To celebrate the anniversary a number of notables and their ladies were invited to Notre Dame. An orchestra performed while liquor flowed. A number of Jerusalem prostitutes were also invited to entertain the officers. I was told that at least 50 well-known whores were among the invitees. Each officer enjoyed the company of one or two ladies in the garden compound. While this was happening, our brothers were fighting in the Dardanelles.158
The arrival of the British in December 1917 was greeted by most of the population with relief if not always joy. With communications once again open with Egypt and the rest of the world, trade slowly resumed and supplies flowed in. The British had gone to extreme lengths to establish efficient and adequate logistical support for their troops, and so the unpaid requisitioning of food and material ceased. While the political situation and future governing of the country remained very much in the air and a cause for concern for several years to come, daily life began to improve in most areas, although perhaps not quite all. The new, essentially secular society brought with it uncertainty, and an unfamiliar level of freedom for women. Writing in 1920, Khalil Totah and Omar Salih Barghouti also recorded that the British brought less welcome legacies:
During the war we witnessed the spread of social diseases among city folks, and we thought that this was a national product [of the war]. But when the German and Austrian soldiers arrived we found that they were worse [than us]. We attributed their behaviour to their contacts with the Turks. And when the British Army arrived, we found that they were even more degenerate, for there is no vice and immodesty that is beyond them. We concluded that war is the source of this moral corruption, especially since the city population, and especially those who live in the vicinity of army camps were much more degenerate than those who lived in villages and towns away from military centres.159
How welcome some of the longer-term changes and decisions made by the British were is still heavily debated, especially as their repercussions remain to this day. However, that is another, longer story.*
Notes
* This is very much the rough guide to the international politics surrounding Palestine during the First World War, and many complete volumes can (and have) been written on the subject without fully teasing out all of the machinations and manoeuvring, and their contemporary and modern implications and results. For more information, the author recommends Norman Rose’s A Senseless Squalid War, and Barbara Tuchman’s classic Bible and Sword.
* Until the First World War, the Ottomans maintained a system much like that of the Romans. Days were split into two periods, starting at dawn and dusk. Day and night were divided into twelve equal parts regardless of their actual length, so an hour became longer in summer and shorter in winter. The Western system was already in use by some government and military institutions, and became more widespread during the war. For one thing, the spread of electricity meant that dusk no longer meant the end of the practical working day, and for another much more precise timings were needed for military operations.
* A more common story has the Ottomans intercepting a pigeon carrying a coded message from Nili. The most recent academic study – Yigal Sheffy’s excellent British military intelligence in the Palestine Campaign 1914–1918 – offers the more convincing story of agents being apprehended while landing. A captured pigeon, even with a deciphered message, is extremely unlikely to lead back to any particular individual or location.
* The author would recommend Roberto Mazza’s Jerusalem: From the Ottomans to the British for a discussion of the shorter-term legacy.
120 Rose p. 7
121 Gilbert p. 30
122 Gilbert p. 28
123 Tamari pp. 86–7 Note: the reference ‘Tamari’ denotes information from the editor, ‘Tamari/Turjman’ denotes information from the diary.
