Gallipoli

by Peter Hart

  Lieutenant Clement Attlee, 6th South Lancashire Regiment, 38th Brigade, 13th Division

  For most of the men, talking was all they could do as they sat in their holes in the ground. One astute observer was drawn to point out the similarities of the crudeness of life on the Peninsula with the imagined habits of Neanderthal man.

  Cregan, the doctor, says we get more childish every day and prophesies that if we are here much longer we shall not converse but utter weird noises and snap at our food, hiding the bones in holes in the ground. He drew a graphic picture of Farquhar retiring into the Krithia Nullah and hunting about the country on all fours and occasionally making raids for food to the beaches. All efforts to tame him will be useless and he will revert to the prehistoric man.21

  Lieutenant Charles Cooke, Army Service Corps, 29th Division

  Everywhere they looked the situation was getting worse. The effects of disease were hollowing out units from the inside and, of the 100,000 or so men serving on the Peninsula, it is estimated that half were unfit for duties by the early autumn. A further concern was the continuing paucity of artillery support. Now there was not just a lack of guns and munitions but, like their gunners, the guns were falling sick as barrels wore out, springs failed and one by one they dropped out of action. Most important of all the approach of winter could not be ignored; in fact it was already apparent that the piers and breakwaters would have to be improved on the beaches if they were to withstand the predictably rough weather and storms. Huge store depots would have to be built as insurance against prolonged bad weather. Proper dugouts would have to be constructed and winter uniforms issued. The logistical situation had been bad in summer but the prospects were daunting for the winter months. In these circumstances the idea of evacuation, first whispered but then ever growing, began to dominate the agenda both in London and on the Peninsula.

  But Hamilton would still have none of it. When asked by Kitchener on 11 October to estimate how many men might be lost in a possible evacuation, he poured vitriol on the very idea, saying he would lose half his force. ‘They would stamp our enterprise the bloodiest of tragedies!’22 This refusal to consider seriously a retreat from the Peninsula proved fatal to his command. Hamilton had already failed time and time again, silken promises of success being followed with requests for yet more reinforcements, a circle that simply had to be broken in the face of the competing demands of the Western Front and Salonika. It was also unfortunate that the disgraced Stopford had not accepted his culpability for the Suvla disaster and was launching a campaign to restore his reputation, which naturally involved the sustained denigration of Hamilton. When his claims were investigated, the reports were ambivalent and predictably some of the mud stuck to Hamilton. This was exacerbated by the efforts of an Australian journalist, Keith Murdoch, who translated his legitimate concerns over the conditions and tactics he saw at Gallipoli into a letter laced with a considerable degree of exaggeration, addressed originally to the Australian prime minister, but subsequently circulated to the British Cabinet. As a result, on 14 October the Dardanelles Committee decided to dismiss Hamilton and replace him with General Sir Charles Monro. Hamilton quit his headquarters at Imbros on 17 October, leaving Birdwood in temporary command.

  Hamilton was livid at both his own dismissal and the appointment of Monro, who was convinced of the primacy of the Western Front. He predicted withdrawal would follow under Monro and he was right. Where he erred was in thinking that an evacuation was strategically the wrong decision and doomed to disaster. But then he had been wrong so many times before. Hamilton’s career was finished; he would never hold an active service command again.

  Judgement of General Sir Ian Hamilton’s performance at Gallipoli is rendered difficult by the effective smokescreen behind which he and his defenders deliberately concealed the lack of success of the operations under his command. Working in tandem with Churchill, his performance at the subsequent Dardanelles Commission was of dubious morality; but then it was inevitable that they would defend themselves as best they could in stressful circumstances. This was followed by the publication in 1920 of his Gallipoli Diary which was in fact an emotive memoir. Since then a potent romantic mythology has grown up, of failure by the narrowest of margins and betrayal by those at home, fuelled over the succeeding years by willing acolytes of both Hamilton and Churchill. Rationally, Hamilton’s task was all but impossible, given the inhospitable terrain, the vigorous Turkish opposition, the restricted forces available to him and the lack of effective artillery support. Nevertheless his unquenchable optimism, over-complicated plans, inability to make best use of his forces and unwillingness to reflect the gravity of the situation in his reports to Kitchener went a considerable way to turning likely failure into disaster. Yet any criticism has to be tempered by the truism that even had Hamilton’s generalship been brilliant, this would probably have resulted in only minor tactical gains which would not have affected the overall outcome of the campaign. Hamilton might have captured Achi Baba, he might even have taken Sari Bair, but the capture of the heights of the Kilid Bahr Plateau and effective control of the Dardanelles were never likely – it was by attempting an impossible challenge that he doomed himself and others.

