World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, English; World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, Turkish
All our orderlies had been marched off from the station to some dirty
Turkish barracks, so that we were entirely dependent on our own culinary
efforts. Two days after our arrival, the first party left in carts for
Yozgad, a distance of 100 miles due east on the road to Sivas and
Erzerum. We remained for a week, being only allowed to go into the town
once to make purchases. The journey to Kastamuni began under the best
conditions. The weather was perfect, and as we were well over 2,000 feet
above sea-level the sun was never too hot at midday. Also, we had a new
commandant, who did what he could to help us. The distance in front of
us was 140 miles, and we expected to take fully a week.
The road led through countless orchards for the first few miles, and
then on into more open country. Cherries and small apricots abounded,
and supplies in general were plentiful; a very different state of
affairs existed a year later, when prices had doubled and trebled, and
in many cases advanced very much more. We reached a small village the
first evening, and our commandant appeared much surprised that we should
prefer to sleep in the open rather than in the very doubtful shelters
attached to the local rest-house.
The following day we reached Kalejik, a picturesque little place with
the ruins of an old castle perched on a rocky pinnacle in the centre of
the town. Some such ruin seems to keep watch over all Turkish towns. We
had already seen similar old forts perched on hills at Afion Kara
Hissar and Angora.
Next morning, most of our carts were taken away, and we were given
donkeys instead. A small moke cannot keep pace with a cart, and it is an
open question whether riding the animal with a loading saddle is less
fatiguing than walking along and driving it in front of one. Provided
all one's kit had been put on a cart, the easiest way was often to let
the moke go where it liked, and walk on oneself without it.
Two days from Kalejik brought us to Changri, a prettily situated little
place, which came suddenly into view, as we rounded a bend in the road,
after traversing a very desolate and uninteresting stretch of country
all day. We bivouacked under some trees by a stream, which, however, was
not fit to drink from. The local commandant and Town Council paid us a
visit. We were allowed to visit the bazaar, and generally made ourselves
comfortable.
In the morning, we were given more carts again, much to our delight, and
continued our way northward. The road now began to cross some high
ridges. On one of these we passed a police post, and a halt was made
while our commandant stalked a few sitting pigeons with his shot-gun,
eventually securing one after a great deal of trouble. Beyond
sand-grouse, between Bagdad and Mosul, we had seen very little game of
any sort since we left Kut.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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