by Peter Hart
The struggle had lasted for hours – hours of toil, fire-fighting and rescue. There was no danger that was not faced. All had attacked the raging flames like heroes. Suddenly, with a terrific roar, a wall had collapsed and buried four good fellows. We dragged them out from the smoking ruins of the masonry. Four German seamen had given their lives at the burning of a Turkish barracks. All Constantinople sincerely mourned these four brave Goeben men. The funeral was a thing never to be forgotten.3
Seaman Georg Kopp, SS Goeben
On 28 June 1914 the assassination in Sarajevo of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, by a Serbian nationalist triggered an unfortunate sequence of events. Posturing diplomacy, precautionary mobilisations, alliance commitments and long-standing military plans added lethally to the mix. At first the Turks watched from the sidelines with a degree of hope that the situation would turn out to their advantage, as had been the case in the Second Balkan War. One young Foreign Office official at the British Embassy watched the fluctuating Turkish moods with a professional eye:
We gazed on distant war-clouds through the light glow of Japanese lanterns. The change came with the publication of the Austrian note. The feeling that predominated at Constantinople at the outset was more or less a reflection of that which, as far as we could see, obtained in London; sympathy with Austria was considerable amongst diplomats. Austrians are generally liked as personalities, and from Constantinople the Serb can be observed rather too closely to pass for a ‘chevalier sans reproche’. The Turks, I fancy, in so far as they understood it all, were in the first phase not sorry that Serbia was to get a trouncing. Later, they rejoiced in the thought that thieves would fall out and honest men come by their own, and they calculated on a Turkish re-conquest of Salonika, for Greece was at that time their bête noire.4
Charles Lister, British Embassy, Constantinople
When it became apparent that the situation was escalating out of control, it became equally evident that isolation could be very dangerous in a world at war. Turkey needed strong friends; the question was how to choose them? There were attractions to an alliance with Germany, whose military and naval resources would be a sure source of strength. Germany also posed a less immediate threat to Turkey than the Entente Powers of Britain, France and Russia, as she had far less obvious territorial ambitions.
It is difficult for us to make out the Turks’ attitude towards Germany. I don’t think the Turk has any liking for the German; he looks on him as useful, and has boundless confidence in his efficiency. It was this conviction, that Germany was sure to win, which had to be met. There is, after all, something to be said for those who were throughout convinced that it was in Turkey’s interest to go to war on Germany’s side, such as Enver and others of the soldiers. Turkey could alone hope from the Central European Powers for any reversal of the Balkan settlement arrived at in 1913; France was herself at war and therefore unable to lend Turkey money. This fact precluded any possibility of peaceful regeneration and raised the spectre of internal disruption and the fall of the Enver regime. Add to this the dazzling nature of the German promises.5
Charles Lister, British Embassy, Constantinople
On the other hand, the other Central Powers – Austria-Hungary and Italy – were recent enemies and enduring grievances remained. It was a complex situation, with no clear-cut course of action evident to most Turkish politicians. Some favoured an alliance with the Entente; others an armed neutrality. Although there was a fair degree of confidence that Germany was capable of defeating the French and Russians, there was an equal hesitation to trust their entire future on such a gamble. Many Turks also feared that their army was not yet ready for war so soon after its traumatic experiences in the Balkan Wars. Crucially the key Young Turks, Enver, Djemal and Talaat, were in favour of an alliance with Germany. Ignoring doubts even in their own cabinet, they negotiated a secret Turko-German alliance. Under the treaty conditions Germany promised to help recover the Turkish territories lost in recent wars and to guarantee her current borders – if Turkey joined the war in the event of a Russian attack on Germany. The whole treaty was immediately overtaken by events when, the day before it was to be formally signed on 2 August, the Germans declared war on Russia. This did not prevent the Germans exerting pressure on Turkey to join the war, but a lack of consensus among Turkish politicians severely restricted the actions of the pro-Germany faction, especially when Italy and Rumania both failed to honour their treaty obligations to join the war. Although the Turks began their long mobilisation process they could hardly leave their Balkan and Russian borders unguarded as Europe plunged into war.
