An Englishwoman In Angora - free ebook by Grace Ellison

AN ENGLISHWOMAN IN ANGORA

MISS GRACE ELLISON. The first British woman to visit Angora since the beginning of the Nationalist Movement. She has always stood for Anglo-Turkish friendship. Frontispiece...

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FOREWORD

At the time of writing I am the only Englishwoman who has been in Angora since the Nationalist movement began. Others, moved by curiosity, have sought permission to visit the country under its new régime , but Nationalist Turkey has bidden them wait—until she is sure that her guests will write, or speak, the truth about what they may see, and can be trusted to forget the prejudices with which they would almost certainly arrive. For myself, I have three times been welcomed to Turkey with open arm

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CHAPTER I

Over a sea as smooth as ice, the sun shining brightly most of the way, the Messageries Maritimes steamer Pierre Loti is carrying us to Smyrna. Ten years ago, to a beaten Turkey (unable, it was supposed, to face an enemy for years to come), I had taken the same trip. And now, despite the prophets, I am returning to a victorious people; doubly victorious, since all the odds were against them. “That is the kind of story I love,” I remarked to the sympathetic captain and his daughter, with whom I ge

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CHAPTER II

My supreme interest in Turkey among the Moslem nations, arose from influences, or instincts, I cannot now with any certainty determine. I suspect, however, it was in part reaction against the injustice of Gladstone—the idol of my father’s youth, until the betrayal of his hero Gordon—and in part indignation with those who called the Koran an “accursed book.” My religion is the universal tolerance I expect for my own, and I can feel only the most profound admiration for the Great Prophet of Islam,

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CHAPTER III

Our first stopping-place was Malta, the name I was destined to hear from one end of Anatolia to the other. Was it not of Malta that Angora was born; and since “the trouble” in the East, Malta has been turned into a universal dumping-ground for officers’ wives and refugees. Whenever M. Kemal Pasha lifts his little finger, or Rauf Bey opens his mouth, the women and children are bundled off to Malta. They return, indeed, on any excuse, at the first opportunity (as why should they not?), until a pan

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CHAPTER IV

If only it were always calm, how delightful it would be to travel by sea! From Malta to Athens, indeed, is not a long run; but when every moment you are tossed from side to side, at the mercy of all the winds in heaven, most things have a disagreeable look. As we approached the brown and arid coast of this historic peninsula, I thought how unjust it seems to have driven the Ottoman Greeks out of fertile Turkey to a fatherland that cannot feed them. You cannot obtain blood from a stone, nor fruit

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CHAPTER V

For Orientals, the sky is no less variable and uncertain than the political horizon. In the space of an hour the sea, calm as a lake, has been transformed to a roaring torrent. Smyrna in the distance, and we are battling forward through one of the worst storms of the season. The steamer dances like a cork on the foam, while long sheets of rain drench the decks, huge waves washing into staterooms soak the carpet, thunder and lightning rage overhead; as in the grim battle of life, we can but hold

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CHAPTER VI

“Women are so absurdly brave,” said a charming British official, “that is why they are such a nuisance.” He was seated at a small, improvised and over-crowded bureau in one of the few remaining houses on the Smyrna Quay. He had just sufficient of a Scotch accent to make one see that he would stand no nonsense—an asset, surely, in his position. Yet the obvious and zealous concern for his own countrywoman proved that, however carefully the calm exterior of the Scot may hide his feelings, his heart

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CHAPTER VII

I take daily walks in Smyrna, with one of the Vali’s officers, chiefly among the ruins. The European part of the town (save for a few houses on the quay and a few hospitals, schools, and churches) has simply ceased to exist. The empty “shells” of what were once fine streets are a great danger to passers-by and must all be blasted. When I told my guide that from the deck of the Pierre Loti the town showed scarcely a sign of fire, he promptly led me—for eight hours—through the most horrible débris

