Mons, Anzac and Kut Read online

  First published in Great Britain in 2009 by

  Pen & Sword Military

  an imprint of

  Pen & Sword Books Ltd

  47 Church Street

  Barnsley

  South Yorkshire

  S70 2AS

  Copyright © Edward Melotte 2009

  ISBN 978 1 84884 175 8

  eISBN 9781844685141

  The right of Edward Melotte to be identified as Author of the Introduction

  and Editor of this edition has been asserted by him in accordance

  with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is

  available from the British Library.

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  Contents

  List of Plates

  Introduction

  Chapter 1 Mons, 1914

  Chapter 2 Anzac, 1915

  Chapter 3 Kut, 1916

  1. Lieutenant Colonel The Hon Aubrey Herbert MP. Mrs M Melotte

  2. Irish Guards officers in Wellington Barracks on the morning they marched off to War. Included in the group are Lieutenant The Hon T E Vesey (Aubrey Herbert’s cousin by marriage), standing, 3rd from left and Lieutenant H R Alexander (later Field Marshal Earl Alexander of Tunis) standing, 2nd from right. Regimental Headquarters Irish Guards

  3. Irish Guardsmen preparing to leave Wellington Barracks en route to France, 12th August 1914. Aubrey Herbert stepped into the Battalion’s ranks as they marched out of the barracks, having had an Irish Guards’ uniform tailored for himself. Regimental Headquarters Irish Guards

  4. On the move. France, August 1914. Taylor Library

  5. Covering a flank. France 1914. Taylor Library

  6. Royal Artillery in action, France 1914. Aubrey Herbert describes the passage of guns passing them at night “…with the sound of a great cataract.” Taylor Library

  7. Lancers, France 1914. Aubrey Herbert’s future son-in-law, Capt A E Grant served with the 9th Lancers during the Great War and was awarded a Military Cross and bar. Taylor Library

  8. Irish Guardsmen in France. When Aubrey Herbert went in search of billets for the Guardsmen on arrival in France, the Quartermaster Lieutenant H Hickie commandeered a bicycle ..... Aubrey Herbert used a horse! Regimental Headquarters Irish Guards

  9. Stores on the beach at Anzac Cove. Until North Beach was developed, the Cove was the main ‘port’ of Anzac. All supplies, including water, were brought in using lighters and small fishing trawlers. Aubrey Herbert

  10. A brief reprieve. ANZACs swimming at Anzac Cove. The beach was under regular fire from Turkish artillery and it is estimated that over 1000 men were killed or wounded on it (or in the water) during course of the Campaign. Aubrey Herbert

  11. Stores coming ashore at Anzac Cove. One has to question how much use there was for bicycles? Aubrey Herbert

  12. Unknown Colonel on a tour of the trenches at Gallipoli. Aubrey Herbert

  13. Aubrey Herbert captures a relaxed moment at Gallipoli. Aubrey Herbert

  14. A stark illustration of hardship of life in the trenches, Gallipoli 1915. Aubrey Herbert

  15. ANZACs dining al fresco. In the background is the feature known as the Sphinx, an outcrop of the Sari Bair (Yellow Ridge range) that runs from the beach south of Anzac Cove to Koja Temen Tepe the highest point on that part of the Gallipoli Peninsula. Aubrey Herbert

  Introduction

  Mons, Anzac and Kut are the wartime diaries of an extraordinary man. Originally published anonymously as being ‘By an MP’, their author was the diplomat, politician, traveller, polyglot and poet – Aubrey Herbert. He was thrown, by both opportunity and design, into the heart of some of the key battles and campaigns that define the Great War. A unique personal account of the events in which he found himself thrown, his diaries are very much an expression of himself: impetuous, romantic, generous of spirit and humour and ardent in search of adventure. A man of broad acquaintance, well informed, perceptive and very much a part of the Establishment, his observations give the reader a strong sense of the emotions of those in the face of battle: the excitement at Mons, the sense of those early days of the war as a game, the horror of Gallipoli and the disappointment of Kut. The diaries never had great success – they were published in 1919, at a time when everyone wanted to forget the war and nothing could be more out of vogue than the spirit ‘half-joy in life, half-readiness to die’ in which so many had first rushed to arms. The Nation was bitter, as was Herbert, feeling betrayed by politicians and simply wanting to forget.

  I first read the diaries as a teenager, a young aspirant in my great-grandfather’s footsteps as an officer in the Irish Guards, and from reading them grew a spark, a desire to travel and to find adventure as he did. It seems appropriate therefore that when I read them again, twenty-five years later during the sweltering summer of 2003, that I was sitting in the Governor’s house overlooking the River Tigris in Al Amarah in the Marsh Arab province of Maysan. A constant reminder of his own journey up the Tigris, the British War Cemetery, (sadly destroyed by the Mahdi Army ‘rebels’ the following year), lay a few hundred metres to the south. Re-reading Mons, Anzac and Kut I thought that there was much within it that had not changed and that Aubrey Herbert’s observations gave a perspective of those long ago events that many today would find as enthralling as I did. The first diary was dictated in hospital from memory and rough notes made on the Retreat from Mons. For the writing of the second diary, idle hours were provided in the Dardanelles between times of furious action. The third diary, which deals with the fall of Kut, was written on the Fly boats of the River Tigris.

