LIFE IN KASTAMUNI
_July 1916--August 1917_
On arrival in Kastamuni, we were divided into two groups, one being
accommodated in a large building, formerly a Greek school, with one or
two adjacent houses, and the other in a number of houses in a street
lower down the hill. Both places were on the edge of the town in the
Greek quarter. The schoolhouse was perched high up and commanded a
splendid view across the town in the valley towards the hills, beyond
which lay the Black Sea--only some 40 miles away.
The houses were built up on a wooden frame-work, the bricks being thrown
in to fill up the intervening spaces in a most casual manner. The best
houses were covered with stucco; but, however good in appearance, each
house in Turkey has its own numerous population of small inhabitants. An
Austrian lady whom we met assured us that her house was the only one in
the town free from these pests, and we could well believe it.
The town itself is shut in by the valley and presents a confused jumble
of houses, with almost innumerable mosques, and in the centre one or two
large Government buildings. The mosques are not particularly beautiful,
there being no golden domes or blue tilework. The most pretentious have
plain grey stone minarets, while the smaller ones have to be content
with little steeples of wood. During Ramazan a ring of lights is kept
burning at night round each minaret, and gives the town a strange
appearance, as these are the only lights showing, there being no such
thing as street lamps, and very few lights in private houses--with
kerosine at a prohibitive price.
After the weary march from Kut, we were only too delighted to get into
our new quarters, and sleeping in a bed again was a luxury not soon to
be forgotten. A restaurant had been arranged, and we found a very good
meal ready for us soon after arrival. Unfortunately, this was much the
best repast we obtained from the contractor, and when it came to
arranging a daily messing scheme we had to be content with a very
moderate programme. However, every one had got so tired of scraping
along, cooking and foraging for themselves on the journey up, that any
sort of plan by which some one else would do the work was not to be
refused, even if we were to be done over it.
During the summer of 1916, food in the town was comparatively cheap,
eggs being a halfpenny each or less, and good white flour about sixpence
a pound. Fruit was to be had in prolific quantities, the cherries being
especially good. But no one takes any trouble to cultivate fruit in this
part of Turkey. There are grapes, melons, peaches, apples and pears in
great profusion, but all of the commonest kind. Had the country any
communications worth the name, no doubt it would be different, but, as
it is, the Turk is content with what grows by itself and does not need
any special attention. The local taste in over-ripe and bad pears was
most surprising. For weeks one would see baskets of rotting pears in the
bazaar on market days and the country people enjoying them.
The ruined castle on its rocky pinnacle must have dated back to very
early times; it is now used as a "look-out" station and has three
ancient guns, which are fired as an alarm in case of fire and at other
moments of importance, such as the first sight of the new moon at the
end of Ramazan. The greatest wonder to us was that the whole town had
not been burnt down long ago, since all the bazaar houses were wooden
and dry as tinder. The fire brigade consisted of one prehistoric manual
pump which was carried about on the shoulders of five or six youths,
with a scratch collection of hose and buckets. On one occasion a major
of the S. & T. Corps was so overcome with laughter on seeing this
apparition that the commandant, feeling much insulted, had him confined
to the house for a fortnight.
This was our first commandant, a very ignorant specimen, who, so report
said, had been a farmer in the Caucasus. He was a most depressing sight
at all times. Most Turkish officers only shave on Thursdays, and he was
no exception to the rule. His trousers invariably swept the ground; he
always wore goloshes several sizes too large and an old overcoat. He
would shuffle about with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched
up, looking the picture of misery. Yet, notwithstanding his apparent
dejection, he was making quite a good thing out of us, as we found out
later on. The restaurant contractor was paying him about L30 a month,
and, between them, they were charging us rent for our quarters, which
was quite contrary to all rules. Another little source of income was
making us each pay for a 5-piastre receipt stamp for our monthly pay
instead of a 2-1/2d.
This commandant knew no language except Turkish, and consequently an
interpreter was needed on all occasions. At the start this was a Greek,
who made great protestations of his friendliness to us; but we very soon
found him to be a double-faced blackguard doing his best to make a good
thing out of us by arranging for commissions with the shopkeepers with
whom we dealt.
Fortunately for us, early in 1917, a Turkish colonel--Zeur Bey, from
Constantinople--arrived unexpectedly on a visit of inspection, with the
result that the commandant was promptly dismissed and matters regarding
overcharges for house rent put right. The commandant was said to have
been seen on his knees before the colonel imploring forgiveness. This at
all events was the story of Sherif Bey, the second in command, who was
by way of being very anxious to do all he could for us. On our march
from Angora to Kastamuni he had certainly done his best for us, but
later on we were forced to distrust him.
