Wakefield in the Great War, page 22
To fill the gaps in the line, military regulations were changed. Previously, no-one could legally serve overseas until he reached the age of 19. It was agreed as a temporary measure that this could be reduced by six months, provided the soldier had at least six months of training behind him. In France, 2/4 KOYLI, now made up largely of teenage conscripts, hurriedly brought over to reinforce the losses of the March Offensive, went into intensive training behind the lines and then were moved by train via Paris to the Champagne region, where German forces had reached the river Marne and were threatening Paris. In heavy fighting likened by some to jungle warfare, they recaptured the thick forests and open fields as the trench stalemate finally began to break. Over late July and early August the Germans were pushed back from the Marne and all along the Western Front the British pressed home attack after attack, beating back the enemy in a series of spectacular victories until finally, the Germans sued for peace. An Armistice came into force at 11.00am on 11 November 1918. At precisely that time, the guns fell silent. In one sector held by the KOYLI, a German machine gun fired one last burst before its crew stood, saluted the men they had been firing at and then turned their backs and slowly walked away.
The manpower shortage became so severe that in 1918 the age for overseas service was reduced from 19 to 18½.
Major S.G. Beaumont, of 2/4 KOYLI wrote to his wife: ‘Sweetheart – well it has come at last. The day we have always longed for, for four weary years. I got it over the ’phone today at 9.15am from Brigade. It’s surprising how we all took it. Practically no excitement – I suppose really our feelings are too deep. We are carrying on just as usual. I’ve been writing my history of the last battle. I suppose really it’s a greater relief to you than me. I ought to be, and am, very thankful I’ve come through.’ Elsewhere, Major Lancelot Spicer, serving in 9 KOYLI, noted:
Armistice Day, November 11 1918
South of Maubeuge
Troops marching along the roads by platoons at intervals – a fresh autumn day. An early telegram has given the expected news ‘operations will cease at 11a.m.’ The men cannot grasp it – they have become so used to this soldier life, so numbed to endurance that they find it hard to believe they can live otherwise. At 11 o’clock, under orders (and for that reason only!) the troops are halted and give three cheers – but there is no enthusiasm. Of course they are glad it is all over – but they do not realise it. And that was the end of the greatest war that history has ever known.
In many cases, the end of the war seemed almost an anticlimax. Those who were teenagers or in their early twenties had been soldiers for their whole adult life. There were strong calls from ordinary soldiers for the advance to continue into Germany itself, that British troops should march through Berlin. With British industry and its workforce almost exhausted and the economy virtually bankrupted by war loans, that would never happen. The only men to march through Berlin’s streets were German, and soon a myth began to grow that the German army had not been defeated, it had been stabbed in the back by weak politicians and their Jewish paymasters. A twice decorated former corporal in the 16th Bavarian Reserve Regiment eagerly adopted the view and began his rise to power. Hitler had seen his company reduced from 250 to sixty-two men in the first few months of the war and had served throughout, lying wounded in a hospital bed when the end came. ‘When I was confined to bed, the idea came to me that I would liberate Germany, that I would make it great. I knew immediately that it would be realized.’ For now, though, Germany lay humiliated.
In the wake of an influenza outbreak earlier in the year, Dr Hartley, medical superintendent of the Normanton and District Joint Isolation Hospital, had told the committee that quinine and cinnamon had both been put forward as a cure but in his opinion, a ban on the ‘pernicious habit of kissing would be more efficacious. Probably the unnecessary amount of kissing prevalent today might be attributed to a flood of sentiment let loose by the war. In urgent cases, where total abolition would be a hardship, a small book of kissing coupons could be allowed provided that proper antiseptic precautions were taken.’ As another, far more deadly outbreak swept the nation, all children were banned from any place of entertainment for two weeks in an attempt to limit contact with others, but news of the Armistice far outweighed people’s fears and celebratory kisses were showered on servicemen as news reached home that the war was finally over.
Early on 11 November, news that the Germans had agreed a ceasefire at 5.00am to come into force at 11.00 began to circulate and as the hour approached, crowds began to gather outside the post office and those of the local newspaper, eager for the first confirmation that the war was truly over. ‘At Wakefield, the Town Hall bell was rung, and later the residents heard with delight the Cathedral peal. The streets were quickly thronged with people. Practically all the works and places of business closed at noon and the school children were given a half-holiday. All the streets were decked with flags and streamers’. In the afternoon, ‘citizens gathered in force in front of the Town Hall where a short Thanksgiving service was held … The Mayor (Mr E. Blakey) said this was the greatest day that England ever knew – the day we had been looking forward to throughout all those black years. They were there that day to thank God they did not hoist the white flag. (Cheers). Britain and the Allies had been fighting for justice and for honourable peace and, above all, for freedom’.