  Hamilton’s replacement, Sir Charles Monro, was an entirely different character. No ‘happy warrior’, he was a hard, practical man who had served in staff positions during the Boer War. He then had a lengthy spell as Commandant of the School of Musketry at Hyde and was promoted to major general in 1911. He had served in command of the 2nd Division on the Western Front, being promoted first to command the I Corps and then, in July 1915, the newly formed Third Army. Now he was given command of the Eastern Expeditionary Force and his Chief of Staff was to be Major General Arthur Lynden-Bell. They were to report on the overall military situation at Gallipoli with particular attention to the ramifications of the alternative possibilities of evacuation and another offensive. Before they left for the Peninsula, the Director of Military Operations, General Sir Charles Caldwell, sent them a warning note:

  Ian Hamilton’s failure was to my mind to a large extent due to his disinclination to tell Lord Kitchener unpleasant things and I think he was backed up in this by Braithwaite. They did not insist on having what they wanted and invariably communicated in an unduly optimistic strain. I do not suggest that your Chief and yourself will adopt the same line, but I would urge on you not to hesitate before telling unpleasant truths in your wires to K. Especially I would keep on about the troops being so very short of establishment and the discouragement which this causes them. Remember also the time that it takes to get anything to the Peninsula from this country.23

  Major General Sir Charles Caldwell, Director of Military Operations, War Office

  Although Churchill had lost his position at the Admiralty back in May, the unreconstructed Easterner still made a last effort to influence Monro and Lynden-Bell during their departure from Charing Cross railway station on 22 October, under somewhat comic circumstances.

  Everyone felt a bit under the weather at 6 a.m. and we were not cheered up by the appalling smell of beer exhaled by our servants who had spent the night ‘celebrating’. Just as the train was about to start Winston Churchill rushed along the platform, threw a bundle of papers into our carriage and shouted, ‘Don’t forget, if you evacuate it will be the biggest disaster since Corunna!’24

  Major General Arthur Lynden-Bell, Chief of Staff, Headquarters, MEF

  When they reached Imbros, on 28 October, they formally met their headquarters staff. Lynden-Bell was not shy of recording his distinctly unfavourable initial impression.

  As we passed between the line of them Sir Charles said to me, ‘Did you ever meet such a down and out lot of fellows in your life?’ I agreed and subsequently discovered the reason why. They were not a united Staff – or in fact, as they knew, not a staff at all. I found the General Staff Officers thought themselves miles superior to mere Administrative and Quartermaster Officers and they were not on speakin
g terms.25

  Major General Arthur Lynden-Bell, Chief of Staff, Headquarters, MEF

  Harassed from afar by Kitchener not to dawdle, Monro visited Helles, Anzac and Suvla on a single day: 30 October. His report back to Kitchener was a coruscating indictment of the situation, which he later summed up:

  The positions occupied by our troops presented a military situation unique in history. The mere fringe of the coast line had been secured. The beaches and piers upon which they depended for all requirements in personnel and material were exposed to registered and observed artillery fire. Our entrenchments were dominated almost throughout by the Turks. The possible artillery positions were insufficient and defective. The force, in short, held a line possessing every possible military defect. The position was without depth, the communications were insecure and dependent on the weather. No means existed for the concealment and deployment of fresh troops destined for the offensive – whilst the Turks enjoyed full powers of observation, abundant artillery positions, and they had been given the time to supplement the natural advantages which the position presented by all the devices at the disposal of the field engineer.26

