Recommended: The Russian Origins of Strategic Air Operations

By Scott Palmer, Western Illinois University
Presented at:  Russia's Great War and Revolution

Igor Sikorsky's 1911 Pilot's License (Sikorsky Archives}

Imperial Russia was an unlikely location for the launch of an aeronautical revolution. Although, by the eve of the Great War, the country’s military force boasted one of the world’s largest air fleets with some 260 aircraft at its disposal, this quantitative strength masked significant qualitative deficiencies. Virtually all of the machines that the Imperial Air Fleet possessed had been purchased directly from foreign manufacturers or were non-native models built under license in Russian factories. In almost every instance these craft represented obsolescent models. In the worst cases, they included aircraft marked by serious performance and design flaws. The difficulties facing Imperial Russia’s prewar aircraft industry did not, however, preclude true innovation. In the years that immediately preceded the onset of hostilities, Igor Sikorsky demonstrated that despite Russia’s lack of productive capacity, the country’s inventors were capable of matching (and even surpassing) the most advanced concepts and designs emerging from Western European workshops.

Like many early aeronautical pioneers, Sikorsky developed a fascination with flight as a young boy. While enrolled as an engineering student at the Polytechnic Institute in Kiev, he read reports of the Wright brothers’ famous 1908 demonstration flights in Paris. Inspired by news of the Americans’ success, Sikorsky abandoned his course of study in order to devote full time to building his own airplanes. Over the next sixteen months, while working out of a barn on his father's estate, the young designer produced a series of monoplanes and biplanes each more airworthy than its predecessor. The culmination of these early efforts was the S-6 B, the first functional hydroplane designed by a Russian. For this design, Sikorsky earned a 30,000 ruble prize from the Russian War Ministry and considerable fame. In less than four years, Sikorsky (age 23) had emerged from obscurity to become his nation’s most celebrated aircraft constructor.

Sikorsky’s meteoric rise caught the eye of Mikhail Shidlovskii, a member of the State Council and director of the Russo-Balt Carriage Factory. One of Russia’s leading industrialists, Shidlovskii had built a reputation as a visionary entrepreneur through his pioneering work in the nation's nascent automobile industry. Shidlovskii was a rare commodity in late Imperial Russia: a generous patron with money to spare. Impressed by the performance of Sikorsky’s airplanes, and sensing a business opportunity, he agreed to support the young designer’s vision for a revolutionary new airplane: a large, multi-engine craft containing an enclosed cabin for the crew.

With financial backing provided by Shidlovskii, Sikorsky labored throughout the autumn and winter of 1912-1913. The four-engine airplane that emerged from his workshop the following spring was enormous by contemporary standards. Initially dubbed The Grand (later re-christened The Russian Warrior), the machine surpassed 60 feet in length. It was graced with a wingspan approaching 90 feet and weighed nearly two tons. The Russian Warrior could accommodate up to 12 passengers, inclusive of the two man crew required to operate the behemoth. More impressive still, it could lift in excess of 1,600 pounds and stay aloft for hours at a cruising speed of up to 55 miles an hour. At that time the largest airplane in the world, Sikorsky’s creation represented a major accomplishment for Russia's hard-pressed aviation industry. The triumph was short-lived. Less than two months after its public unveiling, the Russian Warrior was destroyed at a military competition when the motor of a Russian-made biplane, flying overhead, came loose. The 80-horsepower engine fell to the earth, landing on the Russian Warrior parked below.

 Sikorsky's Il’ya Muromets (Courtesy of Von Hardesty)

Undeterred, Sikorsky set out to construct an even larger (and improved) airplane. Unveiled in the spring of 1914, the Il'ya Muromets was, like its predecessor, a stunning achievement in airplane construction. Possessing a wingspan some 20 percent larger and capable of lifting more than 2,000 pounds, the Il’ya Muromets represented a significant improvement over Sikorsky's first multiple-engine airplane. Of particular interest were the changes made by Sikorsky in the design of the aircraft's fuselage. Unlike the cabin of the Russian Warrior, which sat atop the plane's central frame, the passenger hold of the Il’ya Muromets was incorporated into the fuselage. This design innovation would serve as the model for all future military and civilian passenger craft. More impressive still were the dimensions of the new compartment. Over five feet wide and six feet high, it was capable of comfortably accommodating up to a dozen people. The plane was specially equipped to meet passengers' needs on long-distance flights. The fuselage was divided into several compartments complete with wicker chairs and small tables. The airplane also included a sleeping cabin and an observation platform, which was mounted toward the rear of the craft. Additional features included a generator for producing electric light to illuminate the cabin, a heating system, and, in another aviation first, a toilet.

On 23 May 1914, the main Military-Technical Administration placed an order with the Russo-Balt Factory for the delivery of ten aircraft at a cost of 150,000 rubles apiece. However, the onset of hostilities in August 1914 brought into stark relief the continuing inability of Russian native factories to produce quality aero engines in sufficient quantity. By the time that the war commenced in August 1914, only two of the Muromtsy had been completed. Growing delays in the shipment of engines from Great Britain and France made it impossible for the Russo-Balt factory to deliver completed aircraft to the military by contractual deadlines. Faced with the prospect of sinking further resources into an expensive machine offering as yet uncertain military advantages, state officials elected in early November 1914 to cancel the army’s contract for the remaining aircraft scheduled for delivery.

