Sam and the lads get a lantern lecture on VD – and Malta?

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Dear all

A hundred years ago… apart from the continuing deadly grind on Western and Eastern Fronts, on January 19 (a Tuesday) German Zeppelins launched the first ever air attack on British soil, targetting King’s Lynn and Great Yarmouth – nobody noting these events seems to say why. Five civilians died. The German Army’s airship squadron was down to four at this point, much depleted after European mainland raids found them vulnerable to everything from rifle bullets upwards. The war’s global eruptions continued with a rebellion against British colonialists in Nyasaland (now Malawi) crushed in three days, and a German victory over British and Indian troops at Jasin on the border of German East Africa (now Burundi, Rwanda and part of Tanzania) and British Easy Africa (now Kenya) – German commander von Lettow-Vorbeck felt his casualties, 286, were so high, in context, that he resolved to conduct no more full-on assaults but turn to guerilla warfare instead.

      Meanwhile, my father, Sam, 16, his brother, Ted, 18 – so both under-age volunteers – their pals from Edmonton, north London, and the rest of the 2/1st City Of London Battalion, Royal Fusiliers billeted down in Tonbridge, Kent, got a week’s leave in mid-January – a real surprise as they’d just returned from a few days at home over Christmas…

FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS

Sam began this passage of his Memoir, as previous readers will know, in the third person, calling himself “Tommy”, as throughout his account of his childhood and teens (and Tonbridge he “disguised” as “Bunbridge”). He recalled his reaction to the leave announcement, which he described as being “on a vague understanding” that they would soon be sailing… for some destination unknown:

‘… something like an electric shock jarred Tommy’s nervous system – which proceeded to maintain a level of tension previously unknown to him.

     This routine of life at Bunbridge had lulled him into accepting its pleasures as his lot for quite some time to come. Tommy lacked much in knowledge, little in imagination. As each new experience loomed, inward excitement — of various kinds — had to be concealed from his fellows by the assumed appearance of calm. He hoped no one ever detected the state of high nervousness in which he now existed. He aimed to appear interested, but not bothered, by what went on around him; keen enough, yet always willing to let a better man shine while he stepped aside.

     He felt this method would make him no enemies, might even generate a spark of good will — and perhaps assist self-preservation under certain conditions.

     That week passed like a dream. Playing at soldiers was over. If we were to cross to France we could be right up there at the Front within a day. Our wounded could be on their way back to hospital in England in less than a week, our dead comrades buried if lucky or, if not, lying smashed and cold under a sun or moon they couldn’t see.’

Yet, even through his anxiety, ever the observer, he had it in him to worry about the Company Lieutenant, a callow young fellow whom some clearly thought a bit of an upper-class twit… this passage being also the very first Sam wrote in the first person, via the temporary device of saying “let’s hear direct from Tommy” and proceeding to “quote” him for some pages (my father left school at 14 and wrote his Memoir in his 70s, so this was all part of him finding his feet as a writer):

‘The first day back at Bunbridge after leave…  Once again I found myself being more concerned about young Lieutenant Swickenham. Recently some of the men, notably the older, coarser types, had begun to gain confidence in their ability to cope with soldiering and now asserted their thoughts and opinions loudly, as they had probably been used to doing in their former lives as civilians. So with the January weather chilly and young Swickenham, who marched at the head of the column of course, suffering a head cold, one humourist commenced bellowing “Our Lieutenant’s got a dewdrop on his nose” — to the tune of John Brown’s Body. Others joined in, inventing punchlines according to taste. The NCOs did nothing about it — apparently then, when the order to march at ease was given, license to insult an officer went with it. I felt this was all wrong and did not join in the singing, but made no comment on the subject.