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CHAPTER VIII

It was, indeed, a kindly Providence that led the cheik to accompany us upon this stage of my tour. No one could have been more polite and thoughtful, more ready to gratify my every wish at great personal sacrifice, than the officer from Smyrna. But he had not been at Oxford; he could not speak our language with the distinguished accent of that University; above all, he had not the vast culture of this man of God. His information would have been conveyed in German, a language I speak with no plea

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CHAPTER IX

The train is slowly crawling up the heights, the air grows colder and colder, we put on wrap after wrap, and, all of a sudden, not a fly to be seen! The scenery, meanwhile, seems more desolate at every mile we pass. The horribly systematic destruction has overlooked nothing, and every village is in ruins. The corn, so carefully hidden in pits, has been burned; the water, on which life itself depends, has been polluted; the peasants are vainly digging in search of the hard-earned paper money, sav

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CHAPTER X

It is not given to many in this enlightened twentieth century to travel in a country as God made it, almost untouched by man. Upon the road from Gunhani I saw no signs of man’s handiwork, save a few miles of Deacoville, a tunnel, and the primitive carts of Anatolia. These are made from a few logs nailed together, and fastened to two wheels, cut solidly out of a block of wood. Their continuous squeak does not seem out of keeping with the primitive surroundings, and may be regarded as an “accompan

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CHAPTER XI

At Ouchak, I frankly declined to spend another night in a luggage train. I admired the Turks’ resourcefulness in coping with the extremely limited service of trains—the women inside a luggage-van and the men on the roof. I do not regret the fact that I have probably endured even more discomfort than other European visitors to Angora, since I have attempted and achieved more. But for the moment it seemed really essential to pause and rest. We were told they had only one private train car on this

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CHAPTER XII

We are an hour late, the rain is pouring in torrents as I mount from a Turk’s back to my now familiar “van”; the station is full of friends crowding to witness our start and say farewell. From a Turk’s Back. After no more than an hour of what proved to be much the worst stage of my whole journey, I was determined against any further dependence upon “goods traffic.” I should infinitely prefer to walk. Our compartment, I know, had not been chosen for comfort—there was no other to be had. But the r

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CHAPTER XIII

After a few miles of such travelling as had now become familiar, I determined that I would change my carriage and pay a visit to the French colonel—which proved far more lengthy than I had intended. When I had manipulated the climb, I found plenty of room in spite of boxes. “What on earth are you doing here?” was his first question, to which I gave him a tu quoque . “I am looking after the French interests in Syria,” he replied, an answer that could not fail to provoke a laugh. “That is well wor

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CHAPTER XIV

It was well past ten when I woke next morning. Though the sun was blazing through the uncurtained windows, I had slept undisturbed. A Battle Royal with my Tangled, Dusty Hair. There had, of course, been no chance of “undressing for the night.” But I had been able to take off my boots, and having a whole compartment to myself, I was only too glad to take out my wire brush for the luxury of a “battle royal” with my tangled and dusty hair. I was still only half awake and far too tired to think of l

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CHAPTER XV

“Well , what did you expect to see?” asked the colonel. “Really, I don’t know exactly,” said I, “but something different.... I suppose I am foolish enough to look for some sort of likeness to our Western towns.... There is a certain resemblance in parts to a town in the Rhondda Valley, except that the Welsh mining districts are sordid and this is picturesque.” “Why not leave it as it is,” said the colonel—“unique and impossible to classify? Begin your explorations at my house, where you can enjo

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CHAPTER XVI

The next morning we breakfast, “when I am ready,” which is 8.30. My host’s face beams with delight, and the generous menu could hardly fail to put “the guest” in good spirits—toast and boiled eggs (my allowance being half a dozen a day), biscuits and cheese, olives, and glasses of tea. In Nationalist houses “reading the papers” and discussing foreign telegrams have become almost a religious rite. This morning, clearly, there is “good news”! The very air we breathe seems lighter, faces look less

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CHAPTER XVII

In all my wanderings, East and West, over Europe and America, I have nowhere been so much thrilled by a dominating sense of “real effort” as at Angora. Against a background of prehistoric civilisations, the human bees swarm in and out of their Parliament, buzzing away night and day, a free and independent Turkey . What will their “delegation” accomplish at Lausanne? Is the war only postponed, or will there be peace? “At one moment our spirits rise to the most daring hopes; we see ourselves march

