Mons, Anzac and Kut by Edward Melotte

Author:Edward Melotte
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bisac Code 1: HIS027090
ISBN: eBook ISBN: 9781844685141
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Published: 2010-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

Kut

1916

After some months of convalescence, I was passed fit for Active Service. Admiral Wemyss97, Commander-in-Chief of the East Indian Fleet, had done me the honour to ask me to serve under him, when I was well again, as his liaison and Intelligence officer. I accepted very gladly, for I knew how devoted to him were all those who served Admiral Wemyss. The unappreciative War Office showed no reluctance in dispensing with my services, but my orders got lost, and it was only late in February when I left. When my weak qualifications in the way of languages98 were put before the Department concerned, the brief comment was: ‘This must be an immoral man to know so many languages.’

About this time the question was perpetually debated as to whether war should be made mainly on the one great front or en petits paquets; that is, practically all over the globe. ‘Hit your enemy where he is weakest,’ said some, while others were violently in favour of striking where he was strongest.

When I left England, she was in a curious state of official indecision. It would then have been, obviously, greatly to our advantage had we been able to get the Turks out of the war, for the collapse of Bulgaria would almost certainly have followed. On the other hand, Russia had been promised Constantinople and the Church of Santa Sophia, and while these promises held it was idle to think that the Grand Turk would compromise or resign his position as head of Islam. So the dread in the minds of Englishmen of friction with Russia was unconsciously adding square leagues to the British Empire, by forcing us reluctantly to attack an unwilling foe. In the end, we chose both Scylla and Charybdis, for the Turks remained in the war, Russia went out. Yet we survived, victoriously. Allah is greatest.

The story of this campaign is the most difficult to tell. The writer was in a humble position, but in a position of trust, and can only record what he saw and the things with which all men’s ears were too familiar in Mesopotamia.

Diary. Monday, February 28th, 1916. SS Mooltan. Off Marseilles. The Germans are by way of not torpedoing our boats until Wednesday, but to-day is St. Leander’s Day, a day of ill omen. They have torpedoed four boats these last days near Marseilles. We are off the coast of Corsica, dull and unattractive. Johnny Baird99 is here. The officers on board have had no orders of any kind. There are very few civilians. If I was OC I should make all officers who have it, wear mufti, and order those who have no mufti, not to appear on deck if a submarine comes along until further orders. Johnny and I have put on life waistcoats like most others. The only thing one notices is that everyone shows a preference for the open air. I wish myself that our cabin was not upon the lowest deck.

Wednesday, March 1st, 1916. SS Mooltan.

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