Turkish officers, as a rule, have very good manners and promise one
almost anything without the least idea of ever keeping their word. They
speak French with a very good accent, which makes one give them credit
for knowing a great deal more of that language than is usually the case.
It is quite impossible to describe the uniforms worn by officers, as one
so seldom sees two dressed alike. All material being so scarce and
expensive, uniforms were made from almost anything, and there being no
such person as a provost-marshal no one could interfere. Consequently,
one saw some officers dressed in a highly picturesque style, looking as
if they had just been taking a part in "The Chocolate Soldier" or "The
Balkan Princess," and others whom one could only recognize from
shopkeepers by their badges of rank.
The Greek interpreter was the first one of the original staff to depart.
After him, two very much better fellows were sent us. One of these was a
young Turk named Remzi, who had been a naval cadet in Constantinople
when the war broke out--and still cherished the fond hope of one day
being an officer in the British Navy, for which he had the most profound
veneration. Unfortunately, in trying to help us, he wrote to
Constantinople; got into trouble with his seniors, and was sent away.
We were thus left with the second man, an Armenian, who was always
called "Napoleon" from his likeness to the Great Man. Napoleon was very
cautious, but, considering the difficulty of his own position, he did us
very well.
After our first commandant had disappeared, his successor arrived in the
shape of a very small, but very stout and cheery little man, named
Fattah Bey. He proved to be a very good fellow and things were soon
running much more pleasantly. A great point in his favour was that he
spoke German, and we were thus able to dispense with an interpreter.
Capt. H., of the I.A.R.O., took charge of him on most occasions, and
after we had had him a few weeks he was becoming quite pro-British.
The greatest events in our life were undoubtedly the arrival of a mail
or parcels. The letters we received in July 1916, soon after our
arrival, were the first news most of us had had from our friends at home
since before the siege began in Kut nearly eight months earlier. On an
average, letters came through every ten days or so, the quickest time
taken from home, via Switzerland, Vienna and Constantinople, being 25
days. Parcels travelled by the same route, but were very much longer in
making their appearance. At first they arrived in three to four months,
but gradually took longer and longer, until finally they were eight and
nine months on the way. The reason for this delay was to be found in
Vienna, where all parcels were transhipped, and apparently thrown into a
depot until such time as the Austrian officials decided to send a few
more on. Any big operations on the Italian front had the immediate
effect of stopping all parcels and sometimes letters as well. There were
exceedingly few cases of anything having been actually stolen and, up to
a certain date, officers had received nearly all parcels sent from home.
Soon after our arrival, we received a number of gifts through the
American Embassy in Constantinople, who were at that time looking after
our interests. These consisted of thin cotton things for the summer,
and, when wearable, were of considerable use. Unfortunately, they were
much too small, and it was a very lucky man who could wear the trousers
he was given. Later on, more clothes arrived, these being thick winter
garments which, although not providing the same amount of amusement,
fitted us better and were a great godsend, since it was not until the
New Year that people began to receive the clothes they wanted from home.
The winter in Kastamuni and, in fact, over most of Asia Minor can be
very severe; but it is a dry and healthy cold. In February 1917, we had
well over 20 degrees of frost for days, and during the following winter
the temperature at Changri went down to 6 degrees below zero. Indeed, it
would have been hard to find a better climate than Kastamuni, which was
2,500 feet above the sea. The rainfall there was very small and confined
almost entirely to March and April. The summer temperature was very much
the same as in England, but drier.
As one gets nearer to the Black Sea coast, the rainfall increases and
the vegetation gets thicker. Between Angora and Changri there are wide
stretches of almost desert land. At Kastamuni we had pine woods and
shrubs on the hills, while all the valleys were extensively irrigated.
On the Black Sea coast itself the climate is much milder in winter and
there are thick woods of beech, oak and fir with heavy undergrowth.
Apart from the kitchen, which always has a huge open chimney, there were
no fireplaces of the ordinary kind in the houses. All heating in winter
is done by stoves of sheet iron with a chimney leading out through the
nearest wall. These stoves, fed with wood, give out a tremendous heat
for a short time, but it is very hard to maintain anything approaching
an even temperature. Wood was plentiful during the winter of 1916-17,
and we used to buy it in the form of whole logs. These we had sawn up by
two Armenians into short lengths, which we then split with an axe. This
gave us a good deal of exercise during the cold winter mornings.
