Eyewitness: Red Dragon: Aftermath of a Mine Detonation

Red Dragon of the Royal Welch Fusiliers

At 2:50 a.m. on 22 June 1916, a German mine was exploded under a British trench near Givenchy-Lez-La Bassée in Northern France. The mine’s shock wave caused considerable damage, the powerful underground charge tore through the British trench system, burying members of B Company of the 2nd Battalion, Royal Welch Fusiliers alive, killing 54, and creating a massive crater measuring roughly 150 by 75 yards. Using 8,000 pounds of explosives, it is considered the largest German mine on the Western Front during 1916. The explosion was quickly followed by a German trench raid, which the surviving British troops eventually repulsed. In honor of the Royal Welch’s prompt action in defeating the German raiders (a force of some 150 men) the crater was given the name "Red Dragon Crater" from the design of the regiment’s insignia.

The explosion also brought down eight meters of gallery behind the British tunnelers of the 254 Tunnelling Company Royal Engineers 35 feet underground who were digging their own mine, the Shaftesbury Shaft, cutting off their sole exit route. Five of the miners were trapped underground.

Royal Engineer John French described the chaotic immediate aftermath:

When we reached the place where the mine had gone off, we could not recognize the place it was altered so. Great gaps in the parapets, where you could see the German lines easily and where the mine had gone off or rather series of mines. There was an enormous crater with dead and wounded, both Germans and British for the Germans had made an attack right after the explosion. They got in our trenches but very few got back again, for after the first shock our men got together splendidly and there was some fierce had to hand fighting. The enemy carried hand grenades and daggers beside rifle and bayonet. . . . There was a German Officer lying dead just over the back of our trench with a grenade still in his hand. There was also one of our officers who had killed three Germans in hand to hand fighting finally being killed himself with a dagger thrust. . . . Two of our squad dug out a sergeant . . . He had a leg and arm broken and was half buried. . . .[T]here were scores of German hand grenades and a lot of German equipment lying around and blood on almost everything. Five of our Coy are buried in one of our mine galleries.

Three of the trapped miners escaped.  A fourth, Sapper John Hackett, refused to abandon a fifth man, Thomas Collins, who was injured. Another major roof collapse sealed the chamber and both men were lost. Hackett later was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross for his self-sacrifice. 

Sapper John Hackett, VC

Noted war poet Edmund Blunden was an observer to the event and supervised some of the post-explosion repair work. While he did not dedicate a piece to the Red Dragon explosion, there's a stanza from his poem "The River House" that seems to me might have been inspired by what he saw that night.

The fields are desolate under the gray; 

But once they have seen the sun to-day. 

He came up in a blood-red lift 

That blackened like the red blood spilt, 

And through a sudden awful rift 

There came a gleam, a fiery dream

Of God’s eye watching demon guilt.

Sources:  MilitaryHistoryNow; Nottinghamshire Mining Museum; Royal Welch Fusiliers Museum, Tunneller Memorial Survey; 1914-1918.co.uk.

"World War I: The American Legacy" — A Beautifully Produced Documentary

Editor's note:  This is an old-style documentary that exclusively uses still images with no moving footage.  The images, however, are of the highest quality, as is the script and its reading by the late David Carradine. MH

Seven Pillars of Wisdom

By T.E. Lawrence

Privately Printed, December 1926

Max Boot, Reviewer

Lawrence When He Was a Student at Jesus College, Oxford, About 1910

Originally Presented at the Hoover Institution Blog, 2016

The cult of celebrity around T.E. Lawrence was created by the American journalist Lowell Thomas immediately after World War I and expanded with the 1962 release of David Lean’s magnificent film Lawrence of Arabia starring Peter O’Toole. Lawrence contributed to his own mystique through this memoir. Seven Pillars of Wisdom is one of the greatest books to come out of World War I (rivaled only by All Quiet on the Western Front) and surely the greatest ever written by an insurgent.

In muscular, elegant prose, it recounts Lawrence’s adventures as a British adviser to the Arab Revolt against the Ottoman Empire from 1916 to 1918. On the very first page he strikes a winningly modest note: “My proper share was a minor one, but because of a fluent pen, a free speech, and a certain adroitness of brain, I took upon myself, as I describe it, a mock primacy. In reality I never had any office among the Arabs: was never in charge of the British mission with them.” 

