From Gaza to Jerusalem E-Book

Stuart Hadaway

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 532

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

The Palestine campaign of 1917 saw Britain's armed forces rise from defeat to achieve stunning victory. After two failed attempts in the spring, at the end of the year they broke through the Ottoman line with an innovative mixture of old and new technology and tactics, and managed to advance over 50 miles, from Gaza to Jerusalem, in only two months. As well as discussions of military strategy, Stuart Hadaway's gripping narrative of the campaign gives a broad account of the men on both sides who lived and fought in the harsh desert conditions of Palestine, facing not only brave and determined enemies, but also the environment itself: heat, disease and an ever-present thirst. Involving Ottoman, ANZAC, British and Arab forces, the campaign saw great empires manoeuvring for the coveted Holy Land. It was Britain's victory in 1917, however, that redrew the maps of the Middle East and shaped the political climate for the century to come.

Leseprobe

For Capt. & Mrs. Drakley

Cover illustrations: Front, top: Camoflaged Artillery. (Author’s collection) Front, bottom: 3rd Cavalry Division Ride out of Beersheba. (Author’s collection)

First published 2015

This edition first published 2023

The History Press

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© Stuart Hadaway, 2015, 2023

The right of Stuart Hadaway to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

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ISBN 978 0 75096 661 0

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CONTENTS

Note on Names, Quotes, Terminology and Foot/End Notes

Acknowledgements

Maps

Prologue: Jerusalem, 9 December 1917

1     To the Borders of Palestine, 1882–1916

2     First Battle of Gaza: Opening Moves

3     First Battle of Gaza: Disaster

4     Second Battle of Gaza

5     Ottoman Palestine

6     Egypt 1917

7     Arab Revolt

8     Trench Warfare

9     Allenby

10   Plans

11   Beersheba

12   Breakthrough

13   Pursuit

14   Into the Judean Mountains

15   Jerusalem

Epilogue

Glossary

Appendix A: Orders of Battle, 1st Battle of Gaza

Appendix B: Note on the structure and equipment of British and Imperial forces

Appendix C: Orders of Battle, 1/5th King’s Own Scottish Borderers’ raid on Sea Post, 11 June 1917

Appendix D: Note on the structure and equipment of Ottoman forces

Appendix E: Orders of Battle, 3rd Battle of Gaza

Select Bibliography

End Notes

NOTE ON NAMES, QUOTES, TERMINOLOGY AND FOOT/END NOTES

This book principally concerns two empires, each of which contained numerous nationalities and ethnic groups. As a rule, I have kept to the terms ‘Ottoman’ and ‘British’ to refer to the political entities of the opposing forces. The forces of the British Empire and their allies in Egypt are generally referred to as ‘the British’, although they also included (among others) Australians, New Zealanders and Indians. Where particular nationalities were the majority of the forces involved, due credit has been given. The Ottoman Army mainly consisted of Turkish troops from Anatolia, although it also included Arab and Bedouin forces. Again, the term ‘Ottoman’ has been used as a cover-all, with particular sub-contingents credited where appropriate.

A certain amount of liberty has been taken with Arab or Ottoman names, be they places or people. For places, I have largely stuck to the names used at the time (e.g. Constantinople instead of Istanbul, Gaza for ‘Azza, and Jerusalem for Yerushalayim) or the most common spelling. Arabic names get recorded in an entertainingly varied number of ways in Western sources, but I have taken the most common and, except in direct quotes, gone with that. For the names of persons, given the difficulties of anglicising Arab or Ottoman words, I have used my own judgement on which is the most acceptable translation.

Generally, I have left all quotes alone, except, in a few places, clarifying the punctuation where it is unclear.

It should also be noted that some of the words used in quotes are very much ‘of their time’ when it comes to opinions regarding the locals in Egypt or Arabs. These have been left in as reflecting the honest views of those present, even if they are utterly unacceptable today.

I have used both foot notes and end notes. As a rule, foot notes (at the bottom of the page) give additional information that is directly relevant to the matter at hand, but would clog up the text too much, e.g. the units that constituted various columns or forces. Generally I only do this for temporary formations put together for a particular action or campaign, and for the composition of permanent formations I recommend that you consult the Orders of Battles in the Appendices. End notes are mostly references, citing where certain information came from or recommending where you can find out more.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank many people for their help while researching and writing this book. On the home front, I’d particularly like to acknowledge my debt to Nina for her constant support, understanding, advice and patience, and to my parents for their support. A special thank you goes to Marnie for her help on SW duties.

More professionally, as always David Buttery has been a great help, and I’d especially like to thank him for his outstanding map-reading abilities, for riding shotgun for me and for allowing me the use of some of his photographs. My interest in this campaign was first sparked many years ago while working for the Museum of the Worcestershire Soldier (to which I recommend all readers as being well worth a visit), and I’d like to thank Colonel Stamford Cartwright MBE for his (and his regiment’s) many kindnesses and support then and since. My bibliography would have been considerably thinner without the help of Ian Rushforth, and the staff of the Prince Consort’s Library at Aldershot, and I owe them all my thanks. And, as ever, the staff at the Imperial War Museum have been very helpful.

I owe a great debt to Yakov Kasher for sharing his knowledge of Israel with me, and also to Dr Adam Ackerman on that score. Special thanks also go to Mohammed Odeh, the CWGC’s Head Gardener in Jerusalem for his assistance. Toda raba to them all.

For the production of this work, I’d like to thank all of the staff at The History Press, particularly Jo de Vries and Andrew Latimer. I’d also like to thank the Trustees of the QOWH for their permission to reproduce some of the illustrations, and Lee Barton for his technical assistance with scanning.

PROLOGUE: JERUSALEM, 9 DECEMBER 1917

Hussein Bey al-Husseini, Mayor of Jerusalem, was not having an easy morning.

