“There
were some terrible generals in the First World War,” says Jeremy
Paxman. “But the idea that generals would send men to their
deaths... I don't believe it.”
It's
Friday 29th November and tonight, in St. Anne's Church
Manchester, the TV journalist and author is here to discuss his new
book, Great Britain's Great War. As
unaccustomed to standing in the pulpit as he claims to be, he
commands his audience well as he describes how his great uncle
Charlie, a soldier in World War One, was always a presence in his and
his family's lives despite dying five years before his mother was
born. This interest in his family history became more amorphous, and
he started to find experiences and artifacts relating to past events,
like interviewing a 105-year-old (now dead) who had survived German
shelling, and some intriguing photographs taken during the outbreak
of the war, which he shares with us tonight.
The
collection of vintage photos starts with a peaceful scenes of ladies
enjoying the beach in 1914, seemingly unaware of the placard
advertising the war that they were now a part of, and would be for
the next four years. Another was of a young man photographed outside
his home who, like millions of others, had never left their county
until the war. Then they died on the other side of Europe.
“Most
wars had been fought a long way away,” he says, “and didn't
particularly affect us. In 1914, it did. Most of our troops got sent
to France and were badly outnumbered by the Germans. So the MoD need
to recruit more people.”
That's
where the UK used the iconic image of Horatio Herbert Kitchener.
“I
personally don't like him,” says Paxman, “but he did say that the
war would be won by the last million men, and he