With the prospect of bankruptcy looming thanks to the impending cancellation of the 1.5 million ruble order, Shidlovskii intervened with military officials in an attempt to salvage the Il’ya Muromets program and his company. In late November, he petitioned the General Staff to allow him to take personal command of the military's existing aircraft. Noting that his experience overseeing production of the planes as well as his status as a veteran naval officer qualified him for the post, Shidlovskii argued that with improved supervision and the proper training of aircrews, the military potential of the airplane behemoths would finally be realized. Perhaps recognizing that it had nothing to lose from this unorthodox request, Stavka agreed. The cancelled contract with Russo-Balt was re-instated. On 14 December 1914 the General Staff ordered the formation of a unified "Squadron of Flying Ships" (Eskadra vozdushnykh korablei, or EVK) that would consisting of 12 Muromtsy (ten in active service, two in reserve) once the planes emerged from the factory. In the meantime, five existing aircraft were dispatched to the town of Iablonna, not far from Warsaw. Shidlovskii was promoted to the rank of major-general and placed in command of the squadron. To assist him with overseeing the training of flight crews, he enlisted the aid of the airplane's inventor, Igor Sikorsky.

Shidlovskii proved to be an effective commander. Although the program continued to suffer from production delays and the doubts of some skeptical commanders, once engaged in regular service, the EVK demonstrated that “heavy aviation” held considerable promise for the nation’s military forces—and not simply as a reconnaissance instrument. On 28 February 1915, while undertaking an observation flight along the Vistula River near the town of Bobrzhin, a single Il’ya Muromets dropped over 600 lbs of explosives upon German ground forces. Given that previous aerial bombardments had amounted to little more than a pilots tossing an errant grenade or two over the sides of their aircraft, the scale of the attack undertaken by Sikorsky’s aircraft was truly historic.

Continue Reading the Article at: 

http://russiasgreatwar.org/media/military/air_operations.shtml

Ground Zero: Cleopatra's Needle, London

Contributed by Steve Miller

Gotha G.IV bomber (Photo from WingNut)

With zeppelins  too vulnerable to weather effects and British antiaircraft defenses, the Germans switched to Gotha bombers for their attacks against London. Daylight Gotha attacks were also vulnerable, so on the night of 3–4 September 1917 an attack of 11 bombers against London was launched. The scars of that bombing are today most visible along the River Thames on Victoria's embankment at Cleopatra's Needle.  One passerby riding a tram was killed in the explosion.

The Setting Today (Steve Miller Photo)

Location (Google Maps)

1917, After the Bombing (IWM Photo)

The Damage, Still Visible Today  (Steve Miller Photo)

Detail  (Steve Miller Photo)

The Wikipedia article on Cleopatra's Needle has  much interesting information on its history and remarkable transport to England from Egypt, 1877–78.

Armenian Golgotha Reviewed by Michael P. Kihntopf

Armenian Golgotha: 
A Memoir of the Armenian Genocide, 1915–1918

by Grigoris Balakian 
Translated by Peter Balakian with Aris Sevag

Knopf, 2009

Armenians in a Deportation Column, Starting Out

The author of Armenian Golgotha, Grigoris Balakian, was born in the north-central highlands of Turkey, about 75 miles from the Black Sea, into a very well educated family actively seeking reforms for the treatment of minorities in the Ottoman Empire. Originally, after graduating from the Sanassarian Academy, Balakian attempted to follow a career in engineering by attending Mittweida University in Saxony, Germany. However, after a year he felt compelled to return to Turkey and become a priest (1901) in the Armenian Apostolic Church. Here he had a meteoric career, rising to very influential positions where he furthered the goal of achieving better rights for Armenians on the international level as well as within the empire. In 1914, when the Great War started, he was in Berlin studying theology. It is at this point that Balakian's memoir begins.

Although brief, the opening chapters present a very clear picture of German reaction to the war's start as well as the author's own confidence that Germany would triumph over its enemies. Those reactions, which he was sure would translate to the peoples of the Ottoman Empire because of the close political relations, were his rationale for making an immediate return to Turkey. When he arrived in Constantinople he found that the opposite was true. Although the ethnic Turks were ready to go to war on the German side, the Armenians seemed to be backing the Allied nations through tacit remarks, attitudes, and demeanors. When Turkey entered the war as Germany's ally, the innuendos were translated into audible words. At one point, the author noted that one could see the Armenians' opinions of who should win the war—when the Germans won a victory they seemed to be sad but when the Russians won, there was rejoicing in the streets.

But these views did not translate to the church or politicians who adamantly supported the government headed by the triumvirate of Enver Pasha, Mehmed Talaat, and Ahmed Jemal. Armenian parliamentary representatives and the hierarchy of the church went to great lengths to assure the government of the Armenians' loyalty to their cause in national language newspapers and from the pulpit. But there were doubts, especially when Armenian volunteer units were found fighting for the Russians in the Caucasus.

