CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The news of Abdullah’s appointment as Emir of Iraq had turned the usual havoc into frenzy. Gertrude spent a frantic week feverishly writing reports, meeting with jittery locals, hosting dinners for excited guests. Now, at home, she glanced at her watch and felt an anxious pang. With an impatient call to her servants to quickly gather her things, she left in haste, late for the train to Basrah. Her driver steered the motor car as swiftly as he could through the twisting streets, muddy from weeks of rain, but as they approached the station platform, her heart sank: the train was about to leave. There was nothing to do but make a dash for it; leaping onto the train, she found her compartment and settled herself in place. She heaved a sigh. After months of letters and preparation, her father was coming to Mesopotamia and she was on her way to meet him.
The journey on the newly opened railway line took thirty hours from Baghdad to Basrah, a winding adventure along a rugged roadbed. Nevertheless, she ignored the shaking train, brushed aside the annoying sand seeping into the carriage and arrived in Basrah in her smartest frock, with little time to spare. But the only thing she saw was a telegram: Hugh Bell had been delayed in Karachi and would not arrive for several days. “Paf!” she cried. At least she had brought along some work to finish, and perhaps she could recuperate from her recent cold; “so there’s a soul of goodness in things evil,” she wrote to Florence. The wait would also give her some time for serious talks with local sheikhs on the shape of the future government.
Her American friends, the missionaries Dorothy and John Van Ess, welcomed her to their house, and she spent most of the day in their study, curled up on the settee, her feet tucked under her, Arab style, smoking one cigarette after another, arguing with John Van Ess about the kind of government Iraq should have. He agreed with A. T. Wilson that the Arabs could not govern themselves. The American churchman, who had spent years on intimate terms with the tribes, did not believe that Iraq was ready for independence. Like Wilson, he wanted a British High Commissioner to rule, and a Cabinet of Arab Ministers to be trained by British advisers. Gertrude agreed that the British advisers were necessary, but she was convinced that there should be an Arab head of state with Arab Ministers to help him rule. For her it was the only answer.
“But, Gertrude!” Van Ess implored, appealing to her respect for the past. “You are flying in the face of four millenniums of history if you try to draw a line around Iraq and call it a political entity! Assyria always looked to the west and east and north, and Babylonia to the south. They have never been an independent unit. You’ve got to take time to get them integrated; it must be done gradually. They have no conception of nationhood yet.”
They discussed the tribes, their loyalties, and whether there was any Arab leader their chiefs might accept. Van Ess supported Sayid Talib. Far more popular than anyone else and with religious credentials as a descendant of Muhammad, Talib was also hardworking and a natural leader, Van Ess reminded her. But Gertrude bristled at the notion. She favored either Faisal, who was still in Syria, or Abdullah, his older brother. “Abdullah is a gentleman who likes a copy of the Figaro every morning at breakfast time,” she wrote home later. “I haven’t any doubt we should get on with him famously.” The American insisted that the tribes would never accept a Sharifian ruler, because, he argued, they were outsiders, foreign to the land of Iraq and to its people.
“Oh, they will come around,” Gertrude answered confidently.
While Gertrude and John Van Ess discussed the fate of Iraq, the country was also the topic at Whitehall. A strong contingent felt that Mesopotamia had already cost Britain too much money and too many lives (there were 17,000 British and 44,000 Indian troops in Iraq, and combined with the 23,000 troops in Palestine it was costing England 35.5 million pounds a year to keep the garrisons in place), but few could deny Mesopotamia’s importance as a future source of oil. In addition to powering the navy and the newly developed air force, petroleum had become the fuel of choice for industrial nations; it was now driving the engines of factories and farm machinery, ensuring smooth runs for ships, railroads, airplanes, automobiles, tanks and trucks. The dependence on oil made England dependent on a friendly Mesopotamia.
