Now all roads lead to France and heavy is the tread
Of the living; but the dead returning lightly dance.
Edward Thomas, Roads

Friday, February 7, 2020

A Wounded Ernest Hemingway Writes Home: A Roads Classic

While he was recuperating from his wounds in Milan, Ernest Hemingway wrote this letter to his parents.

Ernest Hemingway Recuperating in Milan

18 October 1918

Dear Folks:


Your letter of September 24 with the pictures came today, and, family, I did admire to hear from you. And the pictures were awfully good. I guess everybody in Italy knows that I have a kid brother. If you only realized how much we appreciate pictures, pop, you would send 'em often. Of yourselves and the kids and the place and the bay—they are the greatest cheer producers of all, and everybody likes to see everybody else's pictures. 

You, dad, spoke about coming home. I wouldn't come home till the war was ended if I could make fifteen thousand a year in the States—nix. Here is the place. All of us Red Cross men here were ordered not to register. It would be foolish for us to come home because the Red Cross is a necessary organization and they would just have to get more men from the States to keep it going. Besides we never came over here until we were all disqualified for military service, you know. It would be criminal for me to come back to the States now. I was disqualified before I left the States because of my eye. I now have a bum leg and foot and there isn't any army in the world that would take me. But I can be of service over here and I will stay her just as long as I can hobble and there is a war to hobble to. And the ambulance is no slacker's job. We lost one man, killed, and one wounded in the last two weeks. And when you are holding down a front line canteen job, you know you have just the same chances as the other men in the trenches and so my conscience doesn't bother me about staying.

Three Views of Hemingway in Italy.  Right Image Is After Hospital Discharge

I would like to come home and see you all, of course. But I can't until after the war is finished. And that isn't going to be such an awful length of time. There is nothing for you to worry about, because it has been fairly conclusively proved that I can't be bumped off. And wounds don't matter. I wouldn't mind being wounded again so much because I know just what it is like. And you can only suffer so much, you know, and it does give you an awfully satisfactory feeling to be wounded. It's getting beaten up in a good cause. There are no heroes in this war. We all offer our bodies and only a few are chosen, but it shouldn't reflect any special credit on those that are chosen. They are just the lucky ones. I am very proud and happy that mine was chosen, but it shouldn't give me any extra credit. Think of all the thousands of other boys that offered. All the heroes are dead. And the real heroes are the parents. Dying is a very simple thing. I've looked at death and really I know. If I should have died it would have been very easy for me. Quite the easiest thing I ever did. But the people at home do not realize that. They suffer a thousand times more. When a mother brings a son into the world she must know that some day the son will die, and the mother of a man that has died for his country should be the proudest woman in the world, and the happiest. And how much better to die in all the happy period of undisillusioned youth, to go out in a blaze of light, than to have your body worn out and old and illusions shattered. 

So, dear old family, don't ever worry about me! It isn't bad to be wounded: I know, because I've experienced it. And if I die, I'm lucky. 

Does all that sound like the crazy, wild kid you sent out to learn about the world a year ago? It is a great old world, though, and I've always had a good time and the odds are all in favor of coming back to the old place. But I thought I'd tell you how I felt about it. Now I'll write you a nice, cheery, bunky letter in about a week, so don't get low over this one. I love you all. 

Ernie.


Source: Ernest Hemingway Selected Letters 1917–1961

Thursday, February 6, 2020

The Pozières Tank Corps Memorial


Your Editor at the Memorial Discussing the Mark-series British Tanks

Commemorating the first use of tanks in history, the British Tank Corps Memorial was an early commemorative addition to the Somme battlefield. Today it is still a must-see on any visit to the Somme. Located where tanks gathered on the evening of 14 September 1916, it is on  the south side of the D929 Albert-Bapaume road just to the north of the village of Pozières and directly across the road from the Windmill of Mash Valley Australian memorial.  




On the morning of 15 September, the tanks attacked in a sub-action of the Battle of the Somme, known as the Battle of Flers-Courcelette. Of the 36 tanks assembled on this site, seven were attached to the Canadian forces assigned the capture of the village of Courcelette and a sugar factory about half a mile to the east.

1917 Photo of One of the Tanks That Attacked Courcelette on
15 Sep 1916

French Color Depiction of the First Tank Attack, December 1916

The memorial's structure consists of an obelisk, surrounded by four tank models. The models include a basic Mark-series tank, two Whippet tanks, and a gun carrier version. Actual tank parts were used to construct the chains and bollards protecting the monument. The memorial was dedicated in July 1922. The bronze plaques attached to the main monument list the actions in France in which the Tank Corps fought. A smaller memorial is located in the town center in Poelkapelle, Belgium, honoring the Flanders tank actions.

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Notice the Resemblance?



Arthur Loomis Harmon, the design architect of the New York firm Shreve, Lamb & Harmon is credited with the design of the Empire State Building and the U.S. Sommepy Memorial that sits upon Blanc Mont Ridge in the Champagne in France in 1918. It commemorates the 70,000 Americans who fought in the surrounding area. Harmon was elected into the National Academy of Design  in 1935. He died on 17 October 1958 in White Plains, New York.

The Harmon's participation in the work of the American Battle Monuments is an indicator that, at General Pershing's insistence, the nation's very best designers were involved in honoring the service of the AEF in World War I.

Tip of the hat to Jim O'Donnell,who pointed this out on my 2018 AEF battlefield tour.

Tuesday, February 4, 2020

Shadow of the Sultan's Realm: The Destruction of the Ottoman Empire and the Creation of the Modern Middle East


by Daniel Allen Butler
Potomac Books, 2011
Michael Kihntopf, Reviewer


1915 Magazine Cover Celebrating the Central Powers' Early Successes

The end of the Great War brought about the ouster of nearly 20 royal families from thrones that had existed for over 500 years. The most renowned were the Romanovs of Russia, the Hapsburgs of Austria-Hungary, the Hohenzollerns of Germany, and the Osmans of Ottoman Turkey. The latter's final history is often relegated to dim corridors of university libraries. Author Daniel Allen Butler, however, brings to light the experience of the Ottoman Empire in its last years in a brief but mesmerizing look through an uncomplicated format and style that is a joy to read. It is a fitting compliment to Edward J. Erickson's Ordered to Die (2000).

Butler is an author of some literary fame, having written books about the Titanic and the Battle of Jutland. In this work he forwent the usual academic format of footnotes and end notes to bring the reader an almost story-like explanation for the fall of the Ottoman Empire. The author admits from the beginning that the book is not a military history endeavor, yet the history of the sultanate's demise must still be told through the battles that the Turks endured during World War I. Butler very accurately shows how the Three Pashas—Enver, Talaat, and Ahmed Djemal—plunged the empire into World War I for the sake of throwing off the financial and diplomatic restrictions that the United Kingdom and France had imposed upon Turkey to repay unfair loans. However, in declaring war on the Entente, the Three Pashas unwittingly became more involved than they had expected or could handle.