In fact, it had been a difficult few years, as the outbreak of the Great War brought many changes to his city, and indeed his own temporary removal from office. Troops had flooded in from across the Ottoman Empire, along with the traders, camp-followers and prostitutes who inevitably arrived to provide for them. Over the ensuing three years more change had come. Political freedoms were suppressed and a culture of fear developed. Food shortages grew, partly due to the needs of the army who simply took what they needed from local farmers and merchants, and partly due to a devastating locust plague in 1915. The army’s insatiable need for wood – for building and as fuel for not only their troops but also their railways – exacerbated the problems as orchards and forests were chopped down with little thought for those who depended on them for food or a living. By late 1917 famine was a very real threat. Many starving women, their men away in the army (who barely paid enough for soldiers to supplement their own poor rations up to subsistence levels) or even killed in the fighting, were forced to turn to prostitution to make a living.

The civil population decreased, from around 85,000 to around 55,000. Muslim men were conscripted into the fighting forces, and Christians and Jews were pressed into labour battalions. Thousands more Jews had been evicted from the city, and even the country, by the Ottoman Governor of Greater Syria, Ahmed Djemal Pasha. Soon to be known as The Slaughterman, Djemal ruthlessly suppressed any opposition to the previously largely benign Ottoman Empire, commandeered Christian sites for military use, established a secret police, and hanged dissenters or those suspected of being spies. While the populace suffered, the upper classes (including Husseini) embarked on a hedonistic cycle. They, and their mistresses and other ladies of ill repute, were led by the playboy tyrant Djemal through seemingly endless drunken parties.

The more sober or religious elements of the population worried endlessly about the spiritual and moral well-being of the city, and the seeming breakdown in social order.

For the last few weeks, the situation had become increasingly tense. Starting on 31 October 1917 the British, on their third attempt, had finally broken through the Ottoman front lines in southern Palestine, strung between Gaza and Beersheba. By 24 November the British had reached Nabi Samwil, the mosque that marks the burial place of the Prophet Samuel and which is clearly visible from Jerusalem on the western horizon. An Ottoman counter-attack over the next week was repulsed, while the British paused to rest, bring up supplies and reorganise their lines. When the offensive was restarted on 8 December it was quickly obvious that the Ottoman position in Jerusalem was untenable. The 53rd (Welsh) Division was attacking from the south and south-west, but the main threat came from the 60th (2/2nd London) Division in the west and the 74th (Yeomanry) Division (infantry, despite its name) to the north-west. Both of these latter divisions were positioned to sweep around the north of the city, and cut the Ottoman and German troops in Jerusalem off from the rest of their army. As the fighting again edged nearer the big question was whether, despite the obvious hopelessness of the situation, Jerusalem itself would be defended.

Djemal Pasha had moved his headquarters to Damascus during the summer. He left Jerusalem in the charge of Governor Izzat Bey, although principal military command lay with the German Colonel Franz von Papen, part of Field Marshal Erich von Falkenhayn’s Asiakorps. Falkenhayn had been relegated to commanding Germany’s contribution to the Palestine campaign after his failure to take the French city of Verdun, and seemed determined not to abandon this city without a fight. The prospect of the war entering the streets of Jerusalem, complete with modern artillery and house-to-house fighting, left Husseini and von Papen deeply concerned.

However, Falkenhayn had already withdrawn his headquarters to Nablus, where he was unable to closely supervise their actions, and they used this loose rein to the fullest extent. On the evening of 8 December, Ottoman and German troops began a steady withdrawal from the city, forming a new defensive line in the mountains to the north. Izzat Bey smashed his communications equipment in the Post Office building, and then borrowed two horses and a carriage from the American Colony and joined the retreat himself in the early hours of 9 December. He was among the last to leave the city itself, although small Ottoman forces remained to the east of the city on the Mount of Olives and Mount Scopus until they were pushed off the next day.

The city was now open for an uncontested occupation by the advancing British, but the problem was how to let them know this before an attack was begun. Izzat Bey had left at 3 a.m., and Husseini and a small party of officials departed the city soon after, heading west. To mark their intentions, they carried a white flag made from a bed sheet borrowed from the ever-obliging American Colony. They intended to find the British advance troops and announce the surrender of the city. It was a simple plan that would prove bizarrely difficult to carry out.

Their first contact with the British Army occurred at around 5 a.m., in the form of Privates Albert Church and R.W. J. Andrews. These two men were cooks from the 2/20th Battalion of the London Regiment, out searching for fresh water, and if possible fresh eggs.

The two privates were offered the surrender of Jerusalem, the Holy City of the world’s three great religions, the seat of civilisations, the prize of the great empires for millennia, the dream of the Christian West and the hope of the dispersed Tribes of Israel, the future site of the Day of Judgement, and the principal (for propaganda purposes at least) objective of the current campaign. These two men were offered the chance to succeed where even Richard the Lionheart had failed, 725 years before.

Becoming rather overwhelmed at the prospect, the two cooks made hasty tracks back towards their own lines, leaving the mayor and his party to continue their search.

Shortly before 8 a.m., the wandering Jerusalemites were halted at an outpost of the 2/19th London Regiment, by Sergeants Fred Hurcomb and James Sedgewick. Again, the British soldiers proved unwilling to do anything as major as accepting the surrender of an entire city, although they did agree to have their photographs taken with the mayor. They then pointed Husseini and his party towards the rear.

Next, just before 9 a.m., the now surely exasperated party encountered Majors W. Beck and F.R. Barry of the 60th Division artillery staff, out making a reconnaissance, who yet again refused the surrender but promised to inform their headquarters. Minutes after the two majors departed to do so, Lieutenant Colonel H. Bayley (commanding officer of the 303rd Brigade, Royal Field Artillery) appeared on the scene with some of his officers. He at last agreed to escort the mayor to higher authority. At the same time he despatched Major E.M.D.H. Cooke, with an orderly and an Arab policemen, to the city to take possession of the Post Office.

Bayley passed Husseini on to Brigadier General C.F. Watson, commander of 180th Brigade, at around 11 a.m. Watson sent word to army headquarters, and at noon Major General John Shea, commanding officer of 60th Division, arrived with authority from the commander of the British forces, General Sir Edmund Allenby, to accept the surrender.

On the fifth attempt, Husseini had finally managed to surrender his city.