In Parliament, Mr. William Ormsby-Gore defended the British position in Iraq. He promised to take fourteen thousand cultivable acres ravaged and destroyed by the war and restore them to their former productivity as one the world’s great granaries. “The development of Mesopotamia is one of the things which must be looked to to reduce prices and increase the produce of the world,” the colonial affairs expert argued.
Mr. Asquith opposed him. He urged that Britain confine its Iraqi obligations to Basrah. With its port and its proximity to Abadan, it was the most vital of the three former vilayets.
But Prime Minister Lloyd George disagreed. He wanted to keep all three of the former Ottoman areas:
We might abandon the country altogether. But I cannot understand withdrawing from the more important and more promising part of Mesopotamia. Mosul is a country with great possibilities. It has rich oil deposits.… It contains some of the richest natural resources of any country in the world.… It maintains a population now of a little over two million.… What would happen if we withdrew? … After the enormous expenditure which we have incurred in freeing this country from the withering despotism of the Turk, to hand it back to anarchy and confusion, and to take no responsibility for its development would be an act of folly and quite indefensible.
In the end, a British commission was formed to seek a mandate from the League of Nations.
The echoes of Parliamentary debate still rang in the air as Gertrude welcomed her father to Basrah. Hugh Bell arrived on March 29, 1920, tall, lean, white-haired and white-bearded, his cheeks pink, his blue eyes as lively as his daughter’s. His daughter was overjoyed to see him, in his seventies and still fit. They spent a morning in Zubair with the sheikh and an afternoon at a tea with forty notables, hosted by Gertrude. Her father’s charm and dignity impressed them all. “It’s more amusing than words can say showing him round,” she exclaimed. “I feel as if it must be a dream.”
From Basrah they headed by train to Nasiriyah, then to Hillah, where she showed him an agrarian renewal project, and to Najaf, the holy city. She took him to Kadhimain, where they had tea with the mayor; she led him across the desert to meet the sheikhs; she brought him as far north as the oil fields in Mosul. In the course of his stay, she showed him her Iraq, and she showed Iraq her father. She was proud of her country and even prouder of her parent: Hugh was an admirable reminder of her noble roots; a strong affirmation of herself (especially in the hostile atmosphere). In Baghdad she pinned on her straw hat, replete with peaches and cherries, and took him to lunches, teas and dinners; she introduced him to everyone she knew, Arabs, Jews and British, from the landowner Haji Naji to the holy man the Naqib, from the Jewish brothers Sasun and Sha’ul Effendi Eskail to her good friends the Tods (he was the agent for Lynch’s), from her colleague Mr. Bullard to her nemesis A. T. Wilson. And if Wilson whispered to Hugh that perhaps his daughter needed a rest and a return to England, Gertrude pretended not to hear him.
For one sweet month she ignored the knives in the air and doted only on her father, a sweet taste of England in his well-tailored tweeds and polished Oxfords, seated before the fireplace in the floral covered armchair, reading The Times. She indulged in the pleasure of having him in her home. While her servant Zaiya poured them tea and her Persian cook brought in freshly baked cake, they talked for hours on end, discussing A.T.’s stubbornness toward the Arabs and his envy of her friendships; Parliament and its debate over Mesopotamia; the tribes, the nationalists and the possibility of a mandate. She had always relied on her father’s judgment; watching him size up the problems confirmed her trust in him.
“He happens to have arrived at a very crucial time,” she wrote to Florence. “I think we’re on the edge of a pretty considerable Arab nationalist demonstration with which I’m a good deal in sympathy.” But the demonstration, she acknowledged, could force a British decision to withdraw from Mesopotamia. And that might lead to disaster: “If we leave this country to go to the dogs it will mean we shall have to reconsider our whole position in Asia. If Mesopotamia goes, Persia goes inevitably, and then India. And the place which we leave empty will be occupied by seven devils a good deal worse than any which existed before we came.” She saw that the fall of Mesopotamia would lead to the end of India, and the end of India inevitably meant the end of the British Empire.
