Abdul Hamid had fostered the ideal of Pan-Islamism, if only for cynical
reasons to enhance his own position as Sultan and Caliph; the movement excited
little interest within the bounds of the Ottoman Empire outside of a small,
interested coterie though it became a rallying cry for Asiatic Muslims in the
provinces under British and Russian rule. The secular Young Turks called for a
return of the constitution and the establishment of a Turkish state whose
inhabitants should be, first and foremost, Ottoman citizens, subordinating to
that ideal any prior allegiance to race or religion. The failure of this
Ottomanizing policy to win popular support, as manifested by the
counter-revolution, led to the adoption of a new policy of Turkification
influenced by a movement among a small group of Turkish intellectuals at
Salonica who advocated a state based on the unification of the Turanian people.
The Young Turks took up the Pan-Turanian ideal, stripped it and remodelled it to
suit their needs, and looked to the political union of all Turanians including
the Turkish speaking enclaves of Caucasia, Azerbaijan and Northern Persia. The
Turkification process began in earnest with the promulgation of the Law of
Association on 23 August 1909: Albanians, Macedonians, Greeks, Armenians, Arabs
and Syrians would be subject to Turkish law and administration; their children
would have to attend Turkish schools where only Turkish was taught. To
consolidate the changes, the headquarters of the C.U.P. was moved from Salonica
to Constantinople.
However, the C.U.P. itself underwent an important transformation following the
usurpation of power by Shevket; while authority continued to reside in the hands
of the military, the Committee reverted to a civilian party intent on promoting
a mass appeal.
In effect, the C.U.P. had become the opposition to Shevket with all the
attendant strains this engendered and which led directly to the inevitable
result created by this lack of headway: the party splintered. Such goings-on
hardly endeared the party to the British Ambassador — relations continued to
deteriorate and Lowther’s pessimism now infected the Foreign Office; Lowther
had sneezed and Grey had caught cold.
Meanwhile, the relentless task of modernization continued; with Shevket
now in control, first priority was given to the military. In pursuit of this
Shevket travelled to Würzburg, there to witness the German Army manoeuvres and
where, amongst a crowd of notables, he was joined by Enver Bey (who had resumed
his duties as Military Attaché at the Berlin Embassy). Also present in the
crowd of curious onlookers was, as one might perhaps expect, General Sir Ian
Hamilton; however, next to Hamilton stood a politician whose position as
President of the Board of Trade would seem to have little in common with the
manoeuvres. The politician was Winston Churchill and he had an ulterior motive
for being in Würzburg which had nothing to do with his love of martial display
— to raise, yet again, the now perennial problem of the Baghdad Railway.
Churchill and Hamilton approached Shevket with the information that a British
syndicate would shortly seek a concession to build a railway from Koweit to
Baghdad via Basra. The news, when it reached Constantinople, threw Grand Vizier
Hilmi into a state of great excitement: he poured out his anxiety to Marschall,
the German Ambassador, admitting that they would rather ‘pay a million or two
pounds a year than open the way into the interior of our country to…British
influence.’ However, he did not see how he could refuse to offend Britain on
‘whose help we depend on various questions.’ If demands for a concession
were made Hilmi wished to reply that, although the concession had already been
granted to the Germans, ‘the Porte would consider allowing British capitalists
to participate in the Persian Gulf–Baghdad section in equal shares with the
Germans and eventually the French.’ Marschall believed that the Grand Vizier
was at last beginning to realize that the policy of the British was one of
self-interest, whose aim was expansion northwards from the Persian Gulf.
Confirmation of this came when Hardinge made it quite clear that British
assent to the Turkish request for a 4% increase in customs dues would be
withheld ‘until we get all we want, and that is the full control and
construction of the Baghdad end of the Baghdad Railway, and possibly a promise
of a concession for a railway from Baghdad to the Mediterranean.’
Further proof of British designs in Mesopotamia was offered to Hilmi in December
1909 over what became known as the ‘Lynch affair’. The issue itself was a
simple one: a ‘fusion scheme’ to amalgamate an Ottoman navigation company,
operating on the Euphrates, with one owned by the Englishman H. F. B. Lynch.