  In the preface to the original version, Herbert stated that, ‘this diary claims to be no more than a record of great and small events, a chronicle of events within certain limited horizons – a retreat, a siege and an attack. Writing was often hurried and difficult, and the diary was sometimes neglected for a period. If inaccuracies occur, the writer offers sincere apologies’. He also withheld certain of his private thoughts, opinions and criticisms as well as ‘concealing what, for the moment, at any rate, is better not revealed’. I have edited Mons, Anzac and Kut to include many of these thoughts and criticisms, taking them from his diaries and certain of his private letters. Interesting, relevant and in many cases amusing, I believe that they add to the book without altering the spirit in which it was first produced, and therefore merit inclusion.

  Also in the original, in the Retreat from Mons, only Christian or nicknames were generally used. In the case of the other two Expeditions names were used freely, though where it was considered advisable, at the time, they were occasionally disguised or initials substituted for them. I have, where possible, identified and footnoted those who he had previously mentioned only by initials or surname. If able to identify their role at that period I have includ
ed that, otherwise I have shown their title, rank and decorations at the time of their death.

  And so to the author himself: Aubrey Herbert was born at Highclere near Newbury on 3 April 1880. He was the eldest son of the 4th Earl of Carnarvon’s second marriage. His mother was Elizabeth, daughter of Henry Howard of Greystoke. He was born short-sighted, and could only read by holding a book to one eye so that its pages almost brushed his nose. Aided by a secretary who would read his work to him and to whom he in turn would dictate his notes, he was educated at Eton. Life was not happy for him at first – unable to join in the sporting activities of his peers he stood out and was bullied. Eventually, as his wit and determination were identified by others, his latter years became more enjoyable. His real passions as a boy were Somerset and the pack of twenty-one dogs, mongrels mostly, that he gathered around him in his holidays.

  On leaving Eton he was taken to Wiesbaden to the great oculist, Dr. Pagenstecker, who operated on the lens of the blinder eye, restoring it to long sight, the better one continuing to be serviceable for reading. This operation gave him a new lease on life and he threw himself into his time at Balliol emerging with a First Class degree and a reputation for wild antics. Having completed his exams he was sent down from Oxford, the final straw being his dropping from a tree into the middle of a picnic declaring, ‘I am a plum, I am ripe and therefore I must drop.’

  Frustrated not to be able to serve in the South African war, he joined the Foreign Office and between 1903 and 1905 he was honorary attaché, first at the Embassy in Tokyo, then at Constantinople, after which he travelled extensively in the Ottoman provinces, from Bahrain in the East to the shores of Albania in the West. Despite enjoying his time in Japan he developed a much greater affinity for the Middle East and most especially the Turks.

  His true love though was Albania and the Albanians. He visited the country regularly between 1907 and 1913 and became closely involved in Albanian politics, acting as an advisor to the Albanian delegation at the 1912 London Balkan Peace Conference. No one understood better the internal and external problems of the Albanians and it is probably fair to say that his greatest public achievement was that he contributed more than anyone to bringing into existence the modern independent state of Albania. In 2004 his efforts on behalf of the Albanians were finally recognised by the posthumous award of the President’s Silver Medal. He was twice offered the throne of Albania. On the first occasion, just before the War, he was flattered but not seriously interested and this decision was reinforced by the then Prime Minister, Herbert Asquith (a family friend), who advised him to decline the offer. Seven years later, following the defeat of the Italian Army by the Albanians in September 1920, he received a second, unofficial, approach from the Albanian Government again offering him the throne. Tempted to accept this time, he discussed the offer with Philip Kerr, David Lloyd George’s Private Secretary, and with Maurice Hankey, the Cabinet Secretary, pursuing the idea of acting under the banner of the League of Nations which had formed the previous year and of which he was a keen advocate. The first Secretary General, Eric Drummond, was a close friend. Herbert finally decided that he was not rich enough to become King but maintained his enthusiasm and love of the Albanian cause and his continual lobbying eventually led to the acceptance of Albania as a member of the League of Nations in December 1920.

  He married in 1910 Mary Vesey, only child of Viscount de Vesci, and in 1911 entered Parliament as Conservative member for the Southern Division of Somerset, a seat he held until 1918. He subsequently represented the Yeovil Division of Somerset from then until his death. When war came he was determined to serve. His poor eyesight had prevented him serving in South Africa during the Boer War and he had resigned his Territorial commission in the North Devon Hussars in 1913 and, again due to his poor eyesight, was denied when he attempted to rejoin. Not to be discouraged, he simply had a uniform made and, aided by his wife’s cousin, Tom Vesey (who was serving with the Regiment as were a number of other friends), stepped into the ranks of the Irish Guards as they marched out of Wellington Barracks and away to war. Reporting to the Commanding Officer on the boat to France, Herbert persuaded him to let him remain and was, albeit somewhat reluctantly, accepted into the Battalion, given the rank of Lieutenant and appointed as an interpreter. He landed with the 1st Battalion in France on 13 August 1914. Fighting with the Battalion in the Retreat from Mons he was wounded on 1 September during the rearguard action at the woods near Villers-Cotterets during the Battle of Le Cateau in which both the Commanding Officer and Second-in-Command were killed. Captured by the Germans, he escaped when the Dressing Station was overrun by the French.

