“The most dangerous Englishmen,” he said, “were irresponsible young colonels of twenty-five, the familiar “temporary gentlemen,” whose sudden access to power and responsibility has, on other occasions, led Great Britain into adventures she cannot, afterwards, disown. One must regret, but can scarcely in fairness condemn, some of these brave boys from the “edge of beyond” in Canada or Australia, who, of course, are absolutely ignorant of Moslem customs, and, by training, rather aggressively impatient of the slow ways of old England herself.
There were Turks of a very inferior type to be found to help them, as it would be dishonest to deny. Those who made themselves personna grata to the Allies, and enemies to the Nationalists, because they would sink to any calumny or blackmail to secure a “job,” or to keep one.
It is, indeed, high testimony to the personality of General Harington that, despite all the crimes committed “in his name,” General Kemallidine, Ismet Pasha and Nourredine Pasha are unanimous in their high tribute.
Our empire is built on confidence in the “Man on the Spot.” It has given us our unrivalled position and a reputation for justice and generosity none can rival. But, with the wrong men, it may have most disastrous results; and, in Turkey, we still want to know who sent Turkey’s élite to Malta?
Kemallidine Pasha gallantly summed up his acceptance of my explanations.... “Now I see the difference between an English lady and an English ‘temporary gentleman’!”
Dr. Nazoum has taken us to his office and showed us his delightful sketches. He also removed some ordinary picture postcards from their frame to show us his wife’s picture hidden behind them.... “Twelve years of a life that might have been given to one’s family stolen from me for the rough and wandering life of war. Only a photograph. That is my married life.”
We also visited Nourredine Pasha’s father-in-law, a dervish living in a Tekké, and revived all my enthusiasm for their wonderful dancing to the weird piping flute; although these dervishes are, I believe, “contemplative.”
I was invited, when at the Assembly, by the Grand Tchelebi to visit Konia, the chief city of the dancing dervishes, and was much tempted to accept. I have never fully understood the “mystic dancing,” derived, as I was told, from our Psalmist’s command to “praise the Lord with dance and song”; but no one could fail to recognise the fascination of the weird rhythm to which the outspread skirts move with a haunting grace that is all their own; like gigantic mauve and brown poppies over the polished oak floor.