Yet he remains indelibly identified with the Arab uprising which combined with a conventional British offensive to strip the Turks of their Middle East empire. In the end, however, his account is hardly a “triumph”; the title is ironical. He emerged bitterly disappointed that the Arabs were not granted the freedom he and they desired; they simply traded British and French sovereignty for Ottoman rule. “I meant to make a new nation, to restore a lost influence, to give twenty millions of Semites the foundations on which to build an inspired dream-palace of their national thoughts…,” he wrote. “In this hope they performed some fine things, but, of course, instead of being proud of what we did together, I was continually and bitterly ashamed.”

Order HERE

The fact that Lawrence was ultimately disappointed with the result of the Arab Revolt only added further to his mental anguish and made Seven Pillars a work of considerable psychological complexity as well as a manual for generations of insurgents and counter-insurgents. Its aphorisms (e.g., “Irregular war was far more intellectual than a bayonet charge”) remain quoted to this day.

Max Boot

See links to all our articles on Lawrence of Arabia HERE.

Sgt. Frank L. Carbaugh's 1918 Poem "The Fields of the Marne"

Sgt. Frank L. Carbaugh, 7th M.G. Battalion, 3rd Division

By Connie Ruzich

Frank Carbaugh was a Doughboy from Greencastle, a small town in central Pennsylvania.  A non-commissioned officer with the 7th Machine Gun Battalion, Carbaugh was wounded at the Second Battle of the Marne late in July of 1918. While in hospital, he wrote a poem that looks ahead to the war’s aftermath.

  The Fields of the Marne

The fields of the Marne are growing green,

  The river murmurs on and on;

No more the hail of mitrailleuse,

  The cannon from the hills are gone.

The herder leads the sheep afield,

  Where grasses grow o'er broken blade;

And toil-worn women till the soil

  O'er human mold, in sunny glade.

The splintered shell and bayonet

  Are lost in crumbling village wall;

No sniper scans the rim of hills,

  No sentry hears the night bird call. 

From blood-wet soil and sunken trench,

   The flowers bloom in summer light;

And farther down the vale beyond,

  The peasant smiles are sad, yet bright.

The wounded Marne is growing green,

  The gash of Hun no longer smarts;

Democracy is born again,

   But what about the troubled hearts?

                                                      —Sgt. Frank Carbaugh

Battle of Marne (detail) by Harvey Dunn (Smithsonian)

The poem imagines a time when peace has returned to the world, yet so many French soldiers have died that women must continue to work in the fields. They till the land that has been fertilized by the bodies of the slain. At the site of the Battle of the Marne, snipers, sentries, and sounds of gunfire have been replaced by the song of night birds and the green of newly grown grass. Though wounded and scarred by battle, the land is healing, and Democracy rises like a phoenix from the ashes. 

 But there are some hurts that can never be healed—the broken hearts of those who mourn.

 “The Fields of the Marne” was first published in Stars and Stripes on 16 August 1918. A brief note under Carbaugh’s name simply stated, “Written while lying wounded in hospital; died August, 1918.”  Franklin L. Carbaugh was 22. Nearly three years later, in May of 1921, his parents met the train that brought their youngest son's body back to Pennsylvania for burial in the family plot at Cedar Hill Cemetery in Franklin County. 

An anonymous source later posted an account of Carbaugh’s death and its effect on the men who knew him to the Benton Scott County Democrat of Benton, Missouri. The details of the story suggest that it was also sent to his mother by those who were with Frank during the last weeks of his life:

Sergeant loses his last fight.

Soldier wins admiration of comrades through cheerfulness in hospital.

He was game till the end.

Four operations were too much for strength of non-com who was wounded in action at Chateau-Thierry.

An American Hospital in France.

"No, they're not going to bring the sergeant back to the ward, boys."

These were exactly the words the nurse used. But the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes said more.

The little group in the ward, which had been playing cards on one of the beds to forget the tension they felt while the sergeant's operation was taking place, stopped suddenly, all attention, all hungering for good news.

"You don't mean the sergeant's gone, do you? exclaimed one.

"Yes, boys, the sergeant's gone. Four operations were just too much for his strength. He never regained consciousness."The little group of patients and the nurse were silent.

The chap with one leg gone had half a deck of cards in his hands. Dazed, he relaxed, and the cards fell to the floor, scattering over half the ward. The chap with one leg gone never noticed them.

