CHAPTER 1
Recruiting Women:
Sending the Boys, Knitting for the Boys, Writing for the Boys
âWe answer not the call to Arms, we answer the call toâŚâ
(Mrs Peel)
On a late July evening in 1914, Nursing Sister Violetta Thurstan attended a military tattoo on Salisbury Plain. It was, she wrote at the time, âone of those breathless evenings in July when the peace of Europe was trembling in the balance, and when most of us had a heartache in case England, at this time of international crisis, did not rise to the supreme sacrifice.â. The evening of military displays, riding demonstrations and massed bands drew to its close, âThe Last Post followed,â and, as the notes rose into the sky, this was the moment when, âI think somehow we all knewâ.
Hilda Sebastian wrote home on 26 July 1914 from her boarding-school, Wycombe Abbey, in Buckinghamshire, âthe soldiers all came to church this morning.â Reflecting decades later, she believed that with the pending school holidays, âThe appearance of the soldiers held little significance for me then,â although her 3 August diary entry reads, âNo one talks of anything but the war. What is England going to do?â
Sixteen-year-old Clare Leighton was unaware of âwhat was happening in the worldâ beyond Suffolk; the war only impinged on her consciousness when her 18-year-old brother Roland âbecame a Second Lieutenant and disappeared to a camp.â In Buxton, Roland Leightonâs contemporary and friend, Vera Brittain, was recording events in her diary. On 3 August she states that if England remains neutral, âwe should be guilty of the grossest treacheryâ; the following day she concludes, âthis war is a matter of life and death to us.â
Twenty-four hours earlier, near Westroosebeke, Belgium, Martha Cnockaertâs father had, âburst into the kitchen of our old farmhouse. âThe Germans have invaded Belgium,â he breathed.â Left to the mercy of the Germans by the retreating Belgian Army, Marthaâs home was set alight by the invaders, âWe stared fascinated [at the conflagration] till my mother gave a moan like an animal in pain, then we slowly walked into Westroosebecke.â
With Belgium invaded, many in Britain wondered, âWhen are we going in?â During the evening of 4 August 1914, the answer came. Many of the thousands of citizens who gathered around Buckingham Palace to cheer the King and Queen felt, like 17-year-old subsequent Voluntary Aid Detachment (VAD) nurse Angela Trotter, âfrightfully excitedâ, âthinking it was splendid that we were going into the war.â
May Cannan, Quartermaster in the Oxfordshire VAD, realised that for women this was âour war tooâ. In the north of England, 16-year-old farm worker Olive Taylor remained oblivious to what was happening, âEngland had been at war three months before I knew. I was in domestic service on a farm near the River Humber and one day as I was attending to the ducklings a shell whizzed over my head from the direction of the river.â This was the first she knew about a war in which she would be closely involved.
Britainâs last European War had ended in 1815, 99 years ago. Popular opinion â if not Lord Kitchenerâs â was that this one would be âover by Christmasâ. As the 120,000 men of the Regular Army which formed the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) mobilised, swiftly followed by the Territorial Army, one army wife knew she would ânever forget the almost unending roar of troop trains on the way to Southampton. My husband was one of the first to go.â Another woman sat at a station, âwatching trains full of soldiers go past. Suddenly I felt the tears come⌠all those men⌠those boysâ. A young girl living close to where one Division was camping and who had friends in the regiment âgot a telephone message to say that they were off that night⌠There was no time for more than the most hurried farewellâ. However, most citizens with no obvious connection to the Army knew little about how, or even when, the Army would arrive in the field; heavily censored newspapers were not enlightening.
On 18 August The Times finally lifted the veil of secrecy which had surrounded the BEFâs movements, announcing, âBRITISH ARMY IN THE FIELDâ. Hints of the desperate situation developing across the Channel emerged when, on 25 August, news broke of 2,000 casualties already sustained. The Sunday Timesâ 30 August headline was stark, âMORE MEN NEEDEDâ. By the end of the first three weeks of war, the Press Bureau announced losses of 5,000 to 6,000 men. On 3 September, Vera Brittain noted a âcall for 500,000 men to armsâ. Yet, after the initial rush to the recruiting stations, by mid-September volunteer numbers began to dwindle. Nonetheless, casualties had to be quickly replaced.
