Wakefield in the Great War, page 19
Sandal was the first area to organise aid for the newcomers with a meeting in the Council School in early September to announce that two houses had been made available for refugees and asked local people for help in supporting them as Lady Kathleen Pilkington became president of the newly created Sandal Refugee Houses Committee. A fortnight later, what was described as a ‘magnificent’ meeting took place in the Corn Exchange when a request was made to the people of other parts of Wakefield to help. The Bishop of Wakefield took on the role of chairman of the War Refugees Committee based in the ‘War Refugees Office’ at County Hall which also administered Sir John Horsfall’s Belgian Refugee Fund. The first eighteen refugees arrived at Sandal Station on 31 September and were met by a substantial group including Lady Kathleen, the Bishop, and two Roman Catholic priests, Father Ruthven from St Austin’s, Wakefield, and Father Inkamp from Normanton, before being taken in private cars to stay initially at Woodlands. They were followed on 17 October by another group destined for homes in Ossett and were led in a procession behind the Ossett Brass Band to the Queen Street Primitive Methodist Sunday School. Fortunately, a local Catholic priest, Father Ryan, had spent time in Belgium and was able to act as an interpreter as the group settled in to their new homes. By the end of the month, Ossett had taken in seventy-five Belgians, most of whom were living in the school but a few lodged with local families. By October 1914 there were 114 refugees in the Wakefield area, with most in Ossett and twenty-five in Horbury, with some, like Percy Tew, at Heath Hall, offering homes to entire families. In other cases, houses were rented for them with volunteers providing furniture, clothing and financial support. A house in Albion Street was taken by the Wakefield Relief Committee with girls from the High School furnishing it and providing regular support for ‘their’ family.
Albion Street, home to Wakefield’s first Belgian refugees.
For a time, housing a refugee was fashionable and some were treated almost as pets. Local people were urged not to buy drinks for them because Belgians were thought to be unable to cope with the strength of British beer and concerns were raised about their diet. After all, Belgians were known to eat horse meat and local councillors struggled with the question of whether to allow some butchers to sell it because there were fears it might be passed off as beef. After a time, the standard joke between those who had housed their charges was to ask, ‘and how are your Belgian atrocities?’ and even as early as October 1914 the problem of what to do with them in the long term was on the minds of some. George Ellison wrote to the papers asking if German-owned businesses should be required to pay for upkeep of the refugees and others argued that they should find work or that the men should join the army.
The refugees had sometimes been carefully picked. Belgium’s mining communities had been badly affected and many pitworkers found themselves forced out of home by the fighting around the main coalfield areas, but unions in Britain had made it clear they would not be welcome if they tried to find work that could be done by a British miner. It was a tricky situation for the refugees to be in. On the one hand, their hosts soon became less enthusiastic about supporting the fit and healthy refugees financially when they were capable of working to support themselves, but at the same time they had been warned against taking jobs away from local people. Only after a great deal of debate was it agreed in December 1915 that ‘no further objection is to be raised by the Miners’ Federation of Great Britain to the employment of Belgians underground provided that they are practical miners, understand English and receive trade union rates of wages.’ Others found work in the munitions industry and were able to support themselves.
As news came back from France of the disastrous retreat from Mons, men flocked to the recruiting stations. Thousands enlisted, flooding the army’s training system but also emptying workplaces as young men, eager for adventure, joined up in droves. To try to manage the influx, army height and medical standards were increased, leaving hundreds of thousands of potential recruits with no option but to return home. Unfortunately, in the patriotic fervour sweeping the country, any military-age male not in uniform soon found himself accused of being a ‘shirker’. An ‘amusing, novel and forceful method of obtaining recruits for Lord Kitchener’s army’ was reported from the Kentish town of Deal, where on 2 September the Town Crier had announced the formation of the White Feather Brigade, a group dedicated to shaming young men into enlisting by handing out white feathers as a symbol of cowardice to any man wearing civilian clothes and soon young women were giving them to men on every street in the country.