The hammer fell on April 1915 after a series of military losses in the Caucasus when Mehmed Talaat ordered the arrest of the Armenian intelligentsia of Constantinople. Balakian was among that group. Talaat cited two reasons for the arrests: first to stymie any thought of dissent that might lead to a revolt by the Armenians and, second, to protect the Armenians from the wrath of the Moslems who had been called to a holy war against non-believers. The author and 250 compatriots, noted authors, statesmen, scientists, and scholars, were transported by various means into the interior and some of the most desolate spots in the empire.

They were held in dilapidated facilities and reduced to starvation rations. After a few days, the killing began. Balakian describes in minute detail how Turkish officials received orders to transport this or that person to another location. Sometimes the person would be taken off individually, under guard, or a group or ten or 20 would be put together and marched off. The outcome was always the same. Somewhere, far enough away not to be seen, the individual or group, after the guards had disappeared, were set upon by mobs of Turks led by bandits fomented with religious zeal. Balakian, gleaning the information from Turkish officials who watched or participated in the attacks, reports the rampages in more detail than some readers may want. At times his descriptions are extremely vivid.

This ordeal of culling the Constantinople group continued through 1915 and into 1916. The author managed to survive through the kindness of the very officials who were his keepers and the executioners and local inhabitants who were opposed to the slaughter. Balakian recorded the names of those who were killed, their murderers' names when known, and the ordeals of being moved from place to place. He also recorded narrations, which amount to confessions, by Turkish officials who describe how provincial Armenians were killed whether in a mob frenzy or through starvation and dehydration in desert marches. At one point the author states by 1 January 1916 "of the 2.5 million Armenians in Turkey, only a few hundred thousand were left" (page 120).

Deportation Column, Thinned Out

Finally, Balakian, after nearly a year in captivity, decided to make an escape—and what an escape. He masqueraded as a railway worker and a German engineer and soldier (German companies were still constructing the Berlin-to-Baghdad railway despite the war). There were times when he was nearly found out, but, at the last minute, a benevolent person shielded him. Eventually he managed to get back to Constantinople, where he hid out until the end of the war.

Armenian Golgotha first appeared in 1921 in Armenian and caused quite a stir. By the 1930s, it was a standard reference work for other books about the genocide of the Armenians. The English translation was well received. Its value to a student of the Ottoman Empire's inner workings is immeasurable, as are the conclusions one can draw from it regarding conflict among religious groups in the Middle East.

Michael P. Kihntopf

Some Fresh World War I Images

Some days,  I just get tired of the same old photos from the war and I go searching through online archives to see if I can spot something that captures my eye.  Here are some of the "Finds" from my latest excursion.

Kepi Worn by Kiffin Rockwell, Lafayette Escadrille ( National Air & Space Museum)

Memorial Matchbox for Horatio Kitchener (Smithsonian)

"The Edge of Belleau Wood," J. Andre Smith (National Museum of American History)

Suffragette Procession, Washington, DC (National Museum of American History)

Turkish Artillery Column Marching Toward the Suez Canal (NY Public Library)

German Soldiers Bathing in the Laon Canal (NY Public Library)

Insignia for French Aero Squadron, SPA (Spad) 75 ( National Air & Space Museum)

Guard Detail, 369th Infantry (NY Public Library)

Sopwith Snipe ( National Air & Space Museum)

100 Years Ago: The Death of Zeppelin L-48

The Ancient House Museum in Norfolk has on display an unusual object in the form of an aluminum frame. It came from a German zeppelin, the L-48, belonging to the German Navy, which took part in an attempted air raid on London on the night of 16 June 1917.

The L-48 was a new "Height Climber" zeppelin, stripped of excess weight, and containing 55,800 cubic meters of flammable hydrogen gas with a length of 196.5m. It could travel at 60 mph and fly as high as 20,000 feet, much farther than British anti-aircraft guns and fighter planes could reach. Tactically the zeppelin would fly at lower levels, using faster winds to approach its target, and then ascend to safer heights before dropping its 6,000 pound bomb load. The zeppelin had 19 crew, based mainly in two gondolas attached to the bottom of the airship. Some crew could also be sited on machine gun platforms on the top of the airship and others in passages inside the structure of the airship itself.

After the First Zeppelin Raid on King’s Lynn, Jan. 1915

The very first fatal zeppelin air raid on Britain had taken place over Norfolk in January 1915, causing damage to Great Yarmouth and King’s Lynn and resulting in four dead. Since then, British defenses had improved, with the introduction of searchlights and antiaircraft artillery. The invention of the incendiary bullet in 1916 meant that zeppelins were now much easier to shoot down, if they came within range of fighter aircraft. 

On the night of 16 June 1917, the L-48 was one of four airships sent to attack London. After dropping bombs on Harwich, the airship tried to return home by heading east. However its compass had frozen at the high altitude and, unknown to its crew, it drifted north in the dark along the Suffolk coast. The airship was caught in searchlights and antiaircraft guns opened up, although the zeppelin was too high to be harmed by these.