  Having recovered from his wounds Herbert joined the Intelligence Bureau in Cairo in December 1914 and was subsequently attached to the New Zealand and Australian Division during the Gallipoli Campaign as an intelligence officer and interpreter working for General Godley (formerly an Irish Guardsman). Touched by the smell of the dead and the noise of the wounded crying for water between the trenches, he approached General Birdwood, the Corps Commander, about the possibility of an armistice for burying the dead and the bringing in of the wounded. Despite initial doubts about whether GHQ (‘living on its perfumed island (and who) did not consider how great was the abomination of life upon the cramped and stinking battlefield that was our encampment’) would endorse it he was granted leave by Birdwood to speak to Sir Ian Hamilton, the Commander of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force and went aboard HMS Arcadian where Hamilton was headquartered to present his case. Hamilton eventually agreed to Herbert’s proposal in principle but stressed to Birdwood that he did so only on the basis that the Turks requested it. Somehow Herbert, in the subsequent negotiations managed to make both sides believe that the other sought the armistice. Compton Mackenzie, in his book Gallipoli Memories, wrote, ‘It has never been perfectly clear who really did ask for this truce. Liman Von Sanders says we did; Sir Ian Hamilton says they did. My own opinion is that Aubrey Herbert alone was responsible for it’. However it was achieved, a temporary Armistice was eventually put in place on 24 May 1915 with Herbert wandering between the trenches as ‘referee’. This led to one of those rare, if not unique occasions during war when soldiers (in this case the Turks) approach an enemy officer for orders. Gallipoli was a tragedy for Herbert, who loved the Turks (when in Parliament he always used to write his speaking notes in Turkish). His compassion for them, as well as two fine examples of his shambolic and eccentric nature are given by Compton Mackenzie. The first, in Gallipoli Memories, describes a conversation with Aubrey Herbert on the deck of HMS Arcadian where Herbert had gone to persuade Sir Ian Hamilton of the necessity for the Armistice,

  I had the chance of a long gossip with him as we walked round and round the deck in a series of rapid diagonals, for Aubrey was so short-sighted that he really could not see well enough to walk straight. I think he was holding forth passionately about the woes of the Turks and the beauty of their characters, gripping my arm from time to time and exclaiming ‘My dear, we must do this,’ or ‘My dear, we must do that.’

  As we zigzagged along I suddenly became aware that a shape was following our course, though what that shape was, I did not dare for a moment to look round and ascertain, so acutely was I aware of a menace, an almost diabolical menace in its shadowing. At last I plucked up courage to turn my head. Imagine my dismay when I saw the Commander of the Arcadian, his cheeks an angry crimson, stalking along the deck after us with the air of one who is tracking a pair of assassins. The faintness of despair came over me. His eyes protruding like a Bateman admiral’s were fixed upon a meandering line of ink-stains that stretched from one end of the deck to the other. I looked at Aubrey. Yes, there in the pocket of his service-jacket, or rather fixed to the outside of it, was a fountain-pen that was dripping with every step he took. I played a coward’s part.

  ‘Aubrey,’ I said, ‘I must run now. And, by the way, I think your pen’s leaking or something.’

  I cannot remember what steps
were taken to restore the Commander of the Arcadian to consciousness; but I do remember that those ink-spots were still traceable when we went ashore ten days later.

  The second is in a letter from Mackenzie to Herbert remembering a meeting they had on Mytilene,

  How well I remember you, in the electric light of the gardens, which made more canary yellow than ever your canary yellow uniform. For luggage you had a typewriter, and you were wearing red Turkish slippers and the only thing that bothered you particularly was that you hadn’t got a tie. I remember wondering why you should bother about a tie when you only had one button on your tunic. However, next morning we went to look for a tie together and you pounced on one at a local hosier’s which you thought was just the thing and you still thought it just the thing even when I pointed out that it was covered with purple lozenges, lustrous as amethysts …

  Herbert was a popular figure amongst his peers at Gallipoli. He in turn developed a great admiration for those with whom he served and he wrote a series of poems about them, including one to the poet Rupert Brooke, a close friend who was to die during the Gallipoli Campaign. Herbert developed a particular admiration for the New Zealanders who, he felt, had all the dash and élan of the Australians and the discipline of the Englishmen. One of his poems, The New Zealander, was subsequently to be published in The Spectator in 1916,

  Samothrace and Imbros lie

  Like blue shadows in the sky;

  Scented come the wind from Greece

  Slow winged as the Soul of Peace

  All was still as evening came