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CHAPTER XVIII

Now that I know Angora, I must know also its Nationalist hero. Fethi Bey has invited me this afternoon to meet the President at the Assembly. The Lausanne Conference is beginning—perhaps he will give me his impressions. From the window of the antechamber I saw the Pasha arrive, attended only by one aide-de-camp. There is, of course, absolutely no foundation for the stories that he is even more strictly guarded than Lenin, among a people who trust and love him! It is not necessary to see M. Kemal

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CHAPTER XIX

The Ghazi M. Kemal Pasha granted me the following interview just after the conference at Lausanne had assembled. “To what extent, if any, has the attitude of the Grand National Assembly been responsible for setting public opinion against the Turks?” I asked. “Our attitude has never changed. All reports of inconsistency are false, and circulated by the clever propaganda of our enemies. The Government has to render account of itself not only to a Chamber of Deputies, but to History; and no respons

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CHAPTER XX

My eye fell on the portrait of a handsome Turkish lady, which was hanging over the Pasha’s writing-desk. “What a lovely face!” I exclaimed. “My mother,” said the Pasha, with obvious pride. “Would it be very indiscreet,” said I, “to ask if I might have the great pleasure of seeing her?” “She is very ill. The doctors are with her day and night. Alas, I fear she can never recover.” We afterwards went up the staircase to the invalid’s apartments. To my surprise, we found her seated on a wide divan,

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CHAPTER XXI

Unlike the European type to which we are accustomed, the Cabinet of the Assembly is almost exclusively composed of very young men, possessed, however, of the strong determination to serve their country. Mustapha Kemal Pasha has great faith in youth, and his oldest minister is probably no more than forty-two. “Youth,” he said, “makes mistakes that can be corrected; age and experience make the mistakes of routine.” Fethi Bey, who is the chief’s right hand, also believes in youth, and was himself a

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CHAPTER XXII

In judging the members of the Cabinet one must realise that some of them do not speak any European languages, and know little, or nothing, of Western ways. In some cases, for example that of Hassan Fehmi Bey, the Minister of Finance, this is due no doubt to their humble origin. They tell me, however, he “knows the requirements of New Turkey.” The Minister of Education, Sefa Bey, represents Adana and is somewhat the same type of man, reserved and timid to exaggeration. There are many Deputies in

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CHAPTER XXIII

We cannot complete our record of “Personalities” in Angora without some mention of the foreigners in residence. Whatever has been asserted, there are no Germans there. Quite apart from the Turkish officers’ personal antipathy, the Germans have no money for concessions; their educational methods would never take root in Anatolia; they have lost the legend of military superiority which was the only raison d’être of their influence in the past. Before the military genius of the Turks, their great g

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CHAPTER XXIV

There can scarcely be a worse misinterpretation of the Turks to-day than the common assumption that they do not value their women. As an example to prove this we turn to the charming writer and patriot, Halidé Edib Hanoum. Not only well known for her work in England and America, she is respected and honoured throughout the length and breadth of her own country, trusted with positions of responsibility, consulted and, above all, listened to, by those at the helm of affairs. As one of their brilli

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CHAPTER XXV

One’s first impression of Angora would lead one to imagine that everything could be seen in a very short time; but the days pass, and there is still much to be done. I have visited the Governor, and congratulated him on the progress of the town’s development, which has advanced steadily, even since my arrival. If there were only peace, one could soon hope for completion. My guide, Vely Nedjdat Bey, understands what will interest me most; and the efforts of the Red Crescent, disclosed on our roun

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CHAPTER XXVI

Angora , certainly, carries one back to the centuries before Christ; although we now realise that life was by no means without its luxury in those bygone days. As the houses of Pompeii were warmed by hot air behind the walls, and the baths were not only hygienic but luxurious, it would puzzle one to find what now remains in Angora from the comfortable period of Augustus. There is also a prehistoric atmosphere about Smyrna, or as it was once wittily expressed: “Since its deliverance from Greeks a