Without a political or military goal, the Three Pashas went from one disaster to the next with an army already gutted by a war in Libya with the Italians in 1911 and two Balkan Wars from 1912 to 1913. The defeats in the Caucasus and on the Suez Canal in 1914 and 1915 depleted what little resources were available and utterly destroyed the army's morale. The victories at Gallipoli and Kut had given them hope, but the Turkish economy and army were unable to fend off the unrelenting, better-equipped British drive from Egypt and through Mesopotamia in 1917 and 1918.
Yet the real hardship came as Turkey's allies capitulated. Whereas Germany and Austria were left to sort out their own differences both internally and externally, the Turkish Empire faced dismemberment at the hands of the United Kingdom and France. Not only were non-Turkish areas reorganized, renamed, and placed under English or French mandates, the homeland of the Anatolian Plains was also subdivided between Italy, Greece, Kurds, and Armenians. The once illustrious capital of Constantinople was subjected to international rule. Butler does not stop at this juncture, however. He very accurately presents how Mustafa Kemal, taking advantage of British and French war weariness and Russia's Vladimir Lenin's desire to punish those nations for their support of reactionary forces in the Civil War, brought together Turkish nationalists to fight off occupation and create a strong and respected republic.

Shadow of the Sultan's Realm is an excellent overview of the Ottoman Empire in the Great War. He precisely describes not only the major battles but also the Armenian massacres and the influence of T. E. Lawrence. The work would be an excellent post-graduate textbook, although most academics will pass it up since it doesn't have detailed footnotes or end notes to support the descriptions of political actions. This lack of academic format nevertheless makes it worthwhile; it is not something that will induce sleep as so many scholarly endeavors do. It is a thriller of intrigue, deceit, and retribution, with a happy ending.

Michael Kihntopf

Monday, February 3, 2020

Charles Sorley's "When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead"


By David  F. Beer

Lt. Charles Sorley

Charles Hamilton Sorley enjoyed a rather privileged upbringing, being educated at Marlborough and then at University College, Oxford. He was traveling in Germany when war broke out in 1914 and immediately returned to England. He was commissioned in the Suffolk Regiment, sent to France in May 1915, and killed by a sniper at the Battle of Loos on 15 October, age 20.

This was his last poem, written in pencil and found in his pack after he was killed. Technically, it’s a perfect sonnet. It was composed after the war had shredded the last of the Christian sensibilities Sorley had absorbed during his younger years.



     When you see millions of the mouthless dead
     Across your dreams in pale battalions go,
     Say not soft things as other men have said,
     That you'll remember. For you need not so.
     Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know
     It is not curses heaped on each gashed head?
     Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.
     Nor honour. It is easy to be dead.
     Say only this, “They are dead.” Then add thereto,
     “Yet many a better one has died before.”
     Then, scanning all the o'ercrowded mass, should you
     Perceive one face that you loved heretofore,
     It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.
     Great death has made all his for evermore.


Sorley had always been suspicious of Rupert Brooke’s patriotic poetry and disliked the sentimentality he found in Brooke’s work. It’s thought Sorley wrote this poem as a rebuttal to “If I should die, think only this of me…” Certainly the millions of mouthless dead are a long way from a corner of a foreign field that is forever England. Sorley’s dead are utterly dead, and they are impervious to communication and commemoration.

The "you" in the poems is, of course, us—the reader, whether in 1915 or now. Sorley gives us a list of negatives regarding the dead: don’t bother to say nice things; don’t give them praise; don’t weep for them or honor them; don’t try to recognize them even in your dreams. They are simply dead, gone, or imaginary ghosts—"spooks." War has made Sorely brutally realize this.

One of the most striking sonnets to come out of the Great War, it was admired by other leading poets who survived. It embodies sadness, cynicism, anger, and an atheism that some might find hard to accept. According to one critic, however, it is the kind of poem Rupert Brooke may well have written had he seen much more of the war himself.


Sunday, February 2, 2020

Living Aboard a U-Boat in 1914


This account of life in a 1914 German U-Boat was written by Johannes Speiss, First Watch Officer of the early kerosene powered submarine U-9, captained by Otto Weddigen. U-9 is one of the most famous submarines of all time. It served and survived the entirety of the Great War. On 22 September 1914, U-9 found a squadron of three obsolescent British Cressy-class armored cruisers (HMS Aboukir, HMS Hogue, and HMS Cressy, sardonically nicknamed the "Live Bait Squadron"), which had been assigned to prevent German surface vessels from entering the eastern end of the English Channel. She fired four of her torpedoes, reloading while submerged, and sank all three in less than an hour. Fourteen hundred fifty nine British sailors died. She sank 18 ships, including the three cruisers, before being relegated to training service for the remainder of the war. U-9 and the raider SMS Emden were the only ships which Kaiser Wilhelm II awarded the Iron Cross. 

The original document is in the Royal Navy Submarine Museum and was published in the book Submarines and the War at Sea, 1914–1918, written by Richard Compton-Hall, MacMillan:1991.

Living Aboard U-9 in 1914

U-9 Ready for Sea

Far forward in the pressure hull, which was cylindrical, was the forward torpedo room containing two torpedo tubes and two reserve torpedoes. Further astern was the Warrant Officers' compartment, which contained only small bunks for the Warrant Officers (Quartermaster and Machinist) and was particularly wet and cold.

Then came the Commanding Officer's cabin, fitted with only a small bunk and clothes closet, no desk being furnished. Whenever a torpedo had to be loaded forward or the tube prepared for a shot, both the Warrant Officers' and Commanding Officers' cabins had to be completely cleared out. Bunks and clothes cabinets then had to be moved into the adjacent officers' compartment, which was no light task owing to the lack of space in the latter compartment.

In order to live at all in the officers' compartments a certain degree of finesse was required. The Watch Officer's bunk was too small to permit him to lie on his back. He was forced to lie on one side and then, being wedged between the bulkhead to the right and the clothes-press on the left, to hold fast against the movements of the boat in a seaway. The occupant of the berth could not sleep with his feet aft as there was an electric fuse-box in the way. At times the cover of this box sprang open and it was all too easy to cause a short circuit by touching this with the feet. Under the sleeping compartments, as well as through the entire forward part of the vessel, were the electric accumulators which served to supply current to the electric motors for submerged cruising.

On the port side of the officer's compartment was the berth of the Chief Engineer, while the centre of the compartment served as a passageway through the boat. On each side was a small upholstered transom between which a folding table could be inserted. Two folding camp-chairs completed the furniture.

While the Commanding Officer, Watch Officer and Chief Engineer took their meals, men had to pass back and forth through the boat, and each time anyone passed the table had to be folded.

