With a
view to lessening his own responsibility, Churchill sought to invoke a higher
defence: that it was all meant to happen. In a famous passage from his apologia,
The World Crisis, Churchill reasoned thus:
In all this story of the escape of the Goeben one
seems to see the influence of that sinister fatality which at a later stage and
on a far larger scale was to dog the enterprise against the Dardanelles. The
terrible ‘If’s’ accumulate. If my first thoughts on 27 July of sending the
New Zealand to the Mediterranean had materialized; if we could have opened
fire on the Goeben during the afternoon of August 4; if we had been less
solicitous for Italian neutrality; if Sir Berkeley Milne had sent the
Indomitable to coal at Malta instead of Biserta; if the Admiralty had sent
him direct instructions when on the night of the 5th they learned where the
Goeben was; if Rear-Admiral Troubridge in the small hours of the 7th had not
changed his mind; if the Dublin and her two destroyers had intercepted
the enemy during the night of the 6th-7th — the story of the Goeben would
have ended here. There was, however, as it turned out, one more chance of
annulling the doom of which she was the bearer. That chance, remote though it
was, the Fates were vigilant to destroy.
At 1 a.m. on August 8 Sir Berkeley Milne,
having collected and coaled his three battle-cruisers at Malta, set out at a
moderate speed on an Easterly course in pursuit of the Goeben. At this
juncture the Fates moved a blameless and punctilious Admiralty clerk to declare
war upon Austria...
Certainly the Goeben episode was unusual for the
extraordinary number of chances that might be ascribed to ‘fate’; Churchill in
fact did not cover all the possible “if’s”. To the ones already
mentioned could be added the following:
IF the British
battle cruisers had been able to maintain their trial speed;
IF the French fleet
had left Toulon on Sunday afternoon, 2 August;
IF Goeben and
Breslau had come out of Messina on the night of 5/6 August when
Troubridge was ready and waiting to attack;
IF Souchon had
decided to go to the Adriatic as a result of the signal from Berlin advising him
it was impossible to put into Constantinople for the moment;
IF Milne had not
recalled Gloucester on the afternoon of the 7th;
IF Milne’s flagship
Inflexible had also picked up the signal on the 7th that Goeben
was calling Constantinople;
IF Milne had been
directed to resume the chase earlier after having been diverted to the Adriatic;
IF Churchill’s War
Staff at the Admiralty had acted in the way it was supposed to have;
IF Venizelos had not
authorized the supply of coal to Goeben and Breslau;
IF Milne had
accepted, and acted upon, the signal of 7/8 August that Goeben was ‘near
Syra’.
However,
a closer examination of all these if’s, including Churchill’s, reveals
not the workings of a malign Fate, but the hand of man. To take them in
sequence, Churchill’s first ‘if’ – the question of sending the battle cruiser
New Zealand to reinforce Milne’s squadron – was considered by a conference
at the Admiralty on 28 July, when it was decided against as Milne’s forces were
deemed to have been sufficient to contain Souchon’s division while the French
were allocated the Austrians. That Britain did not declare war sooner,
Churchill’s second ‘if’, owed much to the natural reluctance of Liberal
statesmen to enter the fray and then only after prolonged and emotional debate.
Nevertheless, having decided upon that course by the evening of Sunday 2 August
the Cabinet had to wait for Grey’s speech in the House the following day before
forcing the issue by sending the ultimatum to Berlin. It is conceivable that
this could have been sent, and timed to expire, earlier. Again a reluctance to
take the final, irrevocable, step explains the delay. If Churchill had been
apprised early enough on Tuesday 4 August of the consular report that, during
the bombardment of the French North African ports that morning, the German ships
had fired upon and damaged a British ship, he might have been able to push
through that day a demand that Milne be authorized to open fire. But the report
came too late; it was not held up deliberately, the explanation this time being
found in pressure upon the telegraphic services. Indeed, just after noon that
day, Churchill had sent – without full Cabinet authorization – a signal to Milne
that he could open fire on the German ships if they attacked the French
transports. Two hours later, in the face of Cabinet opposition, the order was
retracted until the ultimatum to Germany had expired. Bearing in mind
Churchill’s powers of persuasion it is difficult to imagine the Cabinet being so
punctilious if they had been informed that a British ship had been fired upon;
in any event, Churchill was not, at that time, unduly perturbed.