The ‘liberation’ of the city was even less of a thunderclap than the surrender had been. In the city, Major Cooke had been greeted by ecstatic crowds, whom he forced his way through to find the Post Office, an important hub of communications in the city. While standing outside, a party of over fifty Ottoman troops marched past in good order, heading north to join their own forces and completely ignoring the British officer and his two companions. Others paid much more attention, and over the two hours he stood there ‘he suffered from the attentions, more especially of the female portion, of the thankful and rejoicing crowd’.1

One member of that crowd was an Orthodox Christian Arab, oud-player, sometime civil servant and (briefly) member of the Ottoman Navy named Wasif Jawhariyyeh. He would later turn against the British as a ‘curse on our dear country’, but for now he and his family and community celebrated the:

British occupation that freed the Arab people from the despotic Turks. We were all nurturing great hopes for a better future, particularly after what we had been through – the miseries of war, famine, disease, epidemics, and typhus that spread throughout the country, and we thank the Lord who saved all our young men from the damned military service.2

As for me (age twenty), I was dancing in the streets with my friends and raising toasts to Britain and the occupation … for the joy and ecstasy of victory that we felt had been extreme, and we had drunk excessively as we celebrated.3

In the late morning, General Watson and Colonel Bayley arrived to assess the situation, bringing reinforcements in the form of an artillery sergeant and six gunners. A short while afterwards, a mounted patrol from the 2nd County of London Yeomanry (Westminster Dragoons) nosed their way into the city from the south; they were scouting for the 53rd (Welsh) Division, which had just occupied Bethlehem, a few miles away. Next in the drip of units was an infantry company from the 2/17th London Regiment. There were now sufficient numbers to detail men also to guard the Jaffa Gate and some of the hospitals in the city.

At noon General Shea appeared to announce that the surrender had been accepted, to much rejoicing among the crowds who had gathered to watch the trickle of British units enter the city. This trickle now sped up a little, the 2/18th (London Irish) Battalion of the London Regiment marching in, followed by the 301st Brigade, Royal Field Artillery. Further guards could now be placed on the gates of the city and the important points within, including the various religious sites and shrines. Islamic sites were guarded by Christian troops for only as long as it took to bring Muslim Indian units up from the rest of the army. Dusk brought the more glamorous appearance of the 10th Regiment Australian Light Horse, arriving en masse with the emu-feather plumes in their hats tossing as they rode. They had been detached from their own division weeks ago and kept in the Judean Mountains close to the front just so as to be on hand and represent Australia on this day. Although the symbolism and impact of the moment was not lost on the Australians, so late in the day other matters all came to mind:

It seemed we had some difficulty in finding a place to stop for the night, but eventually the Turkish Cavalry barracks were taken over. We were still wet and cold, but were able to get a hot cup of tea with a tin of bully beef and biscuits.4

As the city of Jerusalem was secured within, so were the exterior threats pushed back. Having taken Bethlehem, the 53rd (Welsh) Division turned to the north. The 60th (2/2nd London) Division swept either side of the city, and its 181st Brigade pushed the Ottoman rearguard off the Mount of Olives and Mount Scopus. The 74th (Yeomanry) Division kept the pressure on to the north-east, keeping hard on the heels of the retreating Ottomans. Within a day or two, the front lines had passed safely into the mountains to the north, and out of artillery range of the city.

The grand entry into Jerusalem by General Allenby finally occurred on 11 December; although a somewhat grander event than the shambling surrender two days before, the entry was kept muted. In 1898 the German Kaiser, Wilhelm II, had entered Jerusalem dressed in a white uniform of his own devising, followed by Prussian Hussars carrying medieval-style banners and Ottoman lancers in full regalia. His full entourage – over 800 people not including his military escorts – and their supporting logistics for his tour of Palestine had needed the expertise of Thomas Cook’s travel company to organise them. So grand was the cavalcade that a section had to be knocked out of the city walls, just to the side of the Jaffa Gate, to let them in. The Kaiser had ridden in splendour and glory. By contrast, at the urging of General Sir William Robertson, the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, and the Foreign Office, Allenby dismounted outside the Jaffa Gate and entered through the original gate on foot.5 In deliberate contrast to the colourful entourage of the Crusader-obsessed Wilhelm, Allenby wanted to be seen as coming in humility and as a liberator rather than a conqueror.

As he entered the city, Allenby was flanked by commanders of the small French and Italian contingents with his army and followed by some of his senior officers, the political representatives of his allies, and various staff officers, including a dishevelled Major T.E. Lawrence, freshly returned from Arabia and wearing a uniform made up of whatever items he could borrow. In the square just inside the gate, Allenby was met by a parade of troops drawn from the four home nations, together with Australia, New Zealand, India, France and Italy. Rounding the corner, Allenby and his staff mounted the steps to the gate of the Citadel, to be met by the civil and religious leaders of the city. Husseini formally handed over the keys to the city.i A proclamation was read out announcing British occupation of the city, the implementation of Martial Law, and a promise to protect the livelihoods of the inhabitants and the sanctity of all the holy sites. The same message was then read out in French, Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, Russian and Italian. This task completed, Allenby led his party back through the Jaffa Gate, leaving the city in the hands of Brigadier General William Borton, the new Military Governor and now known to his two cousins, both serving with the EEF, as ‘Pontius Pilot II’, to assess the population’s immediate needs. According to the Official History:

The whole ceremony was simple and dignified. The onlookers were obviously content with the turn of events, but there was no exuberant enthusiasm. No flags were flown.6

The ceremony was of course as much a political and diplomatic event as a military one. Throughout, the British had been keen to avoid any impression of being conquerors, and in the official statements and proclamations great care had been taken to avoid the term ‘crusade’.

