Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

The outstanding Great War Tigris Flotilla operations posthumous V.C., Euphrates Flotilla operations D.S.O. awarded to Lieutenant-Commander E. C. Cookson, Royal Navy: severely wounded in winning the latter distinction for extricating the armed launch Shushan out of an Arab ambush in May 1915, he paid the ultimate price for his gallantry in the river gunboat Comet four months later, when, under a storm of point-blank fire, he leapt aboard a Turkish dhow brandishing an axe - a fellow officer later observed ‘there were more bullet holes in him than they cared to count’

Victoria Cross, reverse of suspension bar engraved ‘Lt.-Comdr. E. C. Cookson, D.S.O., Royal Navy’, reverse of Cross dated ‘28 Sep. 1915’, with an old fitted case, the lid gilt inscribed ‘V.C.’; Distinguished Service Order, G.V.R., silver-gilt and enamel, both housed in a old fitted glazed display case, loose centre on the last, otherwise extremely fine (2) £180,000-£220,000

Sotheby’s, January 1977, when sold by Cookson’s direct descendants.

V.C. London Gazette 21 January 1916:
‘The King has been graciously pleased to approve of the grant of the Victoria Cross to Lieutenant-Commander Edgar Christopher Cookson, D.S.O., R.N., in recognition of the following act of most conspicuous gallantry during the advance on Kut-el-Amara:

On 28 September 1915, the river gunboat Comet had been ordered with other gunboats to examine, and if possible destroy, an obstruction placed across the river by the Turks. When the gunboats were approaching the obstruction, a very heavy rifle and machine-gun fire was opened on them from both banks. An attempt to sink the centre dhow of the obstruction by gunfire having failed, Lieutenant-Commander Cookson ordered the Comet to be placed alongside, and himself jumped on to the dhow with an axe and tried to cut the wire hawsers connecting it with the two other craft forming the obstruction. He was immediately shot in several places and died within a few minutes.’

D.S.O. London Gazette 13 September 1915:
‘Lieutenant-Commander Cookson was conducting a reconnaissance up a creek of the Euphrates, west of Qurnah, in the armed launch Shushan on 9 May 1915, when he was heavily attacked by Arabs concealed in the reeds. Although severely wounded early in the action, he resumed command after his wounds had been temporarily dressed, and succeeded in most ably extricating the vessel from a most perilous position under heavy rifle fire.’

Edgar Christopher Cookson was born at Cavendish Park, Tranmere, Cheshire, in December 1883, the younger son of Captain William Edgar de Crackenthorpe Cookson, R.N. Receiving his early education at Hazelhurst, Frant, he entered the Royal Navy as a Cadet in Britannia in September 1897, where, according to his official service record, he quickly came to the notice of his superiors:

‘Tried by the Portsmouth Magistrates for creating a disturbance at a music hall and using obscene language in the streets: he should not have been out of the college, being confined to college at the time. Deprived of three months time and Their Lordships severe displeasure expressed. To be reported on the end of three months.’

Here, then, early signs of an adventurous character whose youthful transgressions were quickly brought to heel by his seniors, and he duly passed out as a Midshipman with an appointment in H.M.S. Jupiter in the Channel Squadron.

Removing to the Dido in early 1900, he witnessed active service off China during the Boxer Rebellion (Medal), and was advanced to Sub. Lieutenant in February 1903. And by the outbreak of hostilities in August 1914, he was serving as a recently promoted Lieutenant-Commander in the sloop Clio in the Far East.

Immediate D.S.O.
Ordered to Basra to reinforce the Navy’s small flotilla operating on the Euphrates and Tigris in Mesopotamia in early 1915, the Clio and her consort, Espiegle, were largely incapacitated from further operations owing to the shallowness of the waters that had to be navigated, and, in their place, a remarkable ‘gallimaufry of vessels’ was formed, a flotilla best described by Colonel Sir Mark Sykes:

‘There are paddle steamers which once plied with passengers and now waddle along with a barge on either side, one perhaps containing a portable wireless station and the other bullocks for heavy guns ashore; there are once respectable tugs which stagger along under the weight of boiler plating - to protect them from the enemy’s fire - and are armed with guns of varying calibre; there is a launch which pants indignantly between batteries of 4.7s, looking like a sardine between two cigarette-boxes; there is a steamer with a Christmas-tree growing amidships, in the branches of which its officers fondly imagine they are invisible to friend or foe. There is also a ship which is said to have started life as an aeroplane in Singapore, but shed its wings, kept its propeller, took to water, and became a hospital. And this great fleet is the cavalry screen, advance guard, rear guard, flank guard, railway, general headquarters, heavy artillery, line of communication, supply depot, police force, field ambulance, aerial hangar and base of supply of the Mesopotamian Expedition.’