  General Sir Charles Monro, Headquarters, MEF

  After further commenting on the problems posed by disease, a shortage of competent officers, the Turks’ ability to hold their positions with a reduced force, and of course the improbability of a successful advance, Monro’s solution was to the point:

  Since we could not hope to achieve any purpose by remaining on the Peninsula, the appalling cost to the nation involved in consequence of embarking on an overseas expedition with no base available for the rapid transit of stores, supplies and personnel, made it urgent that we should divert the troops locked up on the Peninsula to a more useful theatre. Since therefore I could see no military advantage in our continued occupation of positions on the Peninsula I telegraphed to your Lordship that in my opinion the evacuation of the Peninsula should be taken in hand.27

  General Sir Charles Monro, Headquarters, MEF

  On 3 November, Monro departed for Egypt to discuss the impact of evacuation, leaving Birdwood in temporary command. Churchill later famously pilloried Monro’s approach as ‘He came, he saw, he capitulated!’28 As an epigrammatic sneer it is clever; as a comment on Monro’s eminently sensible analysis it merely highlights Churchill’s lack of grip on strategic matters.

  Perversely, just as the army was at last seriously considering evacuation, so the Royal Navy was studying the possibility of making a dash through the Straits. The impetus behind this was Vice Admiral de Robeck’s Chief of Staff, the irrepressible Commodore Roger Keyes, who had always believed that it was a perfectly feasible operation. In support of his case, he pointed to the addition of the long-range guns of the monitors which had joined the fleet, its vastly improved capacity for aerial spotting using aircraft rather than seaplanes and the possibilities inherent in using destroyer minesweepers. Although de Robeck and the French admirals were adamantly against such a risky attempt, Keyes was allowed considerable leeway in promulgating his ideas, even canvassing support in London. Partially motivated by a noble desire to help the army facing a winter campaign on the shores of Gallipoli, the Admiralty wavered a little, but was firmly slapped back into place by the indomitable Monro and Lynden-Bell, who considered the naval theorising a nuisance.

  The Navy are giving us a great deal of trouble – I say the Navy but it is really Roger Keyes – by continually trying to urge us to help them in putting forward their pet scheme of forcing the Narrows. This we absolutely decline to do as we cannot see how the operation could possibly succeed, and if it did succeed it would not help the military situation at all. This has been pointed out frequently to the Vice-Admiral and to Keyes, but they still persist, and their last effort has been to wire to the Admiralty and urge that we should make a land attack on Achi Baba. To this we have replied that the operation is quite beyond our powers and would require at least 100,000 men.29

  Major General Arthur Lynden-Bell, Chief of Staff, Headquarters, MEF

  For a month these naval rumblings persisted until eventually the First Sea Lord, Sir Henry Jackson, stamped on the fantasy scheme by pointing out that even if a squadron could get through to the Sea of Marmara it might well be cut off, with disastrous consequences. This whole lingering distraction was described by the splendidly acerbic Lynden-Bell as ‘The swan song of the lunatics!’30

  Yet the ground was shifting elsewhere beneath Monro’s feet. Kitchener, as ever obsessed with the question of British prestige in the Islamic world, was terrified of the effects an evacuation might have across the East. At the meeting of the newly constituted War Committee (a slimmed-down body of between three and five ministers which had superseded the Dardanelles Committee) it was decided that Monro’s advice could not be accepted at this stage and that Kitchener should be sent out to review the situation in person. Kitchener’s mind must have been in turmoil for, early on 4 November, he conceived of an absurd plan for a new landing at Bulair while also giving Keyes his opportunity to charge the Straits. As a result Kitchener despatched an extraordinary telegram transferring Monro to command of the forces at Salonika and placing Birdwood in command of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Wisely, Birdwood suppressed these orders pending Kitchener’s arrival at Gallipoli and loyally expressed his confidence in Monro. It was as well he did so. Within a matter of hours Kitchener had been disabused of the feasibility of both elements of his scheme and he cancelled his instructions. This incident demonstrates Kitchener’s fading grip on events.

