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The Ottoman Empire had 
undergone a fundamental change since the military defeat at the hands of the 
Russians in 1877. The lurid western image of the Sultan, Abdul Hamid 
(universally known as Abdul the Damned), masked certain advances that had been 
made and which looked likely to continue, albeit at a snail’s pace. These 
reforms however could not come soon enough to head off the pressure building 
from within the Empire and which exploded in 1908 with the Young Turk 
revolution. Initially with limited aims, the Young Turks and, in particular, the 
inner circle forming the heart of the party – the Committee of Union and 
Progress (C.U.P.) – would increasingly stand at the centre of Turkish politics, 
for good or evil. As with other reformists, the Young Turks looked beyond their 
own borders for help in the task of modernizing the Ottoman Empire. The German 
Emperor had already demonstrated his willingness to assist, his overt altruism 
as always underpinned by hard commercial and strategic logic. Sir Edward Grey, 
the British Foreign Secretary, also made soothing noises in London and, for one 
brief shining moment, British stock in Turkey rose to unheard of heights 
culminating in a spontaneous public display of approbation when the new 
Ambassador, Sir Gerard Lowther, arrived soon after the revolution. 
                The pieces 
were there to be picked up; but Lowther would not stoop. Malign influence from 
within the Embassy, together with his own haughty personality and confusing 
signals from London, combined to bankrupt the British stock and leave the way 
open for Germany. Nevertheless, it should not be thought that the scheming 
Teutons then proceeded to coerce the Turks to their bidding; for the Turks could 
be equally scheming. The end result – Turkey’s entry into the war as an ally of 
Germany – owed more to the machinations of a German Admiral, Wilhelm Souchon, 
and Enver Pasha, the Minister for War, than it did to the prevarication of the 
less rabid members of the Committee of Union and Progress who had hoped to use 
Germany until it was felt the moment had arrived when Turkey could be admitted 
as a fully paid-up member of the international club and join the exclusive 
coterie of nations entitled to be described as Powers, with all the majesty 
denoted by that imposing capital letter. As part of this grand scheme, and at 
Turkish invitation, Britain undertook the onerous task of modernizing Turkey’s 
navy; Germany reformed her army; France contributed most financially. 
                Despite this, 
the Ottoman Empire in the early twentieth century was still an unwieldy product 
of past glories with glistening fruits at the extremities which were ripe for 
the plucking. The power base of the Young Turks was too narrow and, while the 
heart beat more strongly in Constantinople after the revolution, the effect was 
too late to save the atrophied limbs. When trouble struck the new régime at the 
Sublime Porte in 1911 (the certainty of which was only partly offset by the 
surprise felt that it should be the Italians who began the process of 
dismantling the Empire), the Young Turks turned to Britain for an alliance; they 
were rebuffed. Further approaches were made, all with the same result. British 
support for France, to prevent her ‘falling under the virtual control of 
Germany’, was essential; British support for Russia was necessary, or, as Grey 
admitted, ‘we should again be faced with the old troubles about the frontier of 
India’; British support for the Ottoman Empire was an unnecessary entanglement. 
But Grey did not write Turkey off completely: after the disappointing tenure of 
Lowther, one of the rising stars of the Foreign Office, Sir Louis Mallet, was 
dispatched as Ambassador with a remit to repair the damage done by Lowther. 
This Mallet attempted to do. That he was, ultimately, unsuccessful was due more 
to a combination of the sinister forces that continued to operate within the 
British Embassy at Pera and a fatal defect in Mallet himself: seeing what he 
wanted to see. The flattery lavished on his hosts was used against him; paternal 
and gullible in equal measure, Mallet’s mission was a failure. Whether it could 
have been otherwise if more support had been forthcoming from London is 
problematical. 
                The difficulty 
for Britain was that there was a lack of consensus over the policy to be pursued 
with regard to the Ottoman Empire and this in turn created a vacuum which was 
then filled by the personal views of the Ambassadors and other advisers. The 
cornerstone of Grey’s foreign policy was the Anglo-Russian Convention of 1907. 