Although Hilmi tended to favour the scheme, if (again) only to avoid offending
British susceptibilities, he perhaps did not count on the storm of press
opposition to the project, orchestrated, or so it was believed, by Shevket in
league with General von der Goltz. Despite gaining support in Parliament
Hilmi’s position was becoming impossible; he was caught between the hammer of
Shevket and the anvil of avoiding offence to Britain while at the same time
fearing the effects of British policy. The only way out was resignation, and
Hilmi took it. The Ambassador in Rome, Hakki Pasha, was recalled and commenced
his duties as Grand Vizier on 12 January 1910. Lowther’s opinion was that,
until the new Grand Vizier ‘has got into the saddle’, the Lynch business
would be best left alone, while Hakki, quickly sensing the lie of the land,
refused to sanction the scheme and, having thus mollified Shevket, hoped to
control him by bringing him into the Cabinet as Minister for War.
Yet another British rebuff was delivered to the Porte soon after
Hakki’s accession. The news that the Greeks would shortly launch a new
armoured cruiser which, it was thought, would be completed by the autumn, threw
the Government into a panic. When the vision therefore presented itself of the
Turks not only losing Crete to the marauding warship but all the other islands
as well they embarked on a desperate search for a vessel of their own to counter
the Greek ship. Their first call, upon the British, proved fruitless: the
Admiralty refused to sell the Turks a ship. It was the opinion of the head of
the British Naval Mission, Rear-Admiral Gamble, that the Turks would be, for
some years, ‘quite incapable of managing any modern vessels and that with what
they have and without the help of the English officers it would be dangerous to
attempt to go as far as the Dardanelles.’
A new naval programme was endorsed by the Turkish Cabinet which, Gamble informed
Lowther, would envisage expenditure being spread over ten years for ‘not
Dreadnoughts but good cheaper fighting ships.’
While Lowther believed that all Gamble’s ideas would be adopted, the Admiral
himself remained pessimistic: ‘They are talking very big about a programme of
construction and the engagement of the officers I want’, he informed the
Admiralty on 27 January, ‘but nothing practical has been done and until the
actual steps have been taken I cannot believe in any of their promises or
assurances.’
In any event it was now too late for Gamble: he saw Lowther on the last
day of January and ‘sprung his resignation’ on the Ambassador which, though
not entirely unexpected, Lowther still found ‘very tiresome’. Gamble had,
Lowther confided privately to Hardinge,
always
adopted the attitude that he was in the Turkish service and need not keep me
informed of what was going on – I am bound to say he has worked very hard –
too hard and has taken the whole business so much to heart that it has caused
him sleepless nights and the climate here never suited him. So broken is he in
health that he declared that he would be quite unfit to take out the fleet…Halil
told me that in the event of Gamble going he would certainly ask for another
British Admiral — I hope he will but the Turks will be rather sick at our not
being able to sell them ships and then losing our Admiral…
All
that Lowther could advise was for the Turks to get on the best of terms with
Bulgaria which would then allow Turkey to threaten Greece without themselves
being subject to a flanking attack by the Bulgarians.
In April 1910 Rear-Admiral H. P. Williams took over Gamble’s unwelcome
job; by then Lowther was already bemoaning that, thanks to the British refusal
to build ships for Turkey, ‘they have got 4 destroyers in Germany and American
and German builders are like swarms of locusts round the Admiralty now.’
Predictably, thoughts in Turkish naval circles turned to dreadnoughts despite
Gamble’s opinion and much to the disgust of Williams, who recommended torpedo
boats instead. In the prevailing emergency created by the new Greek acquisition
Williams pushed the Turks to bid for two small British pre-dreadnoughts, Triumph
and Swiftsure, which had originally
been ordered by Chile but had been acquired by the Admiralty during the
Russo-Japanese War; ignoring this sensible advice, the Admiralty in London
offered instead two ancient Royal
Sovereign class. Not surprisingly, the Turks turned to Germany though
ironically only to purchase, in August 1910, two equally ancient German
battleships.
This latest snub by Britain compounded the continuing problems raised by
the situation in Mesopotamia; by the running sore of the customs increase; by
the British attitude to Egypt and Crete; and by the increasingly vocal public
criticism of the Young Turks, and signalled the end of any hope of a return to
the optimism felt by both sides in the late summer of 1908. The situation was
not improved when, on 31 October 1910, Sir Arthur Nicolson, the Ambassador at St
Petersburg and a confirmed Russophile, took up his duties, albeit reluctantly,
as Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office in place of Hardinge who went
to India as Viceroy. By this time Lowther was openly under the spell of
Fitzmaurice; whenever the dragoman was absent the Ambassador complained to
Nicolson of feeling ‘very lost without Fitzmaurice…[and his] amazing insight
into the tangle of Turkish intrigue.’