  When Kitchener arrived in theatre he was joined by Monro. So began a series of discussions on evacuation and further pondering of the feasibility of a landing near Alexandretta, in Syria, to distract the attention of the Islamic world from the implications of an Allied defeat at the hands of the Turks at Gallipoli. This new scheme was soon dropped when the British government refused to deploy yet more troops on Middle Eastern adventures. Kitchener also completed a three-day tour of the Peninsula. He was evidently shocked at the prevailing conditions and at last realised that, like it or not, Monro had accurately reported the situation. Soon the discussions were centring on exactly what proportion of the forces would be lost in an evacuation and the nature of the plans to be adopted. Finally, on 22 November, Kitchener sent a telegram to the War Committee recommending a partial evacuation: he wanted to retain Helles to assist the Royal Navy in any future operations (they feared that a U-boat base might be established in the Straits with access to dockyard facilities back at Constantinople) while evacuating only Anzac and Suvla. Next day the War Committee accepted the need for evacuation and, indeed, recommended leaving Helles as well. However, at the same time the matter was referred to the Cabinet, which made the final decision in all cases that involved a major change in strategic policy – which this clearly was. A confirmation was anticipated after the Cabinet meeting on 24 November. At this point Kitchener appointed Monro as Commander in Chief of all Mediterranean Forces outside of Egypt, while Birdwood was put in charge of the renamed Dardanelles Army and the now-rehabilitated Lieutenant General Sir Bryan Mahon took command of the Salonika Force. Kitchener set off back for London and, despite his vacillations, everything now seemed settled. Sadly this proved not to be the case. The members of the British Cabinet were appalled at the gravity of the decision and, afraid to take responsibility for ordering an evacuation that could cause the deaths of thousands, they prevaricated. Even as they pondered their fateful decision, ‘General Winter’ was on the march at Gallipoli.

  THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  Rumours and suggestions that the enemy were going to evacuate Gallipoli naturally swarmed round us on Gallipoli. I, personally, did not believe in such a possibility because, taking into account the English character, I considered it out of the question that they would give up such a hostage of their own free will and without a fight.1

  Colonel Hans Kannengiesser, Headquarters, XVIII Corps, Fifth Army

  EVEN AS KI
TCHENER SAILED AWAY from the Peninsula, having finally accepted the inevitability of evacuation, there were clear signs that it was not just the Turks that the newly christened Dardanelles Army would have to fear over the winter months. While the government back in London avoided making any irrevocable decisions, the relatively benign Mediterranean climate began to lose sway over the Gallipoli Peninsula to the continental effects of its proximity to central Europe. At first the advent of cooler weather seemed a blessing as the swarms of flies disappeared and there was a slight enhancement to the overall health of the men. This feeling of improved well-being did not last.

  About the 15th November the fine weather broke and a period of south-westerly squalls began. It was always quite uncertain what these would lead to. They were warm, terribly dry, shifty winds which blew straight into the shallow bay at Suvla, throwing up a tremendous ground swell, which made the landing of supplies impossible. No bread and half rations of water tomorrow was the inevitable outcome. Sometimes these squalls simply blew themselves out without rain; sometimes the ominous crack of thunder with forked lightning behind [the island of] Samothrace would foretell a hurricane and probably a deluge. The booming of the guns at sea, the swish of the wind, the sudden glare of the searchlights thrown from some big ship on the cliffs at Anzac, the white flash of lightning throwing the shadowy forms of the ships and scrub into relief against the sky and the growling of the thunder made one feel uncomfortably small.2

  Lieutenant George Hughes, 5th Dorsetshire Regiment, 34th Brigade, 11th Division

  If the men in the trenches were to look behind them, they could see the flimsy piers being smashed by the heavy sea, the grounded lighters and the general debris that littered the beach areas. If there was to be an evacuation then whatever scheme the general staff came up with would have to be sensitive to the risk of unpredictable disruption. In particular the number of consecutive nights of good weather they could expect was limited.