Paradise Lost: Smyrna 1922 - The Destruction of Islam's City of Tolerance by Giles Milton
Authors: Giles Milton
Ads: Link
whose salary had to support a large number of young children.
Edward Whittall, in common with all the Bournabat merchants, had always been an old-school philanthropist. He felt personally responsible for the men he employed in his factories and had no intention of allowing them to suffer because of a lack of work. Whenever his businesses went through a slack period – and the exigencies of war forced him to close his warehouse doors – he dug deep into his own pockets and paid his employees ‘to scour the mountainside for new rarities of bulbs’.
It was a characteristically patrician approach to a crisis as well as being an extremely costly one, but it provided a lifeline to all the men who worked in his factories.
As the weeks drifted by, it became apparent that the Bournabat dynasties were able to shield Smyrna from many of the detrimental economic effects of the hostilities. The loss of trading privileges did not strike a mortal blow to their inherited fortunes and the heavy-handed requisitioning soon came to a halt. If it had not been for the minor alterations to their daily routines, they could easily have forgotten that they were living in a country at war. However, they no longer received daily newspapers from London and Paris – one of life’s numerous little inconveniences – and had to rely on George Horton to bring them the latest intelligence from the outside world. The stories he recounted were so grim that it was hard to believe they were true. Europe was tearing itself apart in a struggle that appeared to be on an altogether more violent scale than the conflicts of old.
In the first battle of Ypres, 12 October – 11 November 1914, the British Expeditionary Force had come under sustained attack from the German army. The battle had rapidly turned into a slaughter, but one that led to stalemate rather than outright victory. As torrential rain turned Flanders into a soupy quagmire, experts were beginning to predict that the war would not in fact be over by Christmas. Horton informed the Whittalls that the troops had dug trenches in the waterlogged soil and were gazing forlornly over a landscape of mud, shattered trees and absolute desolation.
Such tales were greeted with despondency in Bournabat, whilst having about them an air of unreality. ‘Isolated from the Kaiser’s war and the changes it had brought to Europe, the family still lived in their own little private Raj.’ So wrote Edward Whittall’s granddaughter, Ray, in a poignant memoir set down on paper many years later.
Elsewhere, the world had erupted into violence and the social hierarchy of Europe was being shaken up as never before. Yet in the genteel colony of Bournabat, the Whittalls and Girauds stuck rigidly to the old rules and conventions. Their daily lives retained the Edwardian splendour that had left such a deep impression on Gertrude Bell. No one had noticed that twilight was rapidly approaching.
The children continued to attend Miss Florence’s primary school, which was to remain open throughout the conflict, and spent their weekends flying kites and playing in the gardens of their family homes. Many of the Greek gardeners, maids and domestics had returned to their home country on the outbreak of war; their places were now filled by Turkish Smyrniots. It was the first time that the Whittalls had employed a Turkish cook ‘and there was some feeling against her at first in the kitchen’, recalled one member of the family. ‘No one could pronounce her name and she was finally called Effet, which was something like it.’ She provided considerable entertainment for those working ‘below stairs’ on account of her enormous, protruding belly.
In the two years since old Magdalen’s death, Edward Whittall’s wife, Mary, had slipped comfortably into the matriarchal role formerly occupied by her mother-in-law. She did her utmost to ensure that the familiar conventions remained unchanged. The older generation continued to gather
Edward Whittall, in common with all the Bournabat merchants, had always been an old-school philanthropist. He felt personally responsible for the men he employed in his factories and had no intention of allowing them to suffer because of a lack of work. Whenever his businesses went through a slack period – and the exigencies of war forced him to close his warehouse doors – he dug deep into his own pockets and paid his employees ‘to scour the mountainside for new rarities of bulbs’.
It was a characteristically patrician approach to a crisis as well as being an extremely costly one, but it provided a lifeline to all the men who worked in his factories.
As the weeks drifted by, it became apparent that the Bournabat dynasties were able to shield Smyrna from many of the detrimental economic effects of the hostilities. The loss of trading privileges did not strike a mortal blow to their inherited fortunes and the heavy-handed requisitioning soon came to a halt. If it had not been for the minor alterations to their daily routines, they could easily have forgotten that they were living in a country at war. However, they no longer received daily newspapers from London and Paris – one of life’s numerous little inconveniences – and had to rely on George Horton to bring them the latest intelligence from the outside world. The stories he recounted were so grim that it was hard to believe they were true. Europe was tearing itself apart in a struggle that appeared to be on an altogether more violent scale than the conflicts of old.
In the first battle of Ypres, 12 October – 11 November 1914, the British Expeditionary Force had come under sustained attack from the German army. The battle had rapidly turned into a slaughter, but one that led to stalemate rather than outright victory. As torrential rain turned Flanders into a soupy quagmire, experts were beginning to predict that the war would not in fact be over by Christmas. Horton informed the Whittalls that the troops had dug trenches in the waterlogged soil and were gazing forlornly over a landscape of mud, shattered trees and absolute desolation.
Such tales were greeted with despondency in Bournabat, whilst having about them an air of unreality. ‘Isolated from the Kaiser’s war and the changes it had brought to Europe, the family still lived in their own little private Raj.’ So wrote Edward Whittall’s granddaughter, Ray, in a poignant memoir set down on paper many years later.
Elsewhere, the world had erupted into violence and the social hierarchy of Europe was being shaken up as never before. Yet in the genteel colony of Bournabat, the Whittalls and Girauds stuck rigidly to the old rules and conventions. Their daily lives retained the Edwardian splendour that had left such a deep impression on Gertrude Bell. No one had noticed that twilight was rapidly approaching.
The children continued to attend Miss Florence’s primary school, which was to remain open throughout the conflict, and spent their weekends flying kites and playing in the gardens of their family homes. Many of the Greek gardeners, maids and domestics had returned to their home country on the outbreak of war; their places were now filled by Turkish Smyrniots. It was the first time that the Whittalls had employed a Turkish cook ‘and there was some feeling against her at first in the kitchen’, recalled one member of the family. ‘No one could pronounce her name and she was finally called Effet, which was something like it.’ She provided considerable entertainment for those working ‘below stairs’ on account of her enormous, protruding belly.
In the two years since old Magdalen’s death, Edward Whittall’s wife, Mary, had slipped comfortably into the matriarchal role formerly occupied by her mother-in-law. She did her utmost to ensure that the familiar conventions remained unchanged. The older generation continued to gather
Similar Books
