milk, cigarettes, or tobacco. (6) They get no presents, such as the other Indian regiments have received. (7) The treatment of transport officers is not equal to that of a sepoy officer. Vide Subadar Rangbaz Khan, about thirty years’ service. Recommended with many others. No notice taken. Only two recommendations given, those for actual valour. This man, if he had been with his relations in the cavalry, would probably have done less good work, but would have been covered with medals.

  I walked back through rain, with frogs everywhere, a plague. It’s a pity we can’t get our men to eat them. One can’t even teach the officers to eat them. John said the Arabs sniped them most nights, but they were well and not too uncomfortable. Jack Amory was there, but I didn’t see him. He was out shooting sand-grouse.

  Sunday, May 7th, 1916. HMS Mantis. Harris came up last night in the Waterfly. He said all was quiet down the river. Subhi Bey, with a good many troops, had tried to cut us off at Kumait, but the floods were out. He said that last year Cowley prophesied that when the hot weather came the river would fall and that five-eighths of our transport would be useless. Cowley was generally right. If he was wrong then, he will probably be right now. Harris had been fishing the other day, when two of the Devons suddenly appeared, naked, beside him. They had swum the river, being carried a mile and a half down, and intended to swim it again. It’s very dangerous. They are wonderful fellows.

  Early this morning a telegram arrived to say the Corps Commander wanted me at once. I spoke from the flying station on the telephone to Cassel. He said: ‘We have fired on the Turks and they have collared the Sikhim. We want you to get her out.’ The whole thing seemed foolish and undignified, but I transferred to the Waterfly. Here I saw Costello and said to him that I had told the General that this would happen. He said he agreed with me. Four bullets had been fired by the Turks at the Sikhim. The Turkish officer was very angry with the Turks who had fired this shot, and rigid orders had been issued. After all this we had begun firing. The General apparently wanted it. I saw General Browne who didn’t tell quite the same story, but who kept on saying ‘we can’t have this and we can’t have that’. In the end I said: ‘It’s simply a question of worthwhile. If you think the fact that the Turks are wiring in their positions, which we don’t mean to attack, and also that they are sniping us so important that we must fire our guns at them, then do so, but make up your mind to lose the Sikhim.’ He said: ‘Yes, you are right. They have all the cards in their hand. You are our only card.’ I said: ‘If they see much more of this card, they will soon say “snap”.’ We are amazing. We get ourselves into this awfu
l mess and then apparently think that it is the Turks’ moral duty to get us out, and for some reason the Turk apparently agrees.

  I have had several contradictory orders: (1) go to India at once to investigate Turkish prisoners, by order of Army Commander (2) report immediately to the Admiral (3) stay at Felahiah and hold yourself in readiness to go to Khalil.

  Tuesday, May 9th, 1916. Felahiah. The last boatload of wounded is coming down and the truce will, I suppose, end. The Sikhim has made her last journey. One thing seemed clear: that the Admiral meant me to return at once. He telegraphed that I was to get on board the Lawrence, sailing the 12th from and join him at Bushire. I went to Browne who said the General won’t let you go. I saw Gorringe after a two-hour wait. He began by telling me to look him in the face, which I did. He said I had been given to him. I said ‘no, that couldn’t be, the Admiral was my Chief’. He roared like a bull. I gave him clearly to understand that it was a pleasure to serve Lake, but that it was only duty which had made me serve him. I also said I meant to telegraph to the Admiral to explain why I was not carrying out orders. He couldn’t prevent that, but said he must see the telegram. I telegraphed: ‘Corp Commander says he cannot spare me until all sick have left Kut. Much regret I cannot be with you. Herbert.’ That again apparently made him furious. He is one of the worst cads I have ever met in my life, and it has been a real pleasure saying what others were not in the position to say to him152. I retired to Powers Mehailah, where I spent a calm and cool day. In the evening I said good-bye to Browne, and told him I didn’t ever want to see his chief again as I had been accustomed to deal with gentlemen. Leachman brought Gorringe down in the Louis Pelly when he, Gorringe, was wounded. Leachman had to steer for five nights while Gorringe had his cabin. He never said thank you.