Churchill’s third ‘if’ is a clear example of
a human decision having fateful consequences: Battenberg’s desire to avoid any
‘petty incident’ with Italy by enjoining Milne rigidly to respect a six mile
territorial limit. This unnecessary order placed out of bounds the one location
vital to Milne’s attempts to ensnare Goeben and Breslau — the
Straits of Messina. Nevertheless, Battenberg had the best of intentions on 4
August and, in any event, sought Churchill’s approval before sending the order.
It was perhaps understandable, as evidence pointed to a German collier in the
Balearics, that Souchon might not risk returning to Messina where there was a
possibility his ships could be interned, but where the First Lord was at fault
was in not countermanding the order in time when it became apparent that Souchon
had, after all, returned to Messina. Admiral Milne must also share some of the
blame, for not using his initiative, although it could be argued that he assumed
the Admiralty was in receipt of far more information on the delicate
international situation than was available to him and that, therefore, there was
a sound basis for the order; also, Battenberg was aware that Milne was not the
sort of officer who would deliberately chose to disobey an order.
Next, Churchill made great play of Milne’s
decision to send Indomitable to coal in Bizerta instead of Malta: ‘This
was an important decision’, he maintained as, in Malta, Indomitable would
have had assured coaling facilities and could ‘so easily move to close the
southern exit from Messina, or join Rear Admiral Troubridge in the mouth of the
Adriatic, as that officer had been led to expect.’ There was, indeed, some
confusion over who was to get the battle cruiser. Troubridge was certainly of
the opinion that, upon the outbreak of war, Milne – as senior admiral in the
Mediterranean and thus outranking the French C-in-C – would return to England in
his flagship leaving the two remaining battle cruisers attached to himself. He
was reinforced in this opinion by the coincidence of his having been the C.O.S.
in 1912 at the time when the Mediterranean dispositions were being formulated.
Equally, however, he should have been aware that, in his informal briefing with
Milne on 2 August, he was not promised the battle cruisers and that, so long as
Milne remained on the station, the battle cruisers were his (Milne’s) to do with
as he pleased. Churchill also overlooks the fact that, in attempting to maintain
the tenuous link with the French, Milne had a pressing reason for dispatching
Indomitable to Bizerta so that Captain Kennedy could establish contact with
the French C-in-C. The subsequent delay at the port was due entirely to Kennedy.
Besides, the detachment was entirely consistent with Milne’s belief, of which he
made no secret, that Souchon would attempt to break west. This merges into
Churchill’s fifth ‘if’ — that, when it became apparent that Milne would do
nothing unless instructed to, the Admiralty, realizing this, should have sent
him direct orders. This was nothing if not poor staff work, yet it was precisely
to implement a naval war staff that Churchill had been sent to the Admiralty in
the first place.
Number six on Churchill’s list was ‘if
Rear-Admiral Troubridge in the small hours of August 7 had not changed his
mind.’ It is true the unfortunate Admiral did change his mind but this was
almost entirely due to his insistence on not disobeying Churchill’s order not to
engage a superior force. Troubridge had originally meant to attack; that he
later did not could be laid almost directly at Churchill’s door. There is,
however, one aspect which might also have weighed on the Admiral’s mind that
night: he was one of only a handful of serving officers to have witnessed the
devastating effect of modern naval guns as an observer during the Russo-Japanese
war. It would not take much imagination to picture the effect that Goeben’s
excellent heavy guns would have upon his lightly armoured cruisers. While in no
way suggesting that Troubridge’s actions stemmed from motives of personal
cowardice, it is one more link to be fitted in the bewildering chain of events
attendant upon the escape. Then there was Dublin’s attempted
interception: although Gloucester, doggedly shadowing the battle
cruisers, was able to give a good idea of Goeben’s position, the
night-time interception was always going to be a difficult operation, which was
not helped by the initial confusion aboard Dublin as to which ship her
captain at first believed he had located — Goeben or Breslau.
In many ways the premature dispatch of the
Austrian ‘war’ telegram is the most curious in a line of curious incidents. The
whole episode lends itself to conspiracy theory: the telegram was already
prepared and was sent by a humble Admiralty clerk at the precise moment when it
was calculated to do the most damage, that is, just as Milne had reached the
halfway point with his battle cruisers on the run to the Aegean. In this
instance Milne was, initially, blameless: his war orders gave him no choice but
to head for the Adriatic and a rendezvous with Troubridge’s division. For
conspiracy theorists it would not be difficult to envisage a scenario whereby,
once it was realized that, at last, Milne was giving chase in the right
direction, an unknown hand in London waited for the duty officer to go to his
lunch before sending off a bogus telegram designed to divert Milne from his
quarry. Unfortunately for this theory, it was standard practice to have war
telegrams already drafted and while it can never be proved that there was no
sinister motive behind the sending of the telegram the mistake was
rectified as soon as it was discovered. Milne could have resumed his chase
within a matter of hours, still in time to catch Souchon. It was then only a
combination of a fatuous telegram later that afternoon, sloppy staff work and,
yet again, Milne’s punctiliousness that caused him to remain in the Adriatic.