Even while efforts were made to play it down locally, the shadow of the Crusades fell heavily across this campaign at the time and ever since. Many commentators drew comparisons both in Palestine and back in Britain. The press jumped on the idea of Allenby succeeding where Richard the Lionheart had failed, and popular newspapers such as Punch had a field day with cartoons on that subject. This was in fact encouraged; Lloyd George had been very conscious of the symbolism of Jerusalem ever since ordering its capture back in the spring. In a year that had seen privations caused by an increasing submarine blockade at home, the withdrawal of Russia from the war, and a continuing litany of bloody failures in France and Belgium, seizing Jerusalem did not just offer a rare victory. To many it was confirmation that God was on their side in this war between the righteous Entente powers, who had entered the war to defend against German aggression, and (as they saw it) the barbarous alliance between the German ‘Huns’ and the Muslim Ottomans.

A question remains as to how much of this ‘spirit of the Crusader’, or ‘spirit of a pilgrim’, was felt by the average soldier. Certainly, religious references appear in the letters and diaries of many of the soldiers who fought in Palestine, usually relating to the stories of the places they were passing through. However, much of the crusading imagery doesn’t appear until the publication of memoirs and accounts of the campaign in the post-war period. There is a strong argument that it was done because by then it was expected by the public, who had been heavily subjected to such sentiments in the press at home.7 After all, those same letters and diaries also tend to dwell on the historical sites around them – the paths of pharaohs, Alexander the Great and even Napoleon. If this is to a lesser extent than allusions to biblical tales or the Crusades, it is mostly because there is so much more of the latter to see. However, no one claims that the frequent references to historical events means that the average soldier entered Palestine in the ‘spirit of an historian’. Over all, it is perhaps fairer to say that biblical stories in particular form such a strong element in soldiers’ letters because they create a familiar framework (for both the soldiers and their families) for their movements and experiences in an otherwise distant, strange and alien land. Or an even more pragmatic answer would be that without such interest, not only the letters home from the army in southern Palestine but also the lives of the soldiers, living as they did in a largely empty desert, would be rather dull.

And, clearly, not everyone felt a great surge of religious feeling. Gunner Thomas Edgerton of the 301st Brigade, Royal Field Artillery, was among the first soldiers to enter the city on the night of 9 December:

I am afraid not many of us felt like gallant Christian soldiers after wresting Jerusalem from the Infidel after thousands of years. The spirit of the Crusaders was conspicuous by its absence. It was dark when we went through, and teeming down with rain. The fighting had been bitter and many of our friends were no longer with us. What we could see was not very impressive. Narrow streets and the smell none too sweet. The progress that night was very slow and the rain was very cold.8

Edgerton was not alone in his feelings. The phrase ‘land of milk and honey’ appears frequently in letters and memoirs, and is almost always used ironically or sarcastically. The greenery of southern Israel as we see it today is the result of over half a century of careful land reclamation and impressive irrigation technology. In 1917, the harsh gravelly desert stretched all the way up to the foot of the Judean Mountains, interspersed only sparingly with small farms, orchards and settlements that attempted to scratch a living in the arid dust. While water, wildlife and people were more abundant than they had been in the Sinai Desert, this was still a parched and inhospitable land for most of the year. The exception was during the rainy season, over the winter months (roughly November to February). During this time, the land was susceptible to flash-floods, wadis became positively dangerous, and the coastal regions tended to turn into temporary marshland. Worse, especially for the troops now fighting in the high Judean Mountains, it became bitterly cold.

For men who were still equipped and acclimatised for desert warfare, December 1917 was a grim period. The fighting did not end with the fall of Jerusalem. Even as the supply situation became more acute, with convoys struggling to keep up with the army, especially on narrow and muddy mountain tracks, several small operations were mounted to push the Ottoman forces back further from Jerusalem. An Ottoman counter-attack towards the city followed in the last days of the month, although it was successfully stopped and thrown back, before both sides fell into exhausted inactivity. Meanwhile, on the coastal plain to the north-west, a final effort was made to push the Ottoman forces further north to secure the port of Jaffa as a new supply base for the British. Strategically speaking, this port was the real prize of the offensive. Although steeped in cultural and religious significance, Jerusalem had very little military importance; it was the shortening of the supply lines that was the most valuable achievement.

On 30 December 1917, the arguably most successful British offensive of the war to date finally ran out of steam and came to a halt, having advanced over 80km (50 miles) in two months, killing, wounding or capturing some 28,000 Ottoman troops, and capturing large numbers of guns and amounts of stores. In return, the army had suffered around 5,000 men killed and 18,000 wounded or missing, and tens of thousands of sick. After a very bad start, the 1917 campaign had ended spectacularly.

_________________

i At the time of writing, these keys reside in the Museum of the Royal West Kent Regiment in Maidstone. Presumably, the locks have been changed since 1917.

1

TO THE BORDERS OF PALESTINE, 1882–1916

AT THE OPENING of 1917, the British Army in Egypt was geographically more or less exactly where it had been at the start of the war: on the far eastern edge of the Sinai Desert, on the border between Egypt and Ottoman-held Palestine. On the outbreak of war in 1914 the British had withdrawn from the border, back to a defensive line based on the Suez Canal, and had spent most of 1916 regaining that lost ground. But if the army was now back in the same physical position, their material and political positions were radically different.

Britain had been sporadically involved in the internal affairs of Egypt for over a hundred years, protecting what was the quickest and most direct route between the home country and India. However, they did not take up permanent residence until the 1870s when Egypt, crippled by international debt, was declared bankrupt. The European Great Powers, including Britain, stepped in and took control of the country’s finances. Resentment over this grew in Egypt until a military-led revolt seized control of Egypt in 1881. An Anglo-French fleet assembled to restore control, but the French element subsequently pulled out at the last moment. It was left to Britain to effectively invade Egypt and, by the autumn of 1882, take control of the country.

It was not quite as clear cut as that, however. Although a British Agency, under a Consul-General, controlled all finances, and slowly British procedures and staff crept into most government departments, Egypt technically remained under the rule of the Khedive, and a part of the Ottoman Empire. The Ottomans, facing their own internal and external threats and wars over the next thirty years, paid little attention to the problem, although attempts were made to decrease Egypt’s boundaries (ones which the British led the way in deflecting, even to the extent of threatening war with Constantinople). Within Egypt opinion was divided about the British presence, and the effects that they had on public and private life at different levels of society.

