Under the Devil's Eye: The British Military Experience in Macedonia, 1915–18

Introduction

by Alan Wakefield

The continued outpouring of books about the First World War shows the enduring fascination of that conflict for a large section of the British population. That most of these publications deal with the Western Front during 1916 and 1917 is perhaps not surprising, as for many years the names Somme and Passchendaele have summed up the entire British military experience of 1914-18. Luckily, a generation of historians is now firmly in place who look to dispel the old ‘Lions led by Donkeys’ myth. Alongside these revisionist studies appears to be a growing interest in looking beyond France and Flanders to British involvement in the so-called ‘sideshows’. The long studied Gallipoli campaign continues to fascinate and recent works on Palestine, Italy and even the East African campaign continue this trend. However, Mesopotamia and Salonika – two significant theatres of war – have had little coverage. Indeed, when this book was first published in 2004, it was the first new English language book dedicated to the Salonika Campaign to be published for thirty-nine years! The turbulent break-up of Yugoslavia during the 1990s and resulting involvement of British troops in Bosnia, Kosovo and Macedonia brought the Balkans back to national attention in the days before Iraq and Afghanistan. In this volume we attempt to shed light on the experiences of British serviceman and women during this country’s first large-scale deployment of troops to that region over eighty years ago.

The genesis of this book came from all too brief boyhood meetings with one Salonika veteran, my great-uncle, Bert Dolman, who served as a private in the 7th Battalion, Wiltshire Regiment. Until this time, my knowledge and interest in the First World War stretched little beyond France and Flanders. Through university I widened my study of the war, always keeping a watchful eye open for anything on British involvement in the Balkans. There was little available beyond Alan Palmer’s pioneering work The Gardeners of Salonika, and I began to look at first-hand accounts such as those held by the Imperial War Museum. Finding a wealth of unpublished material in the form of soldier’s letters, diaries and memoirs, I decided to document the story of the men and women of the British Salonika Force (BSF). My only regret is that by the time the project began in earnest, my great-uncle had died without my having recorded his Salonika memories. Perhaps in some way this failing on my part gave me the impetus to carry the project forward.

The task became easier when I began working as a curator, first at the Royal Air Force Museum and then at the Imperial War Museum, where easy access to material and the knowledge of colleagues proved important factors in continuing the work. Nevertheless, the scale of the undertaking remained daunting. I was fortunate, therefore, while working at the Royal Air Force Museum, to meet the co-author of this work, who surprisingly agreed – albeit after a few beers – to join the project. Simon’s interest in First World War aviation history and the role of women in both World Wars complemented my own and allowed for a neat division of the workload.

We agreed from the outset that the core of the story would be told in the words of those who served through the campaign. These would be supplemented by a study of official documents such as war diaries, reports and directives found in the National Archives at Kew. From these rich sources we identified the major events and themes that are the basis of the study. We have adopted a mixed chronological and thematic approach in the belief that, since many readers would be unfamiliar with the course of the war in the Balkans, a focus on key events would give readers secure historical pegs on which to hang the story. Our main concern, however, has not been to present the minutiae of high level strategy and coalition politics but to remain firmly by the side of the men and women of the BSF.

Each first-hand account used in this volume is referenced by the individual’s name and unit and the repository in which the material is held. Footnote references cover only published works or occasions where a specific document from a larger collection or file of papers has been cited, such as a report from a battalion war diary. For unpublished accounts all relevant details can be found in the list of sources at the end of the book. In the text, each account is accompanied by the name of the individual or unit to which it relates. All ranks and units cited relate to an individual at the time of the event described in the text. We hope this system will provide the reader with an adequate cross-referencing facility. The photographs used in this volume were taken by either official photographers or serving members of the BSF and are held either by national institutions, such as Imperial War Museum and National Army Museum, or were loaned to us by private individuals. Maps are provided to cover key events and locations associated with the history of the BSF.

It is our intention that this volume will bring the story of the BSF to a wider audience and that, in some small way, it will stand as a memorial to all those men and women who faced ‘Johnny’ Bulgar across the mountains, hills and valleys of Macedonia between 1915 and 1918.

