The Beauty and the Sorrow: An Intimate History of the First World War by Peter Englund; Peter Graves

Author:Peter Englund; Peter Graves
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Non-fiction, War, Biography, History
ISBN: 030759386X
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2008-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

SUNDAY, 25 JUNE 1916

Edward Mousley steals a tropical helmet from a dead man in Nusaybin

The march continues. It is almost two months since the encircled British garrison in Kut al-Amara capitulated to the Ottoman army and just over 13,000 men were taken prisoner.pp In spite of promises to the contrary, the prisoners were plundered and the officers were separated from the men. While the officers were put on riverboats for transport to Baghdad, the other ranks were forced to march the whole way in spite of the fact that many of them were already in a bad way and the hottest period of the year had just started—temperatures could reach 50° C in the shade.

Mousley was ill at the time of the capitulation and consequently had to wait for special boat transport to Baghdad. Ironically, the vessel they eventually boarded was the Julnar, the steamer used in the last desperate attempt to relieve them back at the end of April. As he was being carried on board he noted that there were bullet holes everywhere. During the interminably slow journey the boat stopped at intervals to unload the bodies of prisoners who had died.

In Baghdad Mousley recovered enough strength for the next stage. With Russian troops less than 125 miles north of the city, the Ottoman authorities were anxious to get the British prisoners away from the area as quickly as possible to prevent them being liberated if the Russians advanced. They were taken by train to Samarra and from there they had to march under guard, first up the Tigris to Mosul and then west out across the desert.

The column of captured officers is permitted to transport its baggage on mules and camels, and the weakest men are allowed to ride. The march has been terrible despite that and they are leaving a trail of sick and dying men, collapsed mules and discarded equipment along the way. Corpses, dried and shrivelled by the burning sun, mark out the trail of those who preceded them. Meanwhile, their progress is also being shadowed by armed Arabs, waiting to plunder and kill those who fall by the wayside. They have been tormented by sandstorms, heat, hunger and, worst of all, thirst. They have survived on figs, black bread, tea and, in particular, raisins—all bought at excessive prices in the places they have passed through. Like everyone else, Mousley has more or less lost all sense of time. “I knew two seasons only,” he writes in his diary, “when we walked and when we did not.” He is weak and feverish. He has lost almost two stone in weight, has severe stomach problems, and his eyes are painful.qq

They have now reached the small town of Nusaybin, in which they are to spend a night or two before continuing the march to Ras al-’Ayn, where there is supposed to be railway transport waiting for them. They set up camp in the shade of an old Roman bridge. The sky above them is a cloudless and scorching vault and Mousley is weaker than ever.

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