Taken up with enthusiasm, the movement soon drew attention for the way young women had attempted to shame men just back from the war with serious wounds and on one occasion accused a man of cowardice the day after he had collected his gallantry medal from the King. In reality, there were many reasons why a young man might not be in uniform despite their best efforts to join up. Even a slight health problem could be a cause for rejection and, in industrial towns where poverty and malnutrition had left their mark, large numbers of potential recruits were simply not tall enough. There were other reasons, too. Specialist engineering and technical skills were needed in the war industries and so men who had enlisted were ‘fetched back’ to their day jobs, sometimes wearing their khaki uniforms to work. In Liverpool an entire battalion had been created by recruiting dockers who then went back to their normal work but as soldiers, and a similar battalion was formed in the KOYLI. To protect men who were more valuable at home than away in the forces, special ‘war service’ lapel badges were introduced by the government and soon employers began producing their own to try to ease the embarrassment many essential staff were being subjected to.
As tensions grew between those who had family serving and military-age men still at home, professional sportsmen found themselves at the centre of a growing argument. Was it right that fit young men were playing or watching games while their contemporaries were fighting for the country’s survival? Some believed that all professional sports should be cancelled immediately, others that they were ‘a national necessity’, vital for maintaining morale at home and in keeping with the government’s insistence that people should carry on as normal. Cricket and racing, both in mid-season in August 1914, were the first to come under criticism but both argued that they were contractually obliged to continue for the time being. By 1914, professional sports were big business and the Football Association fought hard on behalf of its members to argue that matches were ideal recruitment venues and so serving a useful purpose – itself supporting the view of opponents that footballers ought to set an example, not leave it to others to go in their place. Rules were hastily consulted and changed to allow players who did join to play for their units and even their clubs if they were based nearby but also to allow players to sign back up for their clubs after discharge from the army or navy, both previously forbidden.
Skilled workers were sometimes brought back to their old jobs to ensure vital military components could be produced.
The Yorkshire Rugby Union recommended that matches should be stopped in the county for the duration of the war but J.B. Cooke, Wakefield Trinity’s representative at the meeting argued, ‘It seems to me far better that the ordinary course be followed rather than the programme abandoned, more especially because of the effect on the public at large. The fact that so many have already volunteered for service is some evidence that the great bulk of players are prepared to do their duty and if others are required they will be in far better trim when wanted if they continue to play the game.’ Gates fell as men enlisted and by the end of the year, attendance at Trinity matches were half what would normally be expected. By the end of the season, 1,500 players of the Northern Union had enlisted, including Trinity’s captain, William Beattie, who had joined the KOYLI. When Beattie and Ernest Parkin returned to the side whilst on leave, officers of regiment appeared at the ground to recruit men.
After the controversial ‘Khaki Cup’ final between Sheffield United and Chelsea on 24 April 1915, professional soccer ended for the duration of the war. From then on, amateur matches were played and a very successful league of women players formed, but soccer players would no longer be paid anything more than basic expenses. In rugby, the decision to end competition lasted for a time but resumed for the 1916–17 season on the grounds that conscription had been introduced, and so both players and spectators were all men the army didn’t need. By then, Trinity were struggling with a £750 mortgage on their grounds and an income so low it barely covered expenses. Midseason it was announced that William Beattie had been killed in action.
From the start, the government had urged people to carry on as normally as possible. For local authorities that meant managing the already complex task of running a city whilst having their resources cut repeatedly. A great deal of responsibility fell on the shoulders of the corporation and especially the mayor, who was regarded as the town’s first citizen and chief magistrate and as such was expected to take the lead in the seemingly unending variety of extra committees needed to maintain it on a war footing. John William Saville, a Conservative who had been a councillor since 1898 and had been made an alderman in 1907, was in post when war broke out and it fell to him to head the various recruiting and fund raising campaigns that sprang up everywhere. It also fell to him to ensure that Wakefield ratepayers were not out of pocket because of the war. At a time when war news was scarce, the mayor was occupied with a complaint from the Cattle Market Committee on 2 September 1914 when the Market Superintendent reported that on 13 August a military column with horses, guns and ammunition were billeted in the market and the calf sheds and that some damage was done to the pens in the sheds. The superintendent was asked to assess the damage so a claim for compensation could be made. Two weeks later there was a need to find substitutes for the two masters at Queen Elizabeth Grammar who had enlisted, and an agreement was made to pay serving masters the difference between their army pay and their salary as teachers and to reemploy them on return at least at the salary they had on volunteering. Within weeks, he had overseen the huge recruiting rallies around the district and arranged for room to be provided at County Hall for various relief agencies providing support to the hospitals, soldiers and their families, Belgian refugees and a host of others. All fitted around the everyday issues of local government.
