100 Years Ago

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/past-six-days/2017-12-23/register/high-spirits-on-christmas-leave-gd89czchr

december 23, 1917

High spirits on Christmas leave

The front has a seasonable festivity that would surprise most people at home, and although no one would pick the front-line trenches as a resort of gaiety, they only hold a minority of the men on active service. It may bring some comfort to people at home to know that any one man in whom they have a close interest stands many chances of being in moderate comfort for the Christmas season to one chance of being under the cruel conditions in the front lines. There will be a good many reasonably contented hearts on Christmas night, but I doubt if any of them will show a higher satisfaction than can be seen among the men on the leave trains and the leave boats, bound for “Blighty”. It would do your heart good to see a train loading up with leave troops at a railhead close up to the firing line. Each man has been waiting days, weeks, months for his turn. Every one is laden to a point that no self-respecting pack-animal would stand — with haversack, shrapnel helmet, gas-mask, rifle, but they clamber up to the high carriages in a babel of laughing and shouting and joking. The journey down to the sea comes as near the height of discomfort as any railway journey on earth. The kits alone are enough to fill the carriage; the seats are hard and narrow; there is barely room to sit. The nights of a week past have been vilely and bitterly cold, and even the warmth of close-packed bodies fails to overcome the icy temperature. The men doze and wake and doze again through the long night, but there is no grumbling, or, rather, no more than the normal “grousing” which is the old soldier’s privilege. Bully-beef tins are opened, and ration bread and biscuits. Candles are balanced ingeniously on the handles of jack knives stabbed into woodwork. By midnight the train is filled with men wedged asleep on the narrow seats, sprawled on the floor, and even under the seats.

Immediately the quayside is sighted there is a desperate rush to get alongside and on board the boat. If you at home look forward with any degree of pleasure to Christmas try to imagine the happiness of those men whose great good luck it is to come out of many months of hardship and danger, and living cheek-by-jowl with death, and take their place on the leave-boat bound out for Christmas in “Blighty”.

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/past-six-days/2017-12-26/register/christmas-at-the-front-zxnfdx83r

december 26, 1917

Christmas at the front

On Christmas Eve the frost broke and a rapid thaw set in. The result was that the sun rose this morning on a “piebald” landscape, with the remaining snow patches dully reflecting the rosy brilliance from their slushy face. It is my impression that there is less of the spirit of Christmastide in the trenches this year than on the three previous Christmas Days our troops have spent in France. I do not suggest that there is any flagging of cheerfulness. But it seems to me that the men have a consciousness that this is no very fitting time for demonstrative festivity. Not that this has blunted their appetites for the very excellent fare provided for them. The Christmas dinner of the troops this year has been supplemented, for the first time, by plum pudding as a regular ration. Heretofore private generosity has made ample provision in this direction. But today plum pudding was a regular issue, and I am assured by those who sampled it that it was excellent.

There has been a good deal of artillery activity on both sides during the past 24 hours, which served as a grim reminder that there was to be no attempt at fraternizing. The Germans are manifesting great curiosity about what we may be doing in various parts of the line, and frequently attempt to raid our trenches, but with a very small measure of success. Probably they have not yet quite recovered from the shock of the great Tank surprise of November 19 last.
King’s Christmas Greetings
The following messages have been received from the King and Queen. To The Navy and Army: I send to all ranks of the Navy and Army my hearty good wishes for Christmas and the New Year. I realize your hardships, patiently and cheerfully borne, and rejoice in the successes you have won so nobly. The Nation stands faithful to its pledges, resolute to fulfill them. May God bless your efforts, and give us victory. George RI. To The Sick and Wounded: Our Christmas thoughts are with the sick and wounded sailors and soldiers. We know by personal experience with what patience and cheerfulness their suffering is borne. We wish all a speedy restoration to health, a restful Christmastide, and brighter days to come. George RI. Mary R.


https://www.thetimes.co.uk/past-six-days/2017-12-27/register/christmas-in-a-childrens-hospital-g53llhcq8

