The Secrets of a Kuttite: An Authentic Story of Kut, Adventures in Captivity and Stamboul IntrigueMousley, Edward O. (Edward Opotiki)
History
The Secrets of a Kuttite: An Authentic Story of Kut, Adventures in Captivity and Stamboul Intrigue
Mousley, Edward O. (Edward Opotiki)
Al Kut (Iraq) -- History -- Siege, 1915-1916; World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, Turkish
I had heard of a convention recently signed between
England and Turkey at Berne about prisoners, and quoted
some glaring cases of maltreatment which, as one of the
original arrivals in Stamboul from provincial camps, I was in
a position to know about. I sent also a few other matters of
information about the state of Turkey. I prefaced all my
letters with a statement, "I alone am responsible for statements
therein, which are unknown to the bearer of the
packet." I did this in case the letter was found.
I had scarcely got it away when I was sent to Harbiay
Hospital for treatment. I had now left Kastamuni some ten
weeks without receiving any medical treatment, except for
one visit to a place called Tash Kushla, where a doctor examined
my eyes, and said I was to be exchanged. Even in
spite of my distrust, gradually a gleam of hope found its way
into my mind, and grew to huge dimensions. I was afterwards
coldly informed, however, that his actual written report was
merely that Turkish eye treatment was preferable to German,
and I was not to be allowed to go to German specialists!
At Harbiay I was put in a room with a half-mad Russian,
who had been shot in the head, and some poor old Russian
grey-headed men--sailors, I think--who smoked and cried
most of the night. Here I had no food for thirty-six hours, and
then only watery soup. We were not allowed to leave the
room, and the postas were unusually brutal. The director
of the hospital, who had been most kind to me at our first
interview, offered to send me diet and books, and even
medicine, and to attend to me himself--all of which I doubted.
After about four days I was sent to a Turk, and an old savage
he was, who said if God willed I would get right. Then a
German doctor examined me, but was most aggressive and
rude, and seemingly angry at being asked to diagnose an
Englishman, and muttered something about this. He prescribed
some special injection for my eyes. Then we were
lined up, and were all dosed by a filthy Turk out of the same
squirt, whatever our eye trouble was. This was a mistake,
it appeared afterwards.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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