Further aft, the crew space was separated from the officers' compartment by a watertight bulkhead with a round watertight door for passage. On one side of the crews space a small electric range was supposed to serve for cooking - but the electric heating coil and the bake-oven short-circuited every time an attempt was made to use them. Meals were always prepared on deck! For this purpose we had a small paraffin stove such as was in common use on Norwegian fishing vessels. This had the particular advantage of being serviceable even in a high wind.

The crew space had bunks for only a few of the crew - the rest slept in hammocks, when not on watch or on board the submarine mother-ship while in port.

Crew of the U-9

The living spaces were not cased with wood. Since the temperature inside the boat was considerably greater than the sea outside, moisture in the air condensed on the steel hull-plates; the condensation had a very disconcerting way of dropping on a sleeping face, with every movement of the vessel. Efforts were made to prevent this by covering the face with rain clothes or rubber sheets. It was in reality like a damp cellar.

The storage battery cells, which were located under the living spaces and filled with acid and distilled water, generated [hydrogen] gas  on charge and discharge: this was drawn off through the ventilation system. Ventilation failure risked explosion, a catastrophe which occurred in several German boats. If sea water got into the battery cells, poisonous chlorine gas was generated.

From a hygienic standpoint the sleeping arrangements left much to be desired; one ' awoke in the morning with considerable mucus in the nostrils and a so-called 'oil-head'.

The central station was abaft the crew space, dosed off by a bulkhead both forward and aft. Here was the gyro compass and also the depth rudder hand-operating gear with which the boat was kept at the required level similar to a Zeppelin. The bilge pumps, the blowers for clearing and filling the diving tanks - both electrically driven - as well as the air compressors were also here. In one small corner of this space stood a toilet screened by a curtain and, after seeing this arrangement, I understood why the officer I had relieved recommended the use of opium before all cruises which were to last over twelve hours.

In the engine room were the four Korting paraffin [kerosene] engines which could be coupled in tandem, two on each propeller shaft. [The use of kerosene gave off a large amount of smoke and necessitated the use of a demountable funnel. This funnel was not required in later diesel-powered submarines..] The air required by these engines was drawn in through the conning-tower hatch, while the exhaust was led overboard through a long demountable funnel. Astern of the gas engines were the two electric motors for submerged cruising.

In the stem of the boat, right aft, was the after torpedo room with two stem torpedo tubes but without reserve torpedoes.

The conning tower is yet to be described. This was the battle station of the Commanding Officer and the Watch Officer. Here were located the two periscopes, a platform for the Helmsman and the 'diving piano' which consisted of twenty-four levers on each side controlling the valves for releasing air from the tanks. Near these were the indicator glasses and test cocks.

Finally there was electrical controlling gear for depth steering, a depth indicator; voice pipes; and the electrical firing device for the torpedo tubes.

Above the conning tower was a small bridge which was protected when cruising under conditions which did not require the boat to be in constant readiness for diving: a rubber strip was stretched along a series of stanchions screwed into the deck, reaching about as high as the chest. When in readiness for diving this was demounted, and there was a considerable danger of being washed overboard.

The Officer on Watch sat on the hatch coaming [keeping out the water], the Petty Officer of the Watch near him, with his feet hanging through the hatch through which the air for the gas engines was being drawn. I still wonder why I was not afflicted with rheumatism in spite of leather trousers. The third man on watch, a seaman, stood on a small three-cornered platform above the conning tower; he was lashed to his station in heavy seas.

This was the general arrangement for all seagoing boats at that time of the Types U-5 to U-18 with few exceptions.

Submitted by Dr. Geoffrey Miller  at the WWI Resource Center

Saturday, February 1, 2020

Serbian General, Yugoslav King: Alexander I



Serbian General
Alexander (1888–1934) was born the second son of Prince Peter Karađorđević  of Serbia and Princess Zorka of Montenegro on 16 December 1888 in  Montenegro. Peter became king of Serbia in 1903 after the murder of Alexander Obrenović by conspirators including Colonel Dragutin Dimitrijević  (Apis). Educated in Geneva and St. Petersburg (1876–1917), Alexander Karađorđević  returned to Serbia as crown prince in 1909 after his elder brother George disqualified himself for the throne by murdering his manservant. There, Alexander continued his education. During the First Balkan War, Alexander commanded the Serbian First Army, which won battles at Kumanovo (October 1912) and Monastir (November 1912) against the Ottomans, allowing for Serbian control of a large part of Macedonia. During the Second-Balkan War, Alexander helped to defeat the Bulgars at the Battle of Bregalnica (June–July 1913), thereby permitting Serbia to retain Macedonia. In June 1914, Alexander became regent of Serbia due to his father’s age and ill health. As supreme commander of Serbian forces, Alexander and his army withstood three Austro-Hungarian attacks after the outbreak of the First World War. 

King Alexander I with French Foreign Minister Louis Barthou,
Marseilles, 9 October 1934
In 1915 combined Austro-Hungarian, German, and Bulgarian attacks forced Alexander and the Serbian army to retreat across the Albanian mountains to the Adriatic coast. There Entente ships took the survivors to the Greek island of Corfu. After rest and recovery, they became part of the Entente Salonika Front in Greece. While in Salonika in 1917, a Serbian military tribunal convicted a group of army officers of plotting to assassinate Alexander. Among those executed was Colonel Dimitrijević, the leader of the Black Hand. Serbian forces were instrumental in the Battle of Dobro Pole in September 1918, which forced Bulgaria out of the war. In late 1918, Serbia joined with the South Slav lands of the former Austria-Hungary and Montenegro to become the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes with King Peter Karađorđević as monarch. When Peter died on 16 August 1921, Regent Alexander succeeded his father as king. 

Moments Later, Alexander Lies Dying 
An Hour Later Minister Barthou Also Died of Wounds

The kingdom did not meld together, mainly because of conflict between the Serbs, who were the largest national group, and the Croats, the second-largest national group. Due to ethnic strife, Alexander proclaimed a royal dictatorship in January 1929, officially changing the name of the country to Yugoslavia. Under his leadership, Yugoslavia joined the Little Entente and the Balkan Entente. During a state visit to France, Alexander was assassinated along with French foreign minister Louis Barthou on 9 October 1934 by a terrorist with connections to Croatian Ustasa and Macedonian VMRO. Both of these were separatist organizations. He is remembered as Alexander the Unifier, although Yugoslavia no longer exists and its former components are no longer unified.

Source: Gregory C. Ference Essay (War in the Balkans, 2014)

Friday, January 31, 2020

Remembering a Veteran: Cecil John Kinross, VC, 49th Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Force



Pvt. Cecil John Kinross
Shortly After His Enlistment
There's much information to be found on the internet about the recipients of the Victoria Cross. Every effort has been made to make sure their heroics are never to be forgotten.  However, most such accounts don't cover the long term price to be paid by these men for the sacrifices they made on the battlefield.  Here's an exception to that, it's the full story of Cecil John Kinross, VC (1896–1957).  At Passchendaele on 30 October 1917, Kinross, crossing open ground in daylight, charged a machine gun, killed the crew of six, and destroyed the gun. Inspired by his action, his company advanced some 300 meters and established itself in an important new position. He was seriously wounded and his combat was over.  The war, though, would be with him for the rest of his life.