âOne Word From YOU and Heâll Goâ
In a nation with no history of conscription and a small Regular Army suffering devastating casualties and rapidly falling enlistment rates, the women of the British Empire would also be conscripted, not into the Army, but into encouraging, coercing, and indeed even humiliating men into enlisting.
As early as 30 August 1914 Admiral Charles Penrose Fitzgerald organised 30 women in Folkestone to distribute white feathers to men not in uniform. As members of the Order of the White Feathers their mission was to shame men into enlisting or fear being branded a coward. The Daily Mail enthusiastically reported their activities, hoping, like Fitzgerald, that the gesture would âshame every young slackerâ into enlisting. The generally female white feather distributors achieved much notoriety by frequently misjudging their targets: stories of men on leave, wounded, or in reserved occupations being handed these odious symbols abound.
How many women were actively involved in the Order of the White Feather is impossible to establish, but the numbers are almost certainly lower than popular history leads people to believe. Although in Three Guineas Virginia Woolf argues that the numbers were infinitesimal, the Imperial War Museum (IWM) Collections indicate that, whilst not widespread, there were more than Woolfâs supposed âfifty or sixtyâ. White feathers continued to feature in stories in popular womenâs magazines long after the introduction of conscription, which should have laid the campaign to rest; the IWM has records of a few being distributed even in 1918. Knowledge of the White Feather Campaign remains alive and well in the collective imagination, even in the twenty-first century. The popular television series Downton Abbey featured white feather women in an episode relating to World War One.
On 4 September 1914, Baroness Orczy, author of The Scarlet Pimpernel, addressed an appeal âTo the Women of Englandâ, telling them that if any of them were wondering, âWhat can I do?â the answer was simple, âGive your sons and sweetheartsâ. Orczy made it plain:
I want your men, your sweethearts, your brothers, your sons, your friends. Will you use your influence that they should respond one and all⌠to my crying need? ⌠[Mothers] your sons cannot stand aside any longer⌠you his mother will be ashamed to look all the brave English men and women in the face.
Would-be adherents had to complete a form, and, if they included 2d in stamps, they would receive a badge and their name placed on the Active Service Leagueâs âRoll of Honourâ. Women had to pledge to âpersuade every man I know to offer his services to his country and never to be seen in public with⌠any man who has refused to respond to his countryâs call.â The response was relatively unenthusiastic: only about 20,000 women, as opposed to the 100,000 Orczy wanted, subscribed within the first week.
Newspapers also encouraged women to undertake the recruiting sergeantsâ work â frequently publishing material by contributors who felt that a manâs duty was to don khaki. A 29 August 1914 letter to The Times reminded every âEnglish Girlâ that she would âgive good help to her country by shunning a man, be he âlover, brother, friendâ who did not âtake up armsâ. In December 1914, the Contemporary Review advised girls to âcut the acquaintanceâ of any sweetheart not in khaki. On 8 July 1915 âEthel Mâ informed âJack Gâ, via a letter to The Times, that âif you are not in khaki by the 20th I shall cut you dead.â Although we cannot know if âEthel Mâ really existed, it was sufficient that contemporary readers believed that she did.
The press did not depend solely on letter-writers to swell the ranks. The Daily Mail initiated its own campaigns; one which achieved notoriety used music halls, popular long before the War and renowned for the singing of patriotic songs. It commissioned prolific lyricist and composer Paul Ruben to write a womenâs recruiting song to be sung nightly in âMusic Halls, cinemas and theatres in the West Endâ. The resulting âYour King and Country Want Youâ first appeared in print on 12 September 1914, having been successfully sung in Bournemouth the previous week. Profits from its 1s 1d sale (equivalent to about ÂŁ2.50 in 2013) were donated to the Queenâs Work for Women Fund and by November it had run into a fifth edition. According to the commissioning newspaper, there was hardly a home in the country without a copy and, âall those who have heard it believe it will act as a powerful aid to recruitment.â The newspaper patriotically waived its performance fee.
