Four-Fifty Miles to Freedom — Chapter 4, Part 1 - Yozgad Camp

YOZGAD CAMP.

With our arrival at Yozgad was renewed many an old friendship, dating back to the earlier days of the campaign in Mesopotamia; for, like ourselves, the majority of the eighty officers whom we found there were victims of the siege of Kut-el-Amara.

A few days later about twenty officers of the original camp were transferred to Afion-Kara-Hissar, leaving us now a combined total of roughly 100 officers and 60 orderlies.

The "camp" occupied six detached houses, divided into two groups of three houses each, the one on the western, the other near the south-western limits of the town.

With a single exception each house stood in its own grounds, which comprised something under an acre of garden apiece.

These were in most cases planted with fruit trees, and in all cases surrounded by high stone walls.

The first comers had by April 1918 converted these previously unkempt areas into flourishing vegetable gardens.

For our safe custody there were on the average two sentries over each house; these had their sentry-boxes in the garden or at the entrance to the enclosure wall.

There was also a post on the four-hundred-yard length of road which connected the two groups of houses.

As had been our impression on arrival, the town of Yozgad could by no manner of means be called picturesque.

It is squalidly built on the steep slopes of a narrow valley, surrounded on all sides by bare and rugged hills.

The larger houses, it is true, have a few fruit trees in their gardens, and tall poplars line the river bank; the country around, however, is destitute of trees except for a small pine wood on the high ridge south of the town.

The camp was both higher and less accessible than any other in Turkey; for Yozgad stands some 4500 feet above sea-level, and in the heart of the rugged mountain system of Anatolia, seven days' march from the nearest railway station.

The town itself is said to have had a population before the war of some 20,000 souls.

At the time of our arrival it could hardly have contained one-fifth of that number; for, shortly before the formation of the camp in July 1916, most of the Armenians had been massacred;

and they had formed a large proportion of the inhabitants.

Their shops had been pillaged, and whenever there was a shortage of firewood the Turks merely proceeded to pull down another of the Armenian houses, which, as usual throughout Anatolia, were largely constructed of wood.

The crash of falling timber as a building was demolished was a sound so common as to pass almost unnoticed by the prisoners.

Of Turkish brutality, however, we had an even more constant reminder than the sound and sight of ruined buildings; for every day there were to be seen numbers of Armenian children dying as they lay in the narrow streets, starved, emaciated, and clad in rags.

For us to provide relief on the large scale required was impossible, owing both to the difficulties of obtaining money and the necessity of screening our philanthropy from the commandant and other Turkish authorities.

To the credit of the Turkish soldier be it said, however, that he at any rate did not prevent us from helping these poor miserable creatures; and it was thanks to connivance on the part of our sentries and escorts that we were able towards the end of our time to give away money and bread daily in the streets.

The White Paper published in November 1918 on the subject of the Treatment of British Prisoners of War in Turkey describes the commandant of the camp at Yozgad as a "Turk of the old school--polite, honest, and silent."

Silent, or, we would rather say, taciturn, Kiazim Bey undoubtedly was, for it needed many applications before an inquiry or request received an answer at all.

Polite, too, for when he did vouchsafe to reply he would promise almost anything; but is it not known to those who have dealt with a Turk, albeit one of the old school, that in his estimation a promise costs nothing and involves no obligation of fulfilment?

It is merely his method of temporarily soothing your feelings, and is not this of the essence of politeness?

As to his honesty, if he did not loot our parcels or steal our money, he was not averse from accepting a regular commission from every shopkeeper who wished to supply his wares to the camp.

Even our sentries had to bribe him before they were allowed on leave.

Ten Turkish pounds, or an equivalent in kind, passed hands before a fortnight's leave was granted.

The following story can be vouched for.

One of our guard, when desiring a holiday, turned up at the commandant's office, but he was out.

His son, however, a boy of fourteen, was there, and to him the simple soldier gave his money to be handed on to Kiazim Bey.