For the moment, at least, everything seemed saved. At the San Remo Conference on April 25, 1920, Prime Minister Lloyd George and Premier Georges Clemenceau finally came to an agreement on the division of the Arabic lands formerly under Ottoman rule. Arabia would remain as it was, an independent peninsula, though it would be guided by the British. Syria, including Lebanon, would be mandated to France; Mesopotamia (and Palestine) would be mandated to Britain; in both cases, until such time as they “could stand on their own.” In exchange for the area of Mosul in northern Iraq, which France agreed to give to Britain, the two European nations would share in the exploration and production of oil in Iraq. It was not the issue of oil, however, but the matter of mandate that was on everybody’s mind.
The news reached Baghdad on May 1, 1920 and was published a few days later; as Percy Cox wrote afterwards. “It set all the tongues wagging.” Wilson issued a communiqué stating that the aim was “the creation of a healthy body politic,” with Britain serving as “a wise and far-seeing guardian.” Steps had been and would be taken, he announced, to “prepare the way for creation of an independent Arab State of Iraq.”
Every morning and late into the night secret meetings took place. And in the bazaars and the coffee houses the Arabs argued over the meaning of “mandate.” The nationalists opposed it as a superior body with the power to command; the holy men opposed it as an organized secular government threatening their very existence. To some it came as a relief; to many it betrayed the promise for self-determination given eighteen months earlier in the Anglo-French Declaration.
The twist of events had defeated Wilson’s efforts to prevent an Arab government from being formed. Now, in a desperate attempt to appeal to the moderates, he telegraphed the Foreign Office, asking permission to publish proposals for a constitution, although he did not believe a constitution should be immediately adopted. But London refused his request; his plea to be replaced at once by Percy Cox was also turned down. Neither the constitutional proposals nor the announcement of Cox’s return could be made until a peace treaty with Turkey had been signed, Whitehall said.
When Britain received the mandate for Mesopotamia from the League of Nations, and France received the mandate for Syria, the French gave up their claim to Mosul, as promised in the Sykes-Picot pact. But in exchange for territory, the French demanded a share of Mosul’s future oil. With the Armenian entrepreneur Calouste Gulbenkian, known worldwide as Mr. Five Percent, as a partner, the British and French signed an agreement calling for “the permanent provision of industrial and commercial purposes of petroleum products.” The demand for oil was growing at such a heated rate that the agreement acknowledged “the supply is admitted to be increasingly inadequate.” England and France would share a common policy of development, construction of pipelines, facilitation of land acquisition for depots, refineries, loading wharves and whatever else was required.
Their rival was the United States. With almost two thirds of the world’s production of oil, the American Government feared that its own resources would soon be depleted. The United States Congress (which refused to ratify President Wilson’s League of Nations or to accept some of the Ottoman areas as American mandates, voting instead for isolation over engagement) was enraged at its allies’ ambitious quest. “England is taking possession of the oil fields of the world,” thundered Henry Cabot Lodge, the patrician senator from Massachusetts.
The debate would continue for years, but Britain’s position was clear: she desperately needed oil for her vital interests and military power. The control of Iraqi oil fields would allow the British people to sleep well at night; the security blanket of coal could now be replaced with a smooth coating of oil.
Gertrude’s spirits had lifted since her father’s visit. “I wonder how anyone can complain about anything when they have a Father like you,” she wrote adoringly. “One takes for granted where you are concerned that no matter how unfamiliar or complex things may be that you’re seeing and hearing you’ll grasp the whole lie of them at once, and it’s only when I come to think of it that I realize what it is to have your quickness of intelligence. Anyhow, I feel certain that you know the general structure here as well as we know it ourselves and I’m enchanted that you should, not only because it makes my job so much more interesting knowing that you understand it, but also because it’s good for us all that you should be able to put in a word for us at home.”