The L-48 Crash Site

Several aircraft took off to attack the airship, but, although firing at the zeppelin, the planes could not gain the altitude to inflict any damage. In an effort to escape British airspace before dawn, the zeppelin captain gave orders to descend to reach more favorable winds. Captain RHMS Saundby, in his aircraft, noticed the descent beginning and attacked again. His bullets hit the zeppelin this time, the tail of the airship ignited, and the huge airship began to fall to earth, lighting up the sky as it did so. The vast structure crashed into the ground at Holly Tree Farm in Therberton, near Leiston, Suffolk.

Three of the German crew managed to jump out of their gondola as it hit the ground and then watched in horror as the flames consumed the entire zeppelin, as well as their 16 fellow crew members.

Crew of L-11 of Which 17 Were Transferred to L-48
L-48 Commander, Kapitänleutnant Franz Georg Eickler, Is Not Present 

In the next days crowds of locals came to view the wrecked zeppelin, and a local photographer arrived to take pictures of the airship.  The entire structure was dismantled by the Army and removed for military study. The piece of aluminium frame on display in the Ancient House is one of only two surviving significant parts of the zeppelin now known to exist, the other being in Theberton Church.

Source: Norfolk Museums and Archaeology Service

Weapons of War: Early Grenades and Launchers, Part II

This slide shows what the German trench warriors were improvising early in the war.

To see our earlier article on the French approach go to:

http://roadstothegreatwar-ww1.blogspot.com/2013/08/weapons-of-war-early-grenades-and.html

What Happened at the Spanish Lock?

Spanish Lock, Nieuport, Belgium; Still in Operation
(Photo from Friend David Craig)

The Belgian Army, after the losses of the Liège and Namur fortresses, retreated into the “National Redoubt” of Antwerp, where it was vainly hoped that its huge double ring of forts would enable a successful defense. German “super heavy” artillery, however, outranged that of the forts, so the "redoubt" proved untenable. King Albert confronted the painful necessity to evacuate Antwerp in order to preserve the remains of the Belgian Army as a fighting force. Otherwise, he risked his forces either being destroyed by the Germans or having to cross the border and be interned in neutral Netherlands.

On the morning of 8 October King Albert issued his evacuation order in response to increasing German pressure. The withdrawal was made in some confusion over the next 48 hours, with the majority of the Royal Marine Brigade withdrawn. The additional British Army force, which meanwhile had landed at Zeebrugge, was placed under the command of Sir John French of the BEF, and ordered to cover the Belgian Army retreat and then move from around Ghent toward Ypres. The remains of the Belgian field army, dispirited and in some disorder, joined civilian refugees clogging the roads to the coast or made their way into Holland.  After more than two months of continuous action against overwhelming odds they were exhausted and needed rebuilding, but they still existed.

One proposal for the Belgian Army was withdrawal west of Calais into France to regroup. Albert saw two great dangers in this. He knew that any attempt to take his army under French command would be resisted by his Dutch-speaking soldiers (who made up most of the lower ranks), and he also saw that if he abandoned Belgian soil he could be usurped as king. It was finally agreed that the Belgian Army would concentrate in the Nieuport-Dixmude area, just inside Belgium, with the French Marines of Admiral Ronarch on their right in Dixmude. By 14 October the Belgian Army started to prepare positions along the Yser, and it would be this small strip of Belgium that would be defended by Belgian soldiers, commanded by their own king, until the end of the war.

The Area to Be Inundated

As the Belgian engineers began constructing defenses along the Yser they became aware of French intentions to flood the low ground near Dunkirk, a move which would risk the Belgian forces being trapped by water behind them and by advancing Germans to their front. The obvious solution was to inundate the low lying farm land running from Dixmude, some nine miles inland, to Nieuport, on the Belgian coast, thus producing a major obstacle to stop the German advance.  This low-lying ground was below high tide level and even the canalized rivers flowed between embankments, their water levels higher than the surrounding land.

On the evening of Sunday 25 October Belgian Army engineers started preparing the area to be flooded. Exhausted soldiers, working with whatever materials were at hand, made the railway embankment watertight.  In the small hours of the 28th, the final part of the plan was executed when the Spanish lock at Nieuport, now under German observation during daylight, was secured in the open position to allow the rising tide to move inland.

The Germans launched eight infantry regiments on a six-mile front on 30 October in an attempt to force the railway embankment before the rising water defeated them. In the little village of Pervyse, Belgian soldiers of the 13th and 10th infantry regiments together with a battalion of French Chasseurs repelled the attackers and took 200 prisoners. The Germans succeeded in taking Ramscappelle but, realizing the water behind them was still rising (ankle-deep in the morning, the water was knee-high by midday), started to filter back across the rising flood. The inundation continued to rise while the last few isolated farms still held by the now-marooned enemy were taken.

The Flooded Area During the War

On morning of the 31st, a Franco-Belgian attack was launched against the Germans in Ramscapelle, but General von Beseler, commanding the German Third Reserve Army Corps, had already ordered a withdrawal across the Yser. This defeat for the Germans, engineered in no small part by two civilians who were familiar with the lock system, was one of the decisive setbacks of the Great War. It was never reversed: the Channel ports supplying the British Army never fell and an immovable anchor was set on the northern end of the emerging Western Front. Farther south on this same day the fighting west of Ypres was giving the German Army one last opportunity for a breakthrough that could flank and roll up the entire Allied position, but that's another story to be told.

