Chapter 12

January 1916 The Battles of Sheikh Saad and the Wadi River

‘Without supplies no army is brave.’

(Frederick, the Great, Instructions to his Generals, 1747)

In Kut, the dearth of firewood was an increasing problem. Edward Mousley wrote that, ‘there is only enough available to cook one meal a day for the men and provide hot water besides for breakfast. Sometimes there is not even that. Theft of wood is punishable with death.’²⁰⁰ On New Year’s Day there was an unpleasant incident when a sentry of the 103rd Mahratta Light Infantry not only deserted his post but shot at an officer. He missed and, as he tried to get to the Turkish lines, was captured. The miscreant was swiftly tried by court martial, found guilty and summarily shot.

The weather broke on 3 January. It started to rain and the desert ‘sand’ slowly turned into a morass of glutinous consistency. It was to get a great deal worse in the weeks ahead.

General Aylmer’s task had become immeasurably harder as he strove to impose order on his troops, who were arriving piecemeal. Aylmer was under pressure from and being driven by Nixon to commence operations at the earliest possible date. This haste was the direct result of:

the succession of telegrams which General Townshend despatched from Kut during December. In these he urges, as reasons for his immediate relief, the dangers of enemy reinforcements and of determined onslaught by superior numbers, the impaired morale of his troops, heavy losses in British officers, anxiety as to ammunition, etc., etc. But it is noteworthy that throughout he never, except on 5 December, puts forward deficiency of supplies as a reason for accelerating relief.²⁰¹

It is extraordinary that a soldier of Townshend’s experience and grasp of military history did not call for a complete inventory of his food stocks until late in the siege. Similarly, there was an abundance of horsemeat available for all, except for those Indian soldiers whose religion proscribed horsemeat. Mellis and Delamain both urged Townshend to order the Indians to eat horsemeat, assuring him that they would comply, but he refused and, as a consequence, until late in the siege the Indian soldiers had little or no meat.

Turkish shelling caused a steady stream of casualties, and in an attempt to eliminate Townshend’s headquarters the hospital was hit. ‘Casualties now varied between 26–36 daily.’ There were a total of about 2,000 men who were incapacitated in some measure, a number added to by Turkish snipers using hollow point ammunition, ‘of the fashion and calibre of the Snider’, which caused soldiers and Arab civilians to suffer horrible wounds.²⁰²

1916 brought with it any number of changes. General Nixon was ailing, and had been for over a month. His ill health made him more irascible and unapproachable, but he was determined to see the campaign through to a successful conclusion. Unfortunately his judgement, sometimes questionable, was further adversely affected. He should have been cheered by the arrival of Sir George Buchanan, a civilian, who had hitherto been the official in charge of the major port of Rangoon. He was a man with a wealth of experience in Port Management and, on the face of it, a valuable new asset on Nixon’s staff. The intention was that he should become Director General of the Port of Basra, with the task of reorganising the facilities and traffic flow. It was not quite like that, and the Mesopotamia Commission Report observed:

It was unfortunately left to Sir John Nixon to arrange exactly what the duties of his position were to be. Differences naturally ensued. Sir George Buchanan’s powers were so limited by Sir John Nixon that the former considered that his services were not put to their proper use. After a short stay he returned to India.

It is not difficult to imagine the interface between these two men. Nixon was not temperamentally suited to the receipt of unwelcome advice and Buchanan was a subject matter expert who did not expect his advice to be disregarded. Nixon decided to limit Buchanan’s role to that of ‘survey, conservancy and dredging work’.²⁰³ The management of the port was not to be in his aegis, and Captain Huddlestone of the Royal Indian Marine retained that responsibility. Buchanan was not a man to trifle with; he promptly returned to India, where he drafted a report on what he had seen in Basra. Predictably, his report was damning. In it he said:

I found it difficult to realise that we had been in occupation of Basra for a year, as the arrangements for the landing and storing of goods and stores of every description were of the most primitive order and in the absence of roads, the whole area was a huge quagmire. To a newcomer appearances were such that troops and stores might have been landed, for the first time, the previous week. … The military expedition to Basra is, I believe, unique, inasmuch as in no previous case has such an enormous force been landed and maintained without an adequately prepared base.²⁰⁴

On the river, things were getting better, at least in offensive terms, and Captain Nunn’s command had been much reinforced by the arrival of Butterfly, Cranefly, Dragonfly and Gadfly. Later in the year, Grayfly, Greenfly, Mayfly, Sawfly, Snakefly and Waterfly would also join the flotilla. These Fly class ships were 126 feet long with a 20-foot beam and they drew between 2 and 3 feet of water. They mounted a 4-inch gun, a 12-pounder and four Maxim guns. They were crewed by two officers and twenty ratings.

January 1916 was a black month for the British and Indian armies. The MC observed sadly that, ‘the history of the attempts to relieve Kut is melancholy reading enough – a record of prolonged struggle carried on with inadequate means under abnormal conditions of atrocious weather and terminating in failure.’²⁰⁵

History reveals that the fate of Kut and its garrison was really settled in January 1916. A series of small but costly actions were to be fought in that month, marked only by the appalling losses and the suffering of the British and Indian soldiers who were engaged. The betrayal of this army was not yet complete.

The first optimistic move of the Tigris Corps to relieve Kut was an advance up both banks. This commenced on 4 January, in heavy rain, over muddy ground, and was the precursor to the Battle of Sheikh Saad. The bad weather had prevented any aerial reconnaissance and Aylmer had no accurate intelligence as to the size of the force opposing him. Townshend had signalled that he had seen two Turkish divisions, bypassing Kut and heading downriver. Further signals advised Aylmer of major Turkish troop movements. Despite these omens, Aylmer was not inclined to change; he went ahead with his plan and decided that Major General G.J. Younghusband,²⁰⁶ in command of the advanced 7th (Meerut) Indian Division, would lead the Corps.

Younghusband took passage in Gadfly with Nunn. Contact with the enemy was not established that day and 7th Division camped for the night about 5 miles from the village. The weather temporarily cleared and aeroplanes could operate; they supplemented further intelligence reports that indicated that Nureddin had 30,000 men and forty guns around Kut, and that he intended to defend Sheikh Saad with about 10,000 men, who were entrenched on both sides of the river.

51. The area fought over in order to save the 6th Division. (Map by Geographia Ltd)

The settlements along the river are no more than reference points, as in themselves they had no strategic or tactical value. They provided no defensive advantage to the occupying force.

Aylmer’s instructions to Younghusband were not entirely clear, and nor was visibility the following morning when a thick mist enveloped the area. 35th Brigade (Rice) was to move up the left bank and 28th Brigade (Kemball) up the right bank. The GOC would follow in Gadfly, heading a flotilla bearing stores, ammunition and food. The earlier rain had exacerbated the quagmire and, for the infantry, it was very hard going.

The protective mist suddenly cleared and, about 2 miles away, both brigades could just discern what appeared to be a line of Turkish trenches. The infantry moved into extended line and marched resolutely towards the foe. It was very brave, but foolish; the Turkish artillery soon came into play. As the lines, now with many gaps, got closer, the enemy engaged them with small arms and the casualties started to accumulate. At 500 yards from the trench line it was clear that enough was enough, and the survivors went to ground and tried to scrape a hole. If they were successful, the hole filled, quickly, with water.

Younghusband’s orders had been ‘to hold the enemy in their positions’. But, by his unsophisticated march to contact and the exposure of both brigades to heavy fire and severe casualties without effective response, he had committed Aylmer ‘to a course of action from which there was no turning back’.²⁰⁷ This was the first of Younghusband’s professional errors but by no means the last.

A British asset was a boat bridge that, correctly used, would allow the British force the flexibility of switching its thrust from one bank to the other. As bridges go it was a pretty poor specimen but, in a theatre where nothing much worked, beggars could not be choosers. Aylmer told Younghusband to do nothing until the following morning, 7 January, and to meet him at the bridge.

It was an unpleasant morning, very humid and hot; more heavy rain seemed likely. The men of 7th Division had tried to rest but nocturnal thunderstorms and torrential rain had precluded sleep. The generals conferred, but the sole product of the conversation was a decision to resume the attack at noon.

52. The opening battle in the campaign to relieve Kut. (A.J. Barker)

Rice would hold his position with 35th Brigade while 19th Brigade (Denny) would sweep around Rice’s right and, supported by 16th Cavalry, roll up the Turkish left flank. 21st Brigade (Norrie) would follow Denny and act as a reserve. That was the plan, and Younghusband’s men were to move across open country with visibility now hampered by mirages.

