1918
Savige and the other new arrivals were taken to a huge courtyard surrounded by high mud walls. Everyone awaited the arrival of ‘Stalky’, General Dunsterville.
The moustachioed, pukka, 53-year-old Britisher walked onto the parade ground to address the force. His first order, delivered warmly in a deep, sonorous voice, was for the men to move to the shade of trees.
He then began by telling them that he was an unwelcome guest of the Shah of Persia. He had just been told to leave with his force immediately. He had rebuffed the Shah, saying he had no intention of departing. Demonstrating a wry wit and a certain cheek, he had said: ‘I find this country most agreeable to me and my officers and men.’ He invited the Shah to come and evict him, if he wished.
It was a gentle bit of bravado that amused the force. He then related how he had gone to the Caucasus and had managed to bluff his way past Bolsheviks who had wanted to arrest him. Returning to why his force had come so far, he told the new members of the team that some would stay behind in Persia, while others would go into the Caucasus for special missions.
Dunsterville’s manner and strength of character impressed Savige immediately. ‘We knew we had a man of rare quality and stern determination to lead us,’ he would write, ‘and whatever he would ask of us would be more than attempted.’1
The general would ask a lot of them, but Savige and co. had been warned in London that survival was not guaranteed. The odds were against their achieving success. They were isolated, and about two weeks’ journey by road from a modest British garrison in Baghdad, which meant it would be no help in a crisis. On top of that, the Persian Government had expressed their displeasure concerning this small invading British force, and the Kurds in the region were hostile. The fact that the local population was going through a terrible famine meant they had to be helped rather than relied on for support. To make matters even worse, there were strong Turkish outposts only 350 kilometres away, south of Lake Urmia.
Savige and many of his fellow soldiers had rural backgrounds and could live off the land, but the famine would make this tough. Supplies from Baghdad would have to be brought over the mountains.
Savige’s first assignment was to take a mule train and a group of 32 Dominion soldiers – that is, Australians, New Zealanders and Canadians – along the main Azerbaijan–Tehran road to the Russian–Persian city of Kasvin and then on to Bijah, close to the Caspian Sea, where they would pick up a wireless section. Dunsterville had hopes of finding an unhindered passage all the way through to the key Azerbaijani port of Baku. But various patrol groups of Dunsterforce had reported back that the way was blocked by a powerful Persian chief, Kuchin Khan, and his 5000-strong army. There also remained the need to cut off the enemy on the main arteries of central Persia – hence Savige’s assignment, which began on 26 May.
There was a strong possibility that Savige’s group would encounter German or Turkish convoys, laden with gold, weapons and troops. By chance, they did not, and on 3 June they reached a village 10 kilometres from Kasvin, pitched camp and waited for further orders.
Savige was fatigued after a long march. He ordered his men to relax on the next day, Sunday. On the Monday they turned tourist and visited the bazaars at Kasvin. There was no sign of Turks in the city itself.
The men appreciated the more familiar feel of Kasvin, with its European architecture and wide boulevards, lined with trees that afforded shade in the more-than-50-degree temperature. The troops also patronised an attractive Russian hotel and had a fine meal of soup, mutton, vegetables and sweets. It was a far cry from the monotonous army fare of bully beef and rock-hard biscuits.
The next day, Tuesday 6 June, Savige was ordered to move to the Caspian Sea itself, if possible. The proviso was because that 5000-strong Persian force, led by Kuchin Khan, was in the area.
‘Our chances of moving forward [to the Caspian Sea],’ Savige later observed drily, ‘were somewhat meagre.’2
Savige waited until they were relieved by two cavalry units, then prepared to take his team on to Bijah via Zanjan, to cover and patrol two roads from Urmia. The city of Bijah, about 180 kilometres north of Hamadan, was one of three forward posts blocking Turkish movements.
Scouts warned Savige that this journey would be most dangerous. Armed with this intelligence, he had to inform his contingent that they might not make it through.
‘We can pray to God for deliverance,’ Savige warned them, ‘but the risks are unknown. I shall lead the force, but I must say I like challenges that give you some idea of the risks. That is why I am giving you all the option of dropping out, right here and now. There will be no stigma attached to a decision not to go on.’
Savige called for a show of hands by those prepared to go with him. Every man responded without hesitation.