‘Flag Days’ became an increasingly common event as charity collectors, or ‘coppersnatchers’ as they became known, pinned small paper flags to the lapels of anyone who donated to causes ranging from Serbian relief to a Belgian hospital or for Wakefield Prisoners of War. On one occasion no fewer than 800 collectors took to the streets of Leeds to raise money for the RSPCA’s work with horses in use at the front. Although these collections raised thousands of pounds, in February 1917 the West Riding Standing Joint Committee met at Wakefield and proposed regulating flag day collections because of the ‘enormous amount of fraud that has gone on, not only under flag days but under cover of charitable contributions for war purposes by ill-disposed people who pocketed the greater part of the money.’ From then on, all collections would need to obtain the permission of the Chief Constable.
Most, of course, were genuine. The Wakefield Wesleyan Methodist Circuit provided a Buick motor ambulance which could carry four stretchers (or ‘lying men’ as the editor of the church magazine called them). They heard in August 1916 from a Methodist chaplain writing from the Somme that their vehicle was wearing well, despite heavy service. In July 1915 another ambulance, funded by Wakefield people in general and with Wakefield City inscribed on its side, was given to the Red Cross Society to take to France. Cigarettes were regarded as a necessity for men on active service and a collection at the Electric Theatre raised enough for 13,200 cigarettes and 5lbs of tobacco. In June 1915 Alice Fearn, aged of 30, was living with her widowed father in Wentworth Terrace, and began collecting money from her friends. Soon a committee was formed under the control of Mrs Haselgrave, wife of Lieutenant Colonel John Henry Haselgrave, the commanding officer of the Wakefield-based 1/4 Battalion of the KOYLI. By then they were able to supply up to 11,600 cigarettes and 3lb tobacco per week and noted that the men asked especially for Woodbines.
Another group of women gathered heather from the moors to be made up into sprays for buttonholes by children at Clarendon Street and Ings Road Schools and sold by them in the streets. The venture raised £60 for the cigarette fund which, by then was large enough to extend to include other KOYLI battalions. In March 1916 Lieutenant Colonel P. Kelly of the 6th battalion wrote to thank the women for consignment of 9,000 cigarettes received when the men were in ‘some very wet and particularly uncomfortable’ trenches. It was surprising, he said, how many men claimed to be from the ‘Merrie Citie’ when ‘smokes’ were handed out. From 1915, Wakefield Women’s Working League met regularly in the Zion Chapel assembly rooms in George Street to make articles of warm clothing for men on the hospital ship HMS Egmont and in addition to scarves, mittens and shirts, they sent packages of sweets and chocolate. Similar groups met at other churches and chapels with the Unitarians establishing a Knitting Circle of older girls from Sunday School who met on Tuesday evenings and Saturday afternoons to make socks, belts, scarves and other items for local soldiers, using yarn provided by Mrs Haselgrave and other benefactors.
Anxious to maintain morale among all their troops, the military authorities became concerned that some men received plentiful parcels of socks, shirts, tobacco and sweets whilst others, who had no benevolent home town, received none. Gradually a system was established with collection depots in each area and all the individuals and groups engaged in making or buying items were asked to send them to these depots. From there, they were sent to ‘comforts pools’ in every theatre of the war. The Director General of wartime voluntary organisations, Sir Edward Ward, explained to Wakefield’s mayoress that officers from any unit could then make their men’s needs known and would receive a prompt response. Inevitably, as time went on, a combination of compassion fatigue and shortages of just about everything meant that donations began to wane. In January 1916, the Unitarian chapel’s knitting circle produced six pillow cases and three pairs of bedsocks to VAD hospital along with five pairs socks, four balaclava helmets and four pairs of mittens, given to Mrs Haselgrave for KOYLI. That November, chapel minutes recorded ‘There have been retiring collections since last Sunday in October to provide gifts for the chapel men in the army and navy. Only two guineas so far. Not nearly enough.’