     The Lieutenant was a very serious young man, somewhat at a disadvantage with his apparent self-consciousness. But, one afternoon, he proved how much thought he had for the men’s welfare in spite of the mockery…’

And this did take courage; Swickenham took it on himself to talk to the men about VD… and show them some interesting and educational images of its more horrible effects:

‘He marched the Company to a local hall; a white screen faced the audience and a machine for projecting pictures rested on a table halfway along the middle gangway. Lieutenant Swickenham stood beside it, waiting till all sat quietly as they had done in childhood for a “magic-lantern show”*  to begin.

     Then his rather thin, but clear voice related how, some time previously, he had been a Midshipman in the British Navy. For health and other reasons he had to leave that service, but while abroad he had taken many photographs on plates. These pictures had now been coloured and he intended to show us a series he took when based, for a short time, on the island of Malta. As each picture appeared, he named and described buildings and places, including several beautiful beaches, colourful plantations and much attractive scenery.

     Eventually, he admitted he’d really given this little picture show to capture the men’s interest before talking to them about the dangers and evils with which men travelling abroad for the first time must cope. In particular, soldiers just looking for entertainment would be tempted to visit places where cheap liquor and loose women might inflict sickness and diseases on them. Details of some of these diseases and magic-lantern illustrations of the effects they had on human bodies were received in complete silence, chilling men previously basking in the Lieutenant’s alluring images of a land of sunshine, luscious fruits, blue skies and cool seas.

     Finally, the CSM offered thanks on behalf of all present to Lieutenant Swickenham who had, he explained, hired the hall at his own expense in order to help men who would shortly be leaving England.

     Opinions afterwards differed about the show – and the sermon, as some called it. Some older men thought the officer had a nerve to preach to them about these matters, but all admitted surprise that the apparently shy youngster had carried out the self-imposed task so efficiently. For my part, Swickenham confirmed my regard and respect for him and I looked forward to serving under him abroad.

     “But why,” many asked, “did he show us pictures of Malta of all places? There’s no war going on there.” Well, soon the affair was almost forgotten.’

* The “magic lantern”, developed in Europe from the 15th century onwards and a forerunner of the film projector, directed light through a sheet of glass to show painted or photographic images, still or, latterly, moving.

All the best — FSS

Next week: Pack up your troubles in your old kitbag… and get ready to say goodbye to your family for who knows where and who knows how long…

Fusilier Sam’s young officers forget their men want Christmas at home too

Out Now In Paperback And E-Book – all proceeds to the British Red Cross

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Dear all

A hundred years ago… at home fear and bitterness probably reached a new peak in the North after the December 16 German Naval raid made “Remember Scarborough!” a key recruiting slogan for a while (although Hartlepool suffered the majority of the 592 casualties). On the Western Front, the new yet already perceived by some on both sides as interminable slog of trench warfare proceeded most intensely in The First Battle Of Champagne, mainly carried by the French Army. But, of course, the event of the week was the Christmas Truce, 100,000 men, British, German, French, downing weapons to sing, talk, exchange souvenirs, play football in some fashion – just stop. This morning (Dec 20, 2014) I heard Jon Snow on the radio saying, if TV news cameras had been there and the whole world seen the footage within hours, the war would have had to end there and then... it’s quite a thought, though easy enough to pick holes in given the way highly scrutinised modern wars continue (see my father’s summation of his experience which sits at the top of every page of this blog, through to the Peace Parade Centenary in July, 2019).

      Meanwhile, their Royal Fusiliers Battalion billeted with the good people of Tonbridge, Kent, Sam Sutcliffe, 16, his older brother Ted, and their fellow, still unarmed volunteers training to enter the conflict at some unknown point started to think about Christmas...

FOOTSOLDIERSAM SPEAKS

Naturally, everyone wanted to get home – which, for Sam and Ted, meant Edmonton, north London. Well, by a remarkable feat of thoughtlessness, their tyro officers managed to turn the festive season into a near-mutiny – albeit with an appropriately happy ending. Here’s my father’s story of the build-up to Christmas, 1914 (noting as ever, that in these early parts of his Memoir he wrote in the third person and called himself “Tommy”):

‘As Christmas 1914 approached, and it appeared likely the Battalion would remain in England during the holiday, the chaps began to speculate about whether they would be allowed home. “They’re sure to grant two or three days leave,” was the general opinion. So, warming anticipation of reunions with families gave rise to a happiness which permeated all the men. Officers must have noticed the prevailing joyfulness but, perhaps, did not realise what caused it.