From mid-September a list of venues where it would be sung and the relevant artistes appeared in the paper â arguably this alerted the White Feather distributors, as the performance ended with those who did not show themselves ready to enlist being handed a feather, frequently by children. Social commentator Mrs Peel noted in How We Lived Then, âIt seems strange that a call to a man perhaps to give his life, in any event to face almost unbelievable horror, did not incite words of more dignity.â Judging by the songâs appeal, many disagreed with her.
Although sung by female artistes, other stridently pro-enlistment songs were also written by men. Arthur Wimperis and Herman Finckâs âIâll Make A Man of Youâ was widely sung in music halls, both to drive up recruitment numbers and raise funds. Vesta Tilley, one of the biggest stars of the day, was closely associated with such songs; she frequently strode on to the stage dressed as a Tommy wishing, âJolly good luck to the girl who loves a soldier,â and drumming up recruits.
In this context, the story of mill worker Kitty Morter (sic Eckersley, IWM Sound Recordings 4089) is simply told. A recently married young couple, Kitty and Percy Morter went to their local music hall. Army officers were also on stage. To Kittyâs distress, when Vesta Tilley marched up and down the auditorium, encouraging men to enlist, Percy was one of many who fell in behind. She remembered, âWhen we got home that night I was terribly upset.â To no avail. Lance Corporal Percy Morter was killed on 7 July 1916, leaving Kitty pregnant with their first child. In Vestaâs defence, she became closely involved with morale-boosting concerts, performed for soldiers in military hospitals and raised thousands of pounds through her appearances in charity shows for hospital and rehabilitation funds.
Mothers were also directly targeted in songs: F.V. St Clairâs 1914 âFollow the Drumâ, subtitled âEvery Motherâs Son is Ready to Carry the Gunâ (with profits mounting apparently to over ÂŁ1,000 given to various âRelief Fundsâ), combines âMother Englandâ and Englandâs mothers whose patriotic sons will, in the words of the chorus, âbe ready to carry a gunâ. A number of mothers felt that their sons should indeed carry a gun and the question of whether an individual should enlist could divide neighbours and families.
In Buxton on 9 August 1914, Vera Brittain reports how their neighbour Mrs Ellinger was, âquite rude to Mother⌠Maurice [her son] intended signing on for 3 years.â On 3 September, Vera noted her fatherâs reluctance for his son [Edward] to enlist. Mr Brittain was subjected to considerable pressure from Edward, âMother and I [who] tried to make him see it from the point of view of honour.â Mrs Brittain wrote to one of her husbandâs business partners âasking him to use his influence over Daddyâ. This conflict was a major preoccupation for the Brittain family: âwe all discussed again Daddyâs refusalâ, and the debate stretched beyond the four walls of the Brittainsâ home. âWe saw Mrs Ellinger later & she seems very strongly to disapprove of Daddy.â Further pressure is put on Mr Brittain during a discussion of a letter in The Times âof a mother who said to her hesitating son, âMy boy I donât want you to go, but if I were you I shouldâ.â Eventually, bowing to female pressure, Mr Brittain relented, âEdward may enlist although he wishes it to be known that this is âin direct opposition to my wishesâ.â
The subtext of Mrs Ellingerâs disdain was undoubtedly the idea that Maurice was protecting the Brittain family â something that posters and pamphlets soon conveyed to women, especially mothers. In wartime, mothers willing to offer their sons to the nation in her time of need can be portrayed as selfless and patriotic; those who âexpect other Mothersâ sonsâ to defend her and hers are condemned as unpatriotic and selfish. One early pamphlet exhorted mothers to âGive Your Sonsâ, thereby proving that they were the âright sort of Mother for Old Englandâ.
A 1915 recruiting leaflet blends ideas of civic and maternal responsibilities, âOne word from YOU and he will go.â Others, such as the leaflet asking the âWomen of Londonâ, âIs your âBest Boyâ wearing Khaki? If not, donât YOU THINK he should be?â implied that a man who âneglects his duty to his King and Country,â might well âNEGLECT YOUâ.