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CHAPTER XXVII

There is so often compensation for disappointment. Had I been able to reach Angora through Constantinople, had I not been held up six weeks by strikes on sea, I should have missed the chance of another visit to Rome—above all, of having an audience with Pope Pius XI. His Holiness could not know, for I did not myself then imagine, the precious gift he thus entrusted to me for his children in Anatolia. He certainly would not feel the time wasted, could I convey to him the heartfelt joy and reveren

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CHAPTER XXVIII

In Rome I met three diplomats; as different from each other as night from day, as the Pope of Rome from the Khalif of Islam—a false comparison often made in New Turkey to-day. We have described the Pope; the sanctity of his office, the odour of piety in which he dwells. The Pope is not of the world; he is above the world-elected, not born. The Khalif, like an hereditary king, inherits his position as Head of Islam; which means that he owes his position to the hazard of fortune, not to personalit

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CHAPTER XXIX

One does not expect comfort in an unheated railway carriage, with snow a foot and a half deep, and the temperature 15° below zero. As we left Angora we also noticed that one of the carriage windows was missing, and a courteous official kept back the train to insert one from another compartment! We were grateful, indeed, for even then the cold was hard to bear. The little engine is now ploughing its way downhill but still slowly, since halts are needed to renew its strength for the double task of

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CHAPTER XXX

Our adieux to Bilidjik did not delay us long. As there were no trains to Constantinople, we had to take the road to Broussa and Moudania, whence the boat runs to Constantinople. I now joined the American in one carriage, the two Turkish boys following in a second. Although yaili means “a carriage with springs,” neither of ours justified their name, for they had none. An American, however, is nothing if not resourceful, and my companion performed wonders with straw, rugs, and boxes. It was about

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CHAPTER XXXI

The Governor who, once more, “comes from Malta,” has detailed a police officer to look after me during the five-days’ visit unexpectedly imposed upon us, since there is no boat leaving before then. My journey from Angora to Constantinople will, therefore, occupy ten days instead of the regulation two or three. We start out the first thing in the morning and do not return till dusk. I have never visited so many mosques, and their colouring seems even more exquisite than I have found it elsewhere.

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CHAPTER XXXII

As our little cockle-shell reaches the busy quay at Constantinople, the veiled women collect their animals and carry them through the Custom house. I am the only Britisher, yet the tall, well-built official rapidly scans my passport and signs it without moving a muscle, or showing the faintest surprise at my arrival by that boat , not even opening his lips in reply to my good-morning. Is this army etiquette? His kind face has been taught not to unbend. It seems a foolish way of encouraging forei

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CHAPTER XXXIII

“Please reserve comfortable room for Englishwoman coming from Angora,” so ran the telegram despatched by an American friend of mine, who had gallantly determined that I should be well looked after. It was both comfortable and warm; and, to complete the welcome, my waking eyes next morning are caught by the two flags I have learnt to love so well, the Turkish and the French—the “standards” of two brave peoples, with the fine spirit that nothing can subdue, who would choose rather to be annihilate

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CHAPTER XXXIV

For those of us who pinned their faith on the League of Nations, it is a matter of the deepest regret that Turkey has lost her trust in the great Parliament of All Nations, especially now that it could have played so important a part in settling our differences at the Lausanne Conference. It is not entirely the Turks’ fault; indeed, considering all things, one can scarcely urge them to any other attitude. To them, at least, the League must seem definitely anti-Islam, and (as founder of the Lyceu

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CHAPTER XXXV

Will the future bring us peace; above all, a lasting peace? Though nothing less is worth having, we cannot have war . I saw M. Franklin-Bouillon in Paris and, though not perhaps in agreement with all he did in Syria, I maintain that his work in Moudania deserved thanks rather than criticism. He knows the Turks well, and affirms that he would have made peace at Lausanne. He possibly might have done so, but would it have been lasting peace? On my way back to London we cross the channel in a Handle

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