Such an opportunity did not often occur; so the boy spent the rest of that day gorging costly sweetmeats in the bazaar.

After several days the soldier made further inquiries about his leave, and the truth was out.

The story ends with a good beating for the boy and no leave for the soldier.

Another of our guards used to mend boots for us, but finally gave it up, declaring openly that the commission demanded by his commandant made it no longer worth his while.

By the time of the arrival of the party from Changri, a number of so-called privileges had been granted by this polite, honest, and silent old Turk--although, it must be admitted, rather in the spirit of the unjust judge worried incessantly by the importunate widow.

The most useful of these concessions was the permission to go out coursing on two days a week.

The "Yozgad Hunt Club" boasted a pack of no less than three couple of "hounds."

These were of a local breed, and had the shape of small and rather moth-eaten greyhounds, mostly, however, with black, or tan and white, markings.

Nevertheless, they were clean and affectionate, and, thanks to the master and whips, became wonderfully good coursers.

Seldom did they fail to account for at least one hare or fox between the hours of 4 and 9 A. M.

each Monday and Thursday in the spring and summer of 1918. One exception we remember was the day when the master appeared for the first time in a pink coat of local style and dye, and then we drew blank.

The field themselves were dazed, so the hounds had to be excused.

Some of the happiest recollections of our captivity are of those glorious early mornings in the country, far away from the ugly town which was our prison.

Here for a few brief hours it was almost possible to forget that we were prisoners of war, until reminded that this was Turkey by the monotonous drawl of one of our greatest exponents of the Ottoman tongue.

Wafted on the soft morning breeze as we wended our way back to bath and breakfast, would come at intervals of half a minute some such sounds as those which follow: Er ...

er ...

posta ...

bou ...

bou ...

bourda ...

er ...

er ...

aie ...

der....

Such fluency almost suggested that Turkish was a simple language, instead of one of the most difficult in the world, second only, it is said, to Chinese.

Although attempts were made to play football, no suitable ground existed in or near Yozgad, and four-a-side hockey became the form of recreation which for the majority in the camp provided the best means of combining pleasure and hard exercise.

Hockey was available at any time of day, as the ground was within the precincts of the camp, being in fact the lowest of a series of terraces in one of the gardens belonging to our houses.

It was a bare plot, with a hard but dusty surface, and surrounded on three sides by stone walls: the area available for play was, perhaps, the length of a cricket pitch and about ten yards across, so that there was not room for more than a total of eight players.

[Illustration: _From a sketch by Capt. E.

B.

Burns, E. Kent Regt.

_ COUNTRY KNOWN TO THE LOCAL HUNT CLUB AS "HADES."

] The equipment consisted of a soft leather ball, and for each combatant a stick made from selected pieces of firewood, shaped according to fancy, subject to the finished article being passed through a 1½-inch ring.

The resultant game was always fast and often furious, its only drawback as a means of training for would-be escapers being the not inconsiderable risk of losing an eye, finger, or portions of an ankle or knee.

The excitement created by such matches as the old camp, Yozgad, _versus_ the newcomers from Changri, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th teams, reached at times a pitch rarely attained in the most hotly-contested house-match at an English public school.

For those debarred for any reason from this strenuous form of exercise there were walks each evening, except on hunting days and Wednesdays.

On the latter days there were, during the summer months, weekly picnics in the neighbouring pine woods, to which about 50 per cent of the camp would go.

During daylight intercommunication was allowed between the two groups of houses: nominally an escort was necessary to accompany such visitors along the intervening road, but in practice this rule was a dead letter.

So hard-won, however, had been these few privileges, that the prospect of any one attempting to escape and thereby causing their suspension was looked upon by the majority of the original camp almost with horror.

And this was not altogether without reason, for some of them had gone seriously into the question of escape, and had come to the conclusion that, from so hopelessly inaccessible a spot, all attempts, at least without outside assistance, were doomed to failure.