When the Liberal party came to power in December 1905 Russia had just been 
humiliatingly defeated by Japan and had ceased, temporarily, to be a menace to 
British interests in India and Persia. No-one believed however that this 
situation would last. Russia would eventually rise again to threaten British 
interests, unless checked either diplomatically or militarily. To an incoming 
administration soon to be pledged to expensive social reform and burdened with 
onerous naval estimates, the military option was out of the question. A 
diplomatic solution on the other hand would not only safeguard interests it 
would have been otherwise difficult to defend but would also suit the French who 
had their own formal alliance with Russia. Although it would later be referred 
to in terms of classic balance of power politics, Imperial considerations were 
to the fore in negotiating and maintaining the Anglo-Russian entente. 
Grey forthrightly resisted calls to convert the entente into an alliance as 
this, he believed, could only be seen in the context of a grouping directed 
against the Triple Alliance of Germany, Austria-Hungary and Italy. Meanwhile. 
with Germany in the ascendant at the Sublime Porte, the Anglo-Russian Convention 
had an important side benefit. As the Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign 
Office declared: ‘Russia will inevitably be drawn into paying greater attention 
to her position in the Near East & there she will constantly find herself in 
conflict with Germany and not in opposition to us’. 
                While Abdul 
Hamid ruled as Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, the Anglo-Russian Convention had 
little impact on Turkish relations with Britain which were already poor. This 
situation changed dramatically with the Young Turk Revolution and the overthrow 
of the Sultan. Faced with an apparently democratic movement, Grey had to perform 
a balancing act, at the same encouraging the new, anti-Russian, régime while 
seeking not to alienate St Petersburg. This was particularly important as the 
Russian Foreign Minister was, at the same time, clamouring for a guarantee of 
free passage for Russian warships through the Straits of the Bosphorus and 
Dardanelles. Grey was also faced with a no less important dilemma — would the 
constitutional change that had been forced upon the Porte by the Young Turks 
lead to a demand for similar constitutional reform amongst Britain’s Muslim 
subjects in Egypt? Almost immediately, the new régime faced a stern test 
following the Austro-Hungarian annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina. To Grey’s 
undoubted relief, the Turks reacted prudently and a major crisis was averted. As 
Austria-Hungary’s ally, Germany’s standing at the Porte suffered grievously as a 
result of the annexation; now was the time to cement Britain’s new status as a 
supporter of the administration. Instead, before long, Grey developed doubts as 
to the democratic bona fides of the new régime, and these doubts fed upon 
the pessimistic reports reaching him from his Ambassador. Eventually the 
continued cynicism of Lowther would earn a rebuke from Grey; the effect was 
short-lived. Events in the Ottoman Empire appeared to bear witness to Lowther’s 
low opinion of the Committee of Union and Progress. Grey, perhaps bored by the 
subject or aware of the limitations of foreign policy, left matters alone until 
a series of wars involving the Turks caused him to consider the implications of 
the break-up of the Ottoman Empire. 
                Lowther’s 
continuing disenchantment with the C.U.P., combined with the continual rebuffs 
delivered to the régime by London, paved the way for a resurgence of German 
influence. This, and the concurrent Russian and French designs on the Ottoman 
Empire, created its own problem which was succinctly outlined by Mallet in 1913: 
‘I assume that it is to the interest of Great Britain that the integrity of what 
remains of the Turkish Empire should be maintained — a division of the Asiatic 
provinces into spheres of interest could not benefit us, but would seriously 
affect the balance of power in the Mediterranean, our position in Egypt, in the 
Persian Gulf, to say nothing of India, and might bring about a European war.’ 
At the same time however British naval strength in the Mediterranean was being 
reduced. By April 1913 the strength of the Malta Squadron stood at precisely one 
battle cruiser 
while, in the summer of the following year, the Turks were scheduled to take 
delivery of a British-built dreadnought. And, if the rumours that they were 
trying to procure a second dreadnought proved correct, the prospect loomed of 
the Turks gaining temporary naval mastery of the Eastern Mediterranean until 
such times as the British Squadron could be reinforced. With the military and 
naval options being narrowed, Grey had but little choice than to recall Lowther 
and, in a belated attempt to foster better relations, replace him with a more 
sympathetic Ambassador. 