In 1912 a new British Consul General was appointed, Field Marshal The Right Honourable The Viscount Kitchener, who had served extensively in the country in the 1880s and 1890s, leading campaigns to secure Egyptian control over the Sudan. Kitchener was on leave in England when the crisis of July 1914 broke. Although he attempted to return to Egypt, he was instead appointed Secretary of State for War, and authority in Egypt fell to his senior subordinate, Sir Milne Cheetham.

The outbreak of war in Europe led to two major and interconnected concerns about Egypt. Firstly, how would the Ottomans react, and secondly, how would the Egyptians?

It looked very likely that the Ottoman Empire would ally itself to Germany (and indeed the two had signed a secret treaty on 2 August 1914), and the possibility was that the Ottomans would take action to regain Egypt. This could take the form of a conventional attack, but the most feared option was the use of a religious uprising. The nominal head of the Ottoman Empire was also the Caliph, the symbolic head of Islam. Britain was deeply concerned that the Caliph would use his position to call for a jihad, a holy war, against them and the French. This could not only lead to uprisings in Egypt and the Sudan, but across numerous other African and Asian colonies, and, worst of all, perhaps even India. An equal possibility, although not as feared, would be that the nationalists in Egypt would take advantage of the international crisis to start their own rebellion, with or without outside support. These two fears meant that the Egyptians had to be handled very carefully.

After all Egypt, or at least the canal that ran through it, was a crucial strategic asset for the British and their French partners in the Entente Cordiale. Even in peacetime massive amounts of the raw materials that fed the British economy came through the Suez Canal. In wartime these imports would be absolutely vital, and would likely increase dramatically. While cargoes from the Far East could go via South Africa instead (as, indeed, many would from late 1916 due to the submarine threat in the Mediterranean) this would add time delays to each voyage. With shipping tonnage at a premium, the faster a ship could deliver a cargo and steam off to collect another, the better. And of course the cargoes were not just raw materials for the British war machine, but also men for her armies. Particularly in the early months of the war, the tens of thousands of trained troops despatched from India and the recalled British garrisons from around the world would prove crucial in stemming the German advance in France. Later, India, New Zealand and Australia would provide a steady stream of invaluable reinforcements for the Western Front.

Protecting the canal from local or outside threats was paramount, but there was little idea on how to do so. The Foreign Office had considered the issue as recently as 1913, and then effectively given up due to the complexities involved. An outright annexation of the country could spark the feared internal revolt, possibly spreading elsewhere, tying down valuable troops and threatening the canal. On the other hand, the status quo was also unacceptable. Officially, the Khedive controlled all matters to do with law and order, and also commerce. The British would not be able to legally do anything to round up spies or saboteurs, or stop the Egyptians trading with Britain’s enemies. Technically, although it was unlikely, they would not even be able to stop German or Ottoman shipping, even warships, using the canal. The final conclusion was that the ‘man on the spot’ would have to make a judgement call when the time came.

When that time did come, the ‘men on the spot’ were Sir Milne Cheetham and the Egyptian President of the Council of Ministers, Hussein Rushdi Pasha. Thankfully for them the Khedive, Abbas Hilmi, who was notoriously anti-British and lost few opportunities to cause them difficulties, was out of the country at the time and staying in Constantinople. Cheetham and Pasha were both able to keep a level head and calm control of the situation. Their final decision was to issue on 5 August 1914, the day after Britain declared war on Germany, a ‘document which committed Egypt virtually to a declaration of war against the [British] King’s enemies.’9 In it, several war-time measures were detailed, such as forbidding Egyptian citizens from trading with Britain’s enemies or giving them loans. These would realistically have only limited impact on the country while at the same time making it publically clear that they were supporting Britain.

There was a general lack of response to the document. Apart from the usual market fluctuations to be expected when a major war breaks out, there was little response in Egypt. The British held their breath, waiting for the nationalist or Islamic backlash, but it did not come. The Ottomans did not immediately attack, declare a jihad or indeed take any action at all, and it was not until three months later that the hiatus was broken. The Ottomans resisted German pressure to join the war for as long as possible, but finally had to relent. On 2 November 1914 Ottoman warships, crewed and commanded by German sailors, and acting under pressure from Germany, bombarded Russian military targets in the Black Sea, and brought the Ottoman Empire into the war.

In Egypt, the open state of war led to a declaration of Martial Law. The British military commander in the country, Lieutenant General Sir John Maxwell, took charge of all matters pertaining to the defence of Egypt. The immediate results of this included the abandoning of the Sinai Desert as being indefensible with the resources available, and the use of the Royal Navy to sweep German, Austrian and other enemy shipping out of the Suez Canal, in contravention of international law. Indeed, the Royal and French Navies began to impose their control on the whole of the eastern Mediterranean, snapping up enemy merchant vessels, and patrolling (including the innovative use of seaplanes) and raiding the Syrian and Palestinian coasts. On 18 December 1914 the de facto British control of Egypt was formalised by the declaration that the country was now a Protectorate. Again, internal Egyptian response was muted; even the declaration of jihad by the Caliph in November had failed to cause any mass stirrings. Despite this, the spectre of an Islamic uprising would remain a serious concern for the British authorities throughout the war.

The regular British Army contingent in Egypt was badly needed in France, so alternative arrangements were made. The Egyptian Army was not entirely trusted, and besides was largely tied up in garrisons in the Sudan, so outside assistance was needed. Several divisions of Indian troops passed through the Suez Canal in early September on their own way to France, and the 9th (Sihind) Brigade and 3rd Mountain Artillery Brigade were landed in Egypt to bolster the garrison. By the end of the month British troops began arriving in the form of East Lancashire Division (Territorial Forces), soon to be renumbered as the 42nd (East Lancs) Division. These were part-time soldiers, whose training was not good enough to allow them to face the Germans in Europe. Instead, they came to Egypt to complete their training while also guarding the canal. As they arrived, British regular units departed, leaving just one brigade of fully trained troops to guard the whole of Egypt.

