(referred to in the book as AZ), a keen observer, writes of the people and their surroundings. Starting with his comments on Day 1, Friday 11 November 1943, where AZ reports comments by Major Sir Benjamin Bromhead delivered at the Peshawar Club to the effect that “The tribes [in the tribal area] have never really been conquered and the present set up seems to be the best solution of a bad situation. . . . The tribes have their own laws, with offences against property taking precedence over [offenses against] lives.” AZ then crosses into the tribal territory at Shabkadar on Monday 15 November with Major Bromhead, where “all villages were fortified and there were no schools, to avoid blood feuds.” AZ observed that, in his opinion, education appeared to be the only way to bring the people under peaceful government. Later, on 9 December, AZ comments in a letter to his wife, “Most of this country is pretty God-forsaken. You marvel that anyone can scratch a living out of it. That’s partly the trouble—some can’t—so they take to plunder & pillaging.”
A considerable number of very interesting quotes are included from other visitors to Afghanistan, especially Gordon Bandy Enders, the instigator and driving force behind AZ’s trip, and Lowell Thomas, who had visited the region and written about it some twenty years before. These quotes provide counterpoints to AZ’s narrative and help the reader understand the current situation.
Gordon Enders is a fascinating man. Born in Essex, Iowa, in 1897, his family in 1901 went to India as missionaries; in 1906 they settled in Almora near the border of India and Tibet. Gordon lived in India from the age of four until he was fifteen, and actually lived a childhood very much like that of Kipling’s Kim. Extensive quotes in this book come from two long letters, each composed over several days, that Enders typed and sent to his wife in 1941 after he had been commissioned an intelligence officer in the U.S. Army. They show great insight into local conditions and traditions, and even by themselves make this book into a must read for anyone interested in that era.
In the background of this story is the Afghan government that, during World War II, adopted a policy of strict neutrality, and confirmed it with a loya jirga (large council) in 1941. In October 1941 the British and Soviet governments delivered parallel ultimatums to the Afghan government, demanding the expulsion of the two hundred or so German and Italian citizens from the country. This caused much resentment among the Afghans, particularly in view of their policy of neutrality, but in practice they had to comply. For this reason, AZ had to travel with a British Army representative like Major Bromhead while in the country.
As things happen, I had occasion twenty-eight years later in 1971 to spend ten days in Afghanistan, where I visited some of the places AZ described. As far as I can remember, virtually nothing had changed from the conditions described by AZ. I remember traveling through the mountains near Kabul in a Jeep with an Afghan National Army officer who, when we saw in a valley in front of us some local tribesmen living in some black tents, told our driver to turn around instantly and go off in a different direction, commenting to me, “This is not a safe place to be—those are dangerous people who do not obey our laws.” And yet, when I visited Baghe Babur, the burial gardens of the Emperor Babur (died 1530), the founder of the Moghul Dynasty of India, which are located near Kabul, the scene was absolutely peaceful, with gardeners watering the roses just as they did back home. In the mountains, though, I saw villagers eating their meals of lamb stew and rice with their right hands dipping into the pot just as AZ reported in a letter to his wife. And the approaches to the Khyber Pass appeared to be almost unchanged from those described by AZ during the first days of his trip. My principal memory of Afghanistan is that of a land where nothing ever really changes, particularly tribal customs and the way the local people behave.
Illustrations are an integral part of this book. AZ took more than one hundred pictures of local people and conditions while on this trip, even though he did not know until later if his borrowed camera would even work. But the camera did work, and many of the resulting photographs are reproduced in this book, providing fascinating glimpses of a world that is completely foreign to most Americans. AZ took this trip seventy years ago, but the backgrounds to these images could have been taken any time during the past seven hundred years (except for the methods of transportation).
In conclusion, reading this book produces an understanding of the immutable nature of this part of our world that is very relevant to an understanding of the problems faced by our troops in this very ancient and traditional country, and I heartily recommend it as such.
Denis B. Woodfield, D.Phil. (Oxon.)
Honorary Fellow, Lincoln College
Oxford University
April 2012
At about 9:00 in the morning on Tuesday 16 November 1943, a U.S. Army jeep pulled away from the Services Hotel in Peshawar, North-West Frontier Province, India. Three men were on board, and the jeep was fully loaded. It was getting under way on what all of the passengers knew would be a dangerous and—if successful—historic journey.
The jeep was driven by a forty-six-year-old man wearing a military aviator’s sheep-lined leather jacket and the gold maple leaves of a U.S. Army major on his shirt collars. His round face, black eyebrows, and deeply tanned skin gave him an almost oriental appearance. He squinted grimly under the brim of his dark brown officer’s hat. Although he was usually very talkative, the major was uncommonly quiet as the jeep pulled out. He had been expected a day earlier, but he had been delayed and he was not in a good mood. In the right front passenger seat was a large man, forty-three years old, dressed comfortably in a tweed jacket and khaki trousers that might or might not be of military origin. He wore a soft civilian cap and horn-rim glasses. With his easy smile, bald head, and moustache, he looked more like a professor than a soldier. But he, too, was a major, and when he chose to wear his badges of rank, they were British. Another man, this one in an American uniform, sat in the back seat. At forty-one, he was the youngest of the three Allied officers. Blue-eyed, tanned, trim, and rather handsome, he wore the silver bars of a U.S. Navy lieutenant on each lapel. Later in the trip the Navy man would share the back seat with a uniformed officer of the local militia. The militia officer was to assist the safe passage of the jeep and its passengers as it proceeded through tribal territory. The militia officer would be replaced at each stage of the trip by another khassadar (tribal policeman) who would vouchsafe and guide the Westerners through his own territory.
The three Allied officers knew from previous experience that they were now players in what had for nearly four decades been known as the Great Game—the struggle for dominance in Central Asia, in which India was the prize. And they knew this was the first time that American military officers had joined the game, armed and under orders, as the saying goes.
This book will tell the story of the remarkable month-long journey along the Indian–Afghan border that these three Allied officers took in the late fall of 1943. The participants and those to whom they reported, and those who received the reports of the journey, are all dead—most of them a long time ago. The reports that they wrote about the trip have long since been filed away and forgotten, or destroyed. However, we now know that the area traversed by these officers is an area of vital interest to the United States—indeed to the entire world—and it therefore may be instructive to see what they encountered, and what lessons we may learn from their experiences. At the very least, by reviewing the report of this journey we can see that a brave spirit and willingness to push on against the odds is neither new in our own time, nor has it been forgotten. Success in dangerous endeavors is not for the faint hearted.
I gratefully acknowledge my father-in-law, Lieutenant Albert W. Zimmermann, USNR, who served in India in World War II, and his wife, Barbara (Shoemaker) Zimmermann, who could “only stand and wait” until