Chapter One

Arrival at ‘Salonique’

The landing of British troops at Salonika was the result of a complex tangle of diplomatic and strategic initiatives. From the outbreak of war in 1914, Britain was unsure as to what extent military involvement in the Balkans would be advisable. But the decision would not be one she could make in isolation. For, fighting as part of a coalition, Britain would have to take into account the views of her partners, especially France.¹

Having beaten off two invasions by Austro-Hungarian forces in 1914, the Serbian Army was exhausted and trying to recover from a typhus epidemic. Britain and France realised that a third Austro-Hungarian attack, supported by German forces and possibly those of Bulgaria, would finish the Serbs. Believing that little could be done to assist directly, Britain initially favoured courting Bulgaria, offering her territorial concessions at the expense of Turkey and to some extent the hapless Serbs with whom Bulgaria had unsettled border disputes dating from the Second Balkan War of 1913.² But the failure of Anglo-French operations to quickly defeat Turkey at Gallipoli, coupled with better offers of territory by Germany, saw Bulgaria move into the arms of the Central Powers.

By mid-September 1915, it appeared that the only way to prevent Bulgarian intervention against Serbia would be a show of force, namely the landing of Anglo-French forces in the Balkans. Given Austro-Hungarian naval dominance of the Adriatic and the lack of adequate harbour facilities in Albania, an approach from this direction did not appear promising. This left the port of Salonika in neutral Greece as the only serious candidate, offering a large, deep-water harbour with easy access to the Mediterranean. After much deliberation a plan of action was agreed.³ The initial landing would be made by the 10th (Irish) Division and the French 156th Division, both withdrawn from Gallipoli. The British hoped that just the landing of this force alone would deter Bulgaria from joining the war against Serbia. The French, however, pushed a more interventionist line, hoping that troops could be actively used in support of the Serbian field army. All this presupposed that the attitude of Greece remained favourable to the operation.

In 1915, Greece was a country politically divided. The Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913 had seen her twice on the winning side, but had proved costly. King Constantine, a hero on account of his role in those wars and very popular with the Greek officer corps, was married to the Kaiser’s sister, and though keeping the country neutral, personally favoured the German cause. His Prime Minister, Eleutherios Venizelos, favoured the Entente and made the initial offer allowing an Anglo-French force to land at Salonika. His frequent disagreements with the King, however, saw Venizelos resign from office just prior to the Anglo-French landings. Even as the French and British ships sat in Salonika harbour, it was feared that Greek forces might prove hostile.

The two Entente commanders at Salonika could hardly have been more different from each other. Sir Bryan Mahon commanding the 10th Division had enjoyed the typically steady rise of a Victorian career officer, with one highlight; that of being the reliever of Mafeking during the Boer War. In contrast, at Gallipoli, in August 1915, he had been criticised for his timid handling of the 10th Division during the Suvla Bay landings. The Salonika venture offered him a chance to redeem his reputation. In contrast, General Maurice Sarrail was perhaps best described by Alan Palmer as, ‘a political General down to his infantryman’s boots’.⁴ His politics were those of the Radical Socialist Party and he used political patronage to secure his promotion to the rank of General in 1911. He performed well in the battles of August 1914, being appointed to command the French Third Army. But having alienated many of his peers by making no secret of his strong anti-Catholic and anti-establishment views, Sarrail was vulnerable if failure resulted from his command decisions. Heavy casualties suffered by Third Army, in what were supposed to be limited actions, cost Sarrail his command on 22 July 1915. However, political connections ensured he would not simply be packed off to some quiet backwater. Instead, he was selected to take over command of French forces at Gallipoli. But, changing circumstances ensured his actual destination was Salonika.

As troops began journeying towards Salonika, the secrecy surrounding their destination led to much speculation as Gunner Ivor Davies (‘B’ Battery, 100 Brigade, RFA) recalled:

‘There were many rumours going the rounds regarding our destination, but no-one thought of Salonika or the Balkan front, not many knew that such a place existed – I certainly did not.’