"Gee, the sergeant's gone," he said huskily, "He sure was a game boy." 

"He was the best fellow I ever knew," said another, "and the cheerfullest, too. I've seen them dressing his leg time and again, and gosh! but it hurt. But did the sergeant ever say anything? Not the sergeant--he never batted an eye.""Just to think," mused a third, "it wasn't half an hour ago when we saw him go out. I shouted, "Good luck, Sarge," when the stretcher was carried through the door, and he smiled and said, "Thanks, I'll be back in a few minutes with you." 

The sergeant was Frank Carbaugh of Greencastle, Pa., a member of the Seventh Machine-Gun Sanitary detachment. No mother ever reared a braver boy.  The sergeant, who was a mathematics teacher before the war, was wounded when his outfit was rushed into action near Chateau Thierry. None of his bunkies knew just how, because, as one of them explained, "The sergeant wasn't the kind of a fellow who'd talk of himself. You can bet he was wounded doing something for somebody, though."

They did know that the sergeant lay out in the open a long time after he was wounded. Medical records show that his left leg was badly slashed, and they operated at the first hospital he reached. But gangrene had set in, and four operations had followed in an effort to save him. They have had lots of brave patients that doctors and nurses and patients admired alike in that hospital, but never one just like the sergeant, who said little, was always joking and cheerful, and never had a complaint. The rest of the boys in the ward would do anything in the world for "the sarge."

The little group sitting on the cots, with the nurse, had been talking of the sergeant for a long time when one of the boys said, "You ought to write to his mother, Miss Cutter. The sarge thought the world of his mother." " I'm going to," replied the nurse. "You boys write out what you think of the sergeant, and I'll send that, too."

This article by Connie Ruzich was originally published in her own blog Behind Their Lines: Poetry of the Great War (LINK) and by the World War One Centennial Commission.  Images from Find a Grave, the Smithsonian, and Behind Their Lines.

The Birth and Fading Away of France's Union Sacrée

The French people by August  1914 were facing a coming war with shock, sadness, and consternation. But—unbeknownst to most Frenchmen—the process of unifying a French society, long suffering multiple fractures, had subtly begun even before the war or even the assassination of the Archduke. 

On 4 August 1914, President Raymond Poincaré formerly asked political parties, trade unions, and religious groups agreed to set aside their sharp domestic differences, stop strikes, and unite behind the government and military to defend the country against German invasion. French socialists and trade unions, who had previously promised to oppose a capitalist war, chose patriotism over internationalism following the assassination of pacifist leader Jean Jaurès. A key symbolic moment had occurred when France's most ardent nationalists stood alongside Jaurès supporters at his funeral the day before.

The  first sign that the new policy was broadly accepted came immediately, when the French parliament unanimously voted for war credits, with socialists fully backing the national defense effort. This Union sacrée (sacred union) would temporarily bridge the deep gap between the officially secular French Republic and the Catholic Church. As a gesture, in the Chamber of Deputies, Edouard Vaillant, who took part in the Commune, the Paris popular uprising that followed the defeat  of 1870, shook hands for the first time with Albert de Mun, who had  been an officer in the French army that suppressed it.

As the authors of France and the Great War, 1914–1918 observe: "This process began even before the war, with the reconciliation between the army and the Republic.  Peace broke out in 1914 between the Republic and its other great foe in  the Dreyfus Affair, the Catholic Church. Still overwhelmingly Catholic, the French in and out of uniform flocked to churches as mobilization  began. Pope Pius X, with followers on both sides of the war, desperately sought neutrality and issued vain appeals to both sides to make peace.  But French Catholicism rallied to the national cause from the outset." 

A Catholic Priest Serving as a Soldier in the French Army

In  August 1915, the Catholic clerical journal La Revue du Clerge Français  captured the tone of the mobilization perfectly, by effortlessly uniting the  cause of God with the cause of France: "France cannot lose. The world would be denied that of which she is the exquisite  adornment, the Church that of which she is the tireless apostle, and God himself  the service of a generous knight."

Unification also took place in the political sphere. Left-wing parties, trade unions, and socialists agreed to stop striking and support the government. This unity allowed France to mobilize millions of soldiers, while stabilizing the war economy.  Even socialist leaders joined the wartime government cabinet for the first time.