Had more care been taken in wording the ‘negative’ telegram and if, at the same
time, Milne had been actively put back on the trail the whole episode would have
resulted merely in the waste of a few hours. Milne still could have caught
Souchon as Goeben and Breslau coaled at Denusa on Sunday, 9
August.
Now, to examine the subsidiary list. The battle cruiser as a
concept – large enough to overwhelm any known cruiser, fast enough to escape
from any known battleship sufficiently powerful to destroy it – owed its birth
to Admiral Fisher, for whom speed and gunpower were paramount. This concept was
fine so long as Britain alone possessed battle cruisers. The trouble arose when
other countries began to construct the same class of warship and, especially,
when they proved better at it than the British. The Admiralty had made the
mistake, in their second generation ships, of repeating an unsatisfactory
design; with the advantage of a later start the Germans quickly caught up and
their early battle cruisers were better ships than their British counterparts.
After months in the Mediterranean all the battle cruisers, British and German,
suffered from various defects, particularly fouling. Souchon, however, grabbed
his opportunity in the period following the Sarajevo assassination and before
the outbreak of war; while little could be done to remedy the fouling, at least
boiler tubes could be replaced so that the ship had a decent turn of speed, if
only for a short time. On the other side, Milne had nonchalantly continued his
summer cruise, despite the fact that at least one of his battle cruisers was
long overdue for repairs. Souchon also had the crucial advantage of starting
with a higher trial speed so that, even if all the ships were slower than
designed, he would still have the edge. Fisher’s theory of fast, powerful ships
had been stolen and used against him. As Battenberg was later to comment, ‘The
outstanding feature of this interesting operation, in which the enemy played the
part of a harmless fugitive, is the marked superiority in speed of Goeben
over our battle-cruisers’.
Although Souchon, by virtue of his speed,
could have avoided action if he so desired, the French Fleet would certainly
have been better placed to intercept the German ships had they left their base
at Toulon earlier. That they did not was the result of Admiral Lapeyrère’s
questioning of orders he did not like, exacerbated by the mental collapse of the
French Minister of Marine. The French inaction owed more to petty jealousy and
friction within the command structure than any deliberate act of policy. Next,
having decided on his own initiative to steam for Constantinople, Souchon
recognized the necessity for re-coaling. His options were limited: either put in
at Messina and hope to be able to obtain coal there but run the risk of
internment in view of Italy’s desertion of the Triple Alliance, or place
everything upon hoping to find coal in the Aegean. In the circumstances, Souchon
had little option other than to stop at Messina on the 5th (whereas Troubridge
expected him to sail right through on his presumed run up to the Adriatic). Once
he did stop to coal, someone in the waiting British ships might have asked
himself the question, why the need to take on so much coal? This could indicate
a break west, or even east, towards Suez for example; what it should have
eliminated is the thought that Souchon needed all that coal just for the short
trip to the entrance of the Adriatic where he would, presumably, come under the
protection of the Austrian fleet. Troubridge’s excuse was simple, if hardly
credible: he maintained that he was unaware that Goeben had coaled this
time.
The fourth ‘if’ on the subsidiary list is easily disposed of: Souchon had a fair
idea what life in the Adriatic would be like. Better then to risk the unknown in
Constantinople. During the months of frustration as Turkey remained resolutely
neutral Souchon lamented that if he really had wanted to do nothing he would
have gone to the Adriatic. Ultimately his decision to steam east was
spectacularly vindicated; but it was his decision.
When Milne recalled Gloucester on the
afternoon of Friday 7 August he lost touch with the enemy, never to regain it.
Gloucester had reported at midnight on 6/7th that she had 700 tons of
coal left and was using it at a rate of 350 tons a day;
in other words, she had the capability, in theory, of steaming until late on
Saturday evening before completely exhausting her bunkers. Yet it was not as
simple as that. Milne appreciated that, once low on coal, the reserve bunkers
would have to be used, making it difficult for the cruiser to maintain a high
speed and, therefore, all the more easy for Goeben to turn on the small
vessel and run her down. There was also the concern that Souchon might attempt
to trap his pursuer, which is exactly what he had in mind. Why then did not
Milne detach a cruiser from Troubridge’s squadron to take Gloucester’s
place? Milne was quizzed on precisely this point by the Admiralty who singled
out Dublin as a ship that could have performed this all-important
function.
