One day he went to the Ministry. On the steps of the wide staircase he almost collided with a man in a magnificent dress uniform. His doublet without epaulette was embroidered with gold stitches; a long row of buttons spoke of the high status of an official. The dazzling white stockings were tight, the pantaloons and gloves perfectly white. A sword with an expensive hilt on the left side, sparkling buckles on patent leather shoes. Who is it?
‘Good afternoon, sir.’ Kerr respectfully removed his bowler hat.
The stranger stopped.
‘Archibald! Good to see you, my young friend! How are you? How is your mother?’
Oh, my God! This is Walter Townley, his former superior, who was envoy to Argentina and met Kerr in Buenos Aires. They had not known each other well at the time, but when the telegram came that his father was dead, Townley had helped a great deal to get Archibald to the funeral and to do all the necessary work in far-off Australia.
Even now he was brief and matter-of-fact. Asked directly:
‘I've been appointed envoy to Teheran – would you like to join me?’
Kerr agreed at once, and they went up to the secretariat. Girls for a long time there was not. The mustachioed clerk spoke to Townley with great deference, and asked Kerr to come the next day. Kerr did so.
The clerk did not even rise when Archibald entered the room. Without looking into his eyes, he spoke slowly and even casually:
‘The Minister has the impression that you seem somewhat inclined to change positions too quickly…’
Kerr was furious. How so?! He had only three positions in six years, especially since he left Argentina because of circumstances beyond his control. But he could only sulk and suffer. He must return to Washington. Walter Townley hugged him when he came to say goodbye:
‘Don't worry, Archie. My offer remains in force. Persia will not run away from you.’
Another year passed. In February 1914 he finally became second Secretary and would be transferred to Europe. So Kerr's last peaceful vacation was on a Mediterranean cruise. The news of the war he received in the Chancery of the Embassy in Rome.
No one could understand why the turmoil in the Balkans had so quickly turned into the conflagration of a world war. And more than once Kerr had to remember that night with Princess Sophie, her whisper:
‘My Brother Wilhelm's malice has no bounds. Believe, soon he will bring Germany to a terrible war with all, including England.’
At all intersections hung posters “What can you do make for victory?” It seemed to Kerr that the soldier with the rifle asked him personally: “Have you already signed up as a volunteer?” Right on the streets were opened points where they recorded those wishing to fight. Dozens of men stood in front of the tables. Also Robin, Kerr's older brother, wrote that he had enlisted as a captain in the 7th battalion of the Scottish Chasseurs. That was the last straw. Archibald decided: I should be with them, military interpreters are very necessary, since so many countries are involved in the war.
The military attache in Rome wrote a petition to the Foreign Office on his behalf, but the Ministry said there was no clear rules yet on which diplomats could enlist and which could not; if the Ambassador dispensed with a second Secretary, there was a chance. The Ambassador replied harshly:
‘Our Embassy is understaffed. Later, you'll thank me for keeping you alive. The only thing I can concede – I will agree in your transfer to another country…’
Kerr did not accuse the chief of cowardice. He just submitted his resignation. However, the Foreign Office was not so easy to beat. It was unclear why they clung to him, but it was said that if he resigned, the Ministry would see to it that he did not go to the front, and ensure that he would not be taken into the army. It was a dead end. It remained to agree to an Embassy in Teheran.
Chapter 5
“The West remained a stranger,East is not my East…”
Archibald wrote bitterly to his mother: “Appointed to Teheran. Accepted under pressure.” The way the Ministry had treated him had hurt Kerr deeply. He felt hurt, betrayed.
In this black mood he returned to London. He was lucky to have met old friends, to have been invited to dinner at the Admiralty, where he told the first Lord Winston Churchill, over a cigar, of his desire to fight. He promised to do what he could. But to promise – not to marry, nothing that did not. Kerr must go to Teheran.
He reached Persia by circuitous routes, through several countries. Walter Townley, noticeably older, was cordial and brief, and laid out his cards at once:
‘Officially, Persia is neutral. But while there is no change on the Western front, a major fire is breaking out here in ancient Mesopotamia. Turkey presses from all sides, Russia dreams of seizing the Straits, the local tribes are bought by German spies, and the Teheran government is helpless. We're sitting on a powder keg. So get down to business with your sleeves rolled up.’
The plight of the small British mission in Tehran became even direr after the Foreign Office unexpectedly replaced Townley with Charles Marling. The new envoy immediately criticized everything that had been done before him – all contacts, agreements, and plans. He made elaborate mockery of the Persian officials, insulting them to their faces. Everything that was built was broken. It is clear that Archibald could not accept such ignorant and stupid leadership. His heart and mind were on the Western front, and certainly not in the sands of Mesopotamia.
Kerr's relationship with Marling deteriorated when the Turks left Basra: the British landing force, supported by the ironclad and gunboats, was rapidly moving south to the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates. The envoy was triumphant, as if he had personally planned and carried out this military operation. Marling's triumph, however, was short-lived.
At the end of November, 1915, not having reached thirty kilometers to Baghdad, the expeditionary corps suffered the most severe defeat. The Turks utterly defeated the British. The remnants of their regiments withdrew to El-Kut, where they had to spend Christmas almost completely surrounded.
To help the besieged from Basra moved powerful reinforcements, the fighting was terrible, and they lasted for weeks. The troops of His Majesty King George V could not advance a mile. Losses numbered in the thousands. The situation of those who remained in El-Kut became deplorable.
They had no food, no water, and no ammunition. Half the defenders were mowed down by malaria. And then the British command turned to the allies. Russian help came quickly…
The order for Esaul Basil Gamaly was brief: not later than fourteen days to connect with the British troops in the area of Basra. The purpose of the Raid: to create the impression that the enemy hundred Kuban Cossacks – is the head watch of a large Russian group, rushing to the aid of the British allies.
There are two routes to Basra. One is through a valley where food and forage are plentiful, but full of hostile tribes. The second is shorter-through the desert, which the local nomads called the Valley of death. Gamaly after the council with the conductors chose him.
From the first day the hundred had to engage in numerous battles. They were aided by the fifty thousand Russian rubles, the gold Persian money, and the ten thousand pounds sterling from the British representative.
Avoiding meetings with local bandits, a hundred a bit deviated from route, managed to replenish supplies of food and drinking water and disappeared in the dunes Valleys of death.
All the oases in the desert were occupied by Turkish infantry, the caravan trails were controlled by cavalry on the ground and airplanes from the air. Driving them away with machine-gun fire, cutting down enemy ambushes, the Cossacks steadily approached the goal. They lost only eight men.
The unprecedented March of a thousand miles through the rear of the Turkish army was completed not in fourteen, but in ten days. This allowed the British to gain time. Gathering