National Post reporter Joe O'Connor filled out the story in this 2017 article:

John Kinross-Kennedy spent his childhood summers at his mother’s family farm near Lougheed, Alta. Among his cherished activities was heading out into the field with his Uncle Cecil to gather wheat. Cecil Kinross was tall, slim and had piercing blue eyes. He had two younger sisters, preferred silence to talking, and never spoke of the war.

“My uncle never talked about what he had done at Passchendaele,” his 89-year-old nephew says from California. “He was very quiet, and very polite, and just the nicest uncle you could ever have.”

If Vimy Ridge is the First World War battle where Canada as a nation was born, then Passchendaele—another Canadian victory, won on 10 November 1917—is a monument to war’s waste. The months-long fight claimed nearly half a million casualties, both Allied and German, including 15,654 Canadians. The battlefield near the Belgian village of Passchendaele was a mud-sucking hell. Wounded men drowned in the stuff. Corpses were swallowed by it, and those who survived it were indelibly marked.

Cecil Kinross had scars on both his shins due to a run-in with a plough in the prewar years. He was born in England to Scottish parents in 1895 and came to Canada with the family as a teen to farm a patch of land near town. He enlisted in 1915, was wounded in 1916, recovered and arrived in Passchendaele with the reputation for being an incorrigible soldier of somewhat sloppy dress, when not on the firing line, but as fierce as they come in a fight.

On 29 October, Kinross and B Company of Edmonton’s 49th Canadian Infantry Battalion were being shredded by German artillery and machine-gun fire. The call went out for a volunteer. Pvt. Kinross stepped forward. He stripped off his heavy pack and greatcoat and, with just a rifle and a bayonet and a bandoleer of extra ammunition strung across his chest, launched a one-man, broad daylight charge across open ground against a German machine gun nest.

Kinross While Recovering from His Passchendaele Wounds 
Compare the Weary Eyes to the Photo Above

Kinross would kill six Germans, destroy the gun and continue fighting until he ran out of ammunition and was seriously wounded in the head and left arm. He walked himself back to an aid station. C.D. McBride, a stretcher-bearer attached to another unit, would recount how word of the “wild Canadian, running amok trying to defeat the entire German army single-handed,” rippled through the ranks, lifting morale.

He returned to Alberta in 1919, was feted by the mayor of Edmonton at a massive rally and presented with a purse filled with gold coins. The Canadian government gifted him a plot of land near Lougheed. Crowds cheered. Kinross waved but said little.

“The whole story is tragic,” says his nephew.

Kinross was barely out of his teens. He did what he did and for the remainder of his life—and even today—he is remembered for it. Mt. Kinross, near Jasper, is named after him, as is Edmonton’s Kinross Road. The house in England where he was born has a historical plaque affixed to it. His descendants donated his Victoria Cross to the people of Alberta in 2015. It is displayed at the mayor’s office in Edmonton.

Heroes, the lucky ones, come home, where their life stories—unlike their war story—continue. Kinross took out that German machine gun in a profound act of bravery, but at a profound personal cost. Passchendaele changed him. It made him the hero he was, but less of who he had been, or might have hoped to be.

Post-traumatic stress disorder wasn’t recognized as a psychiatric diagnosis until 1980. In 1919, there were no bandages or sympathetic labels applied to a soldier’s mental wounds. Demons got buried, and to keep them buried, many veterans drank.

“There was a sense that some of these guys who had gone to war had come back changed,” says Tim Cook, author and historian at the Canadian War Museum. “I think Kinross was no different than the vast majority, in that they tended to deal with it themselves, and they tended to deal with it with alcohol.”

Using alcohol as an opiate for wartime trauma is one of the untold stories of the First World War, says Cook. Military records track enlistment dates, battles fought, wounds received and medals won. But they don’t peer behind the curtain of a person’s inner life to see the veteran, years after the fighting is over, at the family dinner table or local bar or locked in their bedroom, drinking with a simple purpose—to forget.

Kinross went home to his family farm near Lougheed. He suffered from terrible headaches. Sleep was near impossible to find. His sisters, Ellie and Nancy, would walk him around the property at night. He never married. He kept to himself, mostly, unless he was drinking, and then he could charm, argue with, debate, defend—or offend—anyone within earshot.

“He liked to discuss anything that was controversial so he could raise hell at the local bar,” says Richard Conrad, the 85-year president of the C.J. Kinross VC legion branch in Lougheed. “His favorite expression was, ‘Well, you know it all, so why are talking to me?’ ”

John Kinross-Kennedy shares a family story about Uncle Cecil at the Dirty Dick, a London bar favored by Canadian troops. He was wearing his greatcoat. A fellow soldier, eyeing a man who seemed so familiar—Kinross’s photograph had appeared in the papers; he had met the king—drew back his coat, revealing the Victoria Cross.

“The pub went wild,” Kinross-Kennedy says. “He never could buy his own beer for the rest of his life.”

The 1930s were a miserable decade for Alberta farmers. Prairie droughts and grasshopper plagues ate away at crops. The Kinross family sank into debt and had their land repossessed by the railroad. Cecil leased out his government tract to other farmers in the area. He was too debilitated to work it on his own. And so he took on odd jobs, here and there, collecting his soldier’s pension and moving into the Lougheed Hotel, a wind-blasted, three-story box on Main Street. His room was kept clean. The hotel staff kept an eye on him, understanding that the local war hero had two personalities—one sober, one not.

“To me, his struggles with alcohol wasn’t a difficulty—it is what kept him alive,” his nephew says. “What comfort was there (for veterans) as they progressively got worse? None. Little wonder they took to drink.”

Kinross was quiet but not reclusive. He curled and bowled and attended town functions. He loved children. When local kids would pester him with questions about the war and the famous medal he had won, he would tell them stories. Concocting fantastical tales, featuring himself as a bumbling battlefield hero, a soldier who didn’t win the Victoria Cross so much as stumble his way into it.

“He would never actually tell them the true story, he would tell them these fairy stories,” says Ed Dixon, a retired teacher and amateur historian in Scotland whose book, Tales from the Western Front, includes a chapter on Cecil “Hoodoo” Kinross.

People around Lougheed grew accustomed to Kinross’s “stunts,” unpredictable behaviors that took on a mythical stature—like having his tonsils removed and refusing the anesthetic. One frigid winter night, after a bout of drinking and debating with his bar mates about the nature of courage, Kinross peeled off his coat and plunged into an icy stream. Emphasizing his point, the story goes, that his famous charge at Passchendaele was no more courageous—or dumb—than going for a dip in the middle of a prairie winter.