For every man, woman and child, there was a pause as the enormity of the news sank in. For four years, the war had been at the centre of everyday life. Everything had revolved around it from the meagre breakfast rationing allowed to the long hours worked to keep the front supplied to the after work trip to the pub. DORA had governed so much of life but if the country was no longer under attack, was the Defence of the Realm Act still needed? The situation was perhaps best summed up by an officer who described his men’s reaction: ‘The quiet manner in which the troops received the news of an Armistice was remarkable,’ he said. ‘Their attitude, their conversation, all expressed the question, ‘‘And what happens now?’’’
It was a reasonable question. Within weeks, men in the forces and their families at home were becoming restless. They had signed on for the ‘duration of war’ and now it was over, they wanted to get on with their lives. Protests and ‘soldier strikes’ broke out in camps across England and France over the delay in releasing men back to civilian life. The Russian Revolution had created an atmosphere of fear across Europe and the British government were no exception. British troops were already deployed in Russia as part of an international force sent to help fight the Bolsheviks in an attempt to prevent the spread of communism to other countries but fears were growing of some sort of revolution in Britain. The Volunteer Training Corps, formed as an amateur Home Guard, had developed into a well trained and reliable force. The threat of invasion was gone but the force was not stood down, kept on hand in case of serious disturbances at home by Socialists inspired by the Russian example. Strikes across the country involved workers and even the police and a protest march of thousands of soldiers was stopped outside London by other soldiers armed with rifles and bayonets.
The survivors of Wakefield’s Territorials marched across the German border at Christmas 1918. It was to be a limited occupation along the Rhine partly to demonstrate victory and partly to act as a buffer in case peace talks broke down. Orders issued to the KOYLI warned that ‘if peace negotiations fail, notice of the termination of the Armistice in 72 hours will be given to the Germans. The day on which the Armistice ceases will be called ‘‘J’’ Day.’ In other words, the war could resume at any moment. At the same time, over 8 million men had served in the forces in the previous four years and getting them back into civilian life could not be accomplished overnight. Many had left their jobs to enlist and would be unemployed when they got home. Priority had to go to those who could administer the system, those who had jobs to go back to and those who would be of more value at home. Those who enlisted in 1914 thought they should be given priority regardless of their circumstances, those conscripted in 1918 argued they had been called up only for the period of hostilities. Attempting to calm the situation, the German-born Secretary of State For War, Lord Milner, explained that people should; ‘Remember that, though the fighting may have ceased, all is not yet over. Impatience and over haste might yet rob us of all that four long years of unexampled struggle and sacrifice have won. We have yet to make a just, strong and enduring peace. When the representatives of Great Britain go to the Council table to negotiate that peace, they must not have a disarmed and disunited nation behind them. If we are all at sixes and sevens at home, if what remains of our Army is not compact, disciplined, orderly, we shall never get the sort of peace, which we justly expect. The world, which is still in many parts seething with disorder, may not settle down for years, or let us get back to normal life and work in safety and tranquillity … Our guiding principle was to demobilise in the way most likely to lead to the steady resumption of industry, and to minimise the danger of unemployment. Pivotal men first, basic industries like coal mining before those of less vital importance. In each industry those men first, who were assured of immediate employment. Subject to these ruling principles, we want to release the older men, and those of longest service, before the younger ones. That is the general idea. I don’t say that it can ever be perfectly executed. Certainly the execution isn’t perfect yet. When the huge engine began to move, some defects immediately appeared in the machinery. These are being remedied. Some officials may have been stupid or obstructive. I am afraid, where thousands of people have to co-operate, there will always be a good sprinkling of muddlers. But when all is said and done the big engine is moving. It is moving at a steadily increasing pace.’
Wakefield Territorials were among the few British troops to enter Germany in 1918 as a deterrent in case peace talks broke down.
Slowly, things began to return to some sort of normality. The Food Control Committee remained in operation, but the good news was that tea had been removed from the ration in December. Supplies began to get back to normal and men started to come home. But that brought its own problems: they needed jobs but the end of the war meant an end to munitions work and it would take time for peacetime production to resume. War workers were being laid off with a promise of a few weeks’ pay to tide them over and those jobs still available were often being done by women. Former munitionette Helen Bagnall of Castleford wrote to the papers to complain that one of her colleagues had told her: ‘I am ashamed to let it be known that I have worked at Barnbow because wherever we go in the town we are jeered at, sneered at and insulted by men because they say we have no right to the Government’s promise of 3s-9d a day for a few weeks or until we can find employment.’ Surely, she argued, the men would not begrudge them thirteen weeks of pay until they could find work elsewhere.