When the attack went in on the left bank, 28th Brigade (Kemball), with the addition of 92nd Punjabis, was to advance ‘vigourously’ on the right bank. In the rear of 28th Brigade was the Corps reserve under the direct command of Aylmer, the GOC-in-C. Unfortunately, the objectives for the attack were difficult to identify, as the Turks were very skilled in concealing their trenches. They did not throw the spoil up to form a parapet, so in a flat landscape the only sign of the enemy might be their heads and, at 500 yards, that is difficult to spot. The ever-present mirages made it impossible.

19th Brigade (Denny) started at noon as ordered, and led by the Seaforths, headed out into the desert. Their enthusiasm, however, took them too far north and a large gap opened up between 19th and 35th Brigade. Norrie’s 21st Brigade, the reserve, had stopped to eat when a mounted staff officer galloped up and invited the Brigade to close up to the 35th.

The attack now went in. The objective was a line of Turks who were busy digging. When they sighted the British they dropped their shovels and disappeared from sight. Soon thereafter, the advancing British infantry came under fire from two directions. The attackers were exposed on a flat, featureless plain, they had no artillery support and the only option was to sprint for the enemy. The Black Watch had just been shipped in from Marseilles and in their journey to this war had marched 22 miles from Al Gharbi the previous day. The Jocks doubled forward, as did the Jats. The Seaforths too, but they were all halted about 300 yards short of the objective when they reached the killing ground.

The slaughter was immense.

The Seaforth Highlanders lost twenty officers and 380 men, and of the 485 6th Jats who had gone into action, only 150 were unwounded. The Black Watch had losses of similar proportions. Nothing had been gained, other than temporary possession of a few square miles of useless morass.

The Turks took advantage of this situation by making an attempt to get right round the British right flank; they had a large body of mounted Arabs in support. To counter this, Denny committed his small reserve and called on Norrie’s 21st Brigade for assistance. 41st Dogras and 9th Bhopals extended the British line to thwart the encircling movement and finally, but far too late, the British field artillery came into effective action, as did the 4-inch gun of HMS Cranefly. The effect was to halt the Turkish/Arab movement, and the Arabs turned tail and fled the scene. The Turkish infantry dug in about 400 yards from the hastily established British line and did not threaten further. They probably did not need to do so because aerial reconnaissance revealed that a new, large, mixed force of Turks and Arabs was massing out to the British right. The situation was temporarily stable, but there was no doubt as to the danger to the British right on the left bank.

Kemball’s 28th Brigade had enjoyed some success on the right bank. By 1600 hrs he had carried the forward Turkish positions, and the Indian soldiers of 92nd Punjabis, 51st and 53rd Sikhs had performed with great dash and commitment. On the far left of his attack, the 2nd Battalion, the Leicestershire Regiment, excelled; but at day’s end, sixteen officers and 298 men did not answer to their names. ‘28th Brigade suffered more than 1,000 casualties in the day’s fighting. Six hundred prisoners were taken and more than 350 Turkish bodies were buried.’²⁰⁸ Given the circumstances and the extreme fatigue of the men, the burial of enemy dead seems to be a laudable but unnecessary gesture.

Night fell, it got very much colder and, of course, it rained. Life for the Tommies and sepoys was grim and there was even the possibility of a painful death tomorrow.

The next morning was as hot as expected, with great mirage activity. The British dug to improve their trenches and received sporadic small-arms fire. At about the time any civilised gentlemen would be thinking about a cup of coffee, Kemball signaled Aylmer and said the Turks were withdrawing. Aylmer received the news with caution as he estimated that he faced 7,500 enemy on the left bank and 4,500 on the right bank.

While the generals were busying themselves planning the next move, water and food were brought forward. The walking wounded had struggled down to the riverbank, where a Red Cross flag hung limply. The hope was that there, at the very least, they would be tended by skilled doctors and crisp, sympathetic nurses. A hot meal and change of clothes would be wonderful. That was all but a pipedream.

The post-battle situation at Ctesiphon had been awful and a disgrace – this was worse, much worse.

7th Division had five field ambulances; unfortunately, they were still aboard ships heading for Basra, so only three doctors were available to deal with the 250 casualties anticipated by Nixon/Aylmer and their staff. The reality was that there were about 3,000 men in need of urgent treatment. The medical staff were overwhelmed. Only the most serious cases could have attention – and those likely to die were left to do just that. The wounded lay, under the sun, in rows:

Pathetic bundles of humanity lay on the riverbank clutching at the feet of anyone who walked past imploring, ‘Sahib, Sahib, the blood will not stop … a blanket Sahib … water …’ in the manner of the beggars who roamed Bombay and Calcutta. As they waited for treatment their wounds became septic, gangrene set in and many died even before they could be carried to the boats that were to evacuate them, downstream, to the already congested hospital at Amara.

Eleven days after the battle, a field ambulance hospital unit from Meerut on its way to the front found nearly 200 British and 800 Indians still lying on the muddy ground behind Sheikh Saad. Only a few had the first field dressing, applied on the battlefield, changed. Over 100 were suffering from dysentery: there were no proper sanitary arrangements and those unable to walk lay in their ordure, past caring and without hope. Sacks of food had been dumped in the open for their sustenance, but much of which was perishable had been ruined by rain; what was edible was hardly enough to go round. As there were only one or two cooks, and only few of the miserable casualties could help themselves, its [the food] availability was of little consequence.²⁰⁹

Aylmer decided that with the balance of his battered force his next attack would be at night. He brought forward those units that had not been overly exposed and Denny’s brigade was to lead the march. As they set off, a strong cold wind, accompanied by heavy rain, kept them company. The night march was a shambles. The guides lost their way and after hours spent trudging through clinging mud, 21st Brigade arrived at the location of 35th Brigade. The men were exhausted, cold and wet. As it happens, all the effort was unnecessary as the Turks were withdrawing. On the morning of the 9th it was discovered that the Turks had moved about 10 miles upriver to a position near the Ora ruins on the left bank of the Tigris and behind the modest Wadi River.

Sheikh Saad was occupied – for what it was worth.

This Turkish withdrawal, ordered by Nureddin, cost him his job; he was summarily sacked by von der Goltz and was unexpectedly replaced by his aggressive second-in-command, Khalil Pasha. This incident illustrated the relationship of the senior Turkish officers with von der Goltz. He was firmly in command and the campaign was to be fought on his terms.

The river was mined at Sheikh Saad, but the weapon was dismissed as ‘a somewhat amateur home-made type, which the enemy had used before Kurnah’²¹⁰ the previous year. The so-called Battle of Sheikh Saad had been one of attrition. Command and control was weak, the tactics lacked any form of subtlety, the fighting was ferocious and it was a portent of things to come. At this point, enemy losses during the three days of the operation, including prisoners, was estimated at about 4,500.

The downside was that British losses were 4,007, and it can be assumed that up to 1,000 of these were killed. ‘The results of the premature advance with a hastily collected force were becoming very evident. As regiments arrived in the country they were being hurried to the front, thrown into brigades often not their own, to find themselves within a short while in action with lack of guns, munitions etc., while the Turks had command of the air.’²¹¹

It was Nixon’s extraordinary decision that, as units arrived at Basra, the fighting men were dispatched to the front, and their equipment followed by their ‘first-line’ transport. The third priority was medical provision, ambulances, medical staff and their specialist equipment. ‘Second-line’ transport carried the soldiers’ blankets, tents and camp essentials. This second line was the lowest priority and, in practical terms, this meant that in the face of severe weather conditions, the men spent several weeks without anything as basic as a blanket. An old soldier’s first rule is, ‘never get separated from your bed roll’. In this case, old soldiers or not, they were all widely separated and for far too long.

The very first duty of a British officer is the well-being of his soldiers, and that is a priority that overrides all else. Nixon, and the Staff he directed, had clearly forgotten that, and emphatically did not do their duty. As a result of this dereliction, the men (and their officers) endured miserable life-threatening conditions, even before they went into action. Once again, the medical arrangements were utterly unacceptable.

This had been an inauspicious start in the quest to relieve Kut, and Captain Wilfred Nunn RN, a sailor fully engaged in these actions, was able to watch a debacle unfold and engulf his soldier comrades. Although the reader may find this litany repetitive, even depressing, Nunn deserves to be quoted in full. At page 204 of his book, he wrote:

The units of 3rd and 7th divisions had arrived at Basra in no regular order. When they left France it had been understood that they would be reorganised in Egypt – which they certainly were not. They had merely been packed into steamers as steamers became available. Some units were incomplete. There was a lack of staff officers, as some of the Staff had not come with the troops from France while others had not yet arrived. The deficiencies had to be filled by any officers available on the spot and from India. In addition, many of the units had been trained on different lines.