President Raymond Poincaré Visiting the Front

The pure form of Union sacrée, however, did not last the entire war. High casualties and shortages on the home front took a big toll on the nation's morale. By 1917, workers began striking again for better pay and conditions. Defeatists and radicals intensified their corrosive efforts throughout the war years, contributing to the post-Nivelle Offensive mutinies in the ranks. Still, the early months of the sacred union kept France from fracturing from within during the critical opening phase of the war.

Georges Clemenceau had supported the patriotic defense of France against Germany, but he viewed the passive political truce of the Union sacrée as weak and insufficient, arguing that a mere political truce among parties lacked the hard-driving force needed to actually win the war. Upon becoming prime minister in November 1917, he discarded the concept for guerre intégrale (total war), demanding active mobilization, aggressive prosecution of radicals, and zero tolerance for defeatism.

Sources: Encyclopedia 1914-1918; France and the Great War, 1914–1918; Wikipedia; European History, 1890–1945

Rhode Island, USA, Goes to War

Like Much of America, Rhode Island Had Been Caught
Up in the Pre-Entry Preparedness Movement –
Preparedness Event in Providence, 3 June 1916

The State of Rhode Island is smallest U.S. state by area, measuring just 48 miles long and 37 miles wide. Known as the Ocean State, it features roughly 400 miles of coastline. Its capital and largest city is Providence. Its population during the First World War was about 606,000. For World War I, Rhode Island furnished 28,817 servicemen  to the U.S. war effort, with 612 losing their lives. The state served as a vital naval and military hub, particularly through Newport Naval Station, and later faced the devastating impacts of the 1918 Spanish Influenza pandemic. Local civilian volunteers, including staff from Rhode Island Hospital and Brown University, organized ambulance corps and staffed overseas YMCA canteens. 

Military Contributions and Mobilization

Over 28,000 Rhode Islanders served in the Army, Navy, Coast Guard, and Marine Corps. Through the draft and volunteer enlistments, the bulk of these men served throughout the various branches of the Army, the remained in the other services.  With the National Guard deployed, independent chartered organizations like the First Light Infantry stepped up to protect state infrastructure. 

Artillery Piece and Crew from the 103rd FA in France

The unit with the greatest concentration of Rhode Islanders was the 103rd Field Artillery of the new 26th Yankee Division.  The 103rd Field Artillery was formed on 5 August 1917 by combining National Guard Units from Rhode Island, Maine, New Hampshire, and Connecticut.  Rhode Island's Battery A,  had been cited for its work on the Mexican Border incident as "the most efficient National Guard Battery in the United States," and became the nucleus of the regiment's Batteries A, B, and C, and Troop M, Rhode Island cavalry, became its Headquarters company. Added to these were 476 National Guard Coastal  Artillerymen, 246 of them from Rhode Island. The 26th Division was arguably the longest-serving American unit serving on the Western Front fighting in every major campaign of the AEF.

Trainees at Naval Station Newport

The Strategic Importance Importance of Rhode Island to the Nation's War Effort

Narragansett Bay became a massive theater of naval operations. Naval Station Newport served as a major training base for thousands of sailors. Coastal fortifications like Fort Wetherill in Jamestown were aggressively reinforced with heavy artillery to guard against German U-boats, which were actively hunting offshore.  In July 1917, the Navy established a coastal patrol boat base on Block Island at Hog Pen Basin to monitor enemy activity and German U-boats off the New England coast. 

Rhode Island, as a great industrial center, played a large part in increasing war production in which hundreds of companies were involved. Cities like Woonsocket and Pawtucket ran around the clock to produce tons of wool and fabric, famously helping to clothe a vast portion of the U.S. military.  Rhode Island, the "jewelry capital of the world," repurposed its precision manufacturing tools. For example, the Gorham Manufacturing Company paused silver making to produce hand grenades and munitions.

An outstanding example of speeding up the war effort was provided by the Bethlehem Shipbuilding Corporation. Starting from scratch on 17 November 1917, the company started constructing a factory at Field's Point in Providence to make large boilers for United States' ships, in short time they had shipped their first boiler and eventually established a speed record of producing a boiler a day.