‘I am honoured by your attitude,’ Savige said with deep-felt sincerity. ‘I pray that you all make it through. I will do everything in my power to make that happen.’3
***
The first leg to Zanjan was surprisingly easy, taking Savige and his men past rich country and vineyards. There were always reminders, however, of the butchery that tribes could indulge in with their time-honoured penchant for attacking anything, foreign or otherwise, passing through their territory: the skeletal remains of Russians, long since massacred then deprived of their flesh by vultures, were still evident. Every so often, cannibalised, overturned Russian trucks were seen where hapless convoys had been destroyed.
‘Yet, whether it was the fear of the British name,’ Savige later wrote, ‘or that exaggerated reports had been spread [about the efficient brutality of those travelling under the Union Jack flag], we were spared to pass through this hostile stretch of country without mishap.’4
***
A few days later, and midway to Zanjan, Savige and his force were alerted to possible danger.
‘Suddenly over the ridge galloped a band of well-armed horsemen,’ Savige would write. ‘On seeing our approach, they immediately halted and, after scanning our outfit for a few minutes, wheeled and galloped back along the road over which they had come.’5
He wondered if they were a scouting party for a larger, more menacing group. Once his team reached the ridge he had the answer. An armed band of Persians, under the control of Russian officers, ‘each carrying a rifle with fixed bayonet’, was coming their way. This cavalcade was an escort for a load of Russian arms and ammunition going to the Shah. Now out of the Great War against the Germans, the Russians were selling their military assets to gain important cash reserves from a very rich Shah.
Due to a previous agreement between the Russians and British, the Russians regarded Northern Persia as their territory. They had developed first-class roads to improve trade, as well as posts and blockhouses which were used to exact tolls from every passing convoy. Now, although not fighting the British, they would have felt no compunction about attacking Savige’s mule-train contingent if provoked.
But this was not their inclination on their current assignment. They were on an operation to escort their weapons to Tehran, not on a mission to look for any wayward British force. Still, Savige ordered his men and the mule train to continue as steadily as possible across the open country.
‘We moved on once more,’ Savige would write, ‘determined to put on a bold front and accept whatever was coming our way.’
The Russian–Persian convoy watched warily as Savige’s train approached.
‘The show ahead of us, though much stronger, was apparently every bit as much disturbed as we ourselves were . . .’ he noted later. ‘We were met by the [Russian] commanding officer who, in a very excited manner, began plying us right and left with such questions as, “Who are you?” “Where do you come from?” and “Where are you going?”’
Savige saluted the commander and gestured for him to stop by the road. Two armed horsemen accompanied their leader, watching for any strange move by Savige, who in turn was joined by a sergeant.
Savige offered the Russian a cigar, which was accepted. Savige lit it for his counterpart and in clear Russian said calmly: ‘I am Australian and my men are from other British Dominions.’
‘You are British?’ the Russian demanded with a frown.
‘Not strictly,’ Savige said, half in Russian. ‘We are travelling under the British flag. We have been in the region for some time and are leaving via the Caspian.’
The commander relaxed a little and drew on the cigar. He went into an embarrassing coughing fit. Savige gave him some water.
The Russian relaxed a little more. He became more polite. Savige’s unthreatening yet forthright demeanour had impressed him.
‘Where have you come from?’ the Russian demanded.
‘Me?’
The Russian nodded.
‘I have come from the Western Front.’
‘What was your role?’
Savige eyeballed the commander and said, deadpan: ‘Killing Germans. Lots of Germans.’
The Russian stared. When Savige did not blink, he laughed heartily and touched Savige’s shoulder in a friendly manner. The commander’s demeanour changed again, this time to respect. He bowed, then gave Savige directions for the best route to his claimed destination. He insisted on escorting Savige back to the head of his soldiers’ column.
The two convoys moved off in different directions in the oppressive heat. Once more Savige’s calm and grace under pressure had saved his men from capture, and possibly slaughter.
‘You had his measure, sir,’ the sergeant said in admiration.
‘It’s like cards,’ Savige said. ‘You have to know when to fold ’em and when to hold ’em.’
‘But how did you know, sir?’
‘I didn’t,’ Savige replied. ‘He [the Russian] didn’t either. It’s called bluff.’6