As the first French and British troops disembarked on 5 October 1915, the overall military situation was hardly encouraging. The Western Front had assumed the character of static trench warfare, despite concerted and costly efforts by British and French forces to break the deadlock, and the Gallipoli operation had failed in its attempt to knock Turkey out of the war. In Egypt, the Suez Canal had been successfully defended from a Turkish offensive in February 1915, but the resources required for decisive victory were not in place. On the Eastern Front, the line established by Russian victories against Austro-Hungarian forces in Galicia during late 1914, was ruptured by the Austro-German breakthrough at Gorlice-Tarnow, sending the Russians into headlong retreat between May and October 1915. Even Italy’s entry into the war, in May 1915, had simply resulted in further stalemate, with heavy losses to both themselves and the Austro-Hungarians. That the Austro-German attack on Serbia was launched on 6 October 1915, just a day after the first British and French troops landed in Greece, did not make an auspicious start to the Salonika operation. A week later, Bulgaria joined the attack on Serbia. The force led by Sarrail and Mahon had arrived too late to fulfil its primary task.

Time was needed to bring the battalions, weakened by service at Gallipoli, up to strength with drafts of men, equipment and transport. Camps were established for the troops just outside the city of Salonika alongside the Serres and Monastir roads. These were the best locations available offering plenty of flat, level ground and a direct road link to the docks at which all troops and equipment would be landed. Not all of the sites proved suitable however, as Gunner Davies remembered:

‘If only the officers had condescended to consult some of the farm labourers in the battery prior to selecting this campsite, a lot of trouble would have been averted, as it was quite evident that it was marshy ground, if one took notice of the heads of marsh grasses and reeds, easily visible on the surface of the snow. Botany could not have been a subject taught at Sandhurst or Woolwich.’

A shortage of tents and building materials meant that little accommodation could be constructed at the camps, providing many troops with a rough introduction to the Balkans. Virtually as soon as the first troops disembarked, it started to rain and continued to do so throughout most of October. Roads and campsites soon took on the characteristics and misery associated with the sticky mud of Flanders. Many units of 10th Division lacked equipment, as supplies available on Lemnos prior to redeployment could not make good the shortfall. Given the prevailing weather conditions and state of the camps, the lack of tents was of particular concern. Captain G. Nicholson (10/Hampshires) recounted the crisis faced by his battalion on 6 October 1915:

‘To start with the Battalion…was the possessor of 6 tents, and, as it soon came on to rain, life became rather miserable.’

The 5/Connaught Rangers fared little better and entries in their war diary hint at typical conditions in camps during October 1915:

‘16/10/15: Camp became a quagmire.

17/10/15: So many men without tent accommodation that the Brigadier ordered the surplus to make bivouacs on north side of camp.

18/10/15: Another wet morning. Camp in a terrible state.

21/10/15: Further tents were procured and tonight every man is sleeping in a tent.

26/10/15: Rained the whole night and all the morning. Camp in a terrible state and parades impossible.’

As the weather and living conditions in the camps outside Salonika deteriorated, so the soldiers’ frustrations and misery became apparent, as the diary of Company Quartermaster Sergeant John McIlwain (5/Connaught Rangers) relates for 10 October 1915:

‘The discomforts of the rain, the muddy camp and the overcrowded tents was aggravated unnecessarily by the want of considerations of the authorities who would not give us time to wash our clothing and keep ourselves clean. Every spare moment of the daylight, daily growing shorter, was spent, when not sheltering in tents from the rain, in practising ‘smartness’ in drill or in carrying out tactical schemes for the Brigadier across the country instead of washing our lousy shirts. We daily passed the French troops at the streams washing underclothing as if for pastime. We were well trained but filthy.’

Given the weather conditions, apparent inactivity and recent service of the 10th Division in the Dardanelles, it was imperative that, whether the British forces stayed in Greece or not, discipline and military routine had to be maintained as units were now camped close to a major temptation: the city of Salonika. Although the people of Salonika showed complete indifference to the arrival of the troops, merchants and shopkeepers quickly recognised a captive market and sent prices soaring. Additionally, not far from the main British camp was one containing refugees, who sold the men all too potent liquor and tempted them, when their money was gone, to barter articles of their kit. The war diary of 29 Brigade noted:

‘23/10/15: Since passes were allowed into Salonika, crime has been very prevalent and a large number of courts martial (averaging 2 a day) chiefly for drunkenness – absence – selling kit etc. The Royal Irish Rifles have by far the largest proportion of these.’

