Paradise Lost: Smyrna 1922 - The Destruction of Islam's City of Tolerance by Giles Milton Page A
Authors: Giles Milton
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each afternoon in their private loggias to discuss matters concerning the family, which seemed of far greater import than the terrible news coming from Europe. War or no war, there were still marriages to be arranged and dowries to be negotiated.
Aunt Blanche had also scaled the family hierarchy and was now the self-appointed custodian of the younger Whittalls, ruling over them with an iron fist and paying particular attention to their deportment in church. ‘We hardly dared move in our seats,’ recalled her great-niece, ‘for she would later report our behaviour to our mothers and, in the process, she managed to censure nieces and great-nieces alike.’
The governor of Smyrna, Rahmi Bey, paid regular visits to his friends in Bournabat, despite the fact that they were enemy aliens. He was aware of the need to tread with care when dealing both with his Levantine acquaintances and with government ministers in Constantinople. His aim was to keep Smyrna out of the war and it was going to take all his guile to ensure that the unsettling incidents of the previous few months were not repeated.
‘The governor-general had no faith in the final victory of the German-Turkish armies,’ wrote George Horton, ‘[and] was extremely anxious to keep an anchor to windward. He was playing a double game; keeping in at the same time with the authorities in Constantinople and the prominent British, French and Italians at Smyrna.’
Rahmi viewed Liman von Sanders as the diabolical genius behind the government’s every move. It was an opinion shared by Horton, who blamed German staff officers for many of the difficult situations that arose in the first months of the war. ‘The Germans in the capital were continually pressing Enver and Talaat to be more severe with the Allied colonies at Smyrna,’ he wrote. All were baffled by Rahmi Bey’s behaviour and could not understand why he allowed families like the Whittalls and Girauds to remain in the city. ‘Unpleasant orders were frequently received,’ wrote Horton, ‘which Rahmi evaded to the extent of his power. He told me frankly that such was his policy and [he] agreed to cooperate with me.’
As New Year approached, ministers’ bafflement turned to frustration and anger. ‘[Rahmi] is . . . in considerable disfavour in German circles,’ noted Horton, ‘because of the marked partiality that he shows towards the English and French who are . . . receiving at present the utmost protection that can be desired.’ Government officials found themselves caught between two stools. They did not dare to remove Rahmi Bey, for fear that they would plunge Turkey’s most prosperous city into chaos at the very time when her industrial facilities were most likely to be needed. Yet they grew increasingly incensed at the manner in which Smyrna’s governor flagrantly flaunted their orders.
Rahmi Bey did everything he could to shield all the city’s different communities from the worst effects of the hostilities. The Jews and Armenians were encouraged to operate their businesses as normal, while the Greek community was told to keep open the city’s shops and brasseries. Many of Smyrna’s migrant labourers had left when war was declared, yet there were still some 45,000 Greek nationals living in the city at this time – men, women and children who called Smyrna their home but remained subjects of King Constantine of Greece. ‘With reference to these . . .’ wrote Horton, ‘the vali [city governor] frequently told me that he intended to treat them well, as he considered King Constantine an ally of Turkey and Germany.’
But Rahmi’s hands were tied when it came to the city’s 110,000 rayahs – the Greeks who had been born in Smyrna and held Turkish nationality. As these young men were liable for national service, the government began conscripting them in earnest. They did not dare to provide them with arms; instead, they were drafted into labour battalions whose wartime role was to
Aunt Blanche had also scaled the family hierarchy and was now the self-appointed custodian of the younger Whittalls, ruling over them with an iron fist and paying particular attention to their deportment in church. ‘We hardly dared move in our seats,’ recalled her great-niece, ‘for she would later report our behaviour to our mothers and, in the process, she managed to censure nieces and great-nieces alike.’
The governor of Smyrna, Rahmi Bey, paid regular visits to his friends in Bournabat, despite the fact that they were enemy aliens. He was aware of the need to tread with care when dealing both with his Levantine acquaintances and with government ministers in Constantinople. His aim was to keep Smyrna out of the war and it was going to take all his guile to ensure that the unsettling incidents of the previous few months were not repeated.
‘The governor-general had no faith in the final victory of the German-Turkish armies,’ wrote George Horton, ‘[and] was extremely anxious to keep an anchor to windward. He was playing a double game; keeping in at the same time with the authorities in Constantinople and the prominent British, French and Italians at Smyrna.’
Rahmi viewed Liman von Sanders as the diabolical genius behind the government’s every move. It was an opinion shared by Horton, who blamed German staff officers for many of the difficult situations that arose in the first months of the war. ‘The Germans in the capital were continually pressing Enver and Talaat to be more severe with the Allied colonies at Smyrna,’ he wrote. All were baffled by Rahmi Bey’s behaviour and could not understand why he allowed families like the Whittalls and Girauds to remain in the city. ‘Unpleasant orders were frequently received,’ wrote Horton, ‘which Rahmi evaded to the extent of his power. He told me frankly that such was his policy and [he] agreed to cooperate with me.’
As New Year approached, ministers’ bafflement turned to frustration and anger. ‘[Rahmi] is . . . in considerable disfavour in German circles,’ noted Horton, ‘because of the marked partiality that he shows towards the English and French who are . . . receiving at present the utmost protection that can be desired.’ Government officials found themselves caught between two stools. They did not dare to remove Rahmi Bey, for fear that they would plunge Turkey’s most prosperous city into chaos at the very time when her industrial facilities were most likely to be needed. Yet they grew increasingly incensed at the manner in which Smyrna’s governor flagrantly flaunted their orders.
Rahmi Bey did everything he could to shield all the city’s different communities from the worst effects of the hostilities. The Jews and Armenians were encouraged to operate their businesses as normal, while the Greek community was told to keep open the city’s shops and brasseries. Many of Smyrna’s migrant labourers had left when war was declared, yet there were still some 45,000 Greek nationals living in the city at this time – men, women and children who called Smyrna their home but remained subjects of King Constantine of Greece. ‘With reference to these . . .’ wrote Horton, ‘the vali [city governor] frequently told me that he intended to treat them well, as he considered King Constantine an ally of Turkey and Germany.’
But Rahmi’s hands were tied when it came to the city’s 110,000 rayahs – the Greeks who had been born in Smyrna and held Turkish nationality. As these young men were liable for national service, the government began conscripting them in earnest. They did not dare to provide them with arms; instead, they were drafted into labour battalions whose wartime role was to
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