124 Djemal Pasha p. 191 & p. 201
125 Montefiore p. 396
126 Montefiore p. 397
127 Tamari pp. 10–11 & pp. 58–9
128 Tamari/Turjman p. 94
129 Tamari/Turjman pp. 130–1
130 Montefiore p. 397
131 Gilbert pp. 30–3
132 Montefiore pp. 398–400, p. 416
133 Nogales Four Years p. 312
134 Tamari/Turjman p. 97
135 Quoted in Tamari p. 45
136 Uyar Ottoman Arab Officers
137 Tamari/Turjman p. 133
138 Sheffy British Intelligence p. 77, pp. 82–3, pp. 160–7
139 Djemal Pasha p. 202
140 Tamari & Nassar (eds) p. 93
141 Tamari/Turjman pp. 92–3
142 Aaronsohn Chapter 4
143 Tamari/Turjman p. 94
144 Tamari/Turjman p. 95
145 Tamari/Turjman pp. 154–5
146 Tamari/Turjman p. 141
147 Tamari/Turjman p. 142
148 Aaronsohn Chapter 7
149 Tamari/Turjman pp. 93–4
150 TNA FO633/101
151 Aaronsohn Chapter 7
152 Tamari/Turjman p. 103
153 Tamari/Turjman p. 107
154 Tamari/Turjman pp. 102–3
155 Tamari/Turjman p. 108 & p. 118
156 Tamari/Turjman p. 114
157 Tamari/Turjman pp. 109–10
158 Tamari/Turjman pp. 111–12
159 Totah and Barghouti The History of Palestine (1920) pp. 253–4, quoted in Tamari pp. 10–11
6
EGYPT 1917
WHILE THE OTTOMAN territories in Palestine and Syria suffered under the influences of the war, entering into a spiral of hunger, disease and oppression, the experiences of neighbouring Egypt were much more varied. The war presented a mixture of opportunity for some, and hardship for others. If nothing else, 1917 at least saw the end of the direct threat of enemy action against Egypt, with the final defeat of the Senussi in the Western Desert.
Britain had occupied Egypt since the 1880s, although at least nominally the country had remained a semi-independent part of the Ottoman Empire. The British Agency had complete control over the country’s finances, and thus by extension the rest of the government. Over time, the civil service, army, coastguard and other areas of public office had become increasingly dominated by Britons, and adapted to British principals and procedures. On 2 November 1914, the day that Russia declared war on the Ottoman Empire in response to an Ottoman attack in the Crimea, Martial Law was declared in Egypt. Six weeks later, on 18 December, the country was officially declared to be a British Protectorate, and all ties to the old empire were cut. The anti-British Khedive, Abbas Hilmi, who was at that time in Constantinople anyway, was deposed and his uncle, Hussein Kamel, appointed in his place. To complete the separation from the Ottomans, his title was changed from Khedive to Sultan. The existing post of British Consul was also changed to reflect the new relationship, becoming British High Commissioner. Sir Milne Cheetham held this post temporarily from the outbreak of the war, but was replaced by Sir Henry McMahon in early 1915. On 1 January 1917 he was himself replaced by Sir Reginald Wingate, formerly the Governor of the Sudan. Under Martial Law, however, power in the country was centralised into the hands of the army.
From September 1914 this meant General Sir John Maxwell. An old Egypt hand, he knew and was known by Egypt and the Egyptians. He proceeded with a light hand amid British fears that the declaration of war against the Muslim Ottoman Empire would see widespread Islamic rebellions in Egypt, Sudan, and even India. Together with McMahon, Sultan Hussein and the Egyptian Prime Minister, Hussein Rushdi Pasha, he worked hard to dissipate tensions, and minimise the effects of the war on Egypt. The country was promised that as little impact would be made on daily life as possible, although inevitably this promise could not be kept. Immediately, regulations were issued ordering each farm to dedicate a certain percentage of their land to the growing of food crops, as opposed to the more lucrative cotton.160 Regional boards were also established to buy up food at fixed prices, which proved unpopular. Various of the Capitulations, the laws decreeing that E
gyptian police and legal services could not interfere with Europeans, instead handing them over to the various embassies and consulates to be tried or punished, were suspended. This had a positive effect over all, although resentment simmered that they had not been revoked entirely. Censorship was imposed in the press, effectively shutting down nationalist newspapers and publishers. By extension, the censorship added to the nationalists’ grievances, while also closing many of the important channels for communication and discourse between political factions and with the government, heightening discontent and creating a pressure-cooker of pent-up frustrations.161