Not all units suffered these problems as some maintained the trappings of military discipline, despite the appalling conditions. The war diary of the Divisional Cyclist Company described its routine in the camp, and the military benefits which arose:

‘21/10/15: The following routine instituted in the Company:- The men not on guard, fatigues, orderly duties etc parade every morning at 9am for inspection of arms, ammunition, equipment, iron rations, field dressings, boots, bicycles, after which a route march either on foot or on bicycles according to the state of the roads till 12 noon. Dinner 1230. Afternoon parade at 1400. Arms drill and inspection of tents and camp generally. This routine has had the very best results, smartening the men up and getting them in good condition. Discipline of the company is excellent and practically no crime exists.’

Fear of possible hostile intervention by the Greek Army did little to help the outlook of the wet and miserable British soldier. Captain Nicholson commented that, had the Greeks wished to intern them, ‘this could easily have been done by stretching a few strands of barbed wire around the camp, as we were fast stuck in the mud, as indeed were the whole Brigade.’ As the number of troops grew, logistical support for the landing became a major headache as the military infrastructure was slow to develop. An example of this is provided by the difficulties encountered by companies of the Army Ordnance Corps unloading supplies onto the main quay at Salonika:

‘The ordnance difficulties began at the docks. There was practically no wharfage and stores soon began to pour in so quickly that they often had to be stacked in the open streets. The inhabitants were by no means honest so it can be imagined what happened to stores, which could not be adequately guarded by the few ordnance men available. The road to the depot was so bad that in the wet weather prevailing, lorries became hopelessly bogged.’ ⁵

Those officers and NCOs able to exploit the proximity of the town in these early days generally recalled a more positive view of the place. Often a short visit into town on some military errand afforded the only break from the primitive conditions and boredom of the camps. On 1 November 1915, Company Quartermaster Sergeant John McIlwain wrote:

‘Have a permanent pass to Salonique. Enjoying the walks to the city by daylight, especially Saturday mornings when the huge Jewish population is on holiday. Cafes in full swing with orchestras from midday. Varied and picturesque crowds.’

Over the following months reinforcements arrived: the British contingent comprising the 22nd, 26th, 27th and 28th Divisions from France. Unlike 10th Division’s journey from Lemnos, which had been brief and relatively uneventful, these formations travelled by train to Marseilles and then by troopship across the Mediterranean. The train journey prior to embarkation could be a major ordeal in itself. Most troops were carried in cattle trucks, the standard mode of rail transportation for troops during the First World War. Sanitary arrangements on such journeys were rather basic:

‘I remember on numerous occasions when the train had stopped anxious faces looked out of the trucks and the men dived out towards the nearest hedge to make themselves comfortable, only to hear the train whistle and start off again…The people could be seen rushing across the field clinging to their nether garments while they scrambled back up the sides of the slowly moving trucks.’ (2nd Lieutenant Cyrus Greenslade, 10/Devons.)

But this was not a fate to be shared by all, as Air Mechanic Frederick Mather (Royal Flying Corps) recalled:

‘The conditions of travelling are very far removed from what we had in civil life, the carriage being rather primitive and the travelling very slow; the French evidently believing in the slow, easy and careful method. Of course on a troop train to have carriages at all is rather a luxury, the usual thing is to have a cattle truck. Heavens, we were lucky in being allotted a carriage between eight of us considering that our journey was three nights and two days in the train this was a great boon to us.’

During the journey men’s spirits were often lifted by the enthusiastic reaction of French civilians as the troop-trains passed through the countryside:

‘All the way along women and girls waved handkerchiefs, old men took off their hats and all very gracefully. Little children clapped their two hands together and cried gleefully Engleesh Tommee. Sometimes a Union Jack waved out of a window and in one garden was a board with Hurrah for England chalked upon it.’ (Air Mechanic Frederick Mather, RFC.)

For some, with transport animals to attend to, the journey proved more problematic, as Driver Cecil Arthur Callow (‘A’ Battery, 302 Brigade, RFA) commented in his diary, as his unit journeyed between Ternand and Marseilles in November 1915:

‘During this train journey we had eight horses in each truck and we lived in the truck with the horses night and day. The trucks got into a terrible state – so did we – what with the droppings and urine. With this mixture on the floor of the truck the horses kept slipping down and it was a most risky and nasty job getting them to their feet again, especially at night or in a tunnel.’