Those of us who had come from Changri, however, were not likely to give up our long-cherished hopes without a struggle, but in the meantime kept our nefarious intentions to ourselves, except for half a dozen Yozgad officers whom we knew for certain to be keen to escape.

The arrival of Cochrane had more than countered the additional difficulties involved by our move from Changri to Yozgad.

While at Kara-Hissar, he had arranged a scheme with the powers that be in England by which a friendly boat should remain off a certain point on the coast of the Mediterranean for a definite number of days at the end of August 1918. Cochrane now placed this scheme at the disposal of the Changri division.

There was some reluctance to give up old plans, but in the end four parties decided to take advantage of "Rendezvous X," as Cochrane's meeting-place was called--suffice to say that it was on the Adalian coast nearly due south of Kara-Hissar.

Of these four parties ours was one.

Our route to the island of Samos--our original scheme--would now be some 450 miles.

Actually this was only 50 miles farther than to Rendezvous X, for the only feasible route to the latter was _viâ_ Kara-Hissar, owing to the desert and mountains which would have to be crossed on a more direct route.

Cochrane's scheme, however, promised an almost certain ending to the march to any one who reached the coast; whereas, even if we reached the western shore of Asia Minor, we should still have the problem of getting across to the island, and that from a coast which must inevitably be very carefully guarded.

Our six therefore decided to give up the old plan, and soon after were joined by Cochrane himself and Captain F. R.

Ellis, D. C. L. I.

This was a tremendous advantage to us, as Cochrane not only had the experience so hardly gained by his previous attempt, but had actually seen some of the country over which we should have to march if we succeeded in passing Kara-Hissar.

It was of course impossible for him to do guide to all four parties, as large numbers marching together would be immediately tracked; so he gave what suggestions he could, and the other three parties were to make their way to the rendezvous independently.

Our party therefore numbered eight, all of whom have now been introduced to our readers.

We were the largest, and may claim to have been the most representative party, including as we did one naval officer, one gunner, one sapper, one British Infantry, two Indian Army, and two Territorial officers.

The other three parties making for Rendezvous X numbered in all nine officers and Gunner Prosser.

Besides these there were two parties having other schemes.

The first, consisting almost entirely of Yozgad officers, intended marching for the Black Sea and crossing to Russia, the full facts of whose chaotic state were not known to us at the time.

There were six officers in this party.

Lastly, a party of two more officers determined to set out eastward, and hoped to make their way into Persia.

[8] There had been three or four other officers beside these who had seriously contemplated escape while at Changri, but who were now forced to change their mind through sickness or temporary disablements, such as crocked knees, &c. The 26 starters--25 officers and 1 man--were scattered over five out of the six houses comprising the camp.

It was necessary, therefore, for those in each house--in no case all of them members of the same party--to devise their own particular means of getting out of the camp precincts, and then for a committee composed of a representative from each party to co-ordinate their respective schemes as far as possible.

The first thing was to settle on a definite date for the attempt.

As the majority were to make for Rendezvous X, to fit in with Cochrane's prearranged scheme, the date had to be later in the year than had been our idea while at Changri.

It was decided that the night chosen should be the one towards the end of July most suitable as regards the moon.

To enable the members of the various parties to join up at some convenient local rendezvous, and then put as great a distance as possible between themselves and Yozgad before the following dawn, the ideal was for the moon to rise an hour or so after we had all left our houses.

Great credit is due to Captain T. R.

Wells for correctly computing the times of rising and setting of that irregular planet.

The only material available was a Nautical Almanac some four years old.

From his predictions, the 30th July was eventually fixed upon as the best night.

The moon would rise about 10. 30 P.

M.

, and 9. 15 was fixed upon as a suitable time for all to leave their houses--if they could.

This meant all would have been present at the evening roll-call, which took place during dinner at about 7. 45 P.

M.

; and their absence, if no alarm occurred, would not be discovered until the check taken at dawn next day.

The advent of Cochrane to our party led to a reconsideration of the whole question of the food and kit we should carry on our momentous journey.