DECEMBER 27, 1917

Christmas in a children’s hospital

The little patients of the Queen’s Hospital for Children, Bethnal Green, had a wonderful Christmas party yesterday. They were allowed to invite two relatives each, and proudest were those who had a khaki father back on leave. The hospital is right in the heart of the poverty zone, so these little people well deserved their pleasant day.
The Queen and Princess Mary had sent toys, and in every ward were trees laden with gifts. There was more of the Christmas spirit in that hospital than in many homes. Toys were everywhere — huge golliwogs or rocking-boats, common to all; and many of the smaller toys that children love were hugged to thin chests that the doctor was doing his best to cure. Father Christmas visited each ward in turn. Into a pleasantly noisy gathering, where patients and parents, nurses and doctors wore paper caps out of crackers, he drew a big red trolley filled with brown paper parcels. Perhaps because of his voice muffled behind his mask, the children did not recognize one of their doctors, but the nurses were in the secret, for they knew that the sickest children got the biggest parcels.

Perhaps of all the Queen’s gifts handkerchiefs were most appreciated. A handkerchief has many uses in the hands of a little East End child. It can be a dress for a doll, or a sail for a ship, or a white flag if you are playing at Germans.
The sisters and nurses had tied gay ribbons on the little girls’ bright hair, and had dressed up some of the children who were well enough. One very sick little boy seemed to have more toys and handkerchiefs than anyone else, and Father Christmas had brought him a jigsaw and a woolly vest and socks, and these he watched his mother carefully packing up to take home for him.

While the children were forgetting the many things that the children of the poor suffer, the great wooden shutters made to keep out shrapnel were got ready, lest raiders should come while Father Christmas was on his rounds. This year the hospital, which has many needs, has not been so well remembered as in former years. Clothing, boots, and shoes are badly wanted by the little patients when they leave: and the thinly-clad slum child is quick to show gratitude for such practical gifts, as well as for toys at Christmastide.


https://www.thetimes.co.uk/past-six-days/2017-12-28/register/army-horses-and-shell-shock-qzzqx6v57

december 28, 1917

Army horses and shell shock

An officer in the Royal Army Medical Corps in a letter home writes: I am sure you would like the Army horses in Flanders. They are the most beautiful things in the country, especially the draught horses, for they do a job of work. Saddle horses are lovely to look at but they, like the cavalry, are simply not in it in this war, and this robs them of their charm just now, when everyone and everything is judged by his job of work. Unspoilt by blinkers, their winter coats — innocent often of clippers — add to their looks. That they keep so fit and in such condition is due to the excellence of their forage and the care of their drivers. And the devotion of the men is wonderful: they will not leave their charges, and often are transferred with them when they are sent to other units.

There is a great difference in the horses as they go in and come out of the line. Full of fire and beans, conscious of excellent grooming and clean wagons and polished harness, they seem impatient to drag their guns from the comforts of French billets to the unknown discomfort of the line. But when they come out they are plastered with mud and very tired, and show no interest in the teams that pass them on their way up. A gunner told me an interesting story of shell shock in his team — how they were sheltering under a wall when a shell exploded among them, but miraculously escaped unharmed. Never again would this gun team approach that wall without quivering and falling down, or hear an approaching shell without showing the same symptoms as a soldier might.
Never will a horse forget any place where he has been wounded. When, he is taking ammunition up to a battery he will shiver and tremble and hurry past any spot where, perhaps months before he stopped a bit of shrapnel. Very quick are they to spot a near approaching shell; and on an exposed road on their way up they duck their heads and drop on their knees, and even lie down, when they see their drivers taking cover to avoid a dangerously close one.
A good horse is a treasure and a bad one only fit to lose — as many horses are “lost” by their drivers so that fresh ones may be drawn from “remounts”. But still, the revolver is the most commonly used veterinary medicine, as it is the most efficient.


https://www.thetimes.co.uk/past-six-days/2017-12-29/register/behind-the-front-km7plscm0