He died alone in his hotel room in 1957. He was 62 years old. His funeral at the C.J. Kinross VC legion was standing room only. His sisters, long since departed to Vancouver, came. Hundreds more gathered outside in a gently falling rain. Kinross’s flag-draped coffin was transported on a gun carriage to the cemetery near town. A medal-bearer carried his Victoria Cross. A military salute was fired. Bagpipes played.

“Never in this town has there been such a gathering of mourners,” Jack Deakin wrote in the Edmonton Journal.

Cecil Kinross, Canadian war hero, returned to Alberta, but he never fully came home. It is a lesson of war, lest we forget.

Source: The National Post of Canada

A special thanks to friend Alan Kaplan, who alerted us to Cecil Kinross's story and Joe O'Connor's article.

Thursday, January 30, 2020

Some Up-to-Date Wisdom from WWI Historian Barbara Tuchman


Barbara Tuchman (1912–1989)

Whole philosophies have evolved over the question whether the human species is predominantly good or evil. I only know that it is mixed, that you cannot separate good from bad, that wisdom, courage, benevolence exist alongside knavery, greed, and stupidity; heroism and fortitude alongside vainglory, cruelty, and corruption.

It is a paradox of our time that never have so many people been so relatively well off and never has society been more troubled. Yet I suspect that humanity's virtues have not vanished, although the experiences of our century seem to suggest they are in abeyance. A century that took shape in the disillusion that followed the enormous effect and hopes of World War I, that saw revolution in Russia congeal into the same tyranny it overthrew, saw a supposedly civilized nation revert under the Nazis into organized and unparalleled savagery, saw the craven appeasement by the democracies, is understandably suspicious of human nature. A literary historian, Van Wyck Brooks, discussing the 1920s and '30s, spoke of "an eschatalogical despair of the world." Whereas Whitman and Emerson, he wrote, "had been impressed by the worth and good sense of the people, writers of the new time" were struck by their lusts, cupidity, and violence, and had come to dislike their fellow men. 

The same theme reappeared in a recent play in which a mother struggled against her two "pitilessly contemptuous" children. Her problem was that she wanted them to be happy and they did not want to be. They preferred to watch horrors on television. In essence, this is our epoch. It insists upon the flaws and corruptions, without belief in valor or virtue or the possibility of happiness. It keeps turning to look back on Sodom and Gomorrah; it has no view of the Delectable Mountains*.

We must keep a balance, and I know of no better prescription than a phrase from Condorcet's eulogy on the death of Benjamin Franklin: "He pardoned the present for the sake of the future ." 

* The "Delectable Mountains" were the spiritually refreshing rest stop of Bunyan's Pilgrims on their trip to the Celestial City.

From Mrs. Tuchman's 1980 Jefferson Lecture for the National Endowment for the Humanities

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Three Months of the Trip-Wire

(Note for readers:  Yesterday your editor bungled the presentation of Jim Gallen's review of Crucible:  The Long End of the Great War.  We corrected matters and invite you to scroll down and read the article as we intended to present it. MH)


I  haven't been able to fit in my regular reminders that we have published several issues of the St. Mihiel Trip-Wire newsletter over the holiday season so here's a three-in-one article for those of you who read Roads to the Great War but don't yet subscribe to the Trip-Wire. Here are some links to the issues and some information on what you can find in each issue:

November 2019
17th Anniversary Issue

U.S. Infantry (Possibly 77th Division) Attacking North of St. Juvin During the 
Meuse-Argonne Offensive

Main Topic:  The Meuse-Argonne Offensive In-depth
New Articles:
The Centralia, WA, Armistice Day Tragedy
The Rainbow Soldier of Montgomery, Alabama
Plus all our regular updates and features

December 2019

A German Veterans Freikorps Unit, Berlin

Main Topic:  1919: Vestiges of the Great War
New Articles:
Western Front 1917 vs. Hollywood 2019
The Voyage of the Red Ark
North Carolina's Breaking of the Hindenburg Line Commemorated
Plus all our regular updates and features


January 2019

The Return of Private Davis from the Argonne by John Steuart Curry 
(Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, TX)

Main Topic: Burying the War's Dead
New Articles:
Kaiser Wilhelm II Escapes Extradition and Prosecution
Fitzgerald's: The Last Love Battle
Plus all our regular updates and features


Incidentally, if you wish to subscribe just click on the  "Sign Up..."    icon at the top of  any Trip-Wire issue.

Tuesday, January 28, 2020

Crucible: The Long End of the Great War and the Birth of a New World 1917-1924


by Charles Emmerson
Public Affairs, 2019
Jim Gallen, Reviewer

Benito Mussolini and His Pet Lion, 1924

Neither the Armistice nor the Treaty of Versailles restored the peace that had existed before the Great War. They were merely measuring lines on the beaker in which a new world was brewing. Crucible is a series of hundreds of snippets occurring between 1917 and 1924 that follow the people who would play roles in that new world.

The personalities are drawn from politics, the arts, and the sciences. Many are well known: Russians, Vladimir Lenin (the impatient revolutionary), Josef Stalin (the Georgian bank robber), Leon Trotsky (the principled non-tipper); Italians Gabriele D'Annunzio and Benito Mussolini; Turks Ismael Enver Pasha and Mustafa Kemal; Germans Kaiser Wilhelm and Adolf Hitler; Winston Churchill and his cousin sculptor Claire Sheridan; scientists Albert Einstein and Sigmund Freud; Emperor Charles of Austria; Black activists William Du Bois and Marcus Garvey; Irish nationalists and rivals Michael Collins and Éamon de Valera; Ernest Hemingway, and a host of others.

Each reader can pick the saga that most appeals to him or her and which whets the appetite for more. My favorite is the wrenching struggle for independence that the Irish fought against the Empire and amongst themselves. What is often thought of as a simple case of Irish versus British is shown as an international and intramural blood contest over the definitions of independence, plus the achievable and available means that fueled the flames of personal rivalries, splitting Ireland's leaders and tearing its land asunder.

I found the style of jumping from one incident to another to be unusual, but not too difficult to follow. When one thinks of it, life evolves as a series of seemingly unrelated incidents reported in our daily papers or conversations, not in a concentrated story line of a history or biography.