The Humanity of Paul Bäumer in All Quiet on the Western Front

A long time ago I was the membership chairman for the Great War Society and had the pleasure of reviewing every membership application.  Those forms included the standard question about what got the applicant interested in the First World War.  By far, the most popular response was having read, or seen the movie version of, All Quiet on the Western Front.  This wasn't too surprising to me then because both are classics of their form.  

However, I recently picked up a copy of the book, which I had last read to prepare a book report for Mr. Finnegan's English Class in 1963 and have some new impressions. What struck me anew most powerfully was the appeal of the central character and main narrator, Paul Bäumer. From the opening passage, we know he is not going to pull any punches about how grim things are at the front, so we trust him completely as a commentator. We learn he's a good soldier: suffering without complaint, hard-edged and dutiful, and utterly faithful to his mates.  Paul's special quality, though, is that he leaves us believing that—should we ever be caught in an impossibly inhuman situation like the Western Front, 1914–1918—it may still be possible to hold onto some threads of human decency.  Below are some passages I liked, but,  of course, my hope is that you will pick up the book and read it again.

Paul's Unit Undergoing a Gas Attack

We First Meet Paul in the Chow Line After 14 Days of Fighting

Our gang formed the head of the queue  before the cookhouse. We were growing impatient, for the the cook paid no attention to us.

Finally Katczinsky called to him: "Say, Heinrich, open up the soup-kitchen. Anyone can see the beans are done."

He shook his head sleepily: "You must all be there first." Tjaden grinned: "We are ALL here."

The sergeant-cook still took no notice. "That may do for you," he said.  "But where are the others?"

"They won't be fed by you today.  There either in the dressing station or pushing up daisies."

The cook was quite disconcerted as the facts dawned on him.  He was staggered. "And I have cooked for one hundred and fifty men ——"

Comradeship Under Fire

We are little flames poorly sheltered by frail walls against the storm of dissolution and madness, in which we flicker and sometimes almost go out. Then the muffled roar of the battle becomes a ring that encircles us, we creep in upon ourselves, and with big eyes stare into the night. Our only comfort is the steady breathing of our comrades asleep, and thus we wait for the morning.

Watching Some Russian POWs

An order has turned these silent figures into our enemies; an order could turn them into friends again. On some table, a document is signed by some people that none of us knows, and for years our main aim in life is the one thing that usually draws the condemnation of the whole world and incurs its severest punishment in law. […] Any drill-corporal is a worse enemy to the recruits, any schoolmaster a worse enemy to his pupils than they are to us.

Life at Home Is Now Repellent

It is so narrow, how can that fill a man’s life, he ought to smash it to bits. . . . They are different men here, men I cannot properly understand, whom I envy and despise” . . .“I must think of Kat and Albert and Müller and Tjaden, what will they be doing?” Out there I was indifferent and often hopeless—I will never be able to be so again. I was a soldier, and now I am nothing but an agony for myself, for my mother, for everything that is so comfortless and without end.  I ought never to have come on leave.

Conversation with a Dead Frenchman

[Paul has just bayoneted a soldier who jumped in his trench and is dying alongside.]

The Scene from the Film Version

The silence spreads. I talk, I have to talk. So I talk to him and tell him directly, ‘I didn’t mean to kill you, mate. If you were to jump in here again, I wouldn’t do it, not so long as you were sensible too. But earlier on you were just an idea to me, a concept in my mind that called up an automatic response

– it was the concept that I stabbed. It is only now that I can see that you are a human being like me. I just thought about your hand-grenades, your bayonet and your weapons – now I see your wife, and you face, and what we have in common. Forgive me, camarade!  We always realize too late.

Recommended: Canadian War Humour

“I will meet the world with a smile and a joke”

Canadian Soldiers Have a Laugh While Checking for Cooties

by Tim Cook
Canadian Military History, Vol. 22, Issue 2 (17 April 2015)

The Great War of 1914–1918 was a tragedy of monumental proportions. This cataclysm of world history left more than nine million dead with Canada adding more than 60,000 to that butcher’s bill. The memory of the Great War is mired in the mud and misery of the Western Front. It is the cries of anguish that resonate through the tragic memory of the war. British soldier-poet Siegfried Sassoon wrote in his angry poem “Suicide in the Trenches” that the Western Front was “The hell where youth and laughter go.”

The language of the war—so brilliantly captured by the war poets—is of suffering, pity, and trauma. The constructed memory is built upon a belief that a lost generation was forced to flounder in the mud of Flanders or the slime of the Somme, eking out a grim existence with rats, lice, and unburied corpses, until some homicidal, septuagenarian general ordered the infantry over the top in a slow, methodical march into the mouth of the waiting guns. This is the most resilient strand of memory emanating from the war, and it is difficult for writers, filmmakers, and historians to construct a narrative in disjunction to this.

If we do not use the language of suffering, what are we left with? In the Great War for civilization, where the allies claimed that liberal values were pitted against unfettered militarism, was there time for laughter? In fact, was laughter in war not an insult to the legions of dead? It seems almost blasphemous to suggest that trench warriors giggled and joked, played pranks and sang merry tunes, satirized and punned mercilessly. But of course they did. Reading the vast discourse of published and unpublished memoirs, diaries, or letters reveals countless examples of soldiers’ humour. Jocularity and wit were outlets for soldiers and one of the ways they staved off the crushing psychological strain.