The inadequate river transport resulted in units going upriver at odd times, sometimes without their full equipment. Then, again, land transport at the front was lacking: the Supply and Transport Corps [Army Service Corps] were under their establishment [planned strength]. High explosive shell was scanty; aeroplanes were far too few to allow regular artillery observation; there were, for a long time, no proper anti-aircraft guns; while many of the guns and howitzers were of old patterns and the telephone equipment was both ancient and inadequate.

The force was short of sappers and miners; the bridging train material was inefficient. Medical personnel and equipment was short and sadly restricted. The generals represented these matters most strongly in the right quarters but felt bound to expedite the advance, relieve Townshend without delay and take the risks involved.

It was little wonder that morale was low. It was lowered further when an anonymous jobsworth decreed that the special allowance paid to Indian soldiers in France and hitherto drawn by the Indians of 3rd and 7th divisions should be discontinued on the irrefutable basis that Mesopotamia was not France.

The single trigger of the precipitate, ill-considered action by the Tigris Corps and the loss of 4,000 men so far, was Charles Townshend’s inaccurate estimate of his food stocks. Early on in December he had ruthlessly played the starvation card, and in so doing manipulated Aylmer and induced him to proceed in undue haste. Townshend’s estimates of his survivability were made in December. On 5 December, he estimated fifty-five days, on the 7th he raised it to sixty days and said he could hold out until early February. On 16 January, he endorsed his earlier estimate and said he had twenty-one days’ worth of rations left for British troops, seventeen for Indians. This confirms that he would run out of food on or about 7 February. The actuality was that the siege lasted until 29 April – 147 days, and well over twice Townshend’s estimate. The MC Report remarked:

It is strange that neither General Nixon nor General Aylmer seem to have thought of asking General Townshend how long his supplies would hold out; nor did General Townshend himself definitely ascertain this most important fact till several weeks after he was shut up in Kut. No doubt he had received positive assurances that he would be relieved within two months at the outside, and as he was satisfied that his supplies would easily last for that period he did not attach as much importance to the food factor as he ought to have done. However, this may be, telegrams from General Aylmer on 25 January and General Lake on 29th indicate the neglect of General Townshend to intimate his true position as regards supplies was one of the main factors in the hurried advance.²¹²

The reference to ‘one of the main factors’ is inaccurate. It was indisputably the main factor. However, when the MC took evidence, Townshend was comfortably housed as an honoured guest of the Turkish Government and so he was unavailable to explain himself.

The new Turkish defences behind the Wadi River were 3 miles in front of the Hanna Defile – that easily defended narrow piece of ground between the Tigris and the Suwaikiya Marsh. The Wadi operation was carried out from 12 to 14 January 1916 (see map on page 156). The British would be advancing over the same ground that Townshend had taken back in September 1915, but now facing a much more formidable foe; one that was certainly not going to allow a repeat of previous British tactics. This engagement was fought in extreme conditions of cold, rain, mud and poor visibility.

This second engagement is justifiably described as the Battle of the River Wadi. Success at the Wadi depended upon the British being able to outflank the Turkish left on the left bank (as always, looking downstream) but the Suwaikiya Marsh was a major feature, quite impassable and a factor to be carefully considered (see map on page 156). Aylmer had massive naval superiority and his gunboats were expected to inflict damage on enemy positions in the Hanna Defile.

The Turks, having withdrawn from Sheikh Saad, had established themselves behind the high-banked but shallow Wadi River, which flowed into the left bank of the Tigris. It was a modest obstacle for infantry and pack animals but of significance to wheeled vehicles, and in particular, the guns. The Turkish position was alongside the river and provided an obstacle to the British on their route, via the Hanna Defile, to Kut.

The weather was a negative factor and Aylmer’s soldiers had to cope with the worsening conditions. Nixon’s attitude was a further factor. This was not a man with flair, imagination or tactical awareness. He held the enemy in low regard and believed that the courage and training of the Indian Army were sufficient to ensure success. He was hopelessly out of date, logistically illiterate, and the stern lessons learnt on the Western Front were lost on him. His replacements from France well knew the folly of charging into the maws of machine guns, and readily dug in when an advance was suicidal. To Nixon, this was a manifestation of being what he termed ‘trench-minded’, the implication being that the troops lacked an offensive spirit. Unfortunately, Nixon was firmly in command and his writ still had time to run.

53. The Battle of the River Wadi. (Map was prepared for the Historical Section of the Committee for Imperial Defence and Ordnance Survey, 1924)

Younghusband realised that, if he crossed the Wadi, he had an opportunity and the space to outflank the Turkish line and seize the Hanna Defile. Accordingly, he based his plan on that premise but, unfortunately, there were several deficiencies. The first of these was the unavailability of accurate maps and, this being the case, he had no idea what hazards or features his troops would face. Secondly, Younghusband had insufficient men to effect his plan to envelop the position, and thirdly, there was to be that aforementioned difficulty of getting wheeled vehicles across the Wadi.

Kemball and his 28th Brigade were deputed to make a frontal attack and, by so doing, hold the Turks in position. 19th, 21st and 35th brigades were to be the encircling force. The Cavalry Brigade was to ‘operate’ beyond the infantry brigades in open country, but it was not given an objective and, without an aim, the Brigade contributed nothing to the battle. This was another of Younghusband’s errors.

Reconnaissance on 12 January yielded little in the way of firm intelligence on the lay of the land, which spread like beige carpet to the horizon. Old watercourses, canals and natural folds in the landscape were not obvious. What was obvious was that these modest features, wherever they were, could be exploited and would assume disproportionate value. They say that ‘In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king’, so in this flat, apparently featureless land, the concealed soldier was king.

Under cover of darkness, the three infantry brigades, led by the 35th, moved up to the line of the Wadi as part of the plan to extend the British right flank. There were 1,000 yards between the formations, which moved in columns. The approach to the ‘start point’ took most of the night and, when dawn broke, visibility was severely limited by mist. This was better than a smokescreen, but Younghusband did not take advantage and actually delayed his operation until the mist had cleared.

It was another serious error of judgement.

It was 0900 hrs before the cavalry splashed through the shallow water of the Wadi and climbed the steep opposite bank. 21st Brigade followed, but it was only now that the difficulty of getting wheeled vehicles across the river was appreciated. Ramps had to be constructed on both banks and these were dug by hand, from the unpromising local material. Delay was inevitable.

The need to get the artillery across the Wadi has been questioned by earlier historians, and the sketch map on page 156 shows why. Younghusband might well have sited his guns on the left bank of the Tigris River and short of the Wadi River with no significant increase in range, with minimal effort, and the attack could have been made earlier. As it was, Younghusband made his third poor decision of the day and, as a result, it was past noon before the gunners were able to join the infantry.

Meanwhile, Norrie’s 21st Brigade had set its sights on the Hanna Defile and headed in that direction, led by 1st/9th Gurkhas. At about 1100 hrs, while ramps were still being constructed behind them, the Gurkhas came under artillery and then small-arms fire. They halted and dug in about 200 yards short of what appeared to be the main Turkish position. The remainder of the Brigade and the 19th coming up behind changed direction and moved over to the right. The outflanking movement was still viable if the impetus was maintained. It was not.

21st and 19th brigades were in position to assault the enemy but then Younghusband made his fourth error – and it was still only early afternoon. He ordered both brigades to stand fast until the artillery was ready to provide support. The pause gave the Turkish commander time to reorder his defences and prepare for the attack.

Eventually, and when Younghusband had all of his force deployed to his liking, the two brigades advanced into a veritable torrent of fire and another expensive attritional battle ensued. Some Turks were seen to be withdrawing, and the conclusion was drawn that now was the time to commit 35th Brigade to sweep in from the far right and catch the enemy between the 35th and 28th brigades.

It came as an unwelcome shock when, as 35th Brigade moved in, it came under heavy fire from an unsuspected Turkish position. The assault was checked but, by late afternoon, 35th and 19th brigades had linked up.