Among this ‘great fleet’ was the newly commissioned stern-wheel river launch Shushan and, in April, Cookson was appointed to her command. Nor did it take long for him to make his mark - Deeds That Thrill the Empire takes up the story:

‘It was in the early days of the advance on Kut-el-Amara, when the advanced sections of our forces had reached the junction of the Tigris and Euphrates; and before pushing on along the valley of the former river, it was necessary to ascertain whether any considerable body of enemy troops had withdrawn up the Euphrates with the intention of coming down upon our lines of communication after the main force had passed on. The task of carrying out the reconnaissance fell to Lieutenant-Commander Cookson and his armed launch, the Shushan. The little steamer plugged her way up the Euphrates for some distance, a sharp look-out being kept on either side; but no sign of the enemy was discovered. Presently Cookson came to a tributary branching off to the left, and, impelled more by instinct than anything else, slackened the speed of the lumbering launch and steered her out of the main stream between the closer banks of the creek. On either side the tributary was flanked by a dense growth of rushes, which gently swayed in the wash of a passing vessel. For some distance the Shushan pushed on, the men on deck scanning every yard of the banks as they passed, still without finding a trace of a living soul. The Lieutenant-Commander was about to give up this particular part of his search as useless, and had already given orders preparatory to putting the vessel about for the return journey, when suddenly from among the rushes on both sides of the creek there burst forth a furious fusillade of rifle-fire. The Arabs, lying concealed amidst and behind the dense-growing rushes, could not be seen; but the guns, machine guns and rifles on board the Shushan instantly got to work and rained a steady stream of bullets along the banks. With all possible haste, but still all too slowly, the cumbersome Shushan was turned round in mid-stream, and off she set at the best of her poor speed to break out of the hornet’s nest into which she had stumbled.
The enemy had disposed themselves well, but fortunately the launch had been well fitted up for the work she had to do, and rifle-fire had little effect upon her. Two or three small guns in the hands of the enemy might easily have meant her complete destruction. Lieutenant-Commander Cookson had the misfortune to be severely wounded early in the fight, receiving an injury that should have kept him under cover until a place of safety had been reached; but as soon as his wound had been roughly dressed he insisted on taking personal charge of the vessel again. Going up-stream the Shushan had been able to pick her way carefully; now she was running for life in strange waters, where the slightest error in navigation would probably have thrown her, helpless, into the hands of the enemy. But Cookson handled his craft with admirable coolness and skill, pausing where a favourable opportunity offered for a round from one of the “big” guns, and running ahead with a burst of speed when discretion dictated. After a most exciting dash, a bend in the stream brought the freer and friendlier waters of the Euphrates into view again, and the little Shushan, her sides and upper works riddled with bullet holes, ambled leisurely down to her base with as much dignity as such a quaint craft could command. Lieutenant-Commander Cookson’s D.S.O. was awarded for “most ably extricating the vessel from a perilous position under heavy rifle fire” and besides that he had, though at considerable risk, secured valuable information regarding the position and strength of the enemy.’
Posthumous V.C.
Cookson, who had been shot through the right side of his chest, made a remarkable recovery, but his immediate senior officers were less fortunate, dropping like flies with assorted ailments in a land the Arabs said Allah had created because Hell wasn’t bad enough. As a consequence, he swiftly found himself elevated to the command of the Tigris Flotilla, and it was in this capacity that he won his posthumous V.C. at Es Sinn on 28 September, when in overall command of the Comet, a paddle-yacht armed with a 12-pounder, a 6-pounder and two 3-pounder guns, and the steam launches RN1 and RN2. Stephen Snelling’s The Naval VCs takes up the story:

‘At midnight, under cover of darkness, the majority of his force on the right bank slipped across a hastily constructed pontoon bridge and launched an enveloping attack. Fighting, intense in places, continued through a broiling day in which strong winds fanned clouds of dust that enveloped the battlefield. At one point Cookson’s flotilla of riverboats halted a Turkish attempt to forestall Townshend’s plan with close-range fire. Then they turned their guns on the redoubts that the British and Indian units were striving to outflank. That they did not have everything their own way, however, is clear from an account written by one of the Comet’s ratings which appeared in the British press under the byline of a ‘West Country R.N.R.’:

‘The Turks were ready for us, for they had quite as many guns as we had and four of them were a little bigger. We had a very lively time for a few hours, but, as usual our gunboats kept creeping up closer and closer until it got too warm for them. Then they ran away and left their guns. But they had stuck out well ... as it was dinner time before we shifted them. Our ship had several hits but very little damage - one of their shells went through our funnel, and that was the most damage they did to us. We silenced all their guns but one big one, but the gunners had us weighed off, and as soon as we attempted to get round ... we had to drop back under cover again ... ’

Half-swallowed by the dust-storm, the two armies slugged it out until sunset. A final bayonet charge eventually sent the Turks reeling, but the victorious troops were in no condition to follow up. Exhausted and parched with thirst, many were on the brink of collapse. But the gateway to Kut had been prised open. ‘Now,’ wrote the Official Historian, ‘was the time for the flotilla to make the success decisive.’