Humour remained an important safety valve for soldiers attempting to endure the destruction at the front. Lieutenant Clifford Wells had a laugh as he censored a letter from a ranker who advised his wife to prepare the house for his arrival home at war’s end in 1925. Wells wrote to his own loved ones, “The men have a sense of humour which goes far towards lightening their burdens.”

Soldiers' humour has no uniformity. There are pieces of buffoonery mixed with maudlin sentimentality, of biting wit and groan-inducing ditties, of sardonic satire and simple quips. The soldiers’ humour was enigmatic and must be understood within the context of creation, message, and audiences. The power of the soldiers’ humour was its ability to adapt to changing circumstances, to meet the needs of divergent groups, and to push against the system but not to break it. This article will look at the jokes, pranks, and quips, but not songs or theatre shows, where humour was the key in connecting with soldier audiences

Finish reading the article here (It includes lots of humourous examples):

http://scholars.wlu.ca/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1688&context=cmh

The World Remade: America in World War I Reviewed by Ron Drees

The World Remade: America in World War I

by G. J. Meyer

Bantam Books, 2016

1919 Portrait of Woodrow Wilson
as a World Statesman

The World Remade is the title of this book authored by G. J. Meyer, but I believe the title should be Wilson Wages Peace, War, and Self-Righteousness as it explains the man, his thought processes, what influenced him, what drove him to the decisions he made, his insecurities, isolation, dislikes, prejudices, and aspirations. While the book is concerned with the Great War, it is the social, political, and diplomatic aspects that fill most of the pages. Military action, primarily that of the U.S., is mentioned but fills only a small portion of the book. The reader is most likely familiar with that information, which does not need further discussion.

The first quarter of the book is a biography of the president. We learn that he demanded unquestioning loyalty; his way was the only possible way. Colonel (a self-bestowed honor) House sensed an opportunity to become part of a major historical event and latched on to him when he was governor of New York, becoming the ultimate suck-up, albeit a very skilled performer. The Democratic machine elected Wilson president only to watch him ungratefully become a progressive who betters the lot of the working man—for a while. Inexplicably, he retreated from that approach and became withdrawn.

Wilson also served as his own State Department and press secretary, typing out his communications on a typewriter. He had the time as he didn't pay much attention to the operations of the government, usually playing golf every day.

The Great War began and while he claimed neutrality for the U.S., his actions favored the Triple Entente. But then Wilson had his own definition of neutrality such as Americans should be able to safely travel on vessels flagged as belligerents. Thus, the sinking of the Lusitania which killed 128 Americans was unacceptable.

When the US entered the war, Wilson would not tolerate any dissent. Much like John Adams a century earlier, he signed into law the Espionage (1917) and Sedition (1918) Acts and 850 Americans went to prison for speaking out about the war, or being Socialists, while the press was censored. It wasn't so much that the press was told what not to publish as it lost its mailing privileges as the Postmaster General interpreted the law accordingly. While men fought and died to protect the rights of their nation, an act of Congress suspended the Bill of Rights. After the war, many would be deported as part of the Red Scare.

Wilson met his Waterloo at Paris. Neither Prime Minister Lloyd George nor Premier Clemenceau liked Wilson, nor wanted him at the treaty negotiations or thought he had earned the right to be there. He hadn't served in the political trenches long enough nor had his country suffered enough to justify his presence. The U.S. lost 116,000 killed in the war while the British and French lost about a million each. They would get their vengeance by holding his beloved League of Nations hostage while they redrew the map of the world to serve their own purposes, acquiring hundreds of thousands of square miles with riches and people accordingly. Wilson paid the ransom but still lost.

President Wilson and U.S. Peace Commissioners in Paris

Japan unjustifiably got the Shantung Peninsula of China which resulted in criticism of Wilson for inconsistency when he campaigned for the League. His campaign to take the issue to the people failed as it resulted in bigotry toward immigrants while failing to explain ambiguities of the League. The combination of his refusal to negotiate or compromise with the Senate resulted in the defeat of the peace treaty and the League.

The most poignant part of the book to me was the German process of dealing with the treaty and finally signing it. The German Foreign Minister, upon grasping the consequences of the treaty, shook so badly that he could not light a cigarette. Fortunately for him, the government fell and he did not have to sign the treaty. Despite outcries from many sources, neither Clemenceau or Lloyd George would soften the treaty.
The World Remade is well worth the read if only because of Meyer's portrayal of Wilson which explains much of what happened in 1914-1919. Wilson is thoroughly unlikable, incompetent, grasping and obsessed with the belief that he had the answers which would work if only everyone else would listen. The idea that other people had thoughts worth consideration was beyond his grasp. The author also mentions several people as glimpses of the future such as Dulles, Patton, Eisenhower, Marshall and MacArthur while ignoring Fox Conner who was Marshall's Chief of Operations. Conner is not as well-known as the other luminaries which is perhaps why he was skipped over. While well illustrated with photographs, a few maps of American action on the Western Front would have been helpful.