In November more Indian troops arrived, although many were Imperial Service Troops; raised, trained and equipped by local Indian rulers, and below par compared to their regular Indian Army comrades. More reinforcements arrived in early December in the form of the volunteers of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC). Although great in number and enthusiasm, their training had hardly begun before they had been put on the ships to Egypt. However, although almost all of the forces in Egypt needed significant amounts of training, there were now at least sufficient numbers to create an illusion of safety.

The illusion was tested in early February 1915, when the Ottoman forces in Palestine crossed the Sinai Desert and attacked the Suez Canal defences. Led by the military governor of Greater Syria (the Ottoman province that included Palestine), Djemal Pasha, the Ottoman troops left the garrison town of Beersheba in mid January. Despite taking precautions, such as travelling by routes far inland, they were quickly spotted by British and French seaplanes launched from warships off-shore, and later by Royal Flying Corps aeroplanes operating from Egypt. The first wave of the attack, drawn mostly from the 25th (OT) Infantry Division, with cavalry, artillery and Arab cameliers in support, struck at several points along the canal on the night of 2/3 February. The main attacks fell around Tussum, at the southern end of Lake Timsah, while smaller diversionary attacks were made in the north and south.

The defences of the canal had been built mostly on the western bank, using the canal itself as a physical barrier. The wisdom of this had been questioned, but during this first attack the strategy paid off. Indian troops entrenched behind the canal were able to rake the Ottoman troops as they attempted to cross, while Entente warships on the canal provided heavy artillery support. Despite taking heavy casualties, the Ottomans persevered until the early afternoon of 3 February before Djemal Pasha called a retreat. His second wave, the 10th (OT) Infantry Division was still fresh and unused, but most of the Ottoman boats had been destroyed and the element of surprise was lost. Leaving small rearguard units behind, the Ottomans withdrew to Beersheba.

It had been a valiant attempt, especially given the chaotic state of Ottoman Army logistics. To bring a force of over 20,000 men across the Sinai Desert had been a creditable feat, and the British were loath to make any kind of pursuit. The Indian troops, bolstered by Egyptian artillery, had held the line well, but they were still the only fully combat ready troops in the country. The Australians, New Zealanders and British Territorials were making great progress in their training, but to commit them against unknown numbers in a desert environment would not have been wise. Equally, not enough pack animals were available to carry the supplies needed for any sizable force to operate in the desert. Although the decision not to pursue the defeated Ottomans would be questioned by many, it was undoubtedly the correct one.

For the rest of 1915, British attention in the eastern Mediterranean was focused on the ill-fated campaign in the Dardanelles. Egypt was stripped of most of its British and ANZAC troops to fight in the campaign as part of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force (MEF). It also became the base of operations for the MEF, with supplies (including fresh water) being gathered in and despatched from Egypt, along with reinforcement troops. The country also mobilised a massive effort to supply medical care to the wounded and sick pouring out of Gallipoli, of whom the latter were the majority. Apart from army hospitals, state and private hospitals were fully or partly turned over for military use, while others were set up by well-meaning civilians or the Red Cross or Red Crescent Societies. By the end of 1915, there were 18,000 hospital beds being used by the army in Egypt, as well as 17,000 spaces in convalescent homes.

The operations of the MEF left the defences of the Suez Canal once again perilously thin. Thankfully, the campaign in the Dardanelles had a similarly draining effect on the Ottoman forces in the eastern Mediterranean, and no troops could be spared to take advantage of the British weakness on the Sinai front. It was another matter on the other, western border of Egypt, though. Ottoman and German agents encouraged an invasion of the Western Desert by the Senussi, a religious sect based in Libya. For a relatively small outlay in equipment, gold and instructors, the Ottomans and Germans provoked increasing hostility between the Senussi and the Anglo-Egyptian authorities, neither of whom were keen to fight each other. In November 1915 the actions of a German submarine forced the Senussi’s hand by passing over to them captured British sailors, and then bombarding the Egyptian Coast Guard station at Sollum. A Senussi invasion of the Western Desert along the Mediterranean coast followed.

The initial British response was to pull back into Egypt while suitable forces were gathered. Few troops could be spared from outside the country, while only a few small garrisons and depots remained in Egypt. A scratch force was thrown together, but fared badly in the first few engagements against the Senussi, who were born and bred desert fighters. Only in late December did the British manage to stop the Senussi advance, and it was not until mid February that they were able to begin recapturing lost ground. By then the campaign in the Dardanelles had been declared a lost cause, and the troops withdrawn to Egypt. The returning troops began to retrain and be re-equipped. They were designated the Imperial Strategic Reserve, and marked as being available for sending anywhere in the world where they may be needed. Some of them were immediately sent against the Senussi, fighting back along the coast to Sollum, and also beginning to evict Senussi garrisons from several of the oases far in land and deep inside the Western Desert. By the end of March 1916 the coastal campaign was over, although minor operations continued in conjunction with Italian forces in Libya. Further south, most of the oases were cleared by the end of 1916, although a large garrison remained at Siwa.

With the drain of the Gallipoli campaign removed, and the threat to the western half of the country dealt with, thoughts again turned to the Sinai Desert. In fact, General Maxwell had been making what preparations he could even while the fighting in the Dardanelles continued. He had updated much of the road and rail network in Egypt, significantly expanding both in the Canal Zone. Should the army wish to advance in any numbers into the Sinai, logistics would be a crucial consideration and the new infrastructure would be invaluable. Likewise a start, albeit a small one, was made in gathering camels as well as herders and Egyptian labourers to support the army. It was not until the spring of 1916 that any serious efforts could be made, though, and first a certain amount of work was needed to get the army’s house in order.

During the Dardanelles campaign, the organisation of the army in Egypt had become increasingly fractured and confused, with different organisations having responsibility for different areas of the country, or different functions regardless of area. The situation had reached the state where many senior officers were themselves unclear as to who they answered to, and an effort was made to simplify the command structure. The final upshot of the reorganisations was Maxwell’s replacement in March 1916 by Lieutenant General Sir Archibald Murray, former commander of the MEF, and now commander of the newly created Egyptian Expeditionary Force (EEF). Not that the army was in any fit state to go on any expeditions.