Milne argued that, in view of his orders and of Press reports that the Austrian
fleet had left Pola, Dublin could not be spared due to the importance of
maintaining an effective watch on the Adriatic: ‘I did not consider it advisable
to deprive the Rear Admiral of the only fast ship he had available for this
important duty.’
The sixth subsidiary ‘if’ raises a
fascinating question: if Milne had received the report that early on the
afternoon of 7 August Goeben was heard signalling Constantinople, would
it have altered his pre-conceived notions as to what Souchon was likely to do?
The answer would have to be a qualified ‘no’. Souchon might simply have been
seeking information — for example, what was the latest news of the Austrian
fleet, or was there any danger of the Russian Black Sea fleet steaming out into
the Aegean and blocking his route? The clearest indication of Milne’s thinking
was contained in his report to the Admiralty wherein he admitted, with
characteristic finality, that ‘the idea that belligerent ships would proceed
into a neutral port and there be sold did not enter into my calculations and, I
submit, could not reasonably have been guarded against.’
In the event, Dublin’s report of having intercepted the signal was logged
on other ships throughout the fleet but not by the one it was specifically
directed at — Milne’s flagship Inflexible. Again this was not an unusual
occurrence. W/T was still in its infancy and the saga of Goeben and
Breslau is replete with messages which were not received; this problem, it
should be remembered, also affected Souchon. The following day (Saturday 8th)
Indomitable did not receive the Austrian ‘war’ telegram and the surprise
was, therefore, all the greater when the ship did receive the ‘negative’. In
addition, unless specifically requested (and the ‘negative’ telegram was an
example of this) there was no automatic procedure for acknowledging receipt of
signals.
Milne’s pre-conceived ideas are also bound up
with the next ‘if’: when he was diverted, unintentionally, to the Adriatic on
the afternoon of the 8th it was not until late the following morning that the
realization dawned in the Admiralty War Room that he had not resumed the chase
after receiving the ‘negative’ telegram. Part of this débâcle was caused by
confusion in the Admiralty over the sequence of telegrams, but it is not going
too far to suggest that an additional factor was the cult of the weekend. The
events of the ‘fateful’ 24 hours occurred during a Saturday afternoon and
evening and a Sunday morning. Would the performance by the War Staff have been
quite as dire had it been a weekday? It would seem that, given his two tasks —
watching the Adriatic and destroying the German ships — Milne placed them equal
in terms of importance. Another Admiral might have gambled all on sinking the
German ships first which would then allow him to turn the bulk of his forces to
the other task. Milne was not like that. Once he had chased Souchon into the
Aegean he had the German ships, or so he believed, trapped. He was also wary of
pulling forces away from Troubridge to assist in the search of the Aegean in the
belief that Souchon was acting as a decoy for the Austrians by luring the
British away and thereby opening the gate of the Adriatic; and, never far away,
was the possibility that Souchon might double back to the West. If the thought
of Souchon going to Constantinople ever crossed Milne’s mind at all it was only
in the context that, once there, the German ships would be interned and so, he
presumed, no longer able to participate in the war: it would be a defeat for
Souchon rather than a victory for Milne, but the result would be the same.
That Milne thought thus raises the next ‘if’:
although there were clear indications in London with regard to the political
situation in Turkey no warning was ever passed on to Milne. Here the Foreign
Office was just as much to blame: reports were received and minuted, each
comment reflecting the particular bias of the writer, but that was as far as it
went. Even so, this does not entirely absolve the Admiralty. Churchill, who must
have anticipated the reaction that would follow after he had embargoed the
Turkish ships, had talked openly during the first week of August of a coming
break with Turkey. An apposite analogy of Churchill during that period might be
of a Chess-master playing a number of games simultaneously. Having made his
early moves in one game with a view to setting up the conditions for a win, he
moves on to the next, hopeful that when he eventually returns to the first game
nothing will have been done to upset his carefully laid plans. For Churchill the
first game was the Mediterranean: he made his dispositions in the last days of
July, set the trap to catch Souchon and contain the Austrians and then moved on
to another game — the North Sea and the transport of the B.E.F. This explains
the flow of instructions being passed to Milne up to the outbreak of war, and
the dearth thereafter: Churchill’s attention was elsewhere. Nevertheless it
should have worked; that it did not owes just as much to the skill of the
opponent. Souchon not only extricated himself from check but was then able to
play for a draw and eventually checkmate his opponent.