Posters directly addressing mothersâ psychological power over men soon entered the fray. According to social commentator Caroline Playne in Society at War, recruiting messages were âproclaimed on all available wall spacesâ in the âmost soul-convincing way.â One that has achieved a measure of notoriety is the Essex Recruiting Committee poster, âGo! Itâs Your Duty, Lad, Join Today.â The motherâs pointed arm makes it plain to her seemingly reluctant son where his duty lies. Inevitably, not all mothers were convinced. In Essex, Alexandra Grantham saw war as âdepriving the mother of ownership in what so essentially belongs to her, the children to whom she has given birth.â Although her published writings make her own views clear, she may have concealed these from her sons, one an officer in the Essex Regiment, the other in the Hussars.
Another widely reproduced Parliamentary Recruiting Committee poster, E.V. Kealeyâs âWomen of Britain âSay Goâ,â appeared in May 1915 when recruitment numbers were dwindling. Its sentimental image of a mother gazing out of the window as soldiers march by, whilst clutching her two children, is amongst the warâs most famous and also ambiguous posters. There is a wistful resignation on the womanâs face; she may accept the need for the men to go, yet there is little obvious enthusiasm or jingoism, more an acceptance of the necessity. Women who, embarrassingly, had no sons to give could nevertheless do their duty, as another 1915 poster addressed âTo the Women of Britainâ makes plain: âYou can prove your love for your country by persuading them to go.â
During the first two years, just under three million men volunteered to serve in the British Armed Forces. Such numbers joining of their own free will represented a considerable achievement. Whilst the majority enlisted out of a sense of duty and patriotism, some admitted to being âshamedâ into volunteering â and were resentful of those who had coerced them. Nevertheless, the numbers of volunteers remained insufficient. On 28 December 1915, according to Caroline Playne, the âlong drawn-out controversy, round which all the emotionalism that could be spared from actual war measures⌠drew to its close.â On this historic day, âstatesmen whittl[ed] away [one of Englandâs] three greatest institutions, free military service.â The Cabinet had decided to âintroduce a measure of compulsion for military service.â
This opened the way for the January 1916 Military Service Act and the conscription, initially of single men aged between 18 and 41, and married men soon after. Writing on 9 January 1916, Kate Courtney felt that âthe outlook seemed very black â a bitter contest against conscription added to the fierce war, perhaps a beginning of social strife which we fear will follow this war.â
In the Dominions, the need for more men was also urgent and governments considered their options. After intensive campaigning, in August 1917, the Canadian Government voted in favour of the introduction of conscription â a move that deeply divided the broadly pro-English and anti-French-speaking Canadians. Meanwhile, in Australia, full conscription was attempted twice via plebiscites. The first in October 1916 was narrowly defeated: 51 per cent of Australians voted âNoâ. A second plebiscite was scheduled in December 1917.
Inevitably both sides used posters and leaflets to gain support. Constructed to prey on the Australian malesâ sense of masculinity, one striking leaflet reminded readers how the [British] Womenâs Auxiliary Army Corps were âdoing work in the shell-swept zone,â in order to release soldiers for âthe grim work of the trenchesâ. The message from the Australian Government to both women and men was clear, they should give âAn Overwhelming Yesâ in the forthcoming plebiscite. A slightly increased majority of Australians disagreed; this time just under 54 per cent of the population remained opposed. Australian soldiers would finish the War as they had begun, as proud volunteer members of the Australian Imperial Force. Although it would continue for Australian women, by early 1916, British womenâs task as recruiters was done.
âItâs not a sock sheâs knitting itâs a web of love for himâ
Lord Kitchenerâs pointing finger telling men, âYour Country Needs Youâ, has become one of the iconic images of the War. Women who wished to contribute their services to the war effort being advised to âGo home and knit socksâ has similarly entered into popular imagination. Less well known is how, requiring 300,000 pairs of socks by November 1914, Lord Kitchener and Queen Mary called upon the women of the British Empire to knit them â and Kitchener gave his name to a stitch which ensured that toes and heels we...