There were countless acts of extreme bravery during this engagement, many of which went unnoticed and unrewarded. Sepoy Chatta Singh, of the 9th Bhopal Infantry, was the epitome of soldierly conduct. The London Gazette recorded in a citation that his award of the Victoria Cross was:

for the most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty in leaving cover to assist his Commanding Officer who was lying wounded and helpless in the open. Sepoy Chatta Singh bound up the officer’s wounds and then dug cover for him with his entrenching tool, being exposed all the time to very heavy rifle fire. For five hours, until nightfall, he remained beside the wounded officer shielding him with his own body on the exposed side. He then, under cover of darkness, went back for assistance and brought the officer into safety.²¹³

54. A representation of Sepoy Chatta Singh winning his Victoria Cross. (Internet source)

The Turks were proactive and, in the face of the move to encircle them, they pushed their left flank deeper into the desert towards the Suwaikiya Marsh. By unhappy chance, they found an old irrigation channel that provided a readymade defensive position. The British cavalry brigade, who could and should have influenced affairs, did nothing and its members were little more than interested spectators.

Nightfall brought the fighting to a close, and what should have been a decisive victory turned out to have been an unsatisfactory and expensive day for the 7th Division. It had suffered 1,600 casualties, of whom 218 were killed. 28th Brigade had accepted a disproportionate share of the casualties. Initially, its role was to hold the Turks in place but, later in the day, it was committed to a frontal assault over open ground. The apparently flat terrain concealed not only a larger force than anticipated but also one particularly well placed, lining the steep bank of the Wadi. Just in front of the Wadi and parallel to it, was a dry watercourse. When men of the 28th Brigade reached this obstacle it slowed the assault, confused the attackers and they were easy pickings for the Turks concealed along the riverbank.

During the night, von der Goltz withdrew his force to the formidable Hanna Defile and, on the 16th, allegedly visited the Turkish positions in front of Kut. His party was observed and a gunner officer called down fire on the party. The first and, as it happens, only round was well directed, but Townshend recorded:

I was very annoyed with the officer who ordered the gun to be trained on the Field Marshal and fired without my orders for I had great respect for the man whom I considered to be the leading strategist in Europe; I ordered the fire to cease at once.

This episode is beset by a series of different accounts. Major General G.O. de R. Channer, who was present, said that multiple guns opened fire. Braddon asserts, on the evidence of Captain H.S.D. MacNeal, that von der Goltz was not actually present and the target was Khalil. The significance of the incident is Townshend’s reaction to it. He compared his chivalrous gesture to ceasefire with that at Torres Vedras. There, a warning shot was fired to warn off Massena, who was reconnoitring the British position. The reality is that to spare the life of the man dedicated to the killing or capture of Townshend and all his soldiers is absurd, and in sharp contrast to a further incident that followed several days later.

Lance Corporal John Boggis recalled that he was with the GOC on his rooftop observation platform, and both were peering through slits in the steel plates that offered some protection from small-arms fire. They looked out over the Turkish lines, which by now ringed Kut with about 30 miles of trenches. In the distance, a solitary Turkish soldier was at the river drawing water.

‘Boggis,’ called Townshend.

‘Sir,’ replied his orderly.

‘Rifles! See that man over there?’ The General pointed out the distant figure.

‘We’ll have a go at him.’

Both men seized weapons and squinted over their sights. Townshend, with a borrowed and un-zeroed weapon, fired first. The man dropped, and his can, of no further use to him in this life, leaked its contents into the desert sand.

‘Mine,’ exclaimed Townshend exultantly, and Boggis was disinclined to argue in the face of the evidence. Boggis recorded that the General was a good shot and as he left the rooftop he was in high spirits and singing a music hall hit of the day: ‘When I was single my pockets would jingle. I long to be single again.’²¹⁴

Townshend was to make it a continuing practice to snipe at Turks squatting by the river, with remarkable success, but not with the unanimous admiration of his officers. One commented to the other members of his mess that it was ‘very unsporting – shooting sitting Turks’.

The lives of everyone involved in this campaign were dominated by one thing, and that was the ubiquitous Tigris River. It was the means of movement to battle and the means of evacuation of the wounded; it provided water to drink and was life-giving. It provided water in which to shave and so was an aid to strong morale. For those incarcerated in Kut, its dark brown waters were a protection, but when they rose they were a menace. It was a possible escape route, but it was also a barrier to freedom. It was variously too shallow, too sinuous, too fast-flowing. It presented opportunities and threats. It was never neutral and always a factor in military planning. For the Arabs and Turks it provided a route into Kut for spies, and was their convenient sewer. Accordingly, it posed a health risk to all, and especially to those on the bank and in Townshend’s sights.

It was a nightly occurrence for Arabs to slip into the water, buoyed by an inflated goatskin, in an attempt to get to the Turkish lines. A few deserters tried the same tactic. On their arrival the welcome was not just warm; it was red hot. Most arrivals were shot out of hand; any surviving sepoys were issued with black uniforms that served to identify them. Few made old bones.

In Kut, lice had taken their place alongside the bloody flies as objects of unbridled hate. They were the product of dirty clothes on dirty flesh. They were the heralds of disease and death for many.

A tentative probe of the Hanna line showed that the Turks were as obdurate as ever and that the path to Kut would have to be forced. In the besieged town, Townshend ordered a re-evaluation of his food stocks and on 16 January he signalled Aylmer that he had food enough for twenty-one days for British troops and seventeen for his Indians; he added that in addition, he had fodder for five days, tinned meat for three, meat on the hoof for seventeen and tea for eight. On this basis he could survive beyond his earlier 7/8 February deadline. Townshend’s latest forecast should have reduced the debilitating urgency that so far had been at the centre of Aylmer’s endeavours. However, Nixon, by now right at the end of his period in command, was determined that the Tigris Corps should press on regardless, and signalled to that effect.

Aylmer’s Corps licked its wounds and regrouped. It found that burying the dead presented a challenge in the morass. Reconnaissance of this next daunting objective brought home to Aylmer the magnitude of his task and the impossibility of a successful operation on the left bank. On the night of 16/17 January, he telegraphed to Generals Nixon and Townshend as follows:

The position of affairs must be frankly faced. The enemy is blocking the entrance of the Wadi–Nukhailat Defile with very strong works and, judging of his dispositions within them, they have been designed to resist a heavy bombardment from across the river as well as attack in front. His bivouac shelters seem to indicate that he may have with him the whole 52nd Division and two regiments of the 35th and 38th divisions, but of course I cannot be certain of this. Emplacements for nineteen guns have been seen, eleven of which are designed to fire across the river. Behind, in defile, there is a single line of entrenchments … between marsh and river, probably 1½ miles long. Behind, again, is the Es Sinn position. It is impossible, in my opinion, to take the first position by a coup de main from this side alone without losing half the force. … I do not think that our progress as an entire force can be anything but very slow.²¹⁵

55. The Battle of Hanna. (Prepared by the Historical Section of the Committee for Imperial Defence)

This is a very gloomy but probably reasonable judgment by Aylmer, given the experiences of the previous two weeks and the intelligence he had to hand. He held the view that the best way to proceed was for Townshend to break out, cross the river on to the right bank with the largest force he could muster and then march around the Turkish position at Es Sinn. Aylmer would then send one division across the river with an additional cavalry brigade to meet him.

That is not quite as easy as it sounds. Although Townshend had fifty mahailas besides other river craft available for the crossing, he would have to abandon his sick and wounded, and his artillery. Any river crossing would be contested and success was not assured.

Nixon put a stop to this outline plan immediately, saying, ‘I do not in any way agree with your appreciation. … The course you now propose for Townshend in your telegram would be disastrous from every point of view – to Townshend’s force, to the whole of the forces in Mesopotamia and to the Empire, and I cannot sanction it.’²¹⁶ He went on at some length and provided his estimation of enemy forces at 5,000 between Aylmer and Kut. This, the latest and final of Nixon’s estimations, was no more valid than any of those that had preceded it. However, it was to be his last.

We will return to Aylmer and his tribulations, but other significant aspects of this campaign were being enacted elsewhere.

*  *  *

Finally, on 19 January 1916, Nixon left India. The reason was the ill health that had affected him from early December. He was not sacked but had asked to be relieved. In a final message to Townshend he said that he had (as requested) recommended Charlie for command of the Tigris Corps and promotion to lieutenant general.

Both recommendations were most unlikely to come to fruition as promotion was dependent on the command of a corps and, given his domestic circumstances, Townshend was not available to command anything other than the garrison in Kut.

Duff appointed Lieutenant General Sir Percy Lake KCB KCMG, his 60-year-old chief of staff, to replace Nixon in command. Duff had only a small pool to pick from as the most talented of his generals had all been sent to France. Lake was probably the least bad choice, although Hardinge regarded him as ‘an old woman’.