She not only needed her father’s advocacy for Mesopotamia; she needed his moral support for herself. A. T. Wilson was making her life miserable. After another clash at their offices in the Residency, he denounced her to her face. “You are the most objectionable and intolerant person I’ve ever met,” he snarled. A few days later she lamented that office lunches were becoming unbearable: “A.T. presides, and is often cross as a bear so that the only thing is to leave him alone and not talk to him. He doesn’t like that either, but what can one do?”
The Political Officers, loyal to their chief, had lined up solidly against her, and Wilson had cut her off from the daily routine. To make matters worse, Frank Balfour, one of her few reliable friends, had become engaged to be married. “I’m very glad about it. I like her,” Gertrude remarked, adding snidely, “and should like her better doubtless if I could catch a glimpse of her face through the paint.” Then there was the stream of letters to Hugh from Florence: “Letters continue to arrive from Mother which I duly return. I hope she will soon begin writing to me instead of to you.” But determined to do what she believed in, she held her head high and carried on with her work.
Gertrude Bell flanked by Winston Churchill (left) and T. E. Lawrence (right) at the Pyramids during the Cairo Conference in 1921. Churchill slid like jelly off the camel before the photo was taken. (University of Newcastle)
Gertrude Bell and T. E. Lawrence in Cairo, 1921. “You little imp!” she chastised Lawrence at the Cairo Conference. (University of Newcastle)
The Cairo Conference, 1921. Gertrude Bell was the only woman among the forty delegates called by Winston Churchill to the conference. Front row center: Winston Churchill (with legs crossed); to his left, Sir Percy Cox. Second row: second from left, Gertrude Bell in her flowered hat and furs; second from right, Arnold Wilson; fourth from right, T. E. Lawrence. On the floor: baby Somali lions brought for the Cairo zoo. (University of Newcastle)
Sharif Hussein, descendant of the prophet Muhammad, guardian of Mecca, father of King Faisal of Iraq.
Faisal (right), deposed by the French from his throne in Damascus, walking in Cairo with his chief aide, Nuri Said, 1921.
Sayid Talib of Basrah, “rogue” and rival to Faisal. (Kerim. Baghdad)
King Faisal shortly after his coronation in Baghdad, 1921. (University of Newcastle)
The coronation of King Faisal, Baghdad, August 23, 1921. Front row left to right: Sir Percy Cox (in military whites), Kinahan Cornwallis (with helmet), Faisal (in front of throne), General Aylmer. (Kerim. Baghdad)
Dinner party in a Baghdad garden, 1921. Lady Cox (with mosquito netting around her hat) at head of the table. Gertrude Bell to her left, King Faisal to her right. (Kerim. Baghdad)
Gertrude, aged fifty-three. (University of Newcastle)
Gertrude in 1921, at a picnic with Faisal (foreground, right) near Ctesiphon, Iraq, site of a seventh-century Arab victory. (University of Newcastle)
The Naqib of Baghdad, holy leader of the Sunni community, 1921. Gertrude was the only unveiled woman allowed to visit with him. (Kerim. Baghdad)
Gertrude and her father, Hugh Bell, in front of the biplane she flew in from Baghdad to Ziza, 1922. (University of Newcastle)
Gertrude Bell (left) at a farewell party for Sir Percy Cox. Lady Cox, covered with mosquito netting, chats with a guest while Sir Percy holds her flowers. Baghdad, 1923. (University of Newcastle)
A 1923 garden party in Baghdad with sofas and rugs laid out on the lawn. Foreground: Gertrude and King Faisal. (Kerim. Baghdad)
Detail of above photograph. Under her parasol Gertrude confers with King Faisal. (Kerim. Baghdad)
A thoughtful and lonely King Faisal, Baghdad, 1923. (University of Newcastle)
Gertrude Bell and some of her colleagues in Baghdad, 1924. Seated, second and third from left: Kinahan “Ken” Cornwallis, Sasun Effendi Eskail. (University of Newcastle)