                By the spring 
of 1914, having weathered the Turco-Italian war and both Balkan Wars, the Turks 
could be forgiven for thinking that their putative protectors were now poised to 
deliver the coup de grâce — what the Minor Powers had failed to 
accomplish, the Major Powers would finish. All it would take was for one of them 
to make the first move; each Power had its particular area mapped out dignified 
by such names as ‘sphere of interest’ if little else. In a last ditch attempt to 
forestall the inevitable the Turks turned to Russia. Nothing could have better 
illustrated the innate weakness of the Turkish position. In the circumstances 
Russian suspicion and the pressure of events resulted in the final, fatal 
adherence to Germany. Even here the outcome might have been different: the 
German Ambassador to the Porte reported ruefully on Turkey’s usefulness as an 
ally and was over-ruled; 
the Turks themselves pursued a course of delaying for as long as possible the 
moment when the debt incurred following the signature of the Turco-German Treaty 
of Alliance on 2 August 1914 
would be called in. This begs the question, for how long could the Turks have 
kept up the pretence had their hand not been forced by Admiral Souchon? 
                As the fate of 
Souchon’s squadron was to have such a bearing on the entry of Turkey into the 
First World War it would be as well to recall briefly the allegedly 
‘resplendent’ escape of Goeben and Breslau from the British (which 
I have described in detail in my previous work, Superior Force). Having 
bombarded the North African ports of Philippeville and Bona early on the morning 
of Tuesday, 4 August in an attempt to disrupt the transportation of the Algerian 
Corps to France, Souchon returned to Messina, there to coal, before, in 
compliance with his orders, resuming his dash to Constantinople. For Admiral 
Milne, the British Commander-in-Chief, it should have been a relatively simple 
task, once Souchon had re-entered Messina, to blockade him there. Instead, 
convinced that Souchon intended to break west to interfere in the transportation 
once more, Milne placed his heaviest forces to the west of Sicily in a position 
to block this move. The northern exit of the Straits of Messina was left 
unguarded while, to the south, the humble light cruiser Gloucester 
patrolled alone. 
                Souchon made 
his break late on the afternoon of Thursday, 6 August. It was still possible for
Goeben to have been intercepted by Rear-Admiral Troubridge’s First 
Cruiser Squadron, but, in a fatal error of judgment based on a notorious signal 
from the First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, Troubridge decided that 
the German battle cruiser constituted a superior force to the First Cruiser 
Squadron and declined to intercept. 
Throughout most of Friday, 7 August, as Souchon continued towards Cape Matapan, 
the British were able to keep in touch through the admirable efforts of Captain 
Howard Kelly, who continued to shadow in Gloucester. Finally however, 
aware that Kelly was short of coal and fearing that his ship might be ambushed, 
Milne ordered Kelly to go no further than the Cape. 
When Kelly reluctantly gave up the chase that afternoon it was the last the 
British would see of the German ships until they reached the Dardanelles three 
days later. 
                Would Milne 
have reacted differently if he had been convinced that Souchon was headed in a 
north-easterly direction? For it is now clear that Admiral Mark Kerr, the 
British Admiral on loan to the Greek Government for the purposes of reorganizing 
their fleet, was aware of Souchon’s destination and passed on this information 
to the Russian Minister in Athens, Prince Demidoff, who in turn cabled the 
Admiralty in St Petersburg. From first light on Saturday 8 August the Russians, 
but not the British, were aware that Souchon was steaming north-east, towards 
the Dardanelles. 
On the other hand, Kerr’s attempt to alert Milne, while simultaneously trying to 
disguise the source of his information, failed abysmally. Furthermore the Greek 
Premier, Eleutherios Venizelos, assumed to be rabidly pro-Entente, was not only 
also aware of Souchon’s destination, but conspired to supply coal to the fleeing 
German ships while at the same time undermining the reports of the Turco-German 
alliance being picked up in Athens by the representatives of the Entente. 
                Kerr and 
Venizelos were both applying the same means to achieve different ends. Once at 
their destination, the German ships would, Venizelos gambled, precipitate a 
quick breach between Turkey and her neighbours under the influence of Turkey’s 
German ally. With Turkey in the war it would have made sense for the Entente, as 
they planned, to seek active Greek participation; Venizelos could then name his 
terms. What Venizelos did not count on was the reluctance of the Turks to enter 
the lists. By the time the Turks were eventually forced into the war by Souchon 
and Enver Pasha, Venizelos had all but lost his chance to march, hand-in-hand, 
with the Entente Powers. Once more, Admiral Kerr was to be his nemesis. By 
sending a reply to Churchill, against the wishes of Venizelos, in which he asked 
for a guarantee of Bulgarian neutrality or co-operation, Kerr removed the 
immediate prospect of Greek participation in the proposed Dardanelles scheme. 