Jim Gallen

Monday, January 27, 2020

America's Future Commanders Observed the Russo-Japanese War


Capt. John J. Pershing (rt) and Correspondent
Frederick Palmer in Manchuria

Excerpted from: "The U.S. Army Military Observers with the Japanese Army during the Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905)",  John T. Greenwood, Army History, Winter 1996

Searching for answers to the slaughter of the trenches during the First World War, many military writers and historians fixed on the Russo-Japanese War as an unheeded warning signal of what was to come ten years later. Without doubt, that earlier war provided many lessons that were relearned at great and tragic human and national cost from 1914 to 1918. However, the tactical lessons of the Russo-Japanese conflict were certainly more obvious after 1918 than they were before 1914. Between 1905 and 1914 they had not penetrated enough "military minds," staff colleges, or field service regulations, except possibly to a limited extent in Germany, to shake the dogmatic foundations of prevailing beliefs and doctrines. The war in Manchuria generated nearly ten years of intense but inconclusive debate about its exact military meaning, but few lessons were ever really learned. "Prior to the present European War," Judson said in a 1916 speech, "there does not seem to have been a very thorough appreciation of the lessons of the Manchurian War in some European armies or I might say in our own."

One of the U.S. Army's most significant and least known experiences in learning lessons was in the Russo-Japanese War (February 1904–September 1905). By April 1904, 34 foreign officers had gathered in Tokyo to accompany the Japanese field armies—ten from Great Britain, five from Germany, four each from France and the U.S., two each from Spain, Austria-Hungary, and Switzerland, and one each from Italy, Turkey, Sweden, Chile, and Argentina. Second only to the British team with the Japanese, which eventually numbered 17 officers, during the war the U.S. military dispatched 12 official observers—three Navy and nine Army: Col. Enoch H. Crowder, Capt. Peyton C. March, Maj. Joseph E. Kuhn, Capt. John F. Morrison, Capt. Charles Lynch, Maj. Gen. Arthur MacArthur, Capt. Parker W. West, Capt. John J. Pershing, and Lt. Col. Edward J. McClemand.

The Russian adoption early on of a largely defensive strategy meant that the Japanese infantry, with only rare exceptions, attacked the Russians in their prepared defensive positions. Thus the American observers with the Japanese often saw the infantry in the attack, while those with the Russians witnessed the infantry on the defensive. Based on experiences in the Boer War, some European military thinkers held that infantry could not attack and take a defended position in the face of modern small-arms and artillery fire. Other theorists, usually of the French offensive school, but also some British and Germans, contended that nothing could stop the offensive when undertaken by well-trained and highly motivated troops. To these prominent tactical questions of the day, Manchuria provided some interesting, yet contradictory and perplexing, answers.

After examining the Russian positions at the battle of Nanshan (26 May 1904), Joseph Kuhn noted that "according to the text-books it should be impossible to carry such a position by frontal attack and yet this was accomplished by the Japanese." He did not mention that this success cost General Oku Yasukata's Second Army over 4,500 casualties and was only won due to the incompetency of Russian leadership and, as John Pershing astutely noted, its poor handling of available reserves. John Morrison, who later become the most influential Army tactician and educator of the pre-World War I era, questioned Oku's tactical conduct of the battle after studying reports of the Nanshan fighting. Rather than repeatedly attacking along the entire Russian front, Morrison thought that the Japanese should have concentrated on one point, broken through, and rolled up the Russian lines—the result would have been a quick, cheap victory.

Two factors had really made Japanese frontal attacks successful—the attackers' aggressiveness and willingness to absorb staggering casualties to take a position combined with the repeated use of enveloping movements to outflank the Russian defenses, which often panicked inept Russian commanders into hasty withdrawals. Few observers saw that this critical interaction in Japanese military operations essentially led to prolonged stalemates rather than victorious conclusions. The threatening encircling movement on the flank only forced the enemy's withdrawal to a new fortified defensive line where the frontal struggle would resume anew.

. . . In line with what the observers with the Russian side had observed so clearly, the Russians more often than not repelled numerous Japanese attacks until forced out by an endangered flank or a premature decision to retire. And yet, enough successful assaults were made to substantiate Kuhn, Morrison, and McClemand, and anyone else who claimed that frontal assaults worked against entrenched positions. So again, the lessons were confused and contradictory—the observers with the Russians watched defensive tactics and disclaimed the success of frontal attacks while those with the Japanese saw the very opposite. As with all such observations, much depended on where, when, and what the observers personally witnessed versus information they gleaned from other observers or received from detailed Japanese briefings. Such ambiguous "lessons" were difficult for any army to digest and accept as the basis for major doctrinal changes.

A View of the Future: A Japanese Trench in the War with Russia

From his Manchurian observations, Judson clearly saw that the improvements in field fortifications would force infantry tactics to change. In a prophetic description of the trench warfare to come, he wrote: "The properly fortified line then becomes practically continuous... These short trenches are not in a continuous line parallel to the front, but occupy what may be called a defensive belt, of a width between 200 or 300 yards and half a mile, depending upon the ground and importance of the sector...  With three or four thousand men to the mile of front, including all reserves, a fortified line of the belt type is invulnerable to frontal attack...

For many reasons, the lessons and recommendations that the American observers reported went largely unheeded. Even though many specific things that the observers mentioned were subsequently either introduced or implemented, often no obvious connection can be made to their recommendations. On the other hand, some recommendations had distinct impacts. Sometimes this was because the recommendations tipped ongoing debates in favor of a particular course of action, such as with the adoption of the sword bayonet as a standard infantry weapon or of a new entrenching tool.

At other times, the personal influence of an observer was clearly discernible as a deciding factor. One case of direct influence was that of Peyton March. Assigned to the Artillery Reorganization Board, March incorporated many ideas from his Manchurian experience into the Artillery Reorganization Act of 1907. The separation of field and coast artillery and the reorganization of artillery into regiments was partly due to March's experience in Manchuria. However, years of debate and discussion of the effect of technological change on artillery equipment, organization, and doctrine had also conditioned the artillerymen to the need for change and to these suggestions. Many artillerymen saw the Russo-Japanese War as critical proof of the need for additional change in directions they were already moving or seriously discussing. Few other such obvious instances can be singled out. Alfred Vagts has argued that the lessons and recommendations carried home by the observers from most countries could not percolate up through the chain of command. While his contention was only partly true in most cases, it was most assuredly not true for the U.S. Army. With a small and closely knit officers corps of only 3,709 officers in 1906, the observers knew and were known by most of the important officers of the General Staff, the various bureaus and departments, their own branches, and the War Department.

In addition, the American observers an spent some time on the General Staff upon their return from the Far East. Many of them gave lectures to the General Staff, at the Army War College, at various officers' associations, and to the public; and they wrote numerous articles for professional military journals. They also spoke at length about their experiences with the chief of staff, with the secretary of war, and with President Roosevelt upon their return to Washington. The observations and opinions of the American observers most likely percolated fairly well through Washington's military circles, the General Staff, and the Army. In the years following the Russo-Japanese War, debates over organization, tactics, doctrine, and equipment filled American military journals, lecture halls, and classrooms. Numerous articles and translations were published on all aspects of the war in Manchuria and its impact on American military doctrine. New books on the war were avidly reviewed and recommended. Students at the Army War College, and the School of the Line and Staff College at Leavenworth studied the war's campaigns in detail, and some officers even visited the battlefields to study the operations on the original terrain.