Meyer doesn't justify the title of his book until the second to last page when he briefly discusses the tragedies derived from the War that haunt us today and almost implies that the US should have remained out of the war. Yet Meyer, like so many other authors, never discusses what Europe--or the world--would have been like if the Germans had won. Obviously, that would involve considerable speculation but imagine if US "neutrality" had not included money, munitions and finally men for the Triple Entente; General Hindenburg (the Kaiser had long been irrelevant) would be ruling France, Germany, Belgium, Poland and parts of Russia with the English blockade expanded to starve even more of Europe. We can only speculate, of course, and Meyer does not go that far. However, The World Remade remains an informative, challenging, and intriguing book-a worthy companion to the author's earlier (2007) "companion" volume, A World Undone: The Story of the Great War.

Ron Drees

100 Years Ago: Wilson Faces a Filibuster

Senate Rule 22, the rule which establishes the parameters for ending filibusters in the Senate, dates back to World War I and the threat presented by Imperial Germany's resumption of unrestricted submarine warfare in early 1917.

5 March 1917 Headline
After a Senate Filibuster Had Killed the Bill

The rule was adopted after 11 Senators ("a little group of willful men" in Woodrow Wilson's words) took advantage of the traditional rule of unlimited debate to prevent a vote on a bill to authorize arming of American merchant vessels as a deterrent to German U-boat attacks. The House had already passed the bill by a comfortable margin of 403 to 14). The arming of American merchant vessels proceeded apace despite the failure of this legislation when Secretary of State Robert Lansing advised Wilson that he had the executive authority to take action without congressional approval.

However, the president, sensing increased opposition to his foreign policy, encouraged limits be placed on Senatorial debate in the future.  Later in the spring of 1917, the newly elected Senate adopted a rule providing that a two-thirds vote was needed to overcome a filibuster. In 1975 the Senate modified the cloture requirement, lowering the number of senators needed to end debate to 3/5ths of those “duly chosen and sworn” (60 under normal conditions). 

Source:  The Rule22 Blog

From the Civil War to the World War: Dealing with Amputations

Advances in medicine toward the end of the 19th century profoundly affected the number and nature of the wounds of surviving soldiers. While the discovery of anesthesia in 1846 had benefited the wounded of Civil War battles, anesthesia had no effect on mortality rates following surgery. It took until 1867, two years after the end of the Civil War, for Joseph Lister to publish “On the Antiseptic Principle of the Practice of Surgery” and more than a decade before the germ theory of disease started to affect army medicine.  World War  I was fought over soil that had been rich farmlands infested with bacteria, and many wounds from exploding artillery rounds caused what one observer called an “unprecedented riot of infection”, but by the time America entered the war, military physicians had learned how to cope with battle infections.

Amputees at Walter Reed Hospital

Allied military surgeons had already learned that the first several hours after injury were critical to preventing contamination of a wound. They learned that, if they cut away all foreign objects and applied antiseptic properly, mortality rates would plummet. As a result, World War I stands in sharp contrast to the experience of the Civil War:

Only 25 percent of the cases of compound fractures are now—during World War I—fatal instead of 66 per cent as in the [Civil War]. Four out of five amputations are due to infection. Our victory over infection is the reason for the greatly diminished number of amputations in the present war. Moreover, the mortality of amputations in our armies is low; in some series every one has recovered. Of the wounded, 80 percent are soon able to return to the fight. (1918 Report)

Table 7.4 shows the distribution of amputations comparing the experiences of World War I and the Civil War. During the Civil War, 11 percent of all “gunshot” wounds resulted in amputations. During World War I, less than 3 percent of “gunshot, shell, shrapnel and hand grenade” wounds resulted in amputations. 

In the years before World War I, American surgeons paid little attention to the “general principles of prosthesis.” Moreover, as Brackett, noted, the surgical methods of the battlefield that had been “found so necessary and advantageous in counteracting the dangers of infection required an entirely different character of after treatment from the customary amputation of civil life.” As a result, while the troops of the AEF were training in Europe, the Medical Department formed a “special amputation service” and started to train its own surgeons in what it called “this special type of work”.   The training took place at the bureau of artificial limbs of the American Red Cross in Paris and at facilities at amputation centers in England, Belgium, France, and Italy.  Special amputee services were established at base hospitals in Chateauroux and Savenay in France.

The amputation centers in France were unique because they provided not only the usual surgical services but also prosthetic services and the advanced physiotherapy that would be the hallmark of the Army’s Walter Reed Medical Center almost a century later. The centers incorporated lessons they had learned from the Belgian Medical Corps, which demonstrated the beneficial effects of early weight bearing in the treatment of lower-limb amputations. Through the good offices of the American Red Cross in Paris, simple prosthetic devises were designed and procured, which made it possible to get patients out of bed and walking without other support very shortly after amputation. The amputees were fitted with “provisional legs” with plaster of Paris sockets. With these temporary artificial legs, the men were put through stump drills to strengthen weak muscles and teach balance. Reconstruction aides administered massage and exercise to the bed cases. This was beneficial because it promoted healing, hastened stump shrinkage, prevented muscle atrophy, improved the patient’s morale, and decreased the time before the permanent artificial limb could be fitted.