Unfortunately, the next year, wood had become scarce and much more
expensive and all prisoners suffered considerably in consequence. A good
deal of charcoal is used for cooking, but we saw no coal being used in
the district, even the railway up to Angora being largely dependent on
wood.
After a few months at the restaurant, the contractor began to put up
prices and most of us demurred. This finally led to the majority going
on strike and deciding to mess themselves, as we were allowed to by the
rules. The old commandant, however, and the contractor, had no idea of
accepting the alternative if they could possibly help it. Consequently,
we were first forbidden to cook in the kitchens of our own houses, for
fear we should set the chimneys and the houses on fire. To get over
this, we made fireplaces in the back gardens or yards behind the houses.
Other little pin-pricks of the same kind were tried, but we finally got
our own way, and found that our mess bills were reduced to nearly a half
what they had been before. We had a number of British orderlies with us,
who did our cooking and waited on us. To start with, there was some
difficulty in getting a separate room as a dining-room for each mess,
but eventually we settled down and furnished on an economical plan, our
carpenters making benches, tables, etc.
The restaurant contractor was so disgusted at our strike that he closed
down altogether for two or three days, thus throwing out into the cold
the few who had remained faithful to him on any conditions rather than
do their own catering. There was, somewhat naturally, a good deal of
ill-feeling between the two parties in consequence, and it took time to
die out. In the end, the restaurant supporters had to start a mess of
their own and came into line with the rest of us.
We were allowed a fair amount of liberty, although at the start things
did not look promising, the old commandant telling us we should be only
able to go one short walk a week. Actually we were allowed in the road
for a hundred yards or so outside our houses and could go to the bazaar
or Turkish bath any day by getting a sentry to go with us.
The Hamams, or Turkish baths, of which there are a great many, are not
the elaborately furnished places one sees at home, but consist of two
vaulted chambers, supplied with vapour. Round the side are ledges on
which one sits, and stone basins with a supply of hot and cold water.
After being stewed in the hottest chamber for a quarter of an hour, one
passes out to the outer room, where an aged attendant is generally ready
to operate with buckets of cold water. Next one proceeds to the
dressing-rooms and reclines comfortably swathed in towels, while Turkish
coffee is brought round. After the first few months, sugar became so
expensive that it was no longer provided, and the coffee seemed very
poor in consequence. Altogether, in a place where one had plenty of time
to spare, the Hamam provided a very pleasant way of spending a morning.
The Turks used to put up numbers of rules for our benefit. These were
written out in the best English the interpreter could achieve, which was
never very clear. As a rule, we did not pay very much attention to
them, and they, on the other hand, never seemed to care either. The rule
was on the board, and, if any officious officer was to come round from
Constantinople, he could always be shown it, and assured it was strictly
obeyed.
On one occasion a notice was suddenly put up, informing us that all
lights henceforth must be put out at 9.30 p.m. It was thought advisable
to do so the first night; the second night, the time was about 9.45; and
after that we continued to go to bed when we pleased, and were never
bothered any more about it.
Owing to the tremendously high price of kerosine, Daylight Saving soon
came into force, and saved us a great deal.
The sentries, on the whole, were a very good-natured lot and would never
have worried us with restrictions as far as they themselves were
concerned. They were mostly old men who had served in previous wars and,
until called up, were living on their own small farms. One of the best
of them was "Johnnie Walker," a little man who had a most extraordinary
stride and could walk any of us to a standstill. We always tried to get
him when going for a long walk, knowing that from personal motives he
would never stop us going a good distance. Another favourite was
"Ginger," a very harmless old fellow with sandy whiskers. As one went
past, he would lean over and whisper confidentially: "Ginger
fennah?"--Is Ginger a bad fellow? Every now and then they went to their
homes on leave and came back with a few pounds of butter or a bag of
wheatmeal, which they sold to us without much difficulty.
On our arrival, the only weapons the guard possessed were ancient
pinfire rifles, firing a huge lump of lead. Each man had exactly two
rounds in his possession. Later on some rather younger men came, armed
with captured Russian rifles.
We soon managed to hire a field for football. It was very stony and by
no means level, but, nevertheless, was a great acquisition. As a rule,
each group of houses used it three days a week. To start with, we only
had a Soccer case and no bladder. We stuffed the case with grass and
played a very modified form of Rugger, where collaring was disallowed on
account of the stones, and punting and place kicking forbidden in order
to preserve the life of the ball. After some weeks we got some proper
footballs from Constantinople, and others came eventually from home. We
played matches against the other group of houses, Regulars _v._
Irregulars, and every other thing we could think of. Soccer Sixes caused
much excitement and a local firm of bookmakers, who came into existence
for the occasion, did a large business.