Churchill had created the War Staff and then
robbed it of its functions: too many decisions were taken by the First Lord and
rubber stamped by the unfortunate Battenberg, who had a bad start to the war.
Battenberg’s reputation remains intact as a ‘brilliant’ strategist unfairly
dismissed, yet this reputation was made against mediocre opposition and failed
him badly at the onset of war; he was also not the man to stand up to Churchill
(on the other hand, who was?). Additionally, by seeking to envelop the 1912
Staff talks with the French and the abortive 1914 talks with the Russians in an
unwarranted aura of mystery Battenberg cast a shadow in whose ill light rumour
and supposition abounded. Not only would Churchill delegate unwillingly, he
compounded this fault by having at the Admiralty officers unsuited for the posts
they occupied. The War Staff had atrophied and had been caught out, never more
so than in the dismal performance of the 8th and 9th of August 1914. Equally,
Milne also cannot be entirely absolved: one of the C-in-C’s last peacetime
duties had been his visit to the Sultan of Turkey during which the British were
rapturously received. Although Djemal assiduously played down the importance of
Goeben’s visit the previous month it beggars belief that, in his meetings
with Embassy personnel, Milne was not briefed on the current political
situation. The Embassy’s Annual Report for 1913, which made a point of
highlighting German infiltration, had only just been completed. Nevertheless,
whatever he was, or was not, told Milne still clearly believed that the Turks
would maintain a rigorous neutrality.
The final two “if’s” return the spotlight to
Greece. Why did Milne not pay any attention to the accurate signal received
shortly after leaving Malta, early on the morning of the 8th, that Goeben
was ‘near Syra’? Instead of heading off in hot pursuit, his three battle
cruisers commenced a leisurely sweep towards the Aegean. Again Milne’s
preconceptions had come into play: once in the Aegean, where could Souchon go?
As well, albeit with hindsight, Milne might also have argued (as, indeed, he did
in a slightly different context) that even if he had set off from Malta at
maximum speed his ships would just have been approaching Cape Matapan when he
received the spurious Austrian ‘war’ telegram in which case, in accordance with
his war orders, he would still have had to put his ships about and make for the
Adriatic. The outcome would have been the same.
That this signal became corrupted to read subsequently that Goeben was
coaling at Syra (a possibility Milne dismissed), combined with Venizelos’
decision to supply coal to the German ships, indicates that something was afoot
in Athens.
While it is unlikely in the extreme that
there existed an organized conspiracy to allow the German ships to escape
involving any or all of the Foreign Office, Admiralty, Milne or Troubridge,
there is a strong case for believing that factions in Athens, knowing of the
Turco-German alliance and the destination of the ships, actively conspired to
ensure their escape. The alliance became common knowledge in Athens after the
telegram from Theotokis, the Greek Minister in Berlin, was received on 4 August.
Any doubts entertained by King Constantine and Admiral Kerr as to its
authenticity should have been dispelled by 7 August when it became apparent that
the German ships had passed into the Aegean and were heading north-east,
confirming the Dardanelles as the most likely destination. For Venizelos the
realization came even earlier, to precisely the moment when, at 2 o’clock on the
morning of 6 August, he was roused from his sleep by the German Minister who was
anxious to secure coal for Souchon, to which request Venizelos readily agreed.
By the end of that week, the King, Admiral Kerr and the Prime Minister could
have been in no doubt as to where Souchon was heading.
In the light of this evidence Gottlieb could
come to just one conclusion: ‘William II informed the King of Greece that the
two ships would join the Turkish Navy for combined action, and the communication
was transmitted to the Chief of the British Naval Mission in Greece [Kerr], who
must obviously have sent it on to London.’
Except that Kerr did not; while Venizelos did, but in a severely emasculated
form, referring only to rumours of a ‘military convention’ rather than a
full-blown alliance, and not mentioning the destination. When Venizelos saw
Erskine, the British Chargé, on the morning of 5 August – after having received
the telegram from Theotokis – the Prime Minister even attempted to undermine the
possibility of the existence of a military convention. According to Erskine’s
report to London, Venizelos could ‘not see what inducements could be offered to
Turkey unless at the expense of Greece, but thinks that possibly Greek Minister
[Theotokis] may have been deliberately misled by German Government as to
convention in order to frighten Greece into compliance with their wishes.’