The situation had become so bad that long-time British Turcophile Wilfred Blunt
advocated Turkey joining the Triple Alliance to guarantee her against the threat
posed by Russia or France!
A further alarming report was received from Lord Kitchener who, having lost the
prize he most coveted – India – to Hardinge, wanted Egypt as a consolation
or, failing all else, the Ambassadorship at the Porte where he believed he could
do no worse than Lowther, and probably a good deal better. Travelling to Cairo
via the Turkish capital he noted of the melancholy situation at Constantinople
that ‘We are out of it altogether, as the present Ambassador does nothing, and
the German is allowed to do as he likes…’
So pessimistic were Lowther’s reports that Grey was forced to reassure Asquith
that it was still ‘premature to assume that the new regime in Turkey will
definitely adopt and pursue an oppressive and aggressive policy…’
Indeed, one of the few optimistic reports came from Churchill, who had
spent September 1910 cruising in the eastern Mediterranean. At Smyrna he had
taken a special train – with cow catcher and escort against brigands – and
travelled the entire length (260 miles) of the British Aidin railway. The
governor-general of the province, he reported to Grey, was a ‘thoroughly able
and Europeanised Turk.’ At Constantinople he found the Sultan uninteresting,
‘indeed gaga’, however he was impressed with certain of the Young Turks,
particularly Djavid and Talaat, and was all for them being encouraged and
supported. Repudiating Blunt’s opinion that the best course would be an
agreement with the Triple Alliance, Churchill would ‘advise them to remain in
the position of the courted party rather than the one actually engaged’ and to
keep out of all wars for five years! Blunt gathered that Churchill ‘was well
aware of the mistakes made by our diplomacy at Constantinople, but he excused
these by saying that we were hampered by our position in Egypt.’ To Grey,
Churchill admitted that the ‘only view I have formed about this part of the
world of ruined civilizations and systems, and harshly jumbled races is this —
why can’t England & Germany come together in strong action and for general
advantage?’
Such naïve musings were soon to be fatally undermined by events in
Constantinople which went hardly noticed in London. As Wilfred Blunt made clear
on 16 November, ‘Two things of immense importance have happened, though they
excite little attention here. At a banquet given to [General] von der Goltz,
[Ambassador Marschall von] Bieberstein has publicly declared the Kaiser
Wilhelm’s warm interest in Young Turkey and the strengthening of the Ottoman
Empire as a military power. Also in Persia, the native Press has declared for an
alliance with Turkey and Germany.’
Some things however could not be ignored: any possibility of
Churchill’s opinion carrying weight at the Foreign Office was destroyed as
reports came in of the Annual C.U.P. Congress which indicated not only that the
policy of Turkification would continue but which raised once more the spectre of
pan-Islamism. This particular phantom provided Lowther with the opportunity to
justify his hard-line stance, but at the risk of setting alarm bells ringing in
Whitehall where the mere mention of Islam was enough to induce jitters. In
addition, this came hard on the heels of two further blows: first, Isvolsky had
himself appointed to the more congenial position of Ambassador at Paris,
bequeathing his place to Sergei Sazonov who shared none of the former’s
passion for the Straits. One of the incoming Foreign Minister’s first acts was
to accompany the Tsar on his visit to Potsdam where the Russians promised
Germany a free hand with the Baghdad Railway in return for German acceptance of
a Russian railway monopoly in northern Persia. The German draft of this
agreement went too far in attempting to isolate the Russians from their entente
partners and Sazonov refused to sign — for the time being. Word leaked out,
nevertheless, that something was up.
The second blow came as a result of the negotiations that Djavid had been
engaged in since the summer to arrange a foreign loan in Paris; when these fell
through, after restrictions to which Djavid could not agree were placed upon the
granting of the loan, Sir Ernest Cassel’s group in London was approached with
similarly unsuccessful results. Instead, within a week, German financiers had
stepped in and organized a loan of 11 million lira.