december 29, 1917

Behind the front

Three articles published this week have directed attention to an aspect of our war operations which is far too little understood in this country. Much is rightly heard of the gallant troops who do the actual fighting, but it is not sufficiently realized that behind them is a vast and silent but highly efficient labour organization, without which the line could not be held. Great Britain has gone very far afield for her labour units, and has obtained extensive native contingents from India, South Africa, China, Egypt, and even from Fiji. A large number of Labour Battalions have also been furnished from these islands, and there are considerable numbers of German prisoners who are employed at a distance from the fighting front, in accordance with international agreement. The writer of our articles has dispelled the common misconception that the British Labour Corps is chiefly manned by conscientious objectors. He says that this class of men only makes up a few companies, and he gives such a good account of the “conchies” that we are rather at a loss to understand why so many of them are kept at unproductive employment on Dartmoor and elsewhere. The rest of the British Labour Corps consists of men who are over combatant age or are physically unfit, together with naturalized British subjects of alien birth. The tasks of the British units sometimes take them under fire, and they get plenty of hard work and very little glory. Still more is this the lot of their officers, many of whom are distinguished men of mature years who have voluntarily undertaken a thankless task, in the full knowledge that honour and reward must necessarily pass them by. When all is said, however, the greatest marvel of our immense labour organization is that of the many thousands of men from tropical and subtropical lands who have been patiently welded into the military machine. Nothing more surprises the visitor to the war area than to find companies of Indians and Chinese and Africans all over the great tract of country behind the British front. Like the German prisoners, they do not enter the danger zone; but their presence, and the excellent work they do, furnish an astonishing testimony to the organization which has gathered them from the ends of the earth.


https://www.thetimes.co.uk/past-six-days/2017-12-30/register/the-lost-destroyers-rlj2r973t

december 30, 1917

The lost destroyers

The sinking of three British destroyers by German mine or torpedo in the North Sea a week ago is a very unpleasant piece of news. In ordinary circumstances the delay in making it public might call for criticism, but there were special reasons — besides the old Admiralty practice of informing next-of-kin before making announcements — which account for it.
The change at the Admiralty was of course due to more fundamental causes; but it was probably thought that if the two announcements were made at the same time the public would associate them too closely. The fact that a new First Lord has taken office in the interval should have its due weight in restraining criticism. Nevertheless, there is quite enough to lament in the loss of these hard-working and important ships, with its still more lamentable concomitant of the death of 13 officers and 180 men. The usual Admiralty inquiry is being held into the circumstances, and the new Board of Admiralty will no doubt take measures.

A word of caution may not be out of place. Let no one think that the risk of incidents of this kind can be wholly abolished by a change at the Admiralty. The British Navy has vast responsibilities. It patrols great areas of sea; it has to meet the constant development of insidious methods of attack by submarine and by mine; and the quantity of shipping that it has to protect offers a plethora of opportunity to an enterprising foe. The truth is that the British Navy is engaged in an hourly contest of wits against the inventiveness of Germany. With their battleships penned in home waters, the Germans are put to the proof in devising methods of inflicting loss upon the British fleets and the commerce protected by them. We must not be unreasonable in our expectations. On the other hand, we are right to insist on giving the utmost scope to the inventiveness and resource of British sailors. That, as it seems to us, is the moral of the German successes against British convoys in October and this month, and the destruction of these three destroyers. If the new Board of Admiralty set themselves in this direction, they will will command the enthusiastic cooperation of all the most enterprising, inventive, and determined elements in the Navy.

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/past-six-days/2018-01-01/register/care-for-the-wounded-bpczhp7rx

JANUARY 1, 1918

Care for the wounded

There is a grim sound about the name Casualty Clearing Station which does not promise well for the prospect of finding cheerfulness and happiness, and when I was asked if I should like to see a CCS under Christmas conditions, I admit that it struck me as being about as un-Christmas-like a subject as I might find. A Casualty Clearing Station close behind the lines is a place where the battered wreckage of war passes through, is patched up for the time being, cleaned, dressed, and fed, and sent on to the Base Hospitals and home. The whole place exists only for the temporary housing of, and attention to, men wounded lightly, seriously, dangerously, and often very horribly. You would expect it to be a place of groans and misery and naked pain and suffering, to see there nothing but faces drawn and twisted with agony, eyes staring with the horror they had so lately seen. But if that be the picture of your imaginings, you may change it, as I did. The patients who were able to move about were sitting or strolling around the wards with happiness plain writ on their smiling lips. Others, not perhaps seriously wounded and yet not fit to move, lay still in their neat little cot-beds, smoking cigarettes, or reading or chatting to one another, or listening to the big gramophone playing on the table in the centre of the ward. Even the ones who were pointed out as serious or dangerous cases, the men who, at best, would only scrape close past death by the narrowest margin, or at worst, might die, even these showed no terror and, except here and there, little sign of suffering. “They know they have done their ‘whack’, and come through it, and are bound for Blighty, and even the dangerous cases are extraordinarily hopeful, and expect that we’ll pull them through,” said a Sister.