                Not until the 
campaign at the Dardanelles was almost under way would the Greeks again be 
approached for assistance. 
At first non-committal, once the assault commenced all the ambitions of 
Venizelos would be re-aroused and, on 1 March, he offered the co-operation of 
three Greek divisions for service on the Gallipoli peninsula. 
The British Minister in Athens was to declare that the ‘prospect of entering 
Constantinople as conquerors weighs more with the King and his people than that 
of any material advantage to be obtained by the war.’ 
The Greek offer was debated by the Cabinet in London on 2 March and was, Asquith 
noted, ‘gladly accepted by us, with the suggestion that the Greeks should also 
contribute their Navy (four good ships) & their excellent flotilla of 
Destroyers.’ 
However, the Russians imposed an immediate veto upon the offer. Desperate, 
Venizelos cabled London and Paris that ‘without having any political views on 
Constantinople and the Straits, we have such interests of a moral and commercial 
order there that we could not be disinterested in their fate.’ All he wished to 
do was enter Constantinople – if only temporarily – along with the victors. 
Greece, he breathtakingly exclaimed, ‘would not accept the city if offered to 
her’. 
                What Venizelos 
was unaware of was that the city had, in fact, already been offered to the 
Russians. In November 1914 Grey learned that the Russian offensive against the 
Turks would, of necessity, violate Persian neutrality. Sir Edward became 
distinctly nervous at the thought of Russian encroachment in Persia, which 
directly threatened British interests in the Gulf and, more seriously, India 
itself. Maintaining Persia as a buffer therefore assumed paramount importance in 
the counsels of the Foreign Office. This, in itself, was a suitable reason for 
Grey not to have been overly concerned when balancing the scales by hoping to 
trade Constantinople for a free hand in Southern Persia and the Gulf. But was 
there another, underlying, reason to explain the British desire to maintain 
their position? How dependent was the Royal Navy on the Mesopotamian and Persian 
oilfields? Was there a hidden agenda? 
                The current 
work, the second in a projected trilogy, 
examines the policy of the Great Powers towards the Ottoman Empire, with 
particular emphasis on charting the fluctuations in British policy and the lost 
opportunities to foster better Anglo-Turkish relations. The obsession with 
protecting India by means of the Anglo-Russian Convention limited the choices 
open to Grey after the overthrow of the Sultan. What choices remained were in 
turn affected by the character of the Ambassadors resident in the imposing 
Embassy building atop the hill in Pera and their dependence upon the Chief 
Dragoman. British policy would be guided by the necessity to prevent Russian 
incursions into Persia; by the anxiety felt at the resurgence of German 
influence in Constantinople; and by the ever-present fear that any breakdown in 
relations with the Porte would result in uncontrollable Muslim agitation 
throughout India and Egypt. Straits also details how the good intentions 
of the Young Turk revolution were soon to be derailed; rule by consensus would 
be replaced by rule by triumvirate. In part this reflected the confusion of 
motives amongst the Powers, not knowing whether to preserve the Ottoman Empire 
or to precipitate the scramble they all expected following its final collapse. 
This collapse, however, proved a long time coming. First a war with Italy; then 
one, then a second Balkan war; all of which the Empire survived, if not quite 
whole. The choices facing the Turkish Cabinet upon the outbreak of the European 
war in August 1914 were of a different character entirely; the very being of the 
Empire was now threatened. Could Turkey have remained out of the war? Was the 
possession of Goeben the sole determinant? 
                Once the 
fateful decision was taken to attack Russia, it was left to Winston Churchill to 
finish the job of dismantling the Ottoman Empire; instead, the job finished him. 
Yet, although Churchill and Gallipoli would be forever intertwined in the 
public’s memory, the real author of the botched campaign, but who escaped 
official censure, was the Secretary of the War Council, Maurice Hankey. This is 
my last task: to offer a new interpretation of the drift to the Dardanelles 
showing the extent to which the campaign resulted first, as a consequence of a 
behind-the-scenes campaign by Hankey, second from the personal friction between 
Churchill and his First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir John Fisher and, third, with the 
knowledge that Goeben — Churchill’s nemesis — had been badly damaged and 
would be out of action in the first months of 1915. 
  
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