Life went on as normally as possible. In November 1914, A.C. Snawston-Thomas, of Leeds, married Louise Firth at St Andrew’s Church ‘quietly, because of the war’ during a 48-hour leave pass from his Doncaster-based Field Ambulance unit. As they prepared to go abroad, hundreds of young men hurriedly married their sweethearts and in December 1915, after a year of bad news, newspapers around the world seized on an item in the Daily Mirror of 27 December announcing the fairy tale story of the secret marriage in October of Rowland Winn, heir to Nostell Priory, to ‘one of the most beautiful and charming chorus girls on the London stage’, Eva Carew, and boasting that ‘not even the bridegroom’s nearest relatives were aware of the romance and will probably learn of it for the first time this morning.’
Rowland, serving with the Coldstream Guards, had obtained a special licence for them to marry at St Saviour’s Church in Paddington, but the wedding was a near disaster. Firstly the best man, Captain Wentworth of the Royal Flying Corps, was planning to fly to London from his home defence base but was delayed and couldn’t make it in time. Next, after waiting 25 minutes for the couple to arrive the vicar decided they’d changed their minds. The couple, ‘smiling and happy’, arrived to find he had left a few minutes before. Fortunately, the vestry clerk was still there. He leapt into Rowland’s car to search for someone to perform the ceremony and found the Reverend G.S. Clarke, who agreed to officiate. Despite the Mirror’s claims, the wedding was witnessed by Rowland’s father (‘Occupation: Peer of the Realm’) and Eva – married under her real name of Nellie Green – was escorted by her father Charles (Occupation: ‘Gentleman’). In fact, Charles was a restaurant manager and her sister was married to a miner, making Nellie of a very different social class to that of her new husband. Such weddings were not unknown and indeed the year before Earl Cowley had married actress Mae Pickard, and 1913 had seen no fewer than three peers, Lord Paget, the Duke of Leinster and Viscount Dunsford marry showgirls – but Rowland was making a very big decision by taking her for his wife.
Nellie Green, aka Eva Carew, showgirl turned society lady.
Shortly after Lord Victor Paget married Olive May, a damning article appeared in The Throne (unofficial journal of the royal household), explaining the need for the aristocracy to ‘Prevent Hereditary Peers from Debasing Their Blood.’ According to the writer, ‘the very existence of the lords as anything but a mockery and a laughing stock – is threatened by a development of recent years which every day grows to greater and more menacing proportions. We refer to the increasing number of unions between hereditary peers and ladies of inferior station – mesalliances which strike at the very heart of the whole reason d’etre of the House of Lords.’
On the one hand telling readers ‘we have nothing to say personally derogatory to any of these ladies. On the contrary, we congratulate them most heartily upon the enterprise and ability that has enabled them to rise above the status of life to which they were born.’ That said, it went on, ‘that you cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear is a principle that has been admitted since the earliest times … Pure blood is always a most salient factor in the selection of leaders of men, and has been so recognized all through history. And in the case of hereditary peerages which entitle the holders to a seat in the House of Lords, it is not merely a valuable qualification, but the sole valid one. Therefore the peer who has sullied the blood of his family and of his descendants should be ipso facto debarred, him and his heirs, from sitting in the Lords’. In other words, Rowland was risking his entire future and bringing shame to his family by marrying his ‘uncommonly beautiful’ new wife. A ban on actresses at Court meant his new wife could never accompany him to the formal royal events which he, as an officer in the Brigade of Guards would be expected to attend and so he resigned his commission in order to join his friend Captain Wentworth in the Royal Flying Corps, completing his training and being promoted to Captain by mid-1916.