Duff had written to the Viceroy on 6 January 1916 on the subject of Nixon’s replacement, and the following day Hardinge replied, saying that the appointment ‘did not inspire me with any confidence’ since, in his view, Lake was ‘indecisive, easily biased and too old for active duty’.²¹⁷

56. Lieutenant General Sir Percy Lake KCB KCMG.

The Campaign in Mesopotamia, the Official History, in dealing with this very important change of command, said of Nixon’s service:

By his ability, determination and the confidence he inspired in his force – and after overcoming very great difficulties with limited means – General Nixon had achieved unbroken success during his first six months’ operations in Mesopotamia. … At the end of this period General Nixon had found himself with his advanced force well on the road to Baghdad and with only the broken remnant of a frequently defeated Turkish force to bar his further progress. He was aware that the capture of Baghdad was deemed to be politically desirable and it appeared to him that he would be to blame if he missed the opportunity, which circumstances appeared to offer him.

He failed.

On the one hand it has been said that his plan was based on political and military miscalculations and attempted with tired and insufficient forces and inadequate preparations. On the other hand there are those, who were on the spot and in a position to judge, who say that it was only through sheer bad fortune that he failed to achieve his object. War is not an exact science; no commander has ever achieved great military success without incurring risks and committing mistakes.²¹⁸

That is a very generous summation of Nixon’s performance, and the writer made every effort to be even-handed and to limit criticism of Nixon. In fact he attributed to Nixon a quality of generalship he clearly lacked, and this despite having had the benefit of the MC Report, published in 1917, and Townshend’s memoir, published in 1920. Moreover, in implying that the neglect of Nixon’s soldiers might have been the product of ‘sheer bad fortune’, F.J. Moberly damaged the authority of his otherwise excellent The Campaign in Mesopotamia 1914–1918, published in 1924.

*  *  *

The incompetent, culpable Nixon was being replaced by another general of doubtful quality, and it did not auger well for the fresh troops now arriving at Basra to face, first, the trillions of flies, second, the unbridled chaos of the inadequate port, and next, the rigours of soldiering in the ill-named ‘Garden of Eden’ in order to bring relief to the denizens of Kut.

On 8 January, the British evacuated the Dardanelles. By so doing, they released Turkish divisions for service in Mesopotamia, and there was credible intelligence that from two to five divisions would soon join the Kut theatre.

As the year turned so, in Simla, Hardinge and Duff were the recipients of unwelcome reports of a medical debacle in Mesopotamia. Duff did not at first respond, ‘knowing from experience that in unsuccessful operations, carried out under difficult conditions, hardships must occur and that complaints were often unduly exaggerated.’²¹⁹

On this basis Duff did nothing.

Aylmer’s reasonable attempts to involve Townshend, to some degree, in assisting in his own (Townshend’s) salvation, had been firmly squashed by Nixon, and that left the Corps Commander with very few other options. Townshend had estimated that only 4,000 men could be ferried across the Tigris in one night, twenty hours would be needed to get the guns over and seventy-five hours for the animals. In addition to these difficulties, the Turks were solidly ensconced behind their well-built defences in the Hanna Defile.

Although a breakout by the 6th Division or any part of it was a nonstarter, nevertheless, in Kut a plan had been prepared and codenamed Project ‘E’. A main body commanded by Townshend and composed of two weak brigades, each of 2,500 men, was to cross to the right bank and seek to cooperate with Aylmer’s relieving force. Meanwhile, Kut was to be defended by about 4,000 – a number that included the sick and convalescents.

Previously, Townshend had declared his strength as being 12,400, so there is a discrepancy of about 3,000 men who are unaccounted for. This is of no practical consequence as Project ‘E’ was never activated, but it does cast doubt on the authenticity of the plan.

Nixon, sick man that he had been, nevertheless made major decisions without viewing the ground over which he expected his soldiers to fight. Aylmer had been defeated twice and his confidence had taken a frightful blow. He was only too aware that unsuccessful generals get the sack and knew that unless he was able to take the Hanna Defile and open the path to Kut, his career was facing oblivion. To add to Aylmer’s difficulties, Sod’s Law came into play. A boat bridge had been built across the Tigris and this would provide him with the means of switching his troops from bank to bank as required. Just after its construction was completed the bridge was struck by one of the steamers in gale force conditions. The component parts of the bridge that were not destroyed drifted off downstream. Repairs could be made, but the bitter cold and driving rain made it testing for the sappers who were called forward to assist.

The persistent bad weather was affecting not only the morale and efficiency of the troops, but also their health. The unremitting exposure to the elements was taking its toll before Hanna but in Kut as well, where men stood up to their waists in flooded trenches.

Townshend’s senior doctor, Colonel P. Hehir, advised his commander that scurvy had broken out among his non-meat-eating Indian troops. Their gums exuded pus, their teeth had loosened in their sockets and their breath was foul.²²⁰ Sick lists were growing daily.

There were still in Kut 3,000 horses and mules. They were being slaughtered routinely and the Christian element of the garrison lived on unpalatable but welcome horse stew. Townshend, despite protestations to the contrary, did not hold his Indian soldiers in much affection, but it was now clear that he had to address the matter of their diet. The perceived wisdom was that those Indian soldiers who ate horseflesh would be damned in their villages at war’s end. No girl would take such a man as a husband and he would be unwelcome in the family home. In a phrase, it was social suicide to eat horseflesh; well, the reality was a little different.

If Townshend, an officer of the Indian Army, had been closer to his men, he would have known that Sikhs were not overly concerned over the issue, Gurkhas were entirely pragmatic and it was only the Muslims who were immoveable on the matter. Townshend asked Simla to obtain religious dispensation for his Sikhs, Dogras, Rajputs and Gurkhas. This was swiftly obtained, and just as Mellis and Delamain had been counselling for weeks, once given this dispensation and ordered on 21 January to eat horse, most of the soldiers readily complied. Only the most devout of the Muslims did not.

A German aeroplane made an appearance and, although unskilled, its capacity to drop small bombs added to the trials of the garrison.

Battle casualty replacements had to march up the long river line from Basra in the dreadful weather and were obliged to halt at Kurnah and Amara on the way. The weather, and in particular the strong winds, affected the river steamers. The ships, with their high profile, were unable to steer an accurate course up the winding river and their sailings were interrupted or postponed.

Aylmer, who was, by now, an older and wiser man, realised that he had to make better use of all his assets and determined to move some of his artillery across to the right bank in order to enfilade the Turks. The master plan was not sophisticated and, apart from a more comprehensive artillery programme, a frontal attack was all that the General could muster. The ground was firmly to the Turks’ advantage. An attack from a flank was quite impossible. There was only one approach, so deception was not on the menu. The Turks had the river on their right and the now flooded marsh on their left. Their trench line was only about a mile wide but it was defended in considerable depth. The ground over which the British were to attack was already a muddy morass, and the proposed artillery bombardment would make the ground even more so.

57. Pack animals and soldiers make their way across the Mesopotamian ‘desert’. Note the depth of mud. (Henry Weaver)

It was going to be a tough nut to crack.

In order to spot for the guns, observation ladders or scaffolding were necessary. The slightest fold in the ground concealed everything behind it and in the forthcoming battle the artillery carried a great responsibility. Aylmer had forty-six guns and the firepower of the two gunboats Cranefly and Dragonfly. In total, Aylmer’s available artillery bore no comparison with the support available to a division on the Western Front, where hundreds of guns, firing for several hours, would precede a divisional operation.

The intention was that, on 19 January, the Turkish line would be bombarded, from two directions, the wire destroyed and a frontal assault would sweep forward and take the enemy position. How simple is that? In the event, the weather was so appalling that the operation was delayed. The Turks kept on digging and they put the respite to good use.

British intentions were signalled to the enemy on the 20th when a brief artillery strike fell on the front line. This served to identify the British objective if anyone was at all in doubt. The following day the dose was to be repeated as a precursor to the infantry attack; nevertheless, this planned artillery programme was far too small to be effective.

On 21 January, the weakened 7th Division prepared for its test. The Division was only at brigade strength, and of the established strength of 9,000, only about 4,000 men were fit. In the face of the manpower deficiency 21st Brigade’s battalions had been dispersed among the 19th and 35th brigades. This was an entirely logical measure but was not without its problems. These battalions were now working with complete strangers at every level. Younghusband deployed his two brigades, with 19th on the right and 35th on the left. He had planned his assault meticulously but much depended upon the efficacy of the preliminary bombardment by those forty-six guns.