Although limited patrols and sweeps were made into the Sinai Desert, where an Ottoman force under the command of the German Colonel Friedrich Freiherr Kress von Kressenstein was active in monitoring and probing the Suez Canal defences, large-scale manoeuvres were still out of the question. To rectify this, the railway network now began to be expanded into the Sinai, stretching out from Kantara towards the cluster of wells and oases at Katia. In April, Kress von Kressenstein led a large Ottoman force against the works at Katia, with the intention of then establishing positions that would directly threaten the Suez Canal. His force surprised the British garrison, and in a stiff fight the three yeomanry cavalry regiments of the 5th Mounted Brigade suffered heavy casualties before being forced to withdraw. The Ottomans had also received a bloody nose, though, and themselves withdrew to await reinforcements. Murray took advantage of the respite to push the railway out further, towards the wells at Romani, along with a pipeline to pump fresh water out to the army in the desert.

At Romani, the British dug in. The exact size of the EEF was still in flux, with its status as the Imperial Strategic Reserve seeing ten of the fourteen infantry divisions withdrawn from Gallipoli being sent elsewhere by June 1916. The four that remained were considered weak, although the army was at least strong in cavalry; principally (in numbers) the Australian Light Horse (ALH), with smaller numbers of British yeomanry units and New Zealand Mounted Rifles (NZMR). The actual troop numbers available was something of a moot point, however, as the available wells, supplemented by supplies brought up on the railway and by the fledgling water pipeline, could only maintain a force of two infantry divisions and the equivalent of two cavalry divisions by July 1916.

In July, the Ottomans began a second, larger attack across the Sinai Desert. They closed with the British forces at Romani in early August 1916. The British enjoyed a slight numerical advantage – about 14,000 men to the Ottomans’ 12,000 – although only one of the two British infantry divisions had as yet arrived. The 52nd (Lowland) Division had established well-dug-in positions east of Romani, while the 42nd Division was still moving up, and its first two brigades would only arrive as the battle raged. The British expected the Ottomans to swing to the south of their line, and the Australian and New Zealand (A&NZ) Mounted Division was deployed in that area to intercept and delay the enemy. As part of the plan, the Australians and New Zealanders were not allowed to prepare any defensive positions, so that the Ottomans would not be able to spot the trap they were walking in to. The A&NZ Mounted Division would then retreat slowly in front of the enemy, withdrawing to the north towards Romani. Once the Ottomans were adequately worn down, fresh cavalry and infantry units (from the 42nd Division) would strike their exposed flank and destroy them.

It was in many ways a risky plan, but it is also notable as being one of the few battles in history that has gone almost exactly according to plan. The Ottomans attacked straight into the Light Horse positions south of Romani on the night of 3/4 August. The Australians performed magnificently in fighting overwhelming odds in the dark, while also conducting an orderly and controlled retreat. It was a close-run thing in many places, but the line held, and the following afternoon the counter-attack rolled up the Ottoman line and forced them into a general retreat. This time, a pursuit was mounted, although it met with mixed success. Unacclimatised to desert operations, several infantry brigades were forced to give up their marches after only a few miles, while Ottoman rearguard positions resisted with a stubborn fierceness. While several were overcome by cavalry attacks, more successfully held before retiring in good order in their own time. Still, by September the Ottomans were pinned back against the eastern side of the Sinai Desert.

There followed a short pause as the British caught up with themselves. The railway and pipeline continued to advance, and the units in the Sinai and on the Suez Canal were separated out from the EEF and redesignated as the Eastern Frontier Force, or more commonly simply Eastern Force (EF), under the command of Lieutenant General Sir Charles Dobell. The forces at the sharp end of the advance towards Palestine – the A&NZ Mounted Division, 5th Mounted Brigade, 42nd Division and 52nd Division – were formed into the Desert Column under Lieutenant General Sir Philip Chetwode.

In December the advance was resumed, clearing out the remaining Ottoman garrisons on the Egyptian side of the border. The town of El Arish, 3.2km (2 miles) inland and on the Wadi El Arish, was captured without resistance on 21 December 1916, giving the British access to water sources in the Wadi and an appropriate area to build a dock, to bring up supplies and men by sea. Two further strongholds had to be taken by force – El Magdhaba on 23 December 1916 and El Magruntein (just outside Rafah) on 9 January 1917. In both cases, strong cavalry forces marched to the sites overnight, surrounded them, and then attacked in the morning. In both cases, the fighting lasted all day and nearly ended in disaster.

While the cavalry were invaluable for operations in this kind of country – able to cover large distances quickly and attack without warning – they had two severe drawbacks that came into play in both attacks. Firstly, cavalry units were weak. By the First World War only the British cavalry still carried swords, and even they, like the Australians and New Zealanders, were actually trained to fight as mounted riflemen rather than cavalrymen. The principal doctrine was that the cavalry would ride into battle, and then dismount and fight on foot. Cavalry regiments were already half the size of the comparable infantry tactical unit, the battalion. On top of this, when they dismounted to fight one in four of the men would lead the horses of the other three to the rear, further weakening their fighting strength. This all meant that although cavalry could have a considerable effect, especially in speed and surprise, they were considerably weaker than infantry in a straight fire-fight. When it came to assaulting well-dug-in and well-prepared defensive positions like those at El Magdhaba and El Magruntein, at which the Ottomans excelled, they struggled to put sufficient firepower into a small enough area to overwhelm the defences.

The second disadvantage was water. Horses are thirsty creatures, and in both battles the need to water the horses within a set time limit was a paramount consideration. Most of the army’s horses were already in fairly fragile physical condition from months spent living in the desert with not enough water or fresh fodder. While they could operate for twenty-four or even thirty-six hours without water, this would leave them weak. Much longer than that, and the health problems could become both serious and permanent, and possibly even fatal. An increased sickness or death rate among the horses would greatly decrease the strength and effectiveness of the army’s main offensive and scouting arm, with serious repercussions for the continuation of the campaign.