Victory Parade

World War I Victory Parade, Providence 

On 11 May 1919, Providence, Rhode Island, held a massive spring Victory Parade to welcome home local World War I soldiers and sailors. An estimated 52,000 spectators turned out as military units marched down Washington Street and through Kennedy Plaza (then known as Exchange Place).  A temporary decorative arch was erected in the center of the plaza featuring a replica of the Winged Victory of Samothrace on top. The arch bore the words: "TO THE MEMORY OF THOSE WHO WENT FORTH AND RETURNED NOT WHOSE SOULS ARE MARCHING ON."

The Struggle to Build a War Memorial

Rhode Island's World War One Memorial

With the war over, the leaders of Providence began to consider what would be a suitable memorial to honor those who had defended their country so well. It was first proposed to erect a memorial building with an auditorium, but the price tag of $2,000,000 was too high. Many proposals later, it was finally agreed to have artists and sculptors submit sketches in competition. As a result the design of Paul Philippe Cret for a fluted 150-ft  shaft monument was approved in 1928. At long last, on Armistice Day 1929, the people of Providence gathered in the newly named Memorial Square to join with Senator Jesse H. Metcalf, Governor Norman S. Case, and others, to dedicate this "tribute in granite" in honor the memory of those who had served, and particularly those who had given their lives. The female figure at top represents peace.

Sources:  Rhode Island Yearbook, 1969; Rhode Island A Bibliography of its History — “Rhode Island in World War I”; Small State — Big History; Rhode Island State Archives

Musical Footnotes to a World War

Maurice Ravel at Verdun

One of Maurice Ravel's  last major works was the Piano Concerto in D for the Left Hand, written for the Viennese pianist Paul Wittgenstein (1887–1961), who had lost his right arm in the war.

Edward Elgar wrote his last masterpiece, Concerto for Cello and Orchestra in E minor, Op.85, in 1919 to lament the terrible deaths in the Great War.

The premiere of Gustav Holst's The Planets Suite, with that standard of war film and documentary scores "Mars - The Bringer of War", was held on Sunday, 29 September 1918, in London's Royal Albert Hall.

Weapons of War: The Automatic Pistol Caliber .45, Model 1911 in Action

 

From Gentleman at Arms Jack Savage Wildman

Two Medal of Honor Recipients

On the morning of 8 October 1918, elements of the 328th Infantry, 82nd Division, United States Army, were pinned down by German machine-gun fire. Seventeen men, under the command of Sgt. Bernard Early, were ordered to outflank the machine guns. Shortly after they left their own lines, they came across a German officer and several soldiers having breakfast. Believing that they were surrounded, the Germans surrendered. However, before Early could detach a man to take the prisoners back through the lines, intensive machine gun fire swept the patrol. Eight American soldiers survived. Sgt. Early was seriously wounded. As the remaining non-com, Cpl. Alvin York took command of the patrol. While the remaining Americans covered their prisoners, trying at the same time to avoid enemy fire, York spotted the location of the German guns, about 30 yards away. In addition to his Model 1917 Enfield rifle, he also carried a Colt .45 automatic* pistol. The German gunners peeked over the tops of their Maxim guns to avoid hitting their own men.

* Our readers surely grasp that this weapon is not a true "automatic", i.e., you cannot hold down the trigger and fire off the full clip. However, since the usage applied by the original manufacturer (and by our contributor) was "automatic" rather than the more accurate "semi-automatic" we will not change their terminology.

With the appearance of each face, framed in its "coal-scuttle" helmet, York's Enfield spoke. One shot equaled one dead gunner. York was from the Tennessee mountains, where firearms were used to put food on the table. Mountain folk were frugal, making each shot count.

Unnoticed by York, several Germans moved forward, locating York's position. Out of sight, they counted the shots from York's rifle, establishing the pattern of his shooting. They counted a series of five shots from his Enfield and rushed York to gain the advantage of the few extra seconds it took to reload the rifle.

As the Germans charged, they came into easy pistol range. York brought the .45 automatic into action, stopping the patrol in its tracks. He continued shooting and advancing, killing a total of 25 German soldiers and capturing 132 by himself. York was promoted to Sergeant and awarded the Medal of Honor.

Alvin York and Frank Luke

On 29 September 1918, Second Lieutenant Frank Luke, Jr., of the United States Army's 27th Aero Squadron, flew over an American balloon squadron dropping a note, "Watch for burning (German) balloons" just beyond the German lines. As predicted, observers saw the three explosions of three balloons. Luke did not return. It was not until after the war that a grave's registration unit learned the conclusion of Luke's "3-kill" attack.