There was a carefully calculated, timed programme: after the cessation of the bombardment and when a foothold had been made in the first line of Turkish trenches, ‘bombers’ were to move along the Turkish position clearing out survivors. In the plan, provision was made to deal with prisoners.

Townshend reported that he had seen about 3,000 Turks moving back towards Kut, complete with guns; this message was taken by Aylmer at face value. This was a serious error and Townshend’s veracity, always doubtful, should not have been relied upon. The conclusion was incorrectly drawn that the preliminary bombardment, on 20 January, had been so effective as to cause Khalil/von der Goltz to withdraw. Aylmer’s conclusion was strengthened when Turkish artillery did not reply. The assault planned for the 21st looked likely to be a walkover.

A mist that covered the defile delayed the dawn attack; this prevented the gunners registering their guns. This registration should have been unnecessary after the ‘stonk’ of the previous day. Nevertheless, Younghusband waited (again) for the mist to clear and this, of course, was much to the benefit of the Turks, who had clear line of sight of their attackers. The advantage that the mist had offered to the British infantry had been spurned and, when the guns finally came into action, any initiative had been surrendered. The bad news was that the Turkish wire was not destroyed.

The infantry was launched at the Turks across a muddy swamp. The pace of the assault was slowed by the conditions. The Black Watch, on the left, covered the first couple of hundred yards, but the Turks, far from sheltering from the British guns, were in a position to respond with small-arms fire. The kilted warriors started to take severe casualties. Together with some Jats, a small group of Scots got into the front line and did sterling work driving their opponents back to their second line. It did not last, and well-organised counter-attack retook the Turkish front line and saw the death of the occupying Scots and Jats.

Only two officers and fifteen men of the Black Watch survived this attack and a fine battalion of an outstanding regiment had been reduced to company strength. It was no longer a viable fighting unit. This repulse on the left of the British line was repeated right along the front. Over on the right, two battalions of Dogras, brave men that they were, got about twenty-five men into the Turkish front line.

There they all perished.

Communications between the Divisional Commander and his brigades broke down and Younghusband, who had established his headquarters about a mile behind the British line, was unaware of the disaster unfolding to his front. The telephone line was cut and the conditions underfoot made nonsense of the word ‘runner’, on whom all communications now depended. Any movement on this battlefield attracted fire and runners had a low life expectancy. The attacks of the 7th Division petered out in the deep mud of the Mesopotamian desert. Captain F.W. Page-Roberts was a witness to the aftermath, and wrote in a letter:

Some of the wounded drowned; some died of cold; many were picked off by the watchful Turks; all suffered agonies. One of them shot through the leg lay all day in no-man’s-land. As bullets began to splash around him, once the battle had stopped, he scooped a wall of mud around his head, and then around his shoulders, and then around his legs, until he lay in a sort of mud coffin, lacking only a lid. The water inside it getting deeper with the rain and redder with his blood.

Most of that night he lay there too. He was found by two stretcher-bearers, who carried him for more than three hours – dropping him twice as they fell into holes, to the ambulance point. Here he was given rum and lay for another three hours in the rain. Then onto a cart, to be wheeled to the river, where, sardine-like, he was packed onto the open deck of a boat – which reached Basra six days later.²²¹

The man whose dreadful experience is described above was actually and incredibly one of the fortunate ones. As night fell it became possible to try to bring in some of his comrades. Even the unwounded suffered in the extreme conditions, and according to contemporary accounts the night of 21 January 1916 exceeded in misery, horror and pain anything previously seen in this God benighted campaign. The medical staff strove manfully under an impossible burden; 2,700 men (of 4,000) needing medical aid, and the surviving 1,300 could not cope with the responsibility of caring for their comrades lying in deep mud out in the darkness. Gallant, willing soldiers who had given of their best went to their Maker in the ghastly wind-lashed night as wounded men, suffering from shock, died of exposure.

Medical arrangements that had failed at Ctesiphon, Kut, Sheikh Saad and the Wadi failed again, but this time it was, ‘the most complete breakdown of all’ (MC Report). Tents had been erected in the casualty clearing centre in ankle-deep mud. Wounded, bleeding men, under the brutal light of hurricane lamps, were laid in this saturated tract as the two sections of five field ambulances gave of their inadequate best. HMS Julnar had been designated as a hospital ship and patients, if they were lucky, were carried in the infernal army transport carts to the riverbank and on to the ship. Many others spent the night in the rain and wind in an AT cart. This text has repeatedly reported on the grievous medical situation, and the fact that it has been repeated again here serves to underscore the crashing, ongoing incompetence of a command structure that betrayed those it directed.

After the event, not unreasonably, Aylmer criticised Younghusband for not following his quite specific instructions, which were to ‘hold the enemy and not commit himself’. The latter admitted receiving the order and said in his defence that he advanced and ‘felt the enemy hard on both banks.’ So be it, but he had clear instructions. Later giving evidence to the MC, Aylmer said that he had ‘fought the action on the Wadi against his better judgement, acting under superior orders and that he had proposed another plan of attack, which was not accepted by Headquarters.’²²²

Aylmer had a direct and personal responsibility to ensure that his force was, in all respects, ready to fight an intractable foe. The unavailability of doctors, nurses and equipment must have been known to, in ascending order, Younghusband, Aylmer, Nixon and now Lake. All of these senior officers are culpable. Their men deserved very much better.

The torrential rain continued unabated and trenches filled with water. The Tigris broke its banks and both sides now focused on surviving the weather. The Turks, too, were cold, wet and thoroughly miserable. However, their wounded were spread across a smaller area and more easily recovered.

Aylmer decided to ask for a six-hour truce, not a suggestion to which the Turks readily agreed. Eventually, under a white flag, both sides made a start on burying the dead – very difficult in a flooded landscape – and collecting more of the wounded. At this point, on to the battlefield appeared ‘Arabs’ or perhaps Turkish soldiers. These people set to work killing the wounded and stripping the dead. It was monstrous behaviour, and white flag or not, British and Indian soldiers ran to help. Belatedly, Turkish officers intervened and the murder ceased. Barker, no great admirer of the Arab in any of his forms, concluded that these murdering jackals were in some way allied to the Turks, who were ashamed of the association (p. 177).

On the morning of 22 January, Aylmer signalled to his new commander, General Lake, and to Townshend that he had to cease his attack because of the parlous state of his troops and the atrocious weather. He commented on the added obstacle that the rapidly increasing floods presented. With this message the odds on a relief of Kut lengthened considerably.

Historians, among them A.J. Barker, have concluded from the comfort of an armchair that the Battle of the Hanna Defile should never have been fought. With 20/20 hindsight, it is evident that the 7th Division was on a hiding to nothing. Younghusband’s leadership was consistently poor; he had still not factored in the quality of his opposition or the impregnability of its bunkers. The employment of his limited artillery was flawed and his inflexible approach gave the Turks advance warning of his intentions. The weather conditions were dire and, if anything, favoured the defence.

Colonel Barker was right.

The worsening situation in Mesopotamia, of which this debacle was the latest in a series, was kept under wraps by a comprehensive censoring process, and the letters that soldiers wrote home went through a fine censorship filter. The despatches of war correspondents were also very closely controlled and no criticism of either the political direction of the campaign or the military leadership was permitted. The means of communication were severely limited, and they too were under government control. The official position was that all was well; only the blandest reports were permitted to leave the country. This thoroughly unhealthy and dishonest official attitude gave blanket protection to those who were failing miserably in their duty.

However, in Kut, Townshend had control of the telegraph system and used it fully for his personal use. He sent copious messages to his many theatrical friends and to his family. To his discredit, he prevented any of his soldiers using the same facility, and one signalman who did seek to reach his family had his message intercepted by a ship of the Royal Navy, at sea. He was reported to Townshend and referred for trial by court martial – the outcome of that is unknown.

Political correctness was not invented in the twenty-first century, because it was alive and well in Mesopotamia in 1915–16. The expression ‘friendly Arab’ was proscribed²²³ on the basis that it inferred that there were unfriendly Arabs – of whom there were a multitude. All manner of euphemisms were employed to describe these people, such as ‘marauder in Turkish pay’ and ‘Kurds and others’. The myth was propagated that food was plentiful, morale very high, the health of the troops could not be better, and ‘Medical problem? What medical problem?’ In the years since and in the countless campaigns that have been fought over the last hundred years, nothing much has changed – today the ‘spin’ is more sophisticated but no less dishonest.