Then on 28 June, exactly five years after that fateful shot was fired in Sarajevo, a peace treaty was signed at Versailles. The war was over. Unlike the Armistice, the celebrations that followed were organised and lavish. ‘The Peace celebrations at Wakefield,’ reported the Yorkshire Evening Post, ‘are to extend from the 12th to the 19th inst. The streets in the vicinity of the Town Hall are to be decorated and also the route of the procession to the park. Bands will play in various parts of the city during Saturday morning and all places of business will be closed for the day… In Clarence Park a gala is to be held, and also a baby show. On the following Tuesday the school children will be given tea at their schools and will afterwards attend sports. Three thousand demobilized men are to be entertained to dinner in batches of 600 nightly on the five nights during Peace Week and a smoking concert is to follow.’ Trams were to run as usual but workers would get double pay and a day in lieu. A tree was to be planted in commemoration of the event and a special medal was awarded by the City to all its returned men who had endured imprisonment in Germany as Prisoners of War. Local MP Colonel Sir E.A. Brotherton presented 8,000 local children with a bank book, each containing a deposit of a shilling to start their savings.
Amongst the frivolity, there were serious issues to be addressed. Wakefield were due to play cricket against Cleckheaton in the Heavy Woollen District Challenge Cup and wanted to field the son of the Bishop of Wakefield, who had recently joined the club. He had played cricket at public school before the war but had joined the forces at the start of the war, now almost five years earlier, at the age of 16. He had been discharged only a few days before the committee met. The problem was whether he should be eligible to play. The rules said no and the committee would not budge until a compromise was reached; Wakefield would have to ask Cleckheaton if they were willing to let him play.
For a week, the joy of having survived the past few years surfaced but as the Knottingley Express put it: ‘… beneath the gaiety of the crowd there was the shadow of the absence of the departed, and it was to be noted as the procession passed that there were glistening eyes of mother, widow, sister, or sweetheart in window and doorway. It was, after all, a day of grief and remembrance for some.’ Even as the Peace Week was still going on, the West Riding War Pension Committee met at Wakefield to discuss what would be a reasonable quota of disabled men in each type of workplace. Within a week of the celebrations, 250,000 miners across the country were on strike. Unusually, the strike had spread to the men who operated safety precautions to maintain the pits and the Chicago Tribune of 24 July reported that seven pits were already flooded, with a dozen more at serious risk if pumps were not started within 48 hours. The government response was to send in Royal Navy stokers to man the pumps and prevent flooding. Fearing reprisals, it also sent in armed troops to protect the sailors. They were not needed – even the most militant of the strikers knew that once a pit flooded it was lost and that attacking the sailors would mean the loss of their livelihoods so relations were generally good. It would set the pattern for the coming years. Britain had been almost bankrupted by fighting the war but its people had fought in the belief of a better future. That future, it was hoped, included a better deal for all – the problem was how to deliver it.
In 1920, a town meeting heard suggestions for how to honour the war dead. Plans were put forward for a new bridge over the Calder, a museum and art gallery, homes for disabled soldiers, the restoration of the Chantry, the purchase of old buildings and their restoration, a civic building, a club, a nurse’s home. Everyone, it seemed, had a different idea and not all seemed to be putting commemoration of the war first. In the end, on Sunday, 13 November 1921, Alderman Blakey and members of the Corporation attended a service at Wakefield Cathedral in memory of all who had fallen in the war. It was followed by the unveiling of Wakefield’s own cenotaph in the grounds of Clayton Hospital. It soon lay bedecked in flowers and wreaths. As the nation began to look ahead, there were still 122 soldier patients held in the Pauper Asylum at Wakefield, their only reward for their service the 2s-6d a week for special comforts and a promise that they would not end up in a pauper’s grave.
Wakefield’s War Memorial.
The men, women and children who survived those tumultuous years are almost all gone. Soon, no child will ever again have chance to speak to someone who was alive when the events of this book took place but hopefully, from time to time, someone will look at Wakefield’s stark memorial and pause. The homes those men lived in, the pubs they drank in, the shops they visited and the parks they played in are all still here. Away from the traffic and the hustle and bustle of modern life, somewhere at the edge of hearing, the voices of a lost generation can still be heard by those willing to listen.
Select Bibliography
Anon, German Prisoners in Great Britain (Tillotson & Son, c.1916).
Clayton, D., From Pontefract to Picardy (Tempus, 2004).
Ministry of Munitions, History of the Ministry of Munitions (HMSO, 1922).
Johnson, M.K., Saturday Soldiers (Doncaster Museum Service, 2004).
Johnson, M.K., Surely we are Winning? (Propagator Press, 2007).
Magnus, L., West Riding Territorials in the Great War (Kegan Paul Trench Trubner & Co., 1920).
Pearce, C., Comrades in Conscience (Francis Boutle, 2001).
Scott, W.H., Leeds in the Great War (Leeds Libraries and Arts Committee, 1923).
Wyrall, E., The History of the 62nd (West Riding) Division 1914–1919 (Bodley Head, 1928).
Newspapers:
Daily Mirror
Dewsbury Reporter
Huddersfield Daily Examiner
Huddersfield Weekly Examiner
Ossett Observer
Pontefract and Castleford Express
Wakefield Express
Yorkshire Post
Tim Lynch, Wakefield in the Great War