We could always rely on getting out somewhere every day. During the
early summer we had splendid walks two days a week over the hills in the
mornings. These long walks did not suit everybody, and a gentle form of
meandering had to be organized for the "slugs." On one celebrated
occasion, we walked out about five miles, taking our lunch, and had a
very cheery picnic, but this was never allowed again, and in July 1917
all long walks were suddenly stopped, and we were barely allowed outside
the boundaries of the town.
For news of the outer world, we were dependent upon the local telegrams,
which the best Turkish scholars used to translate, and also upon the
"Hilal," a German-run paper, printed in Constantinople. This paper, of
which we used to receive the French Edition, had been started for
propaganda purposes at the beginning of the war. The news was,
naturally, very one-sided, but, reading between the lines, one could
tell fairly well what was the position on the Western Front. In
addition, we had maps, and could follow the places mentioned, when, as
during the Somme offensive, the Germans, "according to our preconceived
plan," took up a position some miles in rear of their last. A serial
story which ran for some time in this paper was called "L'evade de
Tsingtau," and gave the adventures of a German, who having escaped from
Tsingtau after the Japanese had taken it, reached America, was caught
while trying to cross to Germany, spent some time in Donnington Hall,
but finally succeeded in escaping, and swam off from near Tilbury to a
Dutch ship lying in the river, thus getting clear away. Whether true or
not, it made a wonderful story.
News carefully camouflaged in our letters from home invariably arrived
safely; in fact, the Turks never troubled to censor anything in the
letters we received. On the other hand, every now and then some
officious creature in Constantinople would systematically cut up our
long letters, which we were allowed to write twice a month, and only
send on the first two and last two lines.
There were always plenty of rumours amongst the Greek shopkeepers in the
bazaar. For instance, we were told the British had taken Bagdad long
before they did, and our troops in Palestine were always said to be
within three or four marches of Aleppo; the Russians were just outside
Sivas, and Trieste had been taken by the Italians. The Turks themselves
never believed these stories, and, in fact, even when the armistice was
signed, many of them in country districts had not heard that Bagdad was
in our possession. They received no letters from their friends at the
front, no casualty lists were published, and the only news that seemed
to reach them by post was a few letters from Turks we had taken to Burma
as prisoners, who seemed to be very happy and contented.
The country people never showed any "hate" against us, but the
authorities used to make this an excuse for curtailing our walks, saying
how fanatical the village people were in the neighbourhood.
Apart from football matches, we employed ourselves in various ways.
There were soon two or three well-established firms of carpenters, who
did a great deal of work and made a lot of furniture. Others took to
cobbling, and had plenty to do to keep our boots in order. A good many
studied various languages, but Turkish was not very popular, as no one
expected ever to want it again when once they had left the country.
We had quite a good library, and books came through without much trouble
in parcels from home.
A long series of lectures were held during the winter, every one who
could do so lecturing to the rest of us. It is wonderful what a
comprehensive programme can be formed when one is really put to it.
Another intellectual effort was a debating society; but this did not
have a very long life.
Our greatest achievement was undoubtedly the band. This was started in
the spring of 1917, under the auspices of our new commandant, who was
very keen about it. At first there were only two or three violins which
had been discovered in the bazaar, then others were found, also some
clarionets; drums and banjos were soon made, and, finally--greatest
triumph of all--two 'cellos and a double bass were manufactured by our
most progressive firm of carpenters. Altogether, the band numbered about
sixteen. At the start they had no music, and Lieut. Parsons, R.F.A., who
conducted, had to score the parts for a number of pieces, most of which
were wonderfully successful. Later on, music came from home, and
concerts were given twice a week.
We even had a little dancing on one or two occasions, and one day the
commandant brought two or three Greek and Armenian ladies. This was such
a success that he became very excited and declared "Next veek plenty
lady kom." Life seemed to be improving all round, but it was too good to
last, and suddenly everything was stopped. The commandant got into hot
water with the other Turkish authorities in the town, who had probably
reported him behind his back to Constantinople. Our walks were suddenly
curtailed and no long walks allowed. Had the little man been able to
stand up for himself, things would have been much better, but he was
much too scared to take a strong line, and a few days later departed for
Eski-Chehir to take the place of the commandant there, who, in turn, was
to come to Kastamuni.