Some British WWI Prostheses 

In one way, the Army was well equipped to handle what it expected to be an onslaught of amputations. The United States was the world leader in the production of artificial limbs because of the government’s program to provide them to Civil War veterans. In addition, a byproduct of the industrialization after the Civil War was a steady stream of industrial accidents and amputations. One supplier, the Winkley Artificial Limb Company, even had a standing contract with a railroad company to provide “adjustable slip socket legs,” noting that “a man can do double the amount of work upon a perfectly fitting leg”. When the United States entered World War I, the artificial limb industry had already been supporting increased demands from the Allies for artificial limbs, and the Army estimated that “the industry as a whole, with its existing equipment, could [still] produce a thousand limbs per month in addition to the number required for civilian needs”. Fortunately, that number was never needed.

Sources: Providing for the Casualties of War: The American Experience Through World War II,

Bernard Rostker, by the Rand Corporation for the Office of the Secretary of Defense; Illustrated First World War

Quotes from the Kaiser

Eyewitness: A German Counterattack During the Meuse-Argonne Offensive

The Witness: Sgt. Donald Kyler, Company G, 16th Infantry, 1st Division, AEF

Kyler in Paris, Under the "X"

Donald Kyler was 16 years old when he enlisted in the Army in April of 1917.  A native of Whitley County, Indiana, he grew up on a farm in the small town of Collamer.  With his parents' permission, he enlisted at Fort Wayne, Indiana. He was among the first U.S. soldiers to arrive in France. He participated in the march through Paris on 4 July 1918, fought in seven campaigns, and served with the occupying forces in Germany after the war. Of the 250 soldiers initially assigned to Company G, he was one of only ten who returned to the U.S. with the regiment in 1919, the rest having been wounded or killed.

His Account:

Early in the morning, our scouts observed enemy troops in and around Fleville and beyond getting ready for what looked like a frontal attack on our position. They probably intended to overrun us and advance down the river valley and attack the troops then making a river crossing. Their intent was tactically sound. They were desperately trying to delay or halt our offensive by whatever means. Hence, their decision to make a frontal attack without artillery support. But their execution of it was at fault in several respects.

First Division Artillery Passing Through Fleville

They would have been a perfect target for our artillery. But our artillery was busy elsewhere, and were helping the 82nd Division make their attack across the river, and our other regiments in their effort to take the difficult ground on our right. Realizing that our group could not deliver effective fire from the sheltered position just above the ravine, Captain Wildish decided to man the rifle pits to the front, but abandon the ravine and put the rest of the men echeloned along both flanks rearward. In that way, in case the enemy made a frontal attack, our men would be less bunched up and would be able to deliver enfilading fire on them as they advanced.

Tank and Wagon Damaged by German Mine Near Fleville

Corporal Sanders was told to pick the best marksmen and post them in the rifle pits up the bank. He proceeded to do so and included me in the group. I do not know exactly what the captain told him, but in general we were to hold off the enemy as long as possible. We expected a mortar and machine gun barrage, but it did not occur. Instead, they began advancing straight toward us from their positions around Fleville. Perhaps they had no mortars or machine guns available, or perhaps they thought us so weak that resistance would be minimal.

They soon found out differently, however. We had a perfect field of fire, with good dug in positions in our individual rifle pits. We had narrow slots cut in the bank from which to fire. We had no rifle grenades, but did have hundreds of rounds of rifle cartridges at each pit. The enemy left their shelters in small groups and advanced on a broad front, from beyond Fleville almost to the high ground to our right front. We did not fire until they were at about 400 yards range.

View of Terrain Where Germans Attacked Outside Fleville

Then we began firing with carefully aimed deliberate shots. At that range, most of us were able to hit a man with every shot. The first volley threw the enemy into confusion. They deployed, hit the ground, and began an ineffective fire in our direction. They kept advancing by crawling a short way and then firing again.

I was approximately in the center of our line. I could see enemy soldiers, who by their actions evidently were leaders, and I directed my fire on them when they were opposite my place in line. We fired steadily, but not hastily. The enemy kept coming, several hundred of them at least. As they got closer I directed my fire on those who had worked their way nearest to us. We did not want them to get within grenade throwing range. Also, we thought that they might charge us.

Monument to the 16th Infantry, 1st Division in Fleville

I do not understand why they did not. That would have been their best way of taking our position. If they had done so, we could not have fired fast enough to hold them. They had no mortar or artillery support. Among them, they did have several of their light machine guns, which I would class as about half way between an automatic rifle and a machine gun. Their fire was not accurate. Their bullets kept hitting the bank in front of us and many going overhead. We presented only a few square inches of exposure. By contrast, our fire was deadly. We were able to drop them almost as fast as they moved forward. As they got closer, we increased our rate of fire. My rifle got so hot that I could barely hold it. As the range lessened, we did not need to take so careful aim, and we pumped bullets as fast as we could. And then their line stopped. The survivors fell back. Some carried or dragged wounded with them. Others just fled. We continued firing. 

Source: Donald Kyler. Memoir. "The Thoughts and Memories of a Common Soldier." World War I Veterans Survey. USAMHI.