58. The GOC and staff officers of the besieged 6 Indian Division. Captain Clifton ADC, Major E.E. Forbes DAD Transport, Colonel Annesley ADS & T, Colonel U.W. Evens GSO 1, Colonel P. Hehir ADMS, General Townshend (Braddon). This is a rare image of Colonel Hehir, perhaps the only senior medic to emerge from Mesopotamia with his professional skills recognised.

On 26 January, in besieged Kut, Townshend was aware of the failure at the Hanna Defile and he issued a communiqué to his troops. The style is unmistakably Charlie. He addressed his remarks to his soldiers and said:

The relief force under General Aylmer has been unsuccessful in its efforts to dislodge the Turks on the left bank of the river, some 14 miles below the position of Es Sinn, where we defeated the Turks in September last, when their strength was greater than it is now. Our relieving force suffered severe loss and had very bad weather to contend against. They are entrenched close to the Turkish position. More reinforcements are on their way upriver, and I confidently expect to be relieved during the first half of the month of February.

I desire all ranks to know why I decided to stand at Kut during our retirement from Ctesiphon. It was, because so long as we hold Kut the Turks cannot get their ships, barges, stores and munitions past this place and so cannot move down to attack Amarah. Thus we are holding up the whole Turkish advance. It also gives time for our reinforcements to come upriver from Basra and so restore success to our arms; it gives time to our allies, the Russians, who are overrunning Persia, to move towards Baghdad. I had a personal message from General Baratoff, commanding the Russian Expeditionary Force in Persia, the other day telling me of his admiration of what you men of the 6th Division and troops attached have done in the past two months and telling me of his own progress on the road from Kirmanshah, to Baghdad.

By standing at Kut I maintain the territory we have won in the past year at the expense of much blood, commencing with your glorious victory at Shaiba, and thus we maintain the campaign as a glorious one instead of letting disaster pursue its course down to Amarah and perhaps beyond.

I have ample food for eighty-four days and that is not counting the 3,000 animals, which can be eaten. When I defended Chitral some twenty years ago, we lived well on atta²²⁴ and horseflesh, but I repeat, I expect confidently to be relieved in the first half of the month of February.

Our duty stands out plain and simple. It is our duty to our Empire, to our beloved King and Country, to stand here and hold up the Turkish advance as we are doing now, and with the help of all, heart and soul with me together, we will make this defence to be remembered in history as a glorious one. All England and India are watching us now and are proud of the splendid courage and devotion you have shown. Let us all remember the defence of Plevna, for that is what is in my mind.

I am absolutely calm and confident as to the result. The Turk, although good behind a trench, is of little value in the attack. They have tried it once, and their losses in one night in their attempt on the fort were 2,000 alone. They have also had very heavy losses from General Aylmer’s musketry and guns, and I have no doubt that they have had enough.

I want to tell you now, that when I was ordered to advance on Ctesiphon, I officially demanded an army corps, or two divisions, to perform the task successfully. Having pointed out the grave danger of doing this with one division only, I had done my duty. You know the result and whether I was right or not; your names will go down to history as the heroes of Ctesiphon, for heroes you proved yourself in that battle.

Perhaps by right I should not have told you of the above, but I feel I owe it to all of you to speak straightly and openly and to take you into my confidence. God knows I felt our heavy losses, and the suffering of my poor brave wounded, and I will remember it as long as I live. I may truly say that no general I know of has been more loyally obeyed and served than I have been in command of the 6th Division.

These words are long, I am afraid, but I speak straight from the heart, and you see I have thrown all officialdom overboard. We will succeed; mark my words. Save your ammunition as if it is gold.

This lengthy document did no more than express Townshend’s aspirations. His first sentence was a not very subtle comparison of his stunning victory at Es Sinn and Aylmer’s failure against a weaker enemy in the same place.

The reality was that he held his Indian soldiers in ill-disguised contempt. He made very few visits to his wounded, languishing in hospital, and then only to the British soldiers. The tenor of his remarks is inappropriate for a general officer. That said, Townshend did enjoy the affection of his soldiers. He was an extrovert, positive personality and he was pushing on an open door because a soldier wants to like and respect his senior officers. It is the ‘factory setting’, in computer terms. However, the closer one served to Charles Townshend, the less effective were the rose-tinted spectacles and the more one was likely to be critical of him.

General Sir Percy Lake, in his previous appointment in India, as Chief of the General Staff, had been privy to all the countless signals that had flowed between Basra and Simla and, not unreasonably, thought that he had a handle on matters in Mesopotamia. Little did he know of Nixon’s longterm manipulation of the facts and the depth of his deceit. Nevertheless, in that earlier appointment, Lake had wide-ranging responsibility for the conduct of the campaign and the logistic support, or lack of it. He cannot be excused for his failure to identify all the problems and resolve them.

By any yardstick, and although duped by Nixon, he had failed.

However, it was only on his arrival in mid-January 1916 that he quickly discovered just how bad the situation was and the extent to which Nixon had misled him. He was appalled by what he found. Lake made a start on sorting out the mess, but this was not going to be a quick fix and he was not the man best equipped to tackle the deep-rooted issues. Although Nixon had left Lake a dreadful legacy, Hardinge still, surprisingly, gave his unqualified approbation to the erstwhile commander-in-chief.

Major General M. Cowper CB CIE, the officer responsible for ‘in-theatre’ logistics, warned Simla that the paddle steamers that were now being provided were unsuitable for use on the Tigris, and the square-ended barges that were arriving did not meet the specification and were also unsuitable. Cowper drew the conclusion that these were factors that would adversely affect attempts to relieve Kut. General Duff reacted very badly and wrote back to Lake, saying:

Please warn General Cowper that if anything of this sort again occurs or if I receive any more querulous or petulant demands for shipping, I shall at once remove him from the force and will refuse him further employment of any kind.²²⁵

Cowper’s duty was to raise these issues and although his precise form of words is unknown, he did not deserve such an unvarnished threat in response. This shows Duff up to be a foolish bully and is probably indicative of his attitude to the whole campaign. Duff’s anger washed off on Lake, who, of course, he had only just selected. Duff was Lake’s superior, but the two would have had a long professional and social relationship.

Lieutenant General Sir Percy Lake KCB KCMG was sixty years of age and his appointment was intended to be temporary until a War Office nominee could take up the job. He was very closely acquainted with all the senior officers serving in the theatre. For example, he knew Townshend very well and, in 1913, he had had to rebuke him for stepping over the line (again) when Charlie was commanding a brigade. Lake had supported the appointments of Barrett, Nixon, Townshend, Aylmer and Younghusband. Inevitably he had a personal relationship with all of these officers and it is the nature of an army that he would have felt a sense of comradeship towards them all. Aylmer, for example, had only months previously been Adjutant General of the Indian Army, and his office had been in close proximity to that of Lake.

The new Army Commander boarded a steamer on 24 January, and journeyed upriver to consult with Aylmer and to see for himself the conditions facing his front-line soldiers. He left behind an abject shambles in Basra and found a different shambles above the Wadi River when he arrived on 27 January. The medical debacle of the week before had still not been fully resolved, the wounded had not been cleared, nor had all the dead been buried.

Lake now commanded about 63,000 men – a vast force, of which 15,000 were British and the balance Indian. However, of his 63,000, no less than 8,000 were hospital cases and a further 15,000 were in some way unable to take their place in the line. His effective strength was of the order of 40,000 and so, numerically at least, he was about as strong as von der Goltz.

59. An illustration of how barges were used to increase the capacity of river steamers. (IWM)

Aylmer could only muster 14,000 at best, although 11,000 reinforcements were en route, weather permitting. As recently as 20 January, intelligence sources advised that 36,000 Turks had left the Dardanelles to confront the British. It became clear that Lake’s priority remained the relief of Kut. He had the opportunity to take command in the field himself but, after some blunt discussions, Lake returned to Basra on 29 January, leaving operations in the unsteady hands of Aylmer. Lake’s insurance policy was in the shape of Lieutenant General Sir George Gorringe, whom he appointed as Aylmer’s chief of staff. Gorringe, at forty-seven, was a generation younger than Lake or Nixon, and noted for his ruthlessness.

Lake returned to the chaos of Basra. The Indian Government, recognising that all was not well, had overreacted to Lake’s initial request for three months’ reserve of ‘materiel’ in all its varied forms. Ships hurried to Basra and there they lay at anchor for weeks waiting to be unloaded as there were still no wharfing facilities. Utter disorganisation was the order of the day. The dearth of trained and specialist staff officers added to the problem and poor Lake had, unknowingly, exacerbated existing problems.