The bright, Happy Christmas spirit which pervaded the place was due, it seemed to me, to these wonderful Sisters, who for weeks and months past have lived and worked under the threat of bombardment, and who carry on cheerfully, regardless. They are often overworked and, to my mind, underpaid, but they are paid full measure, in something more enduring than coin of the realm — the everlasting, heartfelt gratitude of the broken men who have passed through their ministering hands.


https://www.thetimes.co.uk/past-six-days/2018-01-02/register/wintry-new-years-day-p83nhs38l

january 2, 1918

Wintry New Year’s Day

The weather yesterday in London was bitterly cold. The wind that has been blowing from the north-east continuously for nearly a fortnight, chill but dry, became more boisterous and took on an icier touch. Snow fell in the early hours of the morning, and as it froze on the footpaths and roadways walking was not easy for horse or man until a thaw came as the day advanced. Dark, heavy clouds hung about, threatening more snow or sleet.
One unpleasant feature of the severe weather last winter was happily absent. There were no shivering queues waiting to be served with fuel outside coal dealers’ shops in the by-streets. The system of coal distribution organized by the Coal Controller in conjunction with the local authorities is working well.

Large flocks of seagulls were to be seen up the river — a sure sign of severe weather on the coast. The birds do not find the Embankment so good a feeding ground as it used to be. To throw them scraps of bread for the delight afforded by their sure and graceful catches on the wing is now illegal, and sprats, which used to be sold at a penny a bag for this form of popular entertainment, were yesterday 7d. a pound at the fishmonger’s. The gull has been driven, in consequence, to seek food in strange quarters. He has been seen lately humbly foraging in suburban back gardens; and, more humiliating still, contending with the London sparrow for the crumbs of the road sweepings.
Violent gales swept the Kentish coast yesterday morning, causing some casualties among shipping. Damage was also done on land, large numbers of trees being stripped of branches. Allotment-holders found that many rabbits had perished owing to the cold.
Skating has been resumed in Thanet, and much snow has fallen. Owing to the ice which covers the Serpentine, the race for the Peter Pan Cup, postponed from Christmas morning, could not take place yesterday morning. Several members of the Serpentine Swimming Club took a plunge close to the bank, where the ice had been broken. The race will be held on Saturday morning at 8 o’clock.

Blackberrying is still in progress in Dorset, and some very fine berries have been gathered in sheltered lanes near Swanage.


https://www.thetimes.co.uk/edition/register/threat-to-the-british-museum-xtlxn7jp0

january 3, 1918

Threat to the British Museum

The Government appears to be bent upon seizing on the “defenceless doors” of the British Museum and converting the place into premises for the Air Ministry.
The reasons why the Museum is, of all structures, least fitted for public offices have been so well stated by various correspondents that they need no reinforcement. On the other hand, the Government’s apology for its decision is, as it was bound to be, half-hearted and thoroughly unconvincing. If no building in London is exempt from aerial attack, the contents of the Museum had better remain where they are, in their own dry atmosphere; if the building is occupied by the Air Ministry, it and all it contains will at once become a legitimate target.
That only part of the Museum is to be taken over makes no difference. There is a callousness and a recklessness about the project which cannot but dismay, even after three and a half years of European ruin. The commandeering of Bloomsbury for military purposes, and of a portion also of the Natural History Museum for a branch of minor civil administration, comes as the culmination of a long-growing scandal.

Our new bureaucracy has swollen to such vast proportions that even housing accommodation appears to have failed it. Building after building has been seized and occupied by department after department, sub-department after sub-department. It is notorious that some of these overcrowded hives of officialdom have either ceased to be of use or have failed from the outset of their purpose. Yet not the slightest attempt is made to check their growth or to revise their pretensions. They are there, whether they are wanted or not, “for the duration”, and every week adds to their number and to the expense to which the nation is put to maintain them.
To say this is not for a moment to deny the vital importance of proper offices for the new Air Ministry. But the British Museum is not suitable for it, as long as there remains other possible accommodation, and above all some existing Government office, where it can be easily and expeditiously established. Or is there no hotel which could be hired at a fair rent based upon pre-war profits?