     An announcement that Christmas Eve would be free of parades and work contained no reference to leave of absence. Puzzlement and doubt replaced anticipatory elation. Then, as groups of men discussed the strange silence about Christmas plans, anger caused some men to threaten to go home without permission. “But that would be a crime, either desertion with trial by court martial or else a charge of being absent without leave” — so cautious men told the impatient ones.

     It developed into a serious situation; on the morning of Christmas Eve, no guidance having come from above, a large number of men gathered on the London platform at the railway station. They had bought their tickets and were now committing their threatened breach of military discipline. But somebody had informed the RSM about the looming exodus and his powerful voice could be heard ordering all men to return to their billets.

     Most anxious not to provide authority with any excuse for questioning his stated age and discharging him, Tommy had not made a decision about joining this rebellion. He had found a position outside the station from which he observed the following scene, and even heard much of what was said.

     He saw no general movement by the, shall we say, insurgents to leave the platform and, quite suddenly, the booming voice of the RSM fell silent. All faces turned towards the station entrance. The Colonel marched in with a substantial group of officers, followed by porters carrying a large number of bags. The party stopped abruptly at the sight of the assembled troops.

     The Colonel’s face expressed great surprise, as Tommy could clearly see. Then he turned to confer with Captain Blunt, his adjutant. Other officers moved in closer and there was much quiet discussion.

     Some Privates standing nearby were called forward and, like good soldiers, all saluted correctly together, straight and upright, eyes looking straight ahead and not at the officers asking the questions. They may have contemplated doing a bunk, thought Tommy, but they had remembered their training. Soon the men saluted, turned about and rejoined their comrades. Then the Colonel came forward and addressed the men.

     A terrific cheer followed his speech so Tommy readily guessed its import. He climbed down from his perch, passed through an open gate on into the station coal depot and crossed several railway lines till he came to iron railings and called to men on the platform, asking for information.

     He learnt that the amateur officers had made their first major blunder. They had taken no thought of what was to happen to their men during the Christmas festivities. Vaguely, they had assumed that the rank and file would remain mostly in their billets and take meals with the families. For a start, this rather haughtily assumed that those families would or could supply Christmas fare for comparative strangers and also took for granted that the soldiers would wish to remain in billets in such awkward circumstances. Yet the officers themselves had no doubt as to where they were going to spend the holiday.

     Of course, not all the men had gathered at the railway station, so volunteers offered to go to each CSM and pass on the good news: two-day leave had been granted to all. Thus, the remainder of the men would travel to town by the next train — as Tommy resolved to do.

     Hurrying back to Leigh Drive, he yelled the good news about Christmas leave to the few men he passed. Mrs Fluter, kindliest of women, said she could have managed easily had the lads been staying over the holiday and she thought her husband might even be disappointed that they were not to share the good times together [Tommy’s hosts had no children]. Tommy had not seen Churniston [with whom he shared the billet] since breakfast, but assumed he also would travel to London. No worry on that score, said Mrs F; she would tell him about the unexpected two days off.’

So Sam/Tommy caught the train and set off for home:

‘A few hours later, Tommy received cheerful greetings at home and found Ted already there, as he’d expected. “Bet your life I got on that first train,” he said. “We knew there would be nothing to do during Christmas, and no order had been given to forbid us leaving Bunbridge, so we were on our way regardless. The officers must have felt foolish when they realised they hadn’t given any instructions as to what we should do during the next two days. Still, who’s grumbling, eh?”’

All the best, and season’s finest— FSS

Next week: Christmas at home, 1914...