At around 7 p.m., an R.N.A.S. seaplane plopped down alongside Cookson’s flagship. According to Comet’s seaman correspondent, it brought news that the Turks were on the run and orders from Townshend to clear the river block below the fast-dissolving front-line and give chase to Kut’s routed defenders. The idea was simple enough: a waterborne cavalry charge against a disorganised enemy. As soon as it was dark, the Comet, captained by Lieutenant W. V. H. Harris, supported by the launches RN1 and RN2, under the overall command of Cookson, crept upstream. All lights were extinguished, but it made no difference. Surprise was impossible and they were soon sighted by Turks who, contrary to Townshend’s report, were resolved to fight and fight hard. As the boats neared the obstruction they came under a hot fire that signalled what Comet’s ‘West Country R.N.R.’ called the ‘liveliest time I had had since we have been fighting.’

He wrote: ‘It was very dark. We took the lead, being the biggest boat. When we got round the headland the Turks opened fire with rifles, but we steamed right up to the obstruction. The Turks were then close enough to us to throw hand bombs, but luckily none reached the deck of our ship ...’ Unfortunately the same good fortune did not extend to the rifle and machine-gun fire that poured at them from both banks. The lightly armoured craft were peppered with bullets from less than 100 yards range. Comet bore the brunt of the fusillade. One man described the bullets as “pattering” on the vessel’s steel plating “like raindrops on a window-pane”. Cookson, however, held his course and charged the centre of the obstruction, hoping to punch a hole through the block. The dhow buckled under the impact, but the hawsers held. Amid an inferno of fire, Comet drew away with the intention of using her guns to destroy the block.

As the sounds of battle reverberated across desert and marsh, the exposed paddle-yacht was lashed by fire. Despite being a sitting target for every Turk in the vicinity, Comet’s crew stuck to their task. But it was useless. The obstruction remained defiantly in place. Cookson might have considered withdrawing, but if he did the notion was quickly rejected in favour of a daring gamble which, if successful, was liable to turn the Turkish retreat into a rout. His plan was to lay the Comet alongside the central maheilah [dhow] and cut the steel moorings holding her in place.

Having issued his orders, Cookson set the paddle-yacht thrashing upstream into a hurricane of fire that not even her steel cladding could withstand. Comet shuddered under the welter of blows. One shell blew away the 6-pounder’s gun shield, leaving Private Arthur May, a marine gunner, to fight on without a shred of cover. There were many other acts of bravery. Gilbert Wallis, a signaller, was wounded and unable to stand, but propped himself up and carried on, while Leading Seaman Ernest Sparks somehow managed to keep his gun in action despite the bolts that held it to the deck working loose. But for sheer cold-blooded courage none could match Edgar Cookson.

As the bullet-riddled Comet came up against the obstruction, he was heard by Lieutenant Harris to shout for an axe. Ignoring a hail of close-range fire, Cookson made his way along the deck towards the bow. The crew of the fo’c’stle gun were among the eyewitnesses to what followed and their account was later recorded by Cyril Cox, a Paymaster Lieutenant-Commander in the Tigris Flotilla:

‘They saw the S.N.O., axe in hand, leaning over the Comet’s steel plating in an endeavour to reach the wire hawser. Then they saw him get over the plating and step on to the maheilah itself. Immediately afterwards they saw him fall between the ship and the maheilah, and they hastened to extricate him and bring him back to the ship ... ’

According to Cox, ‘there were more bullet holes in him than they cared to count’. Cookson, though, was still conscious. Comet’s ‘West Country R.N.R.’ reported: ‘Our S.N.O. was shot in seven places, and when we dragged him in his last words were “I am done. It is a failure. Return at full speed.” Ten minutes later he was dead.’

Comet and her consorts successfully withdrew and an account of Cookson’s suicidal courage soon came to the notice of the G.O.C., Major-General Charles Townshend. He closed his subsequent report in the following terms:

‘He found that he could not send a man over the ship’s side to cut away the obstruction, because it meant certain death, so he took an axe and went himself.’

Cookson was also mentioned in despatches by General Nixon (London Gazette 5 April 1916).

His D.S.O. was sent to his mother in September 1915 and she received his V.C. from the King at Buckingham Palace on 29 November 1916 - she was his only immediate relative since he was unmarried and his father had died.

Cookson was buried in Amara War Cemetery but the grave was subsequently destroyed and his name is now among those listed on the cemetery wall. Back in the U.K., a plaque in Whitechurch Canonicorum in Dorset - a church he knew and loved from his childhood - commemorates his gallant deeds and sacrifice. Its inscription closes:

‘This is the happy warrior: this is he
that every man in arms should wish to be.’

Less happily, a final brusque entry was added to the gallant Cookson’s service record in January 1920:

‘Solicitors informed that the Admiralty have no power to grant a further sum than the £61 gratuity earned by service. Any financial assistance for dependants a matter for the Ministry of Pensions.’