Why did Venizelos not make even a passing reference to Goeben and
Breslau? Why did he then supply coal to the Germans and attempt to cover his
tracks after so doing? And why supply coal knowing that Souchon’s squadron was
making for the capital of his bitterest foe, Turkey?
Venizelos could not have been naïve enough to
suppose the Turks would simply intern the ships so it follows he must have
actively wanted them to become an adjunct to the Turkish fleet. In short, the
Prime Minister had three possible motives. First, the prospect that Souchon,
finding himself with insufficient coal to guarantee his passage to the
Dardanelles with a margin for error, might have put into Piraeus instead must
have been alarming to Venizelos, to say the least. The combination of constant
pressure from Berlin to join the Triple Alliance, a Germanophile King in Athens,
and the guns of Goeben trained on the capital would have wrecked his
policy of alignment with the Entente on his own terms. Wherever Venizelos might
have wanted Souchon to go, it was most certainly not in his own backyard.
Why then simply not pass on the information to the British and hope that Milne’s
squadron succeeded in destroying the German ships? Possibly because Venizelos
could not guarantee that this would be the result as Souchon might have wished
to avoid battle, an option always available to him with the faster ships he
commanded; besides, the destruction of the Mittelmeerdivision would also
have impinged upon Venizelos’ other two motives.
Second, his forward policy also ran the risk
of being undermined by the war-weariness of the Greek population. The Prime
Minister needed a rallying cry in the shape of a clear indication that the Turks
could pounce at any moment. Venizelist organs in Athens quickly began to take up
just such a call: as soon as Turkey’s ‘purchase’ of the ships became known, the
Patris cited this as a move directed against Greece, and called for Greek
entry into the war. Why, though, assist in arming you worst enemy? This may be
explained by Venizelos’ third possible motive: he was not arming the Turks
against the Greeks, but rather the Turks against the Russians. Venizelos must
have reasoned that as soon as Souchon entered the Dardanelles the British and
French squadrons would blockade his ships inside; Souchon’s only outlet would be
the Black Sea, his only opponents the Russians. The Russian Black Sea fleet
could not hope to launch an assault against the Ottoman capital once the Turkish
fleet had been augmented by Goeben and Breslau and, with Turkey
fully committed, militarily and navally, in the east against the Russians the
way was left open for a Greek move on the Turkish rear, with the ultimate
objective being the capture of Constantinople.
Grey subsequently admitted that, in the
period from August until November 1914, the offers of Greece to join the allies
were ‘embarrassing’ to Britain while Turkey remained ostensibly neutral; once
Turkey did enter the war the situation was even more fraught. Then, Grey
recorded with typical understatement, ‘the Russian sensitiveness about
Constantinople made these Greek offers of help a very delicate matter’.
That Venizelos’ plans did not reach fruition owed more to the ambivalent
attitude of Bulgaria — he dare not move until he could be assured which way the
Bulgarians would lean. The question of Balkan rivalries was to dog all the
attempts of Venizelos to push through his goal of alignment with the Entente
Powers; even so, he was playing a dangerous game of brinkmanship. Grey further
maintained, with considerable hindsight, that not knowing of the Turco-German
alliance did not especially affect British actions: ‘Knowledge of the treaty
would not have made much difference; we feared the worst even without knowing of
the treaty.’
This must stand, however, as too sweeping a judgment, particularly when applied
to the first week in August. It is inconceivable that, had knowledge of the
treaty and the destination of the German ships become available in London on 5
August – as was possible – Milne would have been allowed to flounder for the
following four days.
The Greek Prime Minister was not privy to
this intelligence in isolation, yet any of the strictures that applied to
Venizelos’ motives for not wishing to inform the Entente did not apply to
Rear-Admiral Mark Kerr. At any time from the 4th to the 9th of August Kerr could
have caused a message to be sent to the Admiral Superintendent, Malta to be
relayed to both London and Milne, that the Turco-German alliance had been
concluded and that Goeben and Breslau were making for
Constantinople. He chose not to; in fact, until the evening of 7 August, Kerr
appears to have done nothing at all. Then, only after Greek warships had
apparently obtained a W/T ‘fix’ on Goeben which placed her near Syra, did
he act. On duty at the British Legation in Athens that night was the Third
Secretary, George Rendel, who later recounted that he ‘received a confidential
message from a senior officer of the British Naval Mission [Kerr] that Goeben
was known to be off the island of Syra and sailing North-Eastwards.