The arrival of the army in large numbers also provided mixed blessings. Individual Egyptians, especially in the major cities, faced increased mistreatment and abuse at the hands of the British, Australian and New Zealand troops. Some of this was clearly intentional and deliberate, but far more was simply ingrained habit as a result of the casually racist mindsets of the age. Few white men would have questioned the basic belief that the locals – ‘Gypos’, ‘Wogs’, and even ‘Niggers’ – were simply beneath them, and could be treated accordingly. Naturally, such treatment would hardly be popular with the Egyptians. On the other hand, the influx of tens, later hundreds, of thousands of soldiers led to lucrative new markets for local traders to exploit, dealing with either individual soldiers or the army as a whole. This did not just cover goods, but also services. The railways and ports expanded rapidly, requiring staff and labour; the number of local employees working in the harbour at Port Said alone rose to 15,000 by 1917, a situation reflected at Suez, Alexandria, and the new harbour being constructed at Kantara.162 Equally, local industry grew partly to provide material and goods for the expanding infrastructure and for the army, but also to process raw materials such as tobacco, cotton and sugar, which before the war would have been sent to European factories. For the first time, Egypt developed a significant industrial base, and industrial workforce.163
These new markets and new industries led to a growth in the economy. Even though expenditure also rose, government revenue increased even more. The financial year of 1915–16 saw a government surplus of over £1.1 million, rising to nearly £2.7 million the following year. However, these figures hid a rising crisis at the lowest levels. The economic boom, and the successes of the army in reconquering the Sinai Desert, led to problems from 1917 onwards. Some were simple issues such as the overstretching of the railway network; as the army built their railway across the desert and expanded the system in central Egypt, the supply of rolling stock and engines could not keep up. Services had to be cut, affecting both commercial and personal travel. Others sprang from more complicated roots, and interacted to heighten the problems. Probably the most serious of these for the majority of the population was the growing pressure on the fellahin, the Egyptian agricultural peasants.
By 1917 the army was requiring not only more food, but was also desperate for more transport animals. That year the cereal harvest was poor, but the army still insisted on taking their full quota, leaving the fellahin short of cereal for their own consumption or trading. As shortages increased so did the prices on the open market, but the army continued to only pay a fixed, relatively low, price. This robbed the fellahin of higher profits at the same time as it increased the cost of living, a distressing cycle to become trapped in. To add further hardships, a Purchasing Commission for Animals was established in November 1917. All landowners and peasants were required to bring their beasts of burden before inspectors, who could compulsorily buy any that were deemed fit for army use.164
At the same time as the fellahin were seeing their relative profits decline and their animals taken away, with the resulting fears for how they would manage in the coming year, some of the larger landowners were flourishing. Many found ways to circumvent the rules on acreages, and had quietly increased their cotton crops at a time when prices were four or more times higher than they had been at the start of the war. For the average peasant, seeing the rich get richer by flouting the rules that were making them suffer, while at the same time adding to the problem of food shortages and high prices, resentment was inevitable.165 While meat and sugar remained plentiful throughout the war, by the end of 1917 the shortages of wheat, maize and fuel were causing widespread suffering and discontent.166
Many of the resentments and problems came together in one large, high-profile, issue: the Egyptian Labour Corps (ELC), and its sub-unit, the Camel Transport Corps (CTC). The ELC had been established soon after the outbreak of war, to provide a body of labourers to work on improvements in the defences and infrastructure of the Canal Zone, and also to act as herdsmen and handlers for the army’s ration and baggage animals. For the first two years of the war, employment in the ELC had been a relatively attractive proposition. Wages were good, and contracts set at a three-month period. Discipline could be harsh, including physical beatings, but over all it offered the chance to accumulate an appreciable sum of money in a fairly short time-span.167 Rations were provided, and a canteen system established to allow labourers to supplement or vary their issued food. The profits from the canteens went into a fund to provide aid to men who had been injured while serving with the ELC, and the widows and families of those who had been killed. By May 1917 some 186,000 men had served with the ELC, and nearly another 60,000 with the CTC. Most had served within Egypt, although some had been sent overseas on six-month contracts; as of June 1917, some 10,000 were in France, 8,000 were in Mesopotamia, 1,000 at Mudros in the Aegean, and around 600 in Salonika. This experience of being sent far from home for longer periods was about to become much more widespread.168