Aylmer regrouped, was reinforced, considered his options and worked to maintain his corps in the bleak desert. The month of February 1916 saw no further serious fighting, but in Kut the privations of the siege were manifest. Edward Mousley was one of many whose health was starting to fail. He recorded in his diary that:

The horse rations have fallen way to very little; we give them pieces of palm tree to gnaw on. The rheumatism is much worse. It is bleak and cold in the observation post. One can only psychologise viciously on the point of view between a full man and an empty one. Eating maketh a satisfied man, drinking, a merry man, smoking, a contented man. But eating, drinking and smoking maketh a happy man.

It is not far from the truth to say I have today none of these. For by eating one cannot mean a slice of chaff bread, nor by drinking a water-coloured liquid like our siege tea, nor yet by smoking a collection of strange dried twigs and dust. Man, it has been most excellently observed, cannot live by bread alone. How much less, then, can he live on half chaff and half flour? [Mousley’s italics.]²²⁶

In the early spring of March 1916, it finally became clear to the myopic IG that things had gone very badly wrong in Mesopotamia and a day of reckoning was not too far distant. General Duff recognised that it was time to try, at this very late stage, to ameliorate at least some of the damage. In London, disquiet over the management of the campaign in Mesopotamia had come to a head. Kitchener, the Minister for War, and Lieutanant General Sir ‘Wully’ Robertson, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, agreed that enough was enough. The War Committee called for a comprehensive evaluation of the situation and the upshot was that, with immediate effect, the Imperial General Staff in London would assume responsibility for operations in Mesopotamia.

This was a hugely important, completely correct decision – because it prised the hands of Hardinge and Duff off the levers of military power. If it was perceived to be a severe, if veiled, administrative rebuke, that is because it was.

It was the closing days of the tenure of Charles Hardinge as Viceroy, but urged by Chamberlain in early December 1915, he had caused Duff to initiate an inquiry to report on the medical arrangements in the theatre of his concern. The first attempt at an investigation, in January 1916, had gone off at half cock and failed miserably. Later, and when all the chickens had come home to roost, Hardinge sought to give the impression that the abortive mission was quite independent of any advice, instruction or action from London.²²⁷

The two worthies selected to look into the matter were Lord Chelmsford and Surgeon General MacNeese (soon to replace Babtie). Chelmsford had already been named as the successor to Hardinge and so he did not appear. MacNeese, a weak personality, was ‘got around’²²⁸ by Nixon and consequently produced a report so unsatisfactory that it was scrapped.

By now, news was filtering back to Britain, and even the King and Queen let it be known that they were disturbed by what they had heard.²²⁹ Austen Chamberlain, Secretary of State for India, was fully aware that things were going seriously wrong. Despite that, General Sir Beauchamp Duff was decorated with the Grand Cross of the Star of India (GCSI) in March. This can only have been with the agreement of Hardinge and Chamberlain, and possibly with the acquiescence of the King Emperor, in whose name the award was made. Lord Curzon wrote privately to Chamberlain expressing his disgust, saying of the decoration, ‘What for the Lord only knows – hardly for Mesopotamia.’²³⁰

Meanwhile, valuable time had been lost. In March 1916, a new commission was formed and Sir William Vincent, a senior Indian civil official, and Major General A.H. Bingley, two of the members of this commission, began their duties. They were subsequently joined at Basra by the third member, Mr E.A. Ridsdale, a Red Cross Commissioner.

This group became known as the ‘Vincent-Bingley Commission’. The report of this commission was swiftly compiled and was signed on 29 June 1916. It was not published, but was utterly damning, and dismayed Duff and the acolytes around him.

The three members of the Commission did not pull any punches and, having visited Mesopotamia, they had taken evidence first-hand from participants on all sides of the medical scandal. They named those whom they judged to have failed in their duty, and if Duff had ever thought that Vincent-Bingley would ease the pressure, he got that very, very wrong. The Report threw graphic, specific, fresh fuel upon the fire and inflamed the opinion of those who read of the grotesque deficiencies of the medical service in Mesopotamia.

Duff, faced with that uncompromising and bleak report, then complained bitterly about the very enquiry he had instigated. Much later, when giving evidence himself to the MC, he claimed weakly and unconvincingly that Vincent-Bingley had exceed its brief and delved into matters not of its concern. It was too late for Duff; he had shot himself in the foot – well, both feet, actually.

A flavour of Vincent-Bingley is this extract from its Report:

The absence of any river steamers equipped for the transport of sick and wounded, and of any separate medical establishment for such vessels … has had more prejudicial results than almost any other defects in the organisation. It has constantly delayed evacuation, dislocated medical arrangements and caused great suffering and injury. So long as operations were confined to the immediate vicinity of Basra there was no need for any such transport but directly columns advanced up the Tigris, Euphrates and Karun the necessity of some means of speedy evacuating the sick and wounded by water became apparent.²³¹

That report and all its repercussions lay in the future. Meanwhile, deep in the desert, Aylmer was convinced that the key to success was for Townshend to attack the Turks from the rear, and he lived in hope that at some stage this concept would find support.

On the face of it, Townshend’s message on 23 January to Aylmer and Lake was supportive. Townshend suggested that there were three possible courses open to him in the event that Aylmer could not reach him. These courses were: first, to attempt to break out of Kut by crossing the Tigris to the right bank and then to make straight for Sheikh Saad, being met halfway if possible by a column sent by Aylmer; second, to hold Kut to the last; and finally, for him to open negotiations with the enemy seeking terms for surrender.

Townshend had no intention of breaking out, but he raised the matter confident that it would be rejected. Holding Kut ‘to the last’ had the required and expected heroic ring but raised the spectre of defeat. Townshend had a pipe dream that von der Goltz and Khalil, filled with admiration for his brilliant advance to Ctesiphon, his masterly withdrawal to Kut and his tenacious defence of that town, would allow the garrison to march out to freedom bearing its weapons.

It was never going to happen, but Charlie had plans for his own salvation and an element of that was his intention of establishing a relationship with his adversaries. Braddon argued that the anger Townshend displayed when the artillery fired on Goltz was indicative of his undeclared aim. Later events added credence to this theory.

Nixon had vetoed a break-out and now, just as Charlie expected, Lake did the same. The only other highly unattractive option was a further frontal assault by Aylmer. The stumbling block was the well-defended – and formidable – Dujaila Redoubt.

Chapter notes

200 Mousley, E.O., Secrets of a Kuttite, p.50. There are no recorded instances of anyone being tried, found guilty and executed for this offence.

201 MC Report, p.31.

202 Townshend, C.V.F., My Campaign in Mesopotamia, pp.235–6.

203 Moberly, F.J., The Campaign in Mesopotamia, p.281.

204 MC Report, p.56.

205 Ibid, p.31.

206 Major General Sir George Younghusband KCMG KCIE CB (1858–1944).

207 Barker, A.J., The Neglected War, p.153.

208 Ibid, p.156.

209 Ibid, p.157.

210 Nunn, W., Tigris Gunboats, p.203.

211 Ibid, p.204.

212 MC Report, p.31.

213 LG Supplement, 21 June 1916.

214 Mr J. Boggis in an interview with Braddon, The Siege, p.161.

215 Moberly, F.J., The Campaign in Mesopotamia, p.261.

216 Ibid, p.261.

217 Duff to Hardinge, 6 January 1916, and reply, 7 January. Hardinge papers, 103/No. 2075 & 1528.

218 Moberly, F.J., The Campaign in Mesopotamia, p.264.

219 Ibid, p.351.

220 Eato, H., interviewed by Braddon, R., quoted in The Siege, p.188.

221 Page-Roberts, F.W., quoted by Braddon, The Siege, p.170.

222 MC Report, p.32.

223 Barker, A.J., The Forgotten War, p.176.

224 Atta is the hard wheat flour commonly used in South-East Asia to make a dense bread. Atta is not only the flour but also the name of the bread it produces.

225 Wilcox, R., Battles on the Tigris, p.105.

226 Mousley, E.O., The Secrets of a Kuttite, p.82.

227 Gould, D., ‘Lord Harding and the Mesopotamia Expedition and Inquiry’, The Historical Journal, December 1976.

228 Hardinge to Chamberlain, 10 March 1916, Chamberlain papers, 62/2. Chamberlain note of 17 July, Crewe papers, M/15(2).

229 Stamfordham to Chamberlain, 28 February 1916 and E.W. Wallington to Chamberlain, 29 February, Chamberlain papers, 46/2/65,67.

230 Curzon to Chamberlain, 17 March 1916, Chamberlain papers, 23/1/2.

231 Vincent–Bingley Report, absorbed into the MC Report at p.64.