We were able to send a most immediate telegram to the Commander-in-Chief,
Mediterranean, and we spent the next two days anxiously expecting news of her
destruction. Instead the news suddenly broke on us that both ships had passed
through the Dardanelles.’
If Kerr felt that the information he had, at last, passed on was still not clear
enough, why not mention at least the possibility that the ships might be heading
for Constantinople? No blame would then attach to Kerr if the authorities chose
not to act on his information. Instead he seemed more intent on keeping the
Russians abreast of the latest intelligence.
Mr Erskine, the Counsellor and Chargé at the
Legation in the absence of the Minister, admitted on the morning of 9 August
that he was ‘in constant communication with Intelligence Officer Malta
respecting movements of German ships’ and that he was secretly being aided by
Kerr; but not once had the Admiral deigned to tell the Chargé of the alliance or
of Souchon’s destination. Kerr was presumably aware that Venizelos had raised
the possibility of a Turco-German ‘military convention’ with Erskine, which Kerr
knew to be of more serious import than the Prime Minister made out; he was thus
ideally placed to alert Erskine to the real danger. A malevolent hand was also
at work in Erskine’s telegram to London that morning: as originally drafted
Erskine referred to the fact that the Greek Government thought Goeben was
‘going into Black Sea’. For some reason this was watered down, and appeared in
the final version as ‘Greek Govt think she may contemplate
going into Black Sea’ — a much less definite proposition. Also, the specific
mention of Kerr was deleted which, one must assume, could only have been at the
Admiral’s own request.
|
AS
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED |
|
AS
AMENDED AND SENT |
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Petersburg Tel. No. 247 |
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Petersburg Tel. No. 247 |
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Your tel
No. 112 |
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Information is correct |
|
I am in
constant communication with Intelligence Officer Malta respecting
movements of German ships referred to & am being helped by Admiral Kerr
with wireless telegraphy of Greek Ministry of Marine. Latest news of
Goeben was off Syra night of Aug 7. Greek Govt think she is going into
Black Sea. They have warned Greek fleet not to expose themselves to
possible danger. |
|
I am in
constant communication with Intelligence Officer Malta respecting
movements of German ships referred to & am being secretly helped by
wireless telegraphy of Greek Admiralty. Goeben was believed to be near
Syra evening of Aug 7. Greek Govt think she may contemplate going into
Black Sea & have warned Greek fleet not to expose themselves to possible
danger. |
Kerr’s
motives for remaining silent, or at best divulging the least amount of
information consistent with his position, are harder to ascertain. They range
from the speculative – the Admiral was keen to see Turkey enter the war allowing
him to assume his place in battle as C-in-C of the Hellenic Navy – to the
implausible — Kerr as a secret agent feeding disinformation to the Kaiser only
for the whole scheme to go disastrously awry when the Admiral fell under the
spell of King Constantine. Kerr had certainly allowed himself to become firmly
entangled in the affairs of the King, though this aspect of his make up was
entirely characteristic. The Admiral had a deeply emotional side which was no
more in evidence than when he pleaded with Battenberg for help and encouragement
in December 1913, in anticipation of war with Turkey over the fate of the Aegean
islands, and declared his readiness to change his nationality and fight for the
Greeks. ‘I know it means ruin for me afterwards’, he conceded,
but I have a strong feeling that I should do so. I would not
feel so, except for the fact that they will be so weak, having no-one who knows
how to work a flotilla & I may make the difference of victory or defeat. I am
quite serious about this & only ask you to be so good as to find out the legal
point. I prefer not to be an outlaw, & I prefer to be able to come home some
day…Please let me know the legal way of doing this thing & I think I may have to
do it. Ever yours, aff[ectionately].
Although the anticipated Greco-Turkish war did not break out,
the letter is still extraordinary for the extent of the emotional attachment
Kerr had developed towards Greece in only a matter of months since his arrival
there as the summer of 1913 was drawing to a close.
