“I feel one can say with some conviction that no man should willingly leave his home to fight, wound, maim or kill other men about whom he knows little and whom he certainly does not hate. When all men refuse to commit such follies the foundations of a true civilisation will have only just started to be laid.”
- Sam Sutcliffe, circa 1974 (extracted from his Memoir)
Showing posts with label Archduke Franz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Archduke Franz. Show all posts

Sunday, 3 August 2014

War declared: talking Armageddon on the morning train

Out Now! Nobody Of Any Importance: A Foot Soldier's Memoir Of WW1

Dear all

It happened 100 years ago on Monday. My father, FootSoldierSam, was 16, working as a junior office boy for a mining company's head office in the City of London, living at home in Edmonton, north London, with his parents, older sister Ciss, baby sister Edie, younger brother Alf and, his hero, older brother Ted (a nickname; his real name was Philip, and my father gave him the alias of "George"during the first part of this memoir, while trying out the third-person approach he shortly abandoned in favour of straight autobiography).

Finally getting my father's book out now and running this blog more or less in synch with WW1, as I intend, I'm aware of not giving readers here much background, so here are a few snippets. The family had "come down in the world". In Manchester, where Dad was born in 1898, my grandfather, Charles, and his brothers had owned a tile factory. But they proved to be the generation who ruined it, partly because Charles was too gentle and, maybe, weak to arrest the profligacy of his siblings. Plunged from considerable wealth to penury they moved to London and, in Edmonton, struggled to survive.

My father's most vivid memory of childhood hunger went like this (my father writing of himself third-person as "Tommy" still): "[Tommy] saw a lad younger than himself sitting on the ground tearing up paper and eating bits of it, he asked him, 'Why are you eating paper?' 'Because I’m hungry,' said the boy. Our lad thought, 'Perhaps it would help if I could do the same'. He tore up some paper and chewed it, but, oh, it tasted horrible."

That's why the Boy Scouts and the choir were such a relief to him – fellowship, a certain material uniformity, free food quite often! Well, that's a glimpse of his life back in the early years of the 20th century. However, by 1914 father Charles, Ted and Sam/Tommy all had jobs, and a little security and modest comfort came into their lives – except that with every passing month war talk grew more pervasive until the Archduke's assassination provoked the domino-tumble of declarations*.

FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS
This is how it felt in those final weeks and days, a hundred years ago:

"Battalions of marching soldiers became a common sight in the City – largely civilian volunteers given time off from their places of employment to undergo extra training in case they should be mobilised to replace regular soldiers who might be sent overseas. Most of them had already received considerable training at their Territorial establishments and in camps where regular-Army instructors supervised their activities.

The frequent conflicts in that region, then described as the Balkans, had been of merely passing interest to the British people, but this war, now looming, affected all, rich and poor. Fears and anticipations coloured all their thinking.

In particular, hope burgeoned among many small businessmen. War creates shortages and speculation can yield enormous profits. But among employed people too flourished a fine flush of patriotic fervour. For instance, a common boast — notably among older men quite sure they would not be called up — claimed that one trained British soldier was worth any five foreigners.

Without thinking too deeply, one could become part of this emotion and go about one’s daily activities lightened and illumined by a self-righteous glow. Probably the nation had smarted under the German threat hanging over their heads for some years. Tommy and his like caught the infection. To the enthusiastic, people who behaved and talked rationally or, at least, just as they had always done, seemed selfish, perhaps even scared.

This national surge flowed through the millions of men who were more emotional than thoughtful. They pulsated, they were invigorated, and sustained. For many, this overexcitement would later be replaced by grim determination, perhaps directed towards helping one’s country while trying to preserve one’s life – or towards making money out of it and having a good time wherever possible. But Tommy’s generation was experiencing the last of the great patriotic upsurges in this country. Wonderful while it lasted.

Normally, Len and Harold took later trains to their work in the City, but that summer they decided to rise earlier and travel in with Tommy and Ted. “Ted”, by the way, was a nickname. As a baby, someone had called him “Tiddle” and later, for dignity’s sake presumably, that changed to “Tid” and then Ted.

Now, on the train, father would join his contemporaries to discuss the threatened Armageddon — the word applied by a journalist and taken up everywhere. Imaginings of war with Germany centred on the imposing figure of Kaiser Wilhelm, as portrayed in photographs and cartoons — that waxed moustache the ends of which were screwed into points and pointed upwards, a spiked helmet on his head, mounted on his horse, a fierce warrior. But people began to call up images of the huge German Army too; the infantry, they thought, would comprise rather big men wearing long, blue-grey overcoats, who travelled at great speeds too with their mechanical transport. The new thing was the lorry; one looked in vain on the roads of this country for great convoys transporting large numbers of soldiers, a sight quite commonplace in the Kaiser’s country, we gathered.


Soon, historic events overtook speculation. On August 4, 1914, Germany attacked Belgium, at which an old treaty commitment impelled the British Prime Minister to declare war on Germany."