Amid this state of febrile diplomatic tension the Turks were rashly provoked. It was almost as if the British government had set about creating a situation designed to deliver a pre-packaged Turkey into the ranks of the Central Powers. First, there was a staggering degree of laissez faire at the Foreign Office. When the crisis reached its heights, where was Sir Louis Mallet, British ambassador to Turkey? It might have been expected that he was straining every sinew to counter the machinations of his German opposite number Baron Hans Freiherr von Wangenheim. Incredibly, he was on holiday from 14 July to 16 August. He should of course have returned to his post in Constantinople in order to monitor the local situation, analyse the possibilities and judge what diplomatic responses could be made. In circumstances where a simple gesture of friendship to Turkey might well have resolved the situation and maintained her neutrality – which was, after all, her default position – the British exuded nothing but casual indifference.
Yet it went far further than that. The gradual loss of her offshore islands in the Aegean had drawn Turkey’s attention to her fundamental naval weakness. The British Naval Mission had been advising expenditure on destroyers or torpedo boats to defend home waters, but the Turks looked forward to a possible resumption of war with Greece and so had contracted to purchase two dreadnought battleships constructed in British naval yards. The exorbitant cost of these ships was met by public subscription – the Sultan Osman and the Reshadieh were therefore close to the hearts of the Turkish people. They were fast approaching completion in the summer of 1914. With war imminent it was tempting for the British to take over the two ships and at a stroke augment the Grand Fleet for the naval battles with the German High Seas Fleet. The man who had to make the decision was the First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill. He sought legal advice and was informed by a senior legal officer in the Foreign Office that there was no precedent for seizing foreign warships in time of peace; if at war it was a matter of right and the question was simply whether or not to exercise that right. At that time Britain and Turkey were not at war; indeed, Britain was not at war with anyone. The political risks were high but Churchill was by nature an adventurer and he decided that the shipbuilders should use every means possible to delay, indeed actively thwart the departure of the two ships. Then, if war came, they were to be seized immediately. In taking this course of action Churchill had clearly decided that the acquisition of two dreadnoughts was well worth the risk of a dangerous rupture with Turkey. The ships were finally taken over on 1 August.
But was it worth risking Turkish neutrality at this crucial time in 1914? To turn Churchill’s later arguments against him: was it worth risking the geographical isolation of Russia, the closure of the Dardanelles, a new menace to the hard-pressed Russian Army in the Caucasus and a possible threat to the Suez Canal linking Britain with India and the East? Was it worth risking all this for a couple of battleships? The dreadnoughts were desperately needed. The German High Seas Fleet could pick its own moment to secure maximum advantage when the Grand Fleet, given the usual problems of ships refitting and the vagaries of war, might have only a bare superiority, or even mere parity. Yet when the consequences of war with Turkey are factored in, the effect of adding the renamed Agincourt and Erin to the Grand Fleet was ultimately to drain away far more capital ships and the precious destroyer escorts to th
e far reaches of the eastern Mediterranean when the situation in the North Sea was still by no means resolved.
Despite this grievous provocation, when the British declared war on Germany on 4 August the Turks still backed off. For the moment at least they would examine their options and remain neutral.
The Turks had viewed our entrance into the field with mixed feelings; they had hoped we should look on and, in company with themselves, play the part of the fox that sucked the bone for which the lions were fighting. They were rather impressed by our intervention; but I doubt if they thought we could really do much to benefit our allies, who in their view were certain to be beaten crushingly. The Turk has very little idea of sea power as a factor in war. He imagined that England could not come to very much harm, but he could not conceive sea power as an aggressive force in world warfare.6
Charles Lister, British Embassy, Constantinople
Germany did not give up hope and, to their ill-concealed chagrin, the officers at the German Military Mission in Turkey were ordered to remain at their station pending the outcome of events. This was a wise decision for the slow-burning fuse of Turkish resentment at the confiscation of the Sultan Osman and the Reshadieh would continue to gnaw at the entrails of Turko-British relations. Despite this, with splendid duplicity, the Turks even pondered the unlikely possibility of an alliance with Russia. It seemed for a while that the most that Germany could hope for from Turkey was a benevolent neutrality. But then again, in a short war, that was all that Germany required.