Nicolson had all this in mind when he wrote to Lowther on 23 January 1911:
We
are still puzzled as to what actually took place at Potsdam…I am quite at a
loss to understand [Sazonov’s] policy, as he seems to me to be giving
everything away and receiving nothing in return…Personally I am not
particularly keen on seeing the present Turkish regime too well provided with
funds. They would only assist towards the creation of a power which, I think, in
the not far distant future – should it become thoroughly consolidated and
established – would be a very serious menace to us and also to Russia…and
there is the additional danger that it would be able to utilise the enormous
Mussulman populations under the rule of Christian countries. I think that this
Pan-Islamic movement...is one of out greatest dangers in the future, and is,
indeed, far more of a menace than the “Yellow Peril” which apparently
produces such misgivings in the mind of the German Emperor. Germany is fortunate
in being able to view with comparative indifference the growth of the great
Mussulman military, she having no Mussulman subjects herself, and a union
between her and Turkey would be one of the gravest dangers to the equilibrium of
Europe and Asia.
Nicolson’s
fears regarding the Pan-Islamic movement were in the process of being allayed as
a result of the Albanian revolt in support of the provision of an autonomous
Albania within the Empire. Given the early support of many Albanians for the
Young Turks it was a revolt which could not be ignored but which brought home
the final recognition that the policy of Ottomanization, which aimed at a
unified Empire, was now out of the question. In Constantinople this provided the
impetus for a split between the traditionalists, who continued to embrace a
return to Islam, and the secularists, who favoured a policy of Turkish
nationalism. Riven by factions, the C.U.P. continued in its decline as Shevket,
now a member of the Cabinet, increased his power.
As
the first tangible signs of the new Turkish naval programme, contracts were
placed in May 1911 with Armstrong’s and Vickers for the construction of two
23,000 ton super-dreadnoughts, tentatively named Reshad-i-Hamiss
and Reshad V, mounting ten 13.5
inch guns.
Admiral Williams was not pleased; he, like Gamble, favoured smaller vessels and
his continual run-ins with the Ottoman Minister of Marine worried Grey who
thought the Admiral was harming British interests with the result that the Turks
would turn elsewhere when his contract run out.
Just this eventuality seemed to have occurred when reports from a reliable
source in Berlin reached the Foreign Office in July 1911 ‘of certain intrigues
going on to displace the English Naval Officers for German ones.’
Confirmation that something was amiss came in September when it was believed
that not only had German officers been engaged, but they were to have better
contracts than the British mission and would be superior in rank to everyone on
the station except Williams! The blame quickly fell upon the Admiral who was
reported to take his duties somewhat lightly, to the extent that most of the
actual work was done by his second-in-command. Goschen, the British Ambassador
in Berlin – and ‘an old Constantinople man’ – was horrified at the
prospect of such an important asset of influence being lost. ‘It is a thousand
pities’, he complained to Nicolson, ‘that Gamble was not succeeded by a more
active man.’
Lowther had to act quickly. He ascertained that the Minister of Marine
had been pressing the Naval Attaché in Berlin to approach the German Government
‘with a view to obtaining the services of an Executive officer for the command
of the Flotilla and for Torpedo instructional purposes and of an Engineer
officer for duty in the Flotilla as instructor in turbine machinery.’ In one
respect, as a good deal of the equipment for the navy was of German origin, the
request was not unusual, but Lowther clearly saw it as the thin end of the
wedge, especially as he doubted that the Germans could work side by side with
the British.
When the German Government agreed in principle but found it could not spare the
officers for the time being Lowther immediately approached the Grand Vizier who,
though he denied any knowledge of the plan to employ German officers, was
persuaded to wire the Attaché in Berlin to do nothing. ‘So’, Lowther
reported triumphantly, ‘I may have nipped the thing in the bud. If it comes up
again in a definite shape I think I ought to be told that all the Turkish
officers [being trained] in the English Navy will at once be bounced.’
Although Lowther thought the whole thing an act of stupidity on the part of the
Naval Attaché and a clique at the Turkish Admiralty the plan had been
‘materially assisted by Williams’ who was also guilty of ‘Extraordinary
behaviour in being always absent…’
During the crisis Williams had, in fact, been in England on the pretext
of trying to find further men to be employed in the Naval Mission while, in
reality, hoping to be appointed by the Turks to the much more congenial position
of overseer of the dreadnought being built by Vickers. It was no surprise that,
when Williams’ contract expired early in 1912, he was not invited to renew it,
though Lowther’s fear that a German Admiral would be appointed was unfounded,
as the Turks again requested a British Admiral and even stated a preference for
the return of Gamble. Understandably, Gamble had had enough. The appointment
went instead to Rear-Admiral Arthur Limpus.