Because their observations provided the most cogent new information available on key tactical and technological issues, the works of the American ob servers were heavily read and used within the U.S. Army. The observer's Reports and articles were studied and used freely to support all sides of the various ideas then under debate, from the role and importance of machine guns to medical service, field fortifications, cavalry, the bayonet, and training. Where possible, the branches and schools incorporated relevant information into their manuals. The Engineer Field Manual of 1912 explicitly states that "much valuable information, especially as to railroads and field fortifications, was obtained from the reports of military observers with the Japanese and Russian armies..." While the observers' recommendations resulted in few concrete changes, their works certainly shaped much of the discussion of military organization and doctrine through 1916.

A Group of Foreign Observers at the Siege of Port Arthur

Actually, one of the most prominent pressures against the acceptance of the observers' recommendations came from the man most intimately interested in the Russo-Japanese War and the observers' experiences therein. President Theodore Roosevelt wrote to Chief of Staff Adna R. Chaffee on 3 July 1905 expressing his concerns about accepting the apparent lessons of the victorious Japanese Army:

I think we must be careful about following in anything like servile fashion the Japanese merely be cause the Japanese have won. Doubtless you remember how, after the Franco-German war, it became the fashion to copy all the bad points as well as the good ones of the German Army organizations, so that in our own army they actually introduced the preposterous spiked helmets for the army; as foolish a kind of headgear for modem warfare as could be invented. We should be on the lookout now not to commit a similar kind of fault as regards the Japanese. Not all of the things they have done have been wise, and some of the wise things they have done are not wise for us.

While the recommendations derived from the Russo-Japanese War were of relatively little immediate benefit to the U.S. Army in doctrine, organization, or equipment, the service of these officers in Manchu ria constituted an important career experience. Duty as an observer in the Far East was not the determining factor for future promotion and a successful military career. A number of the American attachés were later to hold important positions in the Army, but most of them were already considered exceptional officers and that is why they were selected for such critical duty in the first place. Pershing, March, Morrison, Crowder, Kuhn, and Judson all played significant roles in World War I. March and Pershing were successive Army Chiefs of Staff from 1918 to l924. Yet it would be most difficult to assess the exact impact that service as a military observer in Manchuria might have had upon these officers' careers. So closely witnessing history's greatest war to that time must have left deep and lasting impressions on the more astute observers—as obviously happened with Peyton March, John Pershing, and John Morrison.

In a series of lectures on his role as the Army's wartime chief of staff to the Army War College during the 1930s, March frequently returned to the importance of his tour with the Japanese armies in Manchuria. In April 1933, he said:

There I began a careful and practical study of the operations of a General Staff...it was soon apparent to me that our General Staff was not either organized along modern lines at that time, nor did anyone who had the power to reorganize it have the knowledge necessary to effect such a reorganization.... I found myself regarded, upon my return from Japan, as a firebrand, because of my outspoken opposition to many things which then existed; but I was not successful in forcing any reorganization of the General Staff at that time.... The conception of a true General Staff, which I acquired in my observations of a General Staff in operation in the field in Manchuria formed the basis of the orders which I issued on the organization of our own General Staff when I became Chief of Staff of the Army."

As with March, John Pershing subsequently acknowledged the value of his duty as an observer in Manchuria. Pershing told Frederick Palmer, his friend and colleague whom he had first met in Manchuria, that his Manchurian experiences had been "Invaluable!" Although he had missed the major battles, Pershing had seen for the first time large modem armies in a wartime setting with all the problems of command, logistics, training, manpower, and so on played out on the battlefield. He would carry those impressions with him to France and beyond. Frank Vandiver, in his biography of Pershing, concludes of his experience in Manchuria; "He had gone to Manchuria an accomplished small-unit leader, a master of light tactics; he came out skilled in the management of mass."

In Morrison's case, his experience in Manchuria was the primary reason that Army Chief of Staff Maj. Gen. J. Franklin Bell selected him to go to Leavenworth as an instructor in tactics in 1906. During his next six years at Leavenworth, Morrison personally shaped the development of the Army's Leavenworth schools, the content of the basic Field Service Regulations, and the tactical thinking of a generation of Army leaders who became his disciples, including General George C. Marshall, the Army's chief of staff during World War II.

The exact value of their Manchurian experiences on later career and actions of Pershing, March, Morrison, and the other observers defies accurate appraisal. Detail as an observer with either army in Manchuria provided valuable personal and professional experience for the American officers. Such a unique career experience had to affect each officer's perceptions of his own army, its doctrine, organization, tactics, and equipment, and also his future role therein. For those observers with the Japanese, it was also a rare opportunity to watch closely as a vastly different, complex, non-Western culture and society organized, planned, and conducted war. The observers came away with great admiration for the spirit and discipline of Japanese soldiers, the skills of their officers, and the preparedness of the nation but also with great fears about the future course of Japanese-American relations and growing Japanese hostility toward Americans.

Dr. John T. Greenwood at the time of this publication was Director of Field and International Programs at the Center and Chief, Field Programs and Historical Services Division.

Sunday, January 26, 2020

Four Incisive Comments About the July Crisis of 1914



The immediate cause of the Great War was the series of diplomatic decisions and maneuvers conducted by European governments in the month following the assassination of Franz Ferdinand that are known collectively as the July Crisis of 1914. Back when we were commemorating the 100th anniversary of the July Crisis of 1914, I picked out three quotes that—to me—showed how confused the situation was then and how perplexing it still is today that the best diplomats of the great powers managed to turn a manageable diplomatic crisis into a world war. I stumbled across them recently and thought they might be worth a revisit. I've also added a fourth, one that I discovered while researching my special issue of Over the Top on the July Crisis.  

None of the leading European statesmen either wanted or expected that the July Crisis would lead to a world war involving all of the great powers. Each preferred a negotiated settlement to avoid a world war, and none expected at the time of the assassination that the conflict would escalate all the war to a world war.
Jack S. Levy, Letter, International Security, Summer, 1991

The tragedy of political decisions derives from the fact that again and again politicians find themselves in situations in which they are constrained to act in ignorance of the consequences and without being able to assess calmly the probable results, the profit or loss which action may bring. . . Men are not motivated by a clear view of their own interests; their minds are filled with the cloudy residues of discarded beliefs; their motives are not always clear even to themselves.
James Joll,  The Origins of the First World War


The Russians felt they must act, not simply protest, and it was they who began the militarization of the July Crisis. Yet all the Powers understood that military precautions [e.g. partial mobilization initiated 26 July] could be misinterpreted as signalling an intention to fight. Even after the delivery of the ultimatum [to Serbia] Germany and Austria-Hungary did little to raise their preparedness, hoping this would help them contain the conflict. . . The Russian measures dramatically accelerated the tempo of the crisis and wrecked their antagonists' localization strategy.
David Stevenson, The Outbreak of the First World War


Evidence of the guilt of the German government, namely the Kaiser, and Austro-Hungarian government, namely Graf Berchtold, is based on documents that both governments suppressed and falsified. This proves commission of a breach of the peace in three cases.
Finding. Evaluation of German War Guilt—Opinion of the Legal Consultant to Germany's Weimar Government

Saturday, January 25, 2020

Clemenceau the Vampire

Recently, I ran an image of an over-the-top piece of war propaganda, Louis Raemaeker's cartoon, "Seduction."  Here's another extreme cartoon, this one from the period of the Paris Conference  published in the German magazine Kladderadatsch  that is unsigned. It's titled "Clemenceau, the Vampire."