By the middle of 1917, the war had moved a long way from Egypt’s main centres of population along the Nile Valley. Fewer men were inclined to volunteer, given the general perception that the war was now far away and, true to Britain’s promise, nothing more would be asked of them. Those that did volunteer spent longer in travelling to and from the army, especially given the common delays caused by shortages of trains. It became obvious to the British commanders that something would have to be done to ensure sufficient labourers and animal handlers would be available for the offensive being planned for late autumn. Indeed, without sufficient Egyptians helping in the rear areas, the big push may not even be possible. Therefore, steps were taken to ensure a sufficient supply. Contracts were arbitrarily extended to six months, including for those already serving, while pressure was placed on the Egyptian Government to conscript labourers rather than relying on volunteers. It seems that the British intention had been for the Egyptians to utilise the existing draft system used for the Egyptian Army, which called up only a fraction of those eligible each year. However, instead the government drew up set quotas, and passed the issue down to the regional governments. These in turn issued quotas to towns and villages, leaving it to mayors and headmen to provide enough people. Unsurprisingly, being forcibly removed from their homes to serve in someone else’s distant war (especially when working their land was becoming ever more important and difficult) proved deeply unpopular with the fellahin, and the blame was levelled squarely at the British.
The treatment of the ELC became a major issue across Egypt, even entering into popular culture. One widespread song that remained popular even after the war, although admitting that the wages were good and the back-pay (‘profit’) welcome, summed up the feelings of those who were forced to go far away, and into harm’s way, for the sake of someone else’s war:
Welcome back to safety
We went and returned safely
Blow your horn, oh, steamboat, and anchor
Let me off in this country [Egypt]
Who cares about America or Europe
There is no better than this country
The ship that is returning
Is much better than the one that is departing
Welcome back to safety
We went and returned safely
Who cares about the British Authority, it was all for profit
&
nbsp; We saved as much as we could
We saw the war and the violence
We saw the explosions with our very eyes
There is only one God and one life, and here we are
We left and now we returned169
Such issues were a golden opportunity for Egypt’s nationalists. At the same time that they were finding such fertile ground in both issues and audience, the very existence of the ELC, as well as industrialisation and other employment opportunities, was bringing about changes to make the fellahin more receptive to their ideas. For the first time since the 1850s Egypt saw large-scale movement of population. Many of the current generations had never strayed far from their own villages, but now they saw their country and met other people from all across it. As with the soldiers of Britain, Australia and New Zealand, and all of the Ottoman provinces too, a heightened awareness of the outside world was created, and with it a new sense of national identity was born. Quoted in The Storyteller of Jeruslaem, the Egyptian historian Salah Issa has asserted that:
They became attuned to life in the big city, in which they … would realize their dream of a more hopeful life than the life of village drudgery they came from … War gave them the opportunity to meet men from other regions which they had only heard about, and to travel in open markets and city boulevards which they had not dreamt of seeing before.
As this nationalism grew, the British failed entirely to connect or communicate with it. Censorship and controls on political activity closed many channels, while an increasingly physical distance also developed, not just between the government and the people, but also between the British military authorities and the Egyptian politicians and bureaucrats with whom they were supposed to work. This distancing had started when General Murray replaced Maxwell, and became worse when General Allenby replaced Murray in the summer of 1917. One of Allenby’s first actions was to move the headquarters of the army from Cairo out to the far side of the Sinai, to be closer to operations. This proved popular with the troops, but made direct communications with the Egyptian government much more difficult. It also reinforced the tendency for those ultimately responsible for administering the Martial Law to see Egypt purely in terms of being a base of operations for the army, there to support the campaign, rather than a country needing careful and sympathetic running as an end in itself.
From Gaza to Jerusalem Page 11