Despite the scare concerning the German naval officers, it suited the Turks to
have the Germans reform their army and the British their navy; apart from
gaining, in this way, what they believed to be the best advice for each service,
it also provided the Turks with ammunition to fight the charge, to which they
were always sensitive, that one Power was predominating at the Porte.
At the Foreign Office it did not take Nicolson long to realize the danger
inherent in continuing with Hardinge’s hard line policy towards the Turks and,
as a result, he was forced to ignore his incipient dislike of the Turkish regime
in an attempt to prevent them being thrown into the waiting arms of Germany. In
so overcoming his inclination, Nicolson was not entirely unlike his German
counterparts: at the Foreign Office in Berlin Kiderlen, while openly lending a
sympathetic ear, privately was ‘always brutally cynical about his Young Turk
friends and never takes the trouble to hide his contempt for them.’
One obvious opportunity for a conciliatory approach was presented by the Baghdad
Railway negotiations, particularly as, in Nicolson’s view, the possibility of
Britain ever obtaining complete control over the Gulf section was now lost.
Emboldened by the German loan, the Turks however were not in the mood to
accommodate the British and presented instead, on 1 March 1911, their own
proposals for the Gulf section by which 40% of the shares would remain in
Turkish hands with only 20% going each to Germany, Britain and France. While the
Foreign Office was merely disappointed at these terms, Hardinge (now in India)
was scandalized and pursued a vigorous anti-Ottoman line which was given
additional significance by his fear of Turkish penetration in the Gulf. The
problem was compounded when, at the C.I.D. meeting on 4 May 1911, military
opinion was decidedly against intervention should the situation deteriorate in
the Gulf.
Following this, in an endeavour to appease the Viceroy, Grey wrote to
Hardinge that the two objectives now current in the negotiations were, first
‘to secure agreement as to the limits of Turkish territory in the region of
the Persian Gulf, which is consistent with our strategic interests and
prestige’ — this would involve recognition of Turkish suzerainty over Koweit,
as long as the Sheikh remained autonomous; and, second, to have such a stake in
the railway as to enable fair treatment for British trade and a say in the
routes to be followed. Grey, at least, was being realistic:
Till
we get these two points [he concluded] we cannot give way about the Turkish
customs. The weak point is that, even without increase of Turkish customs, the
Turks and Germans can at a pinch complete the railway to Basrah, and as we
cannot prevent that, it will be a mistake for us to push them so hard that
negotiations fail and that it is completed without our having any say.
A
new scheme was mooted, whereby Britain, Russia, France, Germany and Turkey would
each hold an equal share. ‘By admitting France, Russia and Turkey to a share
in the southern section’, Nicolson argued, ‘we have the advantage of
bringing our two friends in and together with us acquire the major part of
control. While, on the other hand, it is we, and not Turkey, who are making
concessions, as we always held that we ought to have at least 55% of the
control. When coming to discuss what I consider to be the far more important
questions of the Gulf, we shall be in a better position to insist on Turkey
conceding to our requests, as we can point to the conciliatory disposition which
we have shown in the treatment of the railway question.’
Grey put the new proposals to both the Germans and Turks on 29 July 1911;
Nicolson wearily anticipated ‘that the discussions with Turkey will be both
lengthy and difficult’.
Indeed, the negotiations would continue to drag on for another two years,
although the important concession, as far as the British were concerned, was the
tacit, if temporary, acceptance of Baghdad as the terminus of the line;
in the meantime, both Germany and Turkey had their attention diverted from the
prolonged saga of the railway by more immediate crises — in the case of
Germany the Agadir affair, which rumbled on throughout the late summer of 1911,
and with regard to Turkey, the Tripolitanian War.
The
Italians, who had long had territorial ambitions on the North African littoral,
put their plan into action while the other Powers were distracted. The Turks
had, in part, added to the tension when they dispatched, in October 1910, a new
vali (Ibrahim Pasha) to Tripoli who promptly started a campaign against the
Italian presence.
Relations quickly became strained during the summer of 1911 after Italian
protests of alleged mistreatment of its subjects by the Ottoman authorities to
which the Turks replied by threatening to expel Italian subjects and boycott
Italian goods. As early as 26 July Grey was approached by the Italian Ambassador
complaining that Italians were excluded from tendering for port works in Tripoli
and that, if an Italian tried to buy land he was unsuccessful, ‘whereas a
German could acquire whole tracts quite easily.’ All in all, the Italian
Foreign Minister was ‘in great difficulty as to Tripoli’ and wanted Grey to
be aware of that fact ‘as he might be obliged to take some step.’ This
attempt to ascertain the British position in advance was not wholly successful.