Via a concatenation of treaties and other considerations, between June 28 and August 25, nations declared war on one another like this (not claiming this list is comprehensive): Austria-Hungary on Serbia, Russia on Austria-Hungary, Germany on Russia and Serbia, France on “The Central Powers” (Germany and the Ottoman Empire), Germany on France, Germany on Belgium, Great Britain on Germany (August 4 – because the Treaty Of London, 1839, between Great Britain and Prussia, later confirmed by the German Empire, guaranteed Belgium’s neutrality), Austria-Hungary on Russia, Japan on Germany, Japan on Austria-Hungary.

Saturday, 19 July 2014

Out now! Nobody Of Any Importance: A Foot Soldier's Memoir Of WW1

Dear all

"All"! Well, we'll see, but welcome to whoever's out there, on behalf of my father and from me as, just the 35 years after Sam Sutcliffe started writing his memoir of a foot soldier's life at Gallipoli, the Somme and all the tricky bits before and after, young Phil - that's me, 67 last Sunday - finally finishes editing it and gets it out there via the miracle of e-book.

Here's the link to buy it if you care to in UK (which I missed before editing this blog just now, sorry) click here or in US (I think) click here.

It looks like this:


Price in UK is £5 and, in my father's memory, all author/editor royalties for the e-book will go to the UK Red Cross, a cause he would approve of, given they saved his life at Gallipoli and probably later too - to be clear, that means the Red Cross will get 35 per cent of what you pay on Amazon, and somewhat different amounts and percentages on other outlets when we get to them. It's 700 pages+ of his near-total-recall memory from north London childhood to the peace parade that really affirmed it was over in July, 1919.

If I can keep going, I want to update this blog weekly for the duration of WW1's serial Centenary by featuring short excerpts from the book relevant to what was going on 100 years ago this week, the next week and thereabouts - what my dad called his "Nobody Of Any Importance" story running in parallel to all the macro memorial events.

FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS:
First excerpts from the e-book coming up, but I'm sure I'll need to set the scene somewhat.

One thing I have to explain about the first two parts of the book - covering his childhood and through to the early months of the war - is that my father chose to write about himself in the third person. So Tommy Norcliffe is Sam Sutcliffe, although observed from "outside". After a while, Dad gave that up and wrote as "I" for the duration. Well, he was no professional historian. It really is memoir/autobiography from the start.

So to the history. As you know, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand on June 28, 1914, in Sarajevo, set the dominos of war declarations tumbling all over Europe and beyond for a couple of months to come. A hundred years ago today (writing on July 19), the treaty breach that got Great Britain officially involved had not yet occurred. But in writing about his early teens, particularly the period after he left school at 14 in 1912, my father often referred to popular worry and/or excitement about the likelihood of war with Germany - further stirred up by the weekly fiction magazines of the day which propagated a whole sub-genre of "invasion scare" fiction.

A series in Pearson's Weekly, Sam recalled, "described the invasion of Great Britain by German Forces, detailing the Channel crossing, landings on the beaches, battles through Kent and Sussex villages and their eventual approach to London. Ordinary people had for some while generally accepted that war with Germany was inevitable and they read this carefully constructed story of a surprise attack with excitement and, perhaps, concealed fear. Tommy and others of his generation could not see what would prevent the Germans from achieving their objective if they landed along the low-lying coasts. No great mountain ranges between there and the capital…"

A little later Sam writes: "One weekly magazine, John Bull, edited by Horatio Bottomley, a man able to discern what line of thought would arouse millions of partially educated people, used the war to excite the masses to do things which always had the ultimate result of putting money into his pocket. At meetings advertised in his publication and where he was the chief speaker, he would advocate donating money to the John Bull Victory Bond Club.


Tommy often read this weekly paper when his father had finished with it. The fiery patriotism impressed him, the condemnation of the foul enemy with whom we were at war, the constant watchfulness the editor and his staff maintained to discover and expose traitors in high places. He, and thousands of others, began to believe that this man could be the leader and saviour of Britain and the Empire."
And so the talk gathered pace and fervour: "Although the routine of living continued for Tommy, his family, and all around him, excitement mounted daily as events abroad, culminating in the assassination of a royal person, led many to believe that a war in which Britain would be involved was imminent.

The morning paper, which Pa bought on his way to the station with two of his sons, was eagerly read by their mother and the other children in the evening.

"On the train to work men loudly and strongly expressed opinions about events and prospects and Tommy listened. At the office, the Sergeant* really let himself go on this one; he believed the prospective enemy, the Germans, had always intended to attack England, but that our well-trained Army would soon finish them off once the two forces were face to face. Too old for active service himself, he would be doing his bit for Britain through that job at the War Office he had told the boys about.


"Meanwhile, brother George, sunburnt and lusty after a fortnight at a camp for assistant Scoutmasters, frequently talked about England going to war and what part he might play in it. He encouraged Tommy to join him and two friends of his own age, Len Winns and Harold Mellow, in long walks at the weekends. Then, when they stopped to rest and eat their sandwiches, a pack of cards would be produced and they’d play their favourite game, solo whist. But discussions of war always cropped up. Exciting speculations on how long it would last might vary between a few months and several years."
* The commissionaire at the City mining company offices where Sam worked as a junior office boy, 1912-14.

Hope that's a good taster. Until next week?

Your comrade

FootSoldierSam

Copyright © Sam Sutcliffe 1987 & Phil Sutcliffe 2014. The moral rights of the authors are asserted.

See also Twitter @FootSoldierSam