Similarly, Kerr was quickly accepted into
Court circles, and reciprocated to the full. In the Admiral’s opinion King
Constantine, although no diplomat, was
an absolutely straight and honest soldier, with a great
strategical and tactical brain for war. He was truthful to the last degree and
loathed intrigue. He thought as much about the good of the rank and file,
perhaps even more, than he did about the upper classes. He despised injustice,
and was easily touched by sorrow or misfortune. His only ambition was for his
country and the prosperity of its people…
Unquestionably, in the fevered atmosphere of August 1914 in
Athens, Venizelos sought to align Greece, conditionally, with the Entente, while
the King advocated neutrality. Nevertheless, in view of the requirements that
had to be fulfilled for Venizelos’ offer to take effect, particularly the
guarantee of Bulgarian intentions, the Prime Minister’s stance was also
tantamount to neutrality; but it was a stance in which he could adopt a certain
amount of sanctimonious posturing. This route was not open to the King. When
Constantine became aware, on 4 August, of the Turco-German alliance and the
destination of Goeben and Breslau what was he to do with this
information? If he passed it on to the British or French, the likely outcome, he
might have reasoned, would be the destruction of the Mittelmeerdivision,
greater pressure upon Turkey to act, and the creation for Greece of an enemy –
Germany – of immense power. This last consequence would have been even more
fraught if, in addition to Turkey, Germany was also able to enlist the services
of Bulgaria: in that event, the prospects for Greece were bleak.
Constantine realized that the Kaiser’s boast
was meant as a threat: join with me or suffer the consequences. Equally he
realized there was nothing he could do openly with this information, of which
Kerr was also now aware, except to disguise the source so that, if a disaster
befell Souchon, it would not be possible with any certainty to ascribe the blame
to the King. This is, I would suggest, where Mark Kerr came in. From the 4th to
the 7th of August Kerr, I believe, was acting under a vow of secrecy imposed
upon him by the King, until the time at which the information could be relayed
to the British fleet as if coming from the wireless intercepts of the Greek
navy. It is also significant that Constantine waited until the 7th before
replying to Wilhelm’s appeal. Whatever Kerr’s particular motives or displaced
loyalties, opinion in the Foreign Office in London later came to accept that
Kerr was responsible for the fact that Greece did not join the Entente.
Venizelos, Constantine and Kerr all,
therefore, had their reasons for not divulging their knowledge of the Turco-German
alliance to the Entente ministers in Athens. One intriguing aspect remains:
Kaiser Wilhelm, who knew Kerr personally, was surely aware both of Kerr’s
position as C-in-C of the Greek Navy and of his close relationship with the King
which extended to his being a confidant of Constantine. Did he not expect
Constantine to pass the information on to Kerr or did he simply, in the heat of
the moment when making his threat on 4 August, forget all about Kerr?
The escape of Goeben and Breslau can be traced
backwards from their arrival off the Dardanelles on 10 August through a chain of
events stretching back to the turn of the century. Each link in this chain was
forged by the hand of man: that the overall result was one of such complexity is
manifest evidence of the bewildering nature of human motivation. Fisher’s
nascent ideas regarding the desirability of speed and firepower led to the
development of the battle cruiser. The Committee of Imperial Defence, from
Balfour’s grand ideals, withered under Asquith’s premiership into a technical
co-ordinating body. The much heralded Naval War Staff became a department in
name only, its higher functions usurped by Churchill and Battenberg. The culture
of late Victorian England bred an officer such as Sir Archibald Berkeley Milne:
not quite as bad as sometimes made out, but clearly unsuited to the requirements
of the fast moving situation that developed in the Mediterranean in August 1914.
Troubridge, a slightly later product, did not benefit from the revolution in
early twentieth century naval warfare; in fact, just the reverse. His witnessing
of the naval actions off Japan left a firm and lasting impression of the
devastating effect of modern, long range, large calibre weaponry while his time
as the first Chief of the War Staff was not only not crowned with success but
had its own deleterious effect in the assumptions it produced, and which would
be acted upon, during the first week of August 1914.
The combination of motives, assumptions and
intrigues was all in place by 4 August. Events followed from this combination.
It was not fate that caused a telegram to be sent in error and another one not
to be received; it was not fate that Souchon disobeyed his orders and then found
the coal he needed; it was not fate that Churchill and Battenberg drafted
telegrams whose subsequent interpretations were to prove so disastrous. All
these, and more, were the products of human egos and frailties; of errors of
commission and omission; of the sheer frightfulness of what was happening around
the various participants. More than one observer spoke of the period as if it
were a dream. Yet the two dark, foreboding shapes pushing through the ancient
sea towards the Straits were no spectres. Goeben, which, if the German
Admiralty Staff had had their way, would not have been in the Mediterranean at
all, was 23,000 tons of metal built but with one purpose: to deliver an 11-inch
high explosive shell on a target. On Monday, 10 August 1914 she carried more
than her shells, her crew, her Admiral; in the words of Winston Churchill she
also carried, ‘for the peoples of the East and Middle East more slaughter, more
misery and more ruin than has ever before been borne within the compass of a
ship…’ |