After destroying the third balloon, Luke was wounded and his SPAD was so shot up that he could barely control it. Nevertheless, he maneuvered his airplane to strafe German infantry columns. He crash-landed and was immediately surrounded by Germans. Rather than surrender, he drew his .45 automatic pistol and started firing at the Germans. They returned his fire, killing Luke immediately. Frank Luke was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously.

These two events are among the best known involving the use of John Browning's Colt .45 automatic pistol*. This tough, durable pistol has been used by the U.S. Armed Forces for 80 years. Soldiers have sworn by it and sworn at it. It has a heavy slide and bolt that slams back and forth with each shot, in addition to its strong recoil. Many have found it awkward to use. However, with adequate training, it will serve the user very well.

Browning Brothers Gun Shop, Utah Territory, 1882
(John Browning Third from Left)

John Browning's Creation

John Browning was born in 1855, son of a gunsmith, in Ogden, Utah. His rifles, pistols, machine guns and shotguns have dominated the field of fire arms for almost 100 years. It was in 1896 that John and his brother, Matthew, approached the Colt Firearms Company in Hartford, Connecticut. They reached an agreement for Browning to work with Colt as an independent designer of firearms. For the first 15 years, they developed probably the most enduring firearm in military history: the Government Automatic Pistol, Caliber .45. Browning and Colt worked closely with the U.S. Army Ordnance Department. Models were field tested by active-duty soldiers, and extensive laboratory tests were made.

Soldiers stationed in the Philippines reported that the .38 caliber pistol then in use was almost useless against the hard-charging Moros. These tribesmen wrapped themselves in tough leather bindings. Swinging their razor-sharp Kris like a windmill, their bodies absorbed two, three or four shots. On reaching the line of U.S. soldiers, they usually managed to kill one or two soldiers before the .38 shots had their effect and they fell in battle. The soldiers wanted more impact; more stopping power.

In addition to reports from the field, the ordnance department made tests with various cartridges and loads. In order to develop a pistol with the greatest impact possible, studies were made by firing into soft wood, clay, carcasses of animals, human cadavers, and live animals.

A look at the ballistics of the Colt .45 and the Parabellum (Luger) 9 mm cartridge highlights the basic differences of these cartridges.

The Colt .45 bullet is a big, slow-moving projectile. When it strikes a target, a great deal of energy is transferred from the bullet to the target. This provides the "knock-down" quality for which the gun is so famous. Officially adapted by the U.S. Government in 1911, production proceeded at a slow pace. Peacetime budgets are never very large. When the United States entered the Great War, there were about 60,000 Colt .45s on hand. The bulk of them had been manufactured by Colt, with a few thousand manufactured by the U.S. Armory at Springfield, Massachusetts.

Guns made for these production runs were all stamped UNITED STATES PROPERTY on the frame. The slide carried the inscription MODEL OF 1911 U.S. ARMY on both Army and Marine Corps issue. Those manufactured for the Navy were stamped MODEL OF 1911 U.S. NAVY until 1915 when they, too, were labelled US Army. Production runs increased when the Great War started and continued to increase through 1918. By May 1918, it had increased to 1,000 per day. The summer months of 1918 saw an increase to 2,200 per day. The vast majority of these guns were produced by Colt or the U.S. Armory at Springfield, MA. Remington UMC produced about 21,000. Plans were made for many other companies to start production of the .45 automatic, but the war ended before they were tooled up for production. Since the number available for the Doughboys was less than required, the troops in France were also equipped with the less satisfactory Model 1909 Colt .45 revolver.

A number of foreign companies or governments were licensed to manufacture the Colt-Brownings in a variety of calibers. It is interesting to note that Colts at one time were produced under the direction of the Nazi government. In 1915 the Norwegian government was licensed to manufacture the pistols. When Nazi troops occupied Norway in World War II, they ordered the government arsenal to start production. The Nazis planned to use the pistol to arm their occupying forces. However, only about 1,000 guns were produced in 1941 and 1942.

After the Great War, the Army's Ordnance Department evaluated the Colt .45's combat performance. They recommended the following changes:

1. Wider front sight to develop "Patridge-type" of sights, allowing the shooter to quickly align both front and rear sights under various lighting conditions.

2. Longer hammer spur. Both Changes 2 and 3 work together to prevent the web between the thumb and the forefinger being pinched between the hammer and the safety spur when the gun is fired.