Their destination, Marseilles, must have seemed like a jewel to the tired and weary soldiers who had suffered such cramped, uncomfortable conditions. Once out of the rest camps surrounding the town, many soldiers took full advantage of the opportunity to relax, enjoy cheap wine and explore the town. Frederick Mather left an account of his experience in the city during November 1916, just over a year after the first British troops passed through:

‘From the station at Marseilles we marched to No.8 Rest Camp to await our transport. It was beautifully warm and sunny, and most difficult to believe it was the month of November. The bay of Marseilles looked really beautiful, it was just one big semicircle of rocks rising out of the Mediterranean. The camp was very well laid out on a hillside, quite sheltered and picturesque. On Sunday 20th we all got a pass into Marseilles. We went on the trams. The passengers usually had to stand on the foot-boards and crowds of little boot boys wanted to clean our boots…We had tea at the YMCA and next went to a little Tobacco shop and bought postcard views of the town. We also had some vin rouge at the absurd price of 2d a glass. The rest of the time was spent wandering around the town seeing the sights.’

However, not all the pleasures offered by Marseilles were innocent as one naive and embarrassed soldier discovered:

‘Walking down the rue Cannebiere I met a most attractive, smart and well dressed French girl. Whether she or I spoke first I cannot remember but I know that we were soon chatting away like old friends and I am sure I was showing off my French and enjoying the pleasure of talking to such a charming person after the somewhat bawdy Army talk to which I had become accustomed.

We seemed to be getting along famously so, feeling rather daring, I suggested we should go to a cinema to which she agreed to my great delight. She did, however, say that first we must go to her room for a cup of coffee. Being entirely innocent at that time and not suspecting to what this was leading, I at once fell in with her proposal and off we went.

The room, I remember, was most attractively furnished with various photos on the wall, one of which she told me was of an English Sea Captain who always called to see her when he was in Marseilles. Still unsuspecting, I thought what a lucky devil he was. Her next step was to produce a bowl of water and a sponge, which I admit rather puzzled me though I thought it might be for me to wash my hands! However, the penny at last dropped when she said that before ‘starting operations’ there was the little question of money and could she please have five francs. And that was when I really panicked and decided I must get out as quickly as possible. I managed to beat an orderly retreat by telling her I was desole but really I had not any money on me and I must leave tout de suite, which I did.’ ⁶

Leaving Marseilles meant a journey by troopship. Most men recalled the appalling overcrowded nature of these vessels:

‘Easily my worst time was on that rotten boat, La Margaret, like pigs, drinking out of one cup, eating from one plate, crowded everywhere, the heat was too awful, men laying about like flies in every corner.’ (Air Mechanic Arthur Denley, 17 Kite Balloon Section, RFC.)

Major Stoneham of the Middlesex Yeomanry described it simply as, ‘like living on a Tube train.’⁷ In mounted, artillery and transport units, the men had not only their own confinement to worry about, but in addition the care of their many horses and mules. Some of the animals accepted their confinement graciously, but sometimes not, as 2nd Lieutenant W. E. Bruges (101 Brigade, RFA) observed at Port Said, whilst horses were being winched aboard the SS Theseus:

‘I remember one very fat horse…As it was hauled up, its back arched and its eyes seemed to start out of its head with fright. When it got level with the bridge, the crane swung round, and it pulled itself together and lashed out once or twice at the captain. Down in the hold, it spread-eagled itself, trembling, on a hatchway; but it proved too big for the ship’s stalls and it had to be slung back again. They tried again, but this particular horse was eventually left behind, no doubt to its delight.’⁸

Once on board, animals required constant attention. Practical matters, such as mucking out, easily undertaken on dry land, now required great care, as Gunner Ivor Davies recalled:

‘One man would manoeuvre the horse into the alleyway between the stalls – his mate would shovel and sweep any manure into the alleyway. The other men would shovel the manure into large baskets, carry them outside and empty them overboard; those fellows soon found the windward side of the ship.’

But, sharing one’s passage with animals did have some compensation for the men below decks as Davies observed:

‘We were not bothered by the officers, they never came our way, the stench arising from the horses below, and the men above, was more than they could take…The stench was much preferred to being pestered by the upper caste.’