Meanwhile, a pair of grey shadows was flitting across the Mediterranean. Early on 4 August, the Goeben and the Breslau, under the command of Rear Admiral Wilhelm Souchon, failed in an attempt to disrupt the embarkation at the French North African ports of Bone and Phillipeville of the French XIX Corps bound for Marseilles and deployment on the Western Front. The French Mediterranean Fleet seemed paralysed by the onset of war with Germany on 3 August; in particular, its commander, Vice Admiral Augustin Boué de Lapeyrère, was fixated with the necessity of covering the safe passage of the troop convoys rather than any thought of seeking out and destroying the Goeben. His overall tardiness and obsession with convoys rendered his entire fleet redundant in the operations that followed. He could, and should, have intercepted the Germans, but his obtuseness allowed them to steam off unscathed.
Souchon then suffered a heart-stopping moment at 09.46 on 4 August when he encountered the British battlecruisers Indomitable and Indefatigable under the overall command of Captain Francis Kennedy. It was unfortunate for the Royal Navy that the British ultimatum to Germany had expressly stated that war would start at midnight on 4 August, some fourteen hours later – in other words, they were technically not yet at war. Kennedy, proving himself neither as disobedient, reckless, nor as resourceful as his illustrious predecessor Lord Horatio Nelson, sailed past the Goeben on the opposite course, before turning hard about to pursue his prey in accordance with the tedious strictures of international law. Now it was a race and, as the Goeben was theoretically capable of higher speeds, the question was whether she could reach her top performance hampered as she was by her increasingly fragile boilers. It was a matter of life or death and every available man was sent deep into the bowels of the ship to assist the stokers.
The overheated air affected lungs and heart. Shut off from the outer air by the armoured deck, we worked in the compressed atmosphere forced down through the ventilators. There was an infernal din going on in the interior of the ship. The artificial draught roared and hissed from above into the stokeholds, drove into the open furnace doors, fanning the glowing coal and swept roaring up the smoke stacks. In that hell below, with a temperature of 50° Centigrade, coal was wearyingly trimmed and flung into the furnaces.7
Seaman Georg Kopp, SS Goeben
Despite their engine problems, the German ship managed to outstrip the pursuing British battlecruisers and disappeared into the night long before the midnight deadline was reached. Souchon hastily refuelled at Messina, Sicily, thus taking advantage of the continuing Italian neutrality, but well aware that he would be obliged to leave within twenty-four hours. By this time Admiral Sir Archibald Berkeley Milne, Commander of the British Mediterranean Fleet, had disposed his battlecruisers west of Sicily with the intention of blocking off Souchon should he attempt to resume his attacks on the French convoys or break through to the Atlantic. Only one light cruiser, the Gloucester, watched the southern exit of the Messina Straits. At the same time the Defence, Warrior, Duke of Edinburgh and Black Prince of the 1st Cruiser Squadron, under Rear Admiral Ernest Troubridge, were stationed to guard the approaches to the Adriatic where it was feared that the Goeben might be heading in order to augment the Austro-Hungarian Navy (despite the fact that Austria’s enemy status was not yet formally confirmed). When the Goeben and the Breslau emerged on 6 August the Gloucester tracked their progress and signalled to Troubridge in good time for him to make an interception. Weighed down by the uncertainties of engaging a modern German battlecruiser with his obsolescent armoured cruisers, Troubridge knew that he would be outclassed.
It was plain I could never bring her to action in the open sea. Her speed – 27 knots – her effective gun range of 14,000 yards against our speed – a doubtful 19 – and effective gun range of 8,000 yards ensures her escape at any time she so desires, or alternatively, a position of great advantage at a range which we could not hope to hit her, while making four good targets for her long range fire.8
Rear Admiral Ernest Troubridge, HMS Defence, 1st Cruiser Squadron
Troubridge, all too aware of his vulnerability, rightly or wrongly, chose to avoid action. Even as he took the decision to turn away early on 7 August, he was in tears.9 Afterwards he would prove the perfect scapegoat, not wholly blameless and therefore ideal to conceal the incompetence of others. Once again Souchon was able to disappear into the night.