His previous experience and that of Keeling's party was that 35 lb.

was about as much as one could expect to carry across country consistently with making reasonable progress.

In the end, however, we found that there were so many essentials that we should have each to take about 43 lb.

, exclusive of the weight of packs, haversacks, &c. , to carry them.

The following list gives some idea of our final equipment.

Each member of the party was to take the following:-- _Food_-- Sixty-eight biscuits, made by "Escapers Ltd. ," five to the lb.

Six soft biscuits, four to the lb.

Sultanas, 4 lb.

Cheese, ½ lb.

Fresh meat (for the first two days only), ½ lb.

Rice, 2 lb.

Cocoa _or_ Ovaltine, 1 lb.

Soup tablets (Oxo), 12 cubes.

Chocolate, 1 lb.

Tea, ¼ lb.

Salt, about 1/8 lb.

Emergency ration of chocolate, Horlick's malted milk tablets, _or_ Brand's essence, about ½ lb.

_Clothing_-- Spare pair of boots, or several pairs of native sandals.

Spare shirt.

Towel.

Several pairs of socks.

Felt mufti hat or service-dress cap.

Vermin-proof belt.

Spare bootlaces.

Handkerchiefs (mostly in the form of bags round the food).

_Miscellaneous_-- Share of medicines, mainly in tabloid form.

One large and one small bandage.

Matches, two or more boxes, one being in a water-tight case.

Flint and slow-match cigarette lighter.

Cigarettes or tobacco, according to taste.

Soap, one piece.

String.

Mug and spoon.

Wool for repairs to socks.

Spare razor-blades.

Compass.

Clasp-knife.

Whistle.

Tooth-brush.

Comb.

Notebook and pencil.

In addition, the following were to be distributed in more or less equal weights among the party as a whole:-- 1 pair of field-glasses.

6 skeins of ¾-inch rope.

2 boot-repair outfits.

1 housewife.

3 chargals (canvas bags for water).

Map, original and copies; and enlargements from a small map.

Cardboard protractors.

"Sun compass."

Book of star charts.

Extra tea in the form of tablets.

1 aluminium "degchie" or "dixie" (cooking-pot).

1 very small adze (a carpenter's tool used in the East).

2 pocket Gillette shaving sets.

4 candles, } for giving red-light signals at red cloth } Rendezvous X. 2 pairs of scissors.

2 iron rings, for use in the event of having to tow our kit across an unfordable river.

1 sausage of solid meat extract.

Opium.

1 bottle of "Kola" compound.

1 lb.

tapioca.

Small reel of fine steel wire.

One ½-pint bottle of brandy.

Fishing tackle.

The actual clothes to be worn on starting were left to individual fancy.

It was a question first of what one possessed; secondly, of what one anticipated would suit the temperatures we should meet, and best resist the wear and tear which our clothing would have to withstand.

Some decided on Indian khaki drill, others on home service serge uniform; others again on a mixture of the two.

One had a rainproof coat cut down and converted to a tunic, which in practice was found to answer well.

"Shorts," we knew, would be very comfortable, but unfortunately they are a peculiarly British style of garment; so they were vetoed, at any rate for wear by day.

One or two, however, rendered their trousers convertible to "shorts," for use during darkness, by slitting each leg along one seam to a point above the knee, adding buttons and cutting button-holes at the correct places to enable them to be turned up and fastened, so as to leave the knees free.

Most of us, however, preferred not to risk the loss of any protection against cold such as this plan involved, and eventually started off wearing trousers tied below the knee with a piece of cord, in true navvy fashion.

It was realised that we could not hope to pass for Turks by day, so no elaborate disguise was attempted.

At night, however, a Turk's silhouette does not much differ, except for his headgear, from that of a European--for a Turk is not a European, even though he is allowed a bit of European soil.

We accordingly decided to wear fezes, so that any one passing us at night would mistake us for Turks and ask no questions.

For the daytime we would hold to our original Changri scheme of pretending to be a German survey party, and for this purpose would carry either Homburg hats or British field-service caps.