Grey declared his sympathy with Italy ‘in view of the very good relations
between us’ but pledged only to express his opinion to the Turks ‘if need
be’ that, if Italy’s hand were forced by demonstrably unfair economic
treatment, ‘the Turkish Government could not expect anything else.’
The situation had deteriorated so much by the middle of September that
the prospect of the war sought so actively by the Italians loomed frighteningly
on the horizon. Relaxing at his Northumbrian retreat, Grey suggested to Nicolson
on 19 September that it would be ‘tiresome if Italy embarks on an aggressive
policy and the Turks appeal to us.’ In that case Grey intended to refer the
hapless Turks to Italy’s alliance partners, maintaining that it was most
important that neither France not Britain should side against Italy. Grey had in
fact gone a good deal further, by promising the Italian Ambassador that if they
could provide proof of Turkish mistreatment of Italian subjects, he would
absolve them by treating their actions as self defence while accusing the Turks
of bringing the crisis upon themselves. ‘We must hope’, he concluded,
‘that before Italy does anything the Turks will have done something to enable
us to give this answer, if an appeal is made to us.’
Grey, however, was neither the first nor the last politician to be caught out by
the precipitate action of a minor Power hungry for status. Four days later, on
23 September, Italian merchant vessels in Turkish harbours were warned to leave
by their consuls, while a Turkish transport, en route to Tripoli, was shepherded
by Italian cruisers; the Italians called up the reservists as news leaked out in
the Press in both America and Europe that an expeditionary force would shortly
sail with the intention of occupying Tripoli.
The same day, Grey (still fishing at Fallodon) could not believe that
Italy would occupy Tripoli by force; he thought the most likely eventuality
would be a naval demonstration to frighten the Turks and assuage Italian public
opinion. Above all – as, in the equations of the Mediterranean naval balance
and despite the fact of the Triple Alliance, the Italian fleet was, conveniently
if illogically, used to cancel out the Austrian – Grey cautioned that Italy
must not be thrown wholly into the arms of Germany and Austria. The British
attitude ‘must be one of expectancy and neutrality.’
It was with precisely this object in mind that when, on the previous day, the
councillor at the Turkish Embassy had called on Nicolson to ask Britain to
‘say a friendly word at Rome in favour of moderation’ the Under-Secretary
ruled out any form of intervention, despite the Turkish protests that the
consequences might be felt world-wide.
Sympathy for the Italian position was, at first, widespread based on a
combination of self-interest and dislike for the regime at Constantinople.
Admiral Fisher though, for one, was appalled: ‘Every schoolboy knows’, he
wrote Esher in disgust, ‘that we have a Mohammedan existence and the Turks
love us, but all we do is to kick their arses!’
Yet even a previously ardent admirer of the Young Turks like Churchill had come
round to preferring Italy to Turkey ‘on all grounds — moral and unmoral.’
And this judgment was reached despite the fact that Churchill predicted that the
war would throw Turkey into the arms of Germany more than ever
thus completing the causeway, Germany-Austria-Roumania-Turkey. If there were to
be any advantage gained it would come from the possibility that Italy might be
detached from the Triple Alliance and would consequently seek the support of
Britain and France. This would result in a concomitant increase in German
irritation at being left out of the North African carve up after France,
following the confrontation at Agadir, had now secured Morocco, while Italy –
the ‘poor spinster ally’ of Germany – obtained the ‘noble possession of
Tripoli.’ ‘The reactions of this Italian adventure’, Churchill warned,
‘threaten to be very deep.’ Grey would not have been unduly alarmed at
Churchill’s prognosis as the Foreign Secretary was of the opinion that the
Turks were already in close relations with the Germans.
Besides, once having launched the war, the Italians still had to win it!
Churchill was staying at Balmoral at the time, before moving on, a few days
later, to join the Prime Minister (Asquith) at Archerfield House where he would
stake his claim for the Admiralty. Within that short period the Italians had
thrown away, as they would again in the future, the incalculable asset of
goodwill by their heavy-handed actions; even Churchill had to admit by then that
‘the action of Italy looks now quite indefensible.’
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