Unknown to the British and French naval commanders, Souchon had been given new orders to try to reach Constantinople following the signing of the Turko-German treaty on 2 August. The Germans were well aware of the potential damage to the British if they could inveigle Turkey into the war; the Goeben and Breslau offered them a real opportunity. The British were still far more preoccupied with their hopes and fears for a decisive clash with the High Seas Fleet in the North Sea; the question of the exact whereabouts and activities of a single German battlecruiser was of far less importance to the Admiralty, although they still managed to send a stream of confusing signals which further muddied the situation in the Mediterranean. A similar distraction engaged the French Navy, which by then had more than half an eye on the possibility of a major fleet action with the Austro-Hungarian Navy. And so it was that at 17.00 on 10 August Souchon appeared, as if by magic, off the entrance to the Dardanelles, whereupon the Goeben and Breslau were allowed safe passage by the Turks, their arrival cloaked by the transparent ruse that Germany had ‘sold’ them to Turkey to replace the ships ‘stolen’ by perfidious Albion. Not only did this present the Germans in a very flattering light but also the near-miraculous escape of the German ships was taken to show that the Royal Navy did not, after all, rule the waves. At a stroke the attractions to Turkey of the putative alliance signed with Germany became all the more tempting.
Yet, despite it all, the Turks were still prevaricating, still avoiding a formal declaration of war. Meanwhile, the British ineffectually protested that as Turkey was neutral the German warships should have been turned back, the Goeben and the Breslau interned and their German crews expelled. The Turks were more than willing to promise that the crews would be sent back, but were reticent as to when that might happen. Britain had been comprehensively hoist by her own petard. Within days the British Naval Mission in Constantinople was first sidelined and then rendered redundant as the redoubtable Souchon was appointed to command the Turkish Navy.
The initial error had been in our impartial recognition of the transfer of the German ships to Turkey. Once that had been conceded; once we had fai
led to demand internment in a certain time, and, failing such internment, sent our ships up the Narrows – then but little mined – we could only work for the postponement of the final rupture between Turkey and the Triple Entente Powers.10
Charles Lister, British Embassy, Constantinople
As the situation deteriorated Lister began to hanker for a more active role in the war. He was an unusual young man as, although the son of a lord, he had conceived a passion for socialism and joined the Labour Party while still at Eton. Now he was ready to join an even greater struggle. His request to the Foreign Office for a year’s leave of absence from his post was granted and he returned to England in October 1914.
The end game in Turkey was nigh. Enver, who had taken increasing political control of the situation, unilaterally instructed Souchon to take the Goeben and Breslau, accompanied by various Turkish cruisers and destroyers, on an aggressive sortie into the Black Sea on 26 October. On 29 October Souchon’s ships, divided into four squadrons, launched attacks on the Russian ports of Sevastopol, Feodosia, Yalta, Odessa and Novorossiysk, which, as intended, provoked Russia into a declaration of war on Turkey on 2 November 1914. The British reaction was swift. Churchill ordered the navy to strike at the Turkish forts at the entrance to the Dardanelles even before his government had completed the formalities of declaring war on Turkey. On 3 November the Indomitable and Indefatigable bombarded the European forts, while the French ships, the Suffren and Vérité, opened fire on the Asiatic forts at the entrance to the Dardanelles. The magazine at Sedd el Bahr, on the northern side, was detonated, killing eighty-six members of the Turkish garrison in an action still remembered as a war crime in Turkey. Ironically this British success coloured their perceptions of the feasibility of setting ships against forts and at the same time intensified Turkish efforts to improve their Dardanelles defences. The ill-conceived naval operations that were to follow would cost hundreds of Allied lives. After this false dawn, the situation militated against any further immediate action against Turkey in the Dardanelles as the gravity of the situation on the Western Front sucked in both attention and any spare resources.