In both of the attacks on the Egyptian border the senior commanders would be preoccupied by this concern. In both cases the commanders would call off the attack in the late afternoon, only to have their orders ignored and a last, desperate charge mounted by one of their subordinate units. In each case the final charges were successful, although it was close both times. The preoccupation with water for the horses would continue to be a major issue in the 1917 campaigns.

While the army was still operating largely in desert conditions, at least the general environment was improving slightly. The temperature had dropped at the end of December, and the cold spell lasted into February. Sergeant Garry Clunie of the Wellington Mounted Rifles wrote home that:

It seems quite strange to think that in this country where we have always growled about the heat that it should be so cold as it is now. Ever since Christmas it has blew and rained off and on in heavy showers and has been as cold as charity but even so it is far better this way than to have the heat and flies of summer.10

Of course, the temperature was purely relative, and seemed cold only to the men who had been in the Sinai over the summer. One officer in the 5th Highland Light Infantry later recorded how:

It is a curious commentary on the complaints on the cold that we have just voiced, that the men of a new draft reached el Arish, running with sweat and vowing they had never been so hot in their lives, in spite of being in shirt sleeves, while the rest of us wore our tunics, and were hardly even thirsty.11

Unlike the endless desert of the Sinai, here there was vegetation and (relatively) abundant animal life, and landmarks and sights to brighten ‘a life of dreary monotony on a dead land’.12 Although still thin and patchy, vegetation grew on the Palestine side of the border; grass, and even crops of barley, interspersed with fruit trees and cactus hedges. The change could be a sudden one, even dramatic. Corporal Victor Godrich of the Queen’s Own Worcestershire Hussars (Yeomanry) (QOWH) found that:

We all knew by our maps that we were crossing into the Holy Land, but we hardly expected such a transformation that shortly met our gaze. We had been trekking quietly along for some miles and climbed a high ridge. When we topped the ridge the view that met us took our breath away.

Down in the valley laid [sic.] a village of white houses surrounded by thousands of trees in bloom, beyond those miles of barley. Everyone was astounded.13

While hardly the ‘land of milk and honey’ promised in the Bible (and which promise many diarists and letter-writers alluded to with irony), it was still a salve to the spirits and the eye, although the lighter, soil-like sand in the coastal regions had certain drawbacks:

The effect of this change was immediate, and [even] the least poetical and imaginative among us felt a thrill of joy in the relief from the desolation of eternal sand … Unfortunately the dust storms were even worse here than among the heavier sand and the place swarmed with centipedes, scorpions and other undesirables. But we were not in the mood to be critical when we retired to rest beneath the stars, with the fresh smell of living flowers in our nostrils, or woke at dawn to hear little crested larks.14

There was also a return to having real human contact with settled villages. For some, this reminder of a world outside the small units which had been their isolated homes in the desert for months also served to boost morale. For them, it was ‘a real pleasure to see human beings living their ordinary lives, catching fish and watering crops in unmilitary and restful unconcern.’15 For others, the interaction with the local population was less pleasant. A few days after the army occupied Khan Yunis, Brigadier General Sir Guy Dawnay, Dobell’s Chief of Staff, visited the village to inspect the two important wells, and assess the level of damage done to them by the retreating Ottomans. He had mixed feelings about the village itself, admiring the remains of a fourteenth-century Caravansary (fortified resting stop for caravans, often mistaken in letters and journals for a Crusader castle), but being less than impressed with the main village:

Nearby [was] the shopping quarter of town; two or three narrow streets, only a few score yards long with open mudbrick ‘shops’, like small boxes lying open on their ends. The wares seemed to be mainly agricultural; vegetables, oranges (fine Jaffa ones), eggs, poultry, lambs; and odds-and-ends shops (common to villages in all countries); and the local industries, such as the blacksmith. The streets were full of men; Syrians with faces like Christ; Arabs; Jews; mongrels who might have been part Greek, part Egyptian; black Nubians. A few shrouded women, faces concealed by their cloaks; and numbers of children. All very dirty, but showing no signs of want particularly. The whole place full of atrocious smells!16

Dawnay also visited the sites of the actions at El Magdhaba and El Magruntein, to inspect the Ottoman defences. At El Magruntein he found ‘a splendidly selected position on a small rise in a gently rolling, grassy plain; absolute “glacis” slopes all round – not a mouse could move up to attack it without being seen from ever so far.’ At El Magdhaba, the Ottoman ‘works around the place were the most cunningly sited I have ever seen. You can’t see them at all till you absolutely walk into them. Our artillery could never pick them up.’17 Unfortunately, neither he nor any of the other senior staff seem to have drawn any lasting conclusions from these examples of Ottoman excellence at building prepared defences, with serious consequences later outside Gaza.

2

FIRST BATTLE OF GAZA: OPENING MOVES

WITH THE LAST Ottoman garrisons on the Egyptian side of the border captured, the question remained as to what the objectives of the 1917 campaigns would actually be. On the Palestine side of the border were now two large garrison towns – Gaza and Beersheba – and various small forces in between. Any advance into Palestine would need to go through or past these. Gaza stood on high ground 3.2km (2 miles) in from the sea about 32km (20 miles) north of the Egyptian border, and dominated the coastal route into Palestine. The word ‘Gaza’ means ‘fortress’, and this one had stood since biblical times. Every army that had passed between Egypt and Palestine for thousands of years – pharaohs, Alexander the Great, Saladin, even Napoleon – had all been forced to take the city in order to pass safely. To bypass it would mean cutting deep inland, away from the support afforded by the Royal Navy off the coast, and leaving a significant enemy garrison standing next to the army’s supply lines. Beersheba, which also harked back to biblical times as the site of the Wells of Abraham, stood about 40km (25 miles) to the south-east of Gaza. It had good rail connections heading north and south, and would give ready access to the interior of Palestine. Murray also expressed the hope that the seizure of Beersheba would allow direct attacks to be made against the Hedjaz railway, which ran down into Arabia where a rebellion was breaking out among the tribesmen. As well as encouraging the existing revolt, he also hoped that taking Beersheba would spark a new and similar uprising in Palestine.18 But getting there would be difficult. It meant a long trek across waterless desert, and would still leave the Gaza garrison to the British rear.