During the winter of 1916, prices began to rise rapidly in the bazaar
and this went on all through 1917, until in 1918 all prisoners had great
difficulty in getting food, even in the new camps, which were said to be
better off in this respect than Kastamuni.
When we first arrived, there was a small amount of silver money in
circulation, the smallest notes which were just being introduced being
20 and 5 piastres--3s. 4d. and 10d. in ordinary times. Not long
afterwards, these were followed by 2-1/2 and 1 piastre notes, which
carried pictures of the Dardanelles and Kut on the back, Kut being quite
unrecognizable. For smaller change recourse had to be taken to stamps
and by midsummer of 1917 no coins of any sort were to be seen.
Money came through to us in various ways, but the best exchange we could
get was by cashing undated cheques with the Greek shopkeepers in the
town, who gave us 160 piastres to the pound, whereas through the Dutch
Embassy we could only get 140, the exchange rate before the war being
112. The shopkeepers would not be able to cash these cheques till the
end of the war, and it says something for the reputation of a British
cheque that they would accept them on such conditions. They undoubtedly
regarded such cheques as being a very much safer asset than the Turkish
paper money, which was the only alternative, and, at the end of the war,
would very likely be suddenly repudiated by a paternal Government.
We were paid by the Turks at the rate they pay their own officers, the
equivalent of this being deducted from our accounts by the War Office.
On the way up from Kut we were given one month's pay in Bagdad, which
for senior officers was on a comparatively generous scale. However, on
reaching Kastamuni, these unfortunates were told that the Bagdad rates
were quite wrong, and they were now to pay up the difference; this took
several months in many cases.
Happily for us, soon after our arrival, the Red Cross came to our
assistance, working through the American Embassy in Constantinople. They
gave us LT.3 a month, which, with a subaltern's allowance of LT.7 as pay
from the Turks, made it just possible to carry on.
As food got more expensive, the Red Cross increased their allowance to
LT.5 a month, and had finally to increase this still further.
In May and June 1917, some additional orderlies arrived; these men had
been in other camps up till then, and were not all Kut prisoners, some
having been taken in the Dardanelles and others in Egypt. They brought
dreadful stories of the treatment of the troops during the first few
months, and it became clear that at least two-thirds of the Kut garrison
were already dead. The last news they had heard was that all fit
prisoners were being sent back to the North of Syria to work on the
railway there. As conditions were very bad in that district when we came
through in 1916, no one can say what those who returned a year later had
to go through. This area was considered as one under military
operations, and was, therefore, excluded from the agreement finally come
to by which the Dutch Embassy in Constantinople was to inspect the
various camps.
Unfortunately, some of these new orderlies contracted typhus on their
way to Kastamuni, at one of the dirty halting-places, and three
succumbed. They were buried beside three officers whom we had already
laid to rest, in a little cemetery at the top of the hill overlooking
the town, near the slope where the Greeks and Armenians are buried.
Wooden crosses were at first put up over the graves, but these were at
once torn up and stolen by the Turkish peasants. We then obtained heavy
slabs of stone, on which a cross was carved and the names cut. A wall
was built round the little spot, a number of officers going up every
morning and working hard until it was completed. Now that no British
prisoners are left in Kastamuni, one hopes that the little cemetery will
be allowed to remain undisturbed on the bare hillside.
During the summer of 1917, a number of officers were in favour of
getting the Turks to move the camp from Kastamuni to some place nearer
to the railway, as it was thought that it would then be easier to obtain
supplies of wood and fuel during the coming winter. It is doubtful if
this would have been the case, but an official request was sent to
Constantinople. Towards the end of July 1917, our liberties were
considerably curtailed for no apparent reason, and after the escape of
our party, on August 8th, very severe restrictions were imposed.
Nowhere in Turkey could life in 1917-18 be considered amenable, since
food was so short in all districts. This, combined with the depreciation
in the paper money, kept prices very high and made messing a great
problem; if parcels could have got through more quickly from home it
would have made a big difference.
At the end of September, the first batch of officers was moved to
Changri, and the remainder followed early in October. At Changri
accommodation was provided in a dirty Turkish barrack, which, besides
needing very extensive cleansing, required much glass in the windows.
Shortly afterwards, two-thirds of the officers left for Gedos, a small
place about a hundred miles east of Smyrna, where they were placed on
parole, and given liberty to go where they pleased unguarded. The
remainder stayed for some months at Changri, where they had managed to
make themselves fairly comfortable, although only allowed to go out to a
neighbouring field for exercise. Later, however, they were sent to
Yozgad, the camp to which the first half of the Kut officers had
originally been sent.