Book Review - Reluctant Partner

The Complete Story of the French Participation in the Dardanelles Expedition of 1915

by George H Cassar

Helion, Warwick, 2019, 238 pp

Hardback ISBN: 9781911628927

Reviewed by: Chris Roberts

Over a century after the last British troops were withdrawn from Gallipoli, volumes are still being written about a campaign that has been likened to a Greek tragedy. Within the historiography of the English-speaking peoples, the focus inevitably has been almost entirely on the British and Anzac contribution. Yet the French contribution, some 79,000 men in two divisions and support units (drafts inclusive), barely receive a mention. When they do, it is largely associated with the disastrous naval assault on 18 March 1915, and the feint attack at Kum Kale during the Allied landings on 25 April. George H Cassar, a Canadian historian, admirably rectifies this omission in Reluctant Partner, which is a revised and expanded version of his 1971 The French and the Dardanelles: A Study in Failure in the Conduct of War.

This is not a military history per se; only four of the book’s 13 chapters are devoted to the French naval and military operations at the Dardanelles. The remaining chapters detail the political maneuverings, obfuscation, distrust, duplicity, postwar aims, and attempts to salvage careers among the British and French, and to a lesser extent the postwar desires of the Russians. These are the great strengths of the book, and it is well worth the price of purchasing it. 

There is little doubt that the impasse on the Western Front, and its accompanying slaughter, saw political leaders on both sides of the English Channel casting about for alternative fronts on which to wage the war. Based on sound research in archival records, Cassar clearly shows that dubious political motivations drove both the British and the French politicians to embark on the Gallipoli campaign, rather than sound military reasons underpinned by pragmatic assessments of its likely success. Indeed, both the British and French naval and military commanders expressed grave reservations about its chances of success but were overridden by their political masters, who were grasping at straws. The French, racked by internal political rivalries, were driven by self-interested factions. While Churchill’s desire to salvage a flagging political career was the driving force that committed the British, it was largely a French desire to maintain influence in Syria, a distrust of the British, and a commitment to positioning themselves to exercise postwar aims in carving up of the Ottoman Empire that led them to half-heartedly join their ally. None of the major players in this drama emerge with their credibility intact. One feels some sympathy for General Sir Ian Hamilton, Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, who was given an impossible task with inadequate resources, and told there was to be no turning back.

Discussion about the French naval and military commitment during the fighting is limited to four chapters. The first addresses the 18 March naval attack and its consequences. The second covers the diversion at Kum Kale (25–27 April) and the first and second battles of Krithia. The third relates to the period of subsequent stagnation and the Third Battle of Krithia, while the fourth recounts the French attacks against the Haricot and Quadrilateral redoubts in late June. These events are not covered in great detail, but in reality there is little to tell other than to recount the failed assaults, which were quickly snuffed out with great slaughter at the three battles of Krithia. A minor success eventually crowned French gallantry in the June fighting. One rather curious episode at Kum Kale encapsulates the farcical nature of the whole enterprise. 

While on the surface good relations existed between Hamilton and the several French generals who commanded the Corps Expéditionnaire d’Orient at various times, again rivalries, mistrust and frustration simmered below the surface. Tensions between allies will always exist, but Cassar demonstrates how political (and to a lesser extent military) confusion, executed through poorly conceived decisions to achieve imprecise aspirations, wasted thousands of lives and scarce resources in the name of political pride and national interest.

Cassar then discusses the consequences of the failures at Helles in June, and at Suvla and Anzac in August. Muddled thinking sought to resolve the imbroglio without losing face, eventually culminating in the French decision to commit an Anglo-French force (without British consultation) to Salonika. While the intention to assist Serbia was genuine in some quarters, the practical chances of it being successful were ignored. Political duplicity, military intrigue, and l’affaire Sarrail were greater drivers of that commitment than sound consideration and commonsense. As Cassar remarks: 

The French appeared oblivious to the fact that in improvising the conduct of the Balkans campaign, they were repeating the same mistake as the British had committed in the Dardanelles.

Hence, both nations stumbled into another campaign that simply took resources away from the principal theatre of war for no gain whatsoever. 

Cassar has an engaging style that reads easily. It is evident that his strength as an historian lies in the political realm, rather than in the military. His knowledge of land operations on the peninsula seems not to take account of more recent scholarship. He perpetuates, for example, the myth that the Anzacs landed in the wrong place, while 18-pounder field guns are described as ‘heavy’ artillery. Regarding wider French operations, Cassar repeats the outdated argument that the initiative and foundation for success at the First Battle of the Marne was due to General Joseph Gallieni, without acknowledging Joffre’s shifting of forces to form the Sixth Army, which enabled Gallieni to exploit the opportunity at the Oise. Nonetheless, these are minor quibbles, for it is the political dimensions of this book that make such a valuable contribution to the historiography of the Dardanelles fiasco.

While tensions will exist in coalition warfare, Cassar has ably demonstrated the consequences of poor alliance relationships through the prism of the ill-fated Dardanelles campaign. It is a work that also provides a fascinating window into the minds and actions of desperate politicians and secretive military commanders confronting a national crisis. In that regard, it has contemporary resonance with recent forays into the Middle East and reminds us of the oft-repeated maxim that ‘those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it’. Reluctant Partner is a fascinating study of how not to embark on military campaigns at the strategic level, and a testament to the fact that inadequately resourced and improvised campaigns, lacking clear objectives, are almost certain to end in failure. There are ample lessons here for today’s politicians and senior commanders—it is hoped that they may consider them.

About the Reviewer

Chris Roberts graduated from the Royal Military College (Duntroon) in 1967 and saw operational service in South Vietnam with 3 SAS Squadron. More senior appointments included Commanding Officer The SAS Regiment, Commander Special Forces, Director General Corporate Planning—Army, and Commander Northern Command. Retiring in 1999, he then spent seven years in executive appointments with the Multiplex Group. He is the author of Chinese Strategy and the Spratley Islands Dispute and the seminal and highly acclaimed The Landing at Anzac, 1915, and is co-author of Anzacs on the Western Front and The Artillery at Anzac.