Meanwhile in Constantinople, where I happened to be, our Military
Mission was getting anxious. A new leader had arisen among the Turks
named Mustapha Kemal Pasha. Established at Angora, with a Committee of
Turkish Nationalists, he defied the terms of peace imposed upon his
people, refused to acknowledge the decree of a Sultan in the hands of
the inter-allied force, rallied to his standard every Turkish patriot,
raised a new army, filled Constantinople with his spies and agents,
and proclaimed a “Holy War” of Islam. He vowed to recapture Smyrna, to
liberate Constantinople, and to take possession of Thrace.
The Greek troops before Smyrna were confident, as I saw them, of
holding their lines against the Turk. The Greek Commander-in-Chief,
whom I interviewed, was ready to break the Turkish lines “as though
on parade.” Lloyd George gave them the moral support of emotional
words, and they were very grateful to him, and believed that England
was behind him. The world knows what happened. Its conscience must
still burn at times as it hears the cries of terror and anguish on
that quayside at Smyrna when the Turkish irregulars set fire to the
Christian quarters and massacred men, women and children, while British
and American warships stood by, with their officers and men staring
through that pall of smoke and its rending fire, listening to the
shrieks beyond.
The Turks advanced to the Ismid Peninsula overlooking the Dardanelles.
They advanced to the very lines which the British troops—young boys
mostly—held at Chanak. Beyond that they could not go without a war with
Great Britain, which hung by a thread day after day and week after
week. The French, whose politicians and public opinion were sympathetic
to the Turks, and who were incredibly jealous of British influence in
Egypt, Palestine and Mesopotamia—an old source of enmity stirred up
again in military minds—withdrew their own troops from Chanak, and
left the British troops isolated. They made it perfectly clear, very
courteously, but very firmly, that they would not engage in war against
Turkey. It is certain that the French people after all their loss of
blood and years of strife would have refused to support such a war. In
any case, they preferred the Turks to the Greeks, and were glad of the
Greek defeat.
To Lloyd George, in England, these Turkish victories were heavy blows.
His honour was engaged to Greece. He believed that British honour was
engaged, though certainly his pro-Greek policy had never gained the
support and enthusiasm of public opinion. He hated the thought of
seeing the Turk in power again at Constantinople. He had incited the
Greek Army to attack. The horror at Smyrna made his blood run cold.
It was Winston Churchill, without waiting for Parliamentary sanction,
who raised the fiery cross and sent an emotional appeal for help to
all the Dominions. It was received at first in stony silence, and then
with deadly hostility. Neither Canada nor Australia would send a man to
fight in a new war. They had done enough; they were not interested. At
home in England and Scotland there was no support for a new war. There
was a fierce outcry in the Press. The nation refused to envisage war,
for any reason. They were sick of war. They could not afford it in men
or money after years of colossal sacrifice.
The war did not happen, thanks a good deal to General Sir Charles
Harington, commanding in Constantinople. Cool as ice in the face of
extreme provocation, determined to keep the peace by every method
of statesmanship, unless his men were actually attacked, it was his
fine chivalry, his diplomatic wisdom with the Turkish Generals and
statesmen, which resulted in an Armistice hanging on a hair-trigger.
Lord Curzon patched up a peace which gave to the Turks most of what
they claimed and more than they ought to have had in humanity and
justice. The expulsion of the Christian communities from Asia Minor was
one of the most infernal tragedies of history, hushed up in the British
and European Press because it hurt the conscience of too many of us.
The flight of the Greek refugees still calls to God for pity....
What a world—ten years after!