3. Longer grip-safety spur.

4. Arched spring housing fills the shooter's hand and checkering backstrap provides a better grip.

5. Relief cuts in the frame around the trigger allowing easier access to the trigger.

6. Shorter trigger with knurled face to avoid the trigger finger from slipping.

These changes were put into production on 15 June 1926 as AUTOMATIC PISTOL, CALIBER .45, MODEL OF 1911A1. This is the version of the weapon displayed at the start of this article.

WWI Era Doughboys with Their Colt .45s

The pistol remained in service through World War II, the Korean War, and the War in Vietnam. The old war-horse proved to be particularly useful in the tunnel fighting that went on in Vietnam.

The enduring reliability of the Browning-Colt .45 military model is reflected in the fact that about 50,000 pistols "disappeared" from the 380,000 made between April 1917 and November 1918. Including prewar production, about 100,000 of the 520,000 pistols bought by the Government disappeared in the total six- ears between the first orders and the conclusion of the war. A good thief knows a good thing when he sees it!

In recent years, the growing need to standardize the ammunition used by all the NATO governments led to selection of the 9 mm Beretta. The Armed Forces are now in a transition period phasing out the old Colts. The U.S. Marine Corps ran tests on the Beretta and found after extensive firing, some of the frames cracked. However, the switch-over continues.

Sources and thanks: Thanks to weapons expert Sam Lisker of the excellent website, coltautos.com, for the Colt .45 illustrations. An earlier version of this article appeared in RELEVANCE, Journal of the Great War Society.

Charlie Chaplin at War

Charlie Chaplin Raising War Funding in The Bond

Charles Spencer Chaplin (1889–1977)  came from a show business family. Charlie was thrown on his own resources before he reached the age of ten as the early death of his father and the subsequent illness of his mother made it necessary for Charlie and his brother, Sydney, to fend for themselves. He was a relatively unknown British stage performer in British music halls when he first arrived in America in 1910 with Fred Karno's vaudeville troupe. American film producer Mack Sennett quickly spotted him as a promising talent and offered him a job. By late 1913 his vaudeville contract commitments had be met, and he signed with Sennett's Keystone Studios.

On the Way to America, Charlie in the Life Preserver

When World War I broke out in August 1914, Charlie Chaplin was still considered a  newcomer at Sennett's operation in California. He had just started his film career a few months prior as he was actively developing his iconic "Little Tramp" persona. The tramp had first appeared in Kid Auto Races at Venice in February 1914. He was an immediate star in America, but distribution of his films to Europe was stalled by the outbreak of war. By 1915, however, his meteoric rise to global fame was well on its way. Before the war's end, he would be operating his own studio.

First Appearance of the Little Tramp, 1914

As a British subject, Charlie Chaplin faced intense public pressure to enlist from his home country and began receiving white feathers, symbolizing cowardice for not fighting. When Great Britain initiated conscription in early 1916, the military did not choose to call him up.  When America entered the war and began its own draft, Charlie dutifully registered, reported for a physical, and was declined on the basis of being underweight. Nonetheless, he faced criticism from factions in both countries—led in England  by the relentlessly jingoistic press of Lord Northcliffe—for the duration of the war and afterwards. None of which came from serving troops, who loved his films. Meanwhile, Charlie fully committed his reputation and enormous show-biz skills to supporting the war effort.

At a Bond Rally in Washington DC, April 1918

Most notably, he produced films and made public appearances in support of the Liberty Bonds program with a strong patriotic themes.  His one contribution that could be labeled as propaganda was a short film titled The Bond. More remembered, is his comedic classic Shoulder Arms, in which Charlie—as his tramp character—joins the AEF and survives boot camp, the army bureaucracy, and the Kaiser and his army. It proved to be his most popular film to date with the returning Doughboys among its biggest fans. His numerous war-supporting public appearances peaked in April 1918.  Chaplin, Mary Pickford, and Douglas Fairbanks dedicated the month to traveling by train across the United States to sell Liberty Bonds.  On 8–9 April 1918, they appeared on Wall Street  outside the Sub-Treasury Building (now Federal Hall), drawing a historic crowd of over 20,000 people.

