With the Persian Expedition

by Martin Henry Donohoe

Kermanshah is a very old Persian city, and was known to writers and travellers from the earliest Christian times. It once was a flourishing industrial and commercial centre, but much of its prosperity and glory have been dimmed by a succession of political and economic vicissitudes. The town itself has a certain military importance. It is close to the Turkish frontier, and is equidistant from Bagdad, Ispahan, Teheran, and Tabriz. During the War Turks and Russians occupied it in turn, and the Turks had a consul and a consular guard here until their army was chased out of the province.

Outside the town itself the nomadic and semi-nomadic population consists chiefly of Kurds, and Kurdi is the language of the people as distinct from the merchants. Cereals are extensively grown, but, owing to the lack of communications, the cost of transporting grain to Bagdad or Teheran was triple its local market value, and it was a profitless enterprise. The grain rotted in Kermanshah while people died of hunger in adjoining provinces.

The chief trade route in Western Persia passes through Kermanshah, and it is also an important market for transport mules, which are bred in the district. In pre-war days as many as 200,000 pilgrims passed through Kermanshah each year on their way to and from Kerbela and the other Shi'ite shrines in the Vilayet of Bagdad. The bazaars were well stocked with British and foreign goods, and the local traders were reputed to be wealthy. But the War and the coming of the Turks were fatal to Kermanshah and its commerce; the shops were closed, and the wealthier merchants hid their cash and valuables and sought asylum elsewhere.

Kermanshah suffered much during the Civil War of 1911-12. In July of 1911 it was occupied in the name of the ex-Shah, Muhammad Ali, by a force of irregulars under Salar-ud-Dauleh, the ex-Shah's brother. In the following February the Government troops reoccupied Kermanshah, and the troops of the dethroned Shah were driven out. But a fortnight later Salar-ud-Dauleh, aided by a large force of Kurds, was back again; the town was plundered, and the Governor appointed by the Constitutionalists had his legs cut off and was burnt alive. For the next few months the redoubtable Salar and his military opponent, Farman Farma, hunted each other in turn up and down Western Persia until the Shah's rebellion was finally subdued.

I found the streets of the town narrow and tortuous. The Zarrabiha Street and that leading from the Darvaseh Sarab to the Chal Hassan Khan are about the only two possible for carriages. In the Feizabad quarter, which is remote from the bazaars, are the houses of the wealthy classes, with their immense courtyards, high walls, and beautifully kept gardens. By contrast, the houses of the poor look despicably mean, being simply a collection of mud hovels into which the light of day penetrates with difficulty.

The rain overtook us afresh at Kermanshah, and we had to stay there for three days weatherbound. The Hussars and the remainder of the column bivouacked on a hill near the British Consulate. It was far from agreeable. The tents were already soaking wet after the downpour at Khorosabad, and had had no time to dry.

General Byron went to stay with the Kennions. Colonel Kennion was Political Officer and Consul, and his wife, a very charming and energetic lady, who held in her hands most of the threads of the political happenings in Persia, worked hard all day in the office ciphering and deciphering despatches. In the evening she entertained her husband's guests and graced a hospitable table.

The foreign colony of Kermanshah was not a large one. Besides the Kennions, there were the Russian Consul and his wife, a French Consul, Mr. and Mrs. Stead of the American Presbyterian Mission, and Mr. Hale, local manager of the Imperial Bank of Persia. Hale has travelled widely in Persia, and knew its elusive and nimble-witted people better than most Englishmen. He was an excellent raconteur, and I spent pleasant evenings in his company laughing over stories of adventure which irresistibly called to mind that great exponent of Persian drollery, "Hadji Baba."

Leaving our horses behind to be brought on by the marching column, General Byron and six officers, including myself, moved by motor convoy from Kermanshah on April 22nd. With luck we hoped to reach Hamadan in two days.

It is twenty-two miles to Bisitun Bridge and the crossing of the Gamasiab, a tributary of the Kara river. The brick bridge over the stream had been destroyed by the retreating Russians. It had not yet been repaired, and we were to be faced with the difficult problem of getting the Ford cars across to the eastern bank of the Gamasiab. The recent rains had done their worst for the road track which led over the great plain of Kermanshah, and the soil had been converted into a kind of pulpy clay which the passage of recent caravans had churned into puddle. The laden cars bravely struggled through it, sinking occasionally to the axles in the treacherous mire. Finally, we crawled out of this bog and struck a patch of hard road which led to the village of Bisitun, where we halted to allow the other bogged cars to join up. Beyond the straggling village of thirty houses or so the great rock of Bisitun rises perpendicularly from the level plain.