Friday, January 24, 2020

J.B. Priestley Remembers His Wartime Service


John Boynton Priestley, OM, was an English novelist, playwright, screenwriter, broadcaster, and social commentator. Some of his writings ventured into science fiction and fantasy. He was also a veteran of the Great War.

Lance Corporal Priestley
Priestley served in the British army during the First World War, volunteering to join the 10th Battalion, the Duke of Wellington's Regiment, on 7 September 1914 and being posted to France as a lance corporal on 26 August 1915. He was badly wounded in June 1916, when he was buried alive by a trench mortar. He spent many months in military hospitals and convalescent establishments and on 26 January 1918 was commissioned as an officer in the Devonshire Regiment and posted back to France late summer 1918. As he describes in his literary reminiscences, Margin Released: A Writer’s Reminiscences and Reflections, he suffered from the effects of poison gas and then supervised German prisoners of war, before being demobilized in early 1919.

In Margin Released he reflected back on his service nearly a half-century earlier with some bemusement and much bitterness:

The British Army never saw itself as a citizens’ army. It behaved as if a small gentlemanly officer class still had to make soldiers out of under-gardener’s runaway sons and slum lads known to the police. These fellows had to be kept up to scratch. Let ‘em get slack, they’d soon be a rabble again. So where the Germans and French would hold a bad front line with the minimum of men, allowing the majority to get some rest, the British command would pack men into rotten trenches, start something to keep up their morale, pile up casualties and drive the survivors to despair. This was done not to win a battle, not even to gain a few yards of ground, but simply because it was supposed to be the thing to do. 

All the armies in that idiot war shovelled divisions into attacks, often as bone-headed as ours were, just as if healthy young men had begun to seem hateful in the sight of Europe, but the British command specialised in throwing men away for nothing. The traditions of an officer class, defying both imagination and common sense, killed most of my friends as surely as if those cavalry officers had come out of the châteaux with polo mallets and beaten their brains out. Call this class prejudice if you like, so long as you remember, as I hope I made plain in an earlier chapter, that I went into that war without any such prejudice, free of any class feeling, No doubt I came out of it with a chip on my shoulder; a big, heavy chip, probably some friend’s thigh-bone (136-137).

Unlike most of my contemporaries who wrote so well about the war, I was deeply divided between the tragedy and comedy of it. I was as much aware as they were, and as other people born later can never be, of its tragic aspect. I felt, as indeed I still feel today and must go on feeling until I die, the open wound, never to be healed, of my generation’s fate, the best sorted out and then slaughtered, not by hard necessity but mainly by huge murderous public folly. On the other hand, military life itself, the whole Army “carry-on”, as we used to say, observed closely, seemed to me essentially comic, the most expensive farce ever contrived. To a man of my temperament it was almost slapstick, so much gigantically solemn, dressed-up, bemedalled, custard-pie work, but with tragedy, death, the deep unhealing wound, there in the middle of it (139).

One morning in the early spring of 1919 in some town, strangely chosen in the Midlands, I came blinking out at last into civilian daylight .[…] Glad to remember that never again would anybody tell me to carry on, I shrugged the shoulders of a civvy coat that was a bad fit, and carried on (140).

Sources: Wikipedia; Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers in the Great War

Thursday, January 23, 2020

The Great War and the Coming of Prohibition in America


The 18th Amendment to the Constitution prohibiting the manufacture, sale, or transportation of alcohol was adopted by both houses of Congress in December 1917 and ratified by the necessary two-thirds of the states on 16 January 1919. The amendment was implemented by the National Prohibition Act (known as the Volstead Act after Andrew Volstead, the chair of the House Judiciary Committee and a leading prohibitionist) in October 1919. Under the terms of the act, Prohibition began on 17 January 1920. The act defined "intoxicating liquor" as anything that contained one half of one percent alcohol by volume but allowed the sale of alcohol for medicinal, sacramental, or industrial purposes. The final push for  imposing an unpopular,  and ultimately socially disastrous, program on the American public came during the First World War, when 4.7 million Americans, almost all men, were under arms with over half of them deployed overseas or on the high seas.

The Ohio State University "Temperance & Prohibition" website takes the position the war did not  help push Prohibition "over the top:"

It is a myth that the First World War somehow "caused" the United States to enact prohibition. The prohibition movement was already very powerful before the nation declared war in 1917--the dry forces had already elected two-thirds majorities in both the House of Representatives and the Senate of the United States Congress. When the elections of 1916 concluded, both wets and drys knew that the battle was nearly over. . . The war, however, provided powerful new emotional messages on behalf of prohibition.

America's Heroes Succumbing to Temptation

I find one flaw, though, in the thinking of the Ohio State group, however.  Although the United States did not enter the war until 1917, it was fully engaged in the Great War from its outbreak in August 1914. The make-up and behavior of the combatants resonated through the nation first in what we now refer to as the national security sphere and then into domestic politics, where the drys were trying to finalize their long crusade and the wets were fighting a last-ditch defense. Looking back, it's clear the drys won this final battle, and their creative use of the war was a critical, if not the key, to their winning strategy.

The temperance folks were masters both at manipulating anxieties Americans had about getting involved in a foreign war and associating German brewery owners with Germany's heavy-handed military and that "Beast of Berlin," Kaiser Wilhelm II. Also, the war presented calls for managing resources, especially food. [See our article by Keith Muchowski on the crisis with grains HERE.] Wartime restrictions implemented in the Food and Fuel Control Act (August 1917)  would condition the American public for a permanent cut-off of the supply of Demon Rum. 


Through some incredibly skillful framing of the discussion, by the time the 18th Amendment had been proposed in Congress (December 1917) prohibition was labeled "100% Americanism" by its promoters. And a critical mass of the great American public bought it. The Great War amazingly gave the drys the opportunity to offer Prohibition as a matter of patriotism, sacrifice for nation, and a way to stand united against militarism, decadence, and moral corruption.

Sources: Wikipedia, HistoryExtra, the National World War One Museum