Shoulder Arms Made Charlie a Millionaire

Post-Armistice, Chaplin had overcome the smear campaign with the white feathers over his war service. Especially in the United States, his cinematic work and relentless war bond fundraising buried the earlier criticism.  For the next half-century, however, controversies of a different sort would follow him. These included high-profile marriages to teenage girls, explosive divorce trials with shocking allegations, a messy paternity suit, and political targeting for his pro-Soviet and Communist advocacy that led to his forced exile from the United States. While on a 1952 sea voyage, he received word that his re-entry permit into the United States had been revoked. He settled in Switzerland for the remainder of his days and died in 1977 on Christmas Day.

Sources:  War History Online; Charliechaplin.com; History.com; Internet Movie Database

The Return of the Soldier

By Rebecca West

Virago, 2010

Sam Jordison, Reviewer

Rebecca West, (Bettmann Archive)

Originally Presented in The Guardian, 5 June 2018

“I’ve aroused hostility in an extraordinary lot of people,” Rebecca West told the Paris Review in 1981. “I’ve never known why. I don’t think I’m formidable.”

West was speaking toward the end of a long, productive life. She had written troubling accounts of the Nuremberg trials, spoken up about repression under communist regimes (and had done the same for fascist ones in the decades before the Second World War), and taken to the streets with suffragettes (later falling out with many of their leaders). She had set down hundreds of thousands of sparkling words in novels, non-fiction books, reviews and journalism. And throughout it all she had demonstrated an enviable ability to set fire to everything.

Here she is on feminism, in 1913:

“I myself have never been able to find out what feminism is; I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute.”

And on female writers, in 1952:

“If one is a woman writer there are certain things one must do. First, not be too good; second, die young, what an edge Katherine Mansfield has on all of us; third, commit suicide like Virginia Woolf. To go on writing and writing well just can’t be forgiven.”

Her debut novel, The Return of the Soldier (1918) is a wonderful provocation. It took a maverick line on everything from sexual politics to class and the First World War The story revolves around a 36-year-old soldier called Chris Baldry who has returned from the front during the First World War physically intact but shell shocked. He has forgotten the past 15 years of his life and can’t remember anything past the age of 21, when he was deeply in love with a significantly less wealthy woman called Margaret. He has forgotten that he and Margaret fell out of contact, and that he married another woman called Kitty, with whom he both sired and lost a child. He has forgotten that he has carried out extensive renovations to his country estate, Baldry Court, and so loses his footing on new steps in the hall. He has forgotten the war. He is, as a result of this loss, much happier.

Reading today, this memory loss feels like a convenient plot device, but as Victoria Glendinning reminds us in the introduction to the Virago anniversary edition of the novel, problems with recollection were a frequent symptom of shell shock. By the end of the First World War, the British army faced 80,000 cases, with hundreds of thousands more young men also dealing with serious trauma. So in 1918, West was engaged with some of the toughest questions of the time.

The Return of the Soldier is more about the pity than the glory of war; references to “flooded” trenches, a sky “full of flying death” and bullets falling “like rain on the rotting faces of the dead” show that West has no illusions about “the old Lie.” But The Return of the Soldier is not a straightforward anti-war book. One of its most tragic implications is that Chris is better off “sick”—he may be delusional, but his madness makes far more sense than the real world. This idea is made explicit by the doctor who arrives to see him toward the end of the book:

“It’s my profession to bring people from various outlying districts of the mind to the normal. There seems to be a general feeling it’s the place where they ought to be. Sometimes I don’t see the urgency myself.”

What does Chris win by going back to war, or even by staying in his unhappy marriage? Weighed against this are the demands of his wife, the exigencies of a society at war, and the idea that “the truth is the truth and he must know it.” Yet the novel is ambivalent at best about his return to military service.

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On the way to this unsettling conclusion, West packs in all manner of subversion. There are hints of lesbianism and adultery, as well as the eternal taboo of incest. She undermines the idea that women should exist merely to promote men’s happiness, and she pours gelignite into the foundations of the class system by making her narrator, Jenny, a terrible snob. Here is her view of the much poorer Margaret:

“She was repulsively furred with neglect and poverty, as even a good glove that has dropped behind a bed in a hotel and has lain undisturbed for a day or two is repulsive when the chambermaid retrieves it from the dust and fluff.”

And so it goes on, blasting assumptions old and new, and West carried out this work of destruction at the age of just 24 and in less than 200 pages. If that isn’t formidable, tell me what is.

Sam Jordison