Despite the discomfort and overcrowding, it was the threat of submarines that was fixed in the minds of many. Far from being a secure lake patrolled by the British, Italian, French and, from 1917, Japanese warships, the Mediterranean was a dangerous place where German and Austrian U-Boats scored regular successes throughout the war. For defence, many of the troopships and supply vessels were armed, although, as 2nd Lieutenant George Holderness (XVI Corps Cyclists Battalion) recalled, this proved a mixed blessing:

‘Just after dawn on the second day out, the submarine alarm was sounded. We all dashed to our stations. Frantic shouts for the gun crew elicited the information that they had been left behind in Port Said…A Serbian Staff Major, an ex-gunner, said he would fire the gun. He did so…The old boat groaned and creaked ominously. A second shell was fired, nearer to the target this time, but it seemed to herald the end of the old cargo carrier, for she was so shaken that we feared she might split in two. The Serbian officer was urged not to do any more firing. He agreed. On this occasion the suspected U-Boat conning tower turned out to be an empty beer barrel.’ ⁹

During the voyage many ships stopped at Malta and some of the Greek islands to drop off supplies and personnel or ferry others on to Salonika. Many of the men, however, were not allowed off the ship and could only watch and speculate as to the true nature of these places. Frederick Mather recalled:

‘It took about one hour to run along Malta and up into the harbour. After passing through the minefields we dropped anchor in the harbour at three o’clock. The day was very hot and not a breath of air as we steamed up into the line of ships. The water was not deep enough to allow the transport to go alongside the docks and the members of the forty who were to land went ashore on lighters. To our great disappointment we were not allowed ashore and were all rather fed up with our confinement to the boat with the same poor food day after day and sleeping crowded together between decks at night where the atmosphere was stifling owing to all the portholes being screwed down. We spent Sunday staring at the shore and the ships in the harbour. There were several large battleships, including the dreadnought Agamemnon as well as Japanese and English destroyers and dozens of motor boats and steam pinnaces of all nationalities bustling about amongst the bigger ships.’

Eventually the troopships would creep up the Gulf of Salonika, towards their ultimate destination:

‘The crowning glory of the voyage was witnessed as we advanced up the Gulf of Salonica, with hills stretching away into mountains on our right, the town of Salonica a little white spot on the horizon before us, and the gigantic snow-capped Mount Olympus towering in majesty above us to our rear.’ (Trooper S. F. Hatton, Middlesex Yeomanry).¹⁰

The first sight on Salonika stuck vividly in the minds of many soldiers. Captain Christopher Hughes (7/Wiltshires) observed that:

‘seen from the sea Salonika was a lovely place; a fairy city with white minarets among the red roofs.’

Once ashore, however, the beautiful vista proved to be an illusion. The city of Salonika was one of both great antiquity and dereliction and proved a culture shock to many of the troops. The squalor of a city was very noticeable:

‘All this enchanting place was destroyed utterly when once we set foot on the ground and marched from the dock to the base camp. For the place absolutely stank, if there was a stronger word I would use it.’(Sergeant Ivor Morgan, 11/Welsh Regiment.)

During the ferrying ashore of troops in motor lighters, 2nd Lieutenant Greenslade was to discover firsthand just how dirty Salonika was:

‘The water was considerably below the level of the quay and all the baggage had to be thrown up on to the dock side. While this was going on I saw one man take up a valise, balance it on his head and try to throw it up on to the quay. It wobbled on the edge and fell with a splash into the water, which those who have not seen at close quarters the harbour of a Middle Esatern port into which all the drainage of the city runs can hardly appreciate. I shouted at him and told him to find the unfortunate owner and tell him what had happened. After fishing it out of the water he came up and said ‘I am sorry Sir but that was your valise.’ There went all my bedding, all my tobacco and all my comforts for two months and I wondered how I was going to manage.’

The population of Salonika was neither homogenous nor familiar to British eyes. Turks, Greeks, Bulgars, Slavs and a sizeable community of Spanish Jews made the city a vibrant, if unpredictable place. One of the most striking descriptions of it came in verse, by Lieutenant Owen Rutter (7/Wiltshires) in his epic poem, The Song of Tiadatha, which became an anthem for the BSF:

‘Many sights saw Tiadatha

As he marched through Salonica …

Tiadatha, thought of Kipling,

Wondered if he’d ever been there,

Thought "At least in Rue Egnatia

East and West are met together."

There were trams and Turkish beggars,

Mosques and minarets and churches,

Turkish baths and dirty cafes,

Picture palaces and kan-kans;

Daimler cars and Leyland lorries

Barging into buffalo wagons,

French and English private soldiers

Jostling seedy Eastern brigands’¹¹

But, not all the men landing at Salonika found it a totally objectionable place:

‘It would be untrue to say that all the beauty and charm of the place was gone. Many features, which were independent of the prevailing dirt and disorder of the town, remained as sources of delight and interest. The colour effects of the streets and shops were undeniably attractive. Very pleasing also to look on were the semi-oriental dwelling-houses, with their quaint Byzantine gables, curious Roman embossments, and sharp, over-hanging roof…Artistic treasures of sorts were also discoverable in many out-of-the-way nooks and corners. Above, and enriching all, was the azure of a cloudless sky, and the glory of an Eastern sunshine.’ (Chaplain Henry Day, 7 Mounted Brigade).¹²

Ships would sometimes have to wait their turn to enter the harbour. During this time enterprising local traders flocked round the troopships in an endeavour to make new arrivals part with as much money or items of kit as possible. Many soldiers quickly grew wise to local trading customs and developed ways of expressing their dissatisfaction with traders’ goods and prices. The men of Gunner Davies battery were one such group:

‘If on drawing the basket up from the bum-boat, and it did not contain fair value, the baskets were filled with horse manure, and dropped on him and his wares, more than one operator fell from his boat into the water in trying to evade a well aimed basket.’

Others spent their enforced confinement on the anchored vessels simply looking at the surroundings and pondering their impending involvement in the campaign. Sister Edith Moor, one of many nursing sisters to serve in Macedonia, did this on her arrival in October 1916:

‘At this moment we are just outside Salonika Harbour, and some 80 miles north of Mudros. It’s frightfully cold, I have my top coat on. We shall reach the Harbour quite soon, all being well, but it seems doubtful whether we may land today. Such a wild, rough place, it looks. A large steamer is lying wrecked on the shore, and gives a rather desolate air to the place…The wrecked steamer is the one which was torpedoed nine months ago, with 600 mules on board. She managed to reach the shore and beach herself. All the mules were taken off…A kind of ferry comes to all the hospital ships, and takes passengers to the town. The dear matron, under whose charge we are at present placed, has made it out of bounds…Salonika, from what you can see of it, looks quite a large town. Hotels and large tobacco factories stand out quite well …. Mountains lie at the back of the town, and are covered with clouds. The fighting is just up the valley. There was a good deal of interest taken at first in the sound of the guns…A destroyer came out to meet us and show us the way in; otherwise a ship would never get in. Tonight all lights will be out on account of enemy aircraft, which are continually coming over from the German lines, and drop bombs on the ships in the harbour. All the other ships have their lights simply blazing away.’

Even after a safe arrival at their destination, news of the mounting toll of shipping losses and of human and animal remains washed up on the beaches of Mikra and Kalamaria, to the south east of the city, preyed on the minds of some. Air Mechanic Arthur Denley recorded in his diary:

‘On Sunday, November 19 (1916), the Huns sunk the hospital ship, Britannic, just off Salonika, but luckily there were only the crew and nursing staff on board. 50 drowned.¹³ On Tuesday, they sank the Burma Castle. Nearly 6000 on board, but they got her near land and saved all, quite near me. Makes me think how lucky we were to get across safe – two ships were sunk, one hour after we passed. If anything like that had happened at night, I should have been one of the victims for certain, as I was sleeping on the bottom deck under water. Three lots of stairs to get on deck, we should have been caught like rats in a trap.’

In October 1915, many of these experiences still lay in the future. The scratch force, which had arrived from Gallipoli, would have little time to acclimatise before moving north to support the collapsing Serbian army. But exactly what could be achieved by the whole Balkan venture remained in some doubt.

Chapter Two

Into a Serbian Winter

By 15 October three French infantry battalions supported by artillery were across the Serbian frontier around Strumica and Ghevgeli. Their presence in the Vardar valley was undetected by the Bulgarian Second Army until 21 October when elements of the two forces clashed. Additional troops soon followed as Sarrail tried desperately to support the Serbs. But, in the face of powerful Bulgarian forces, the French could hope to achieve little more than keeping a line of retreat open for their ally. Even this limited task the French would be hard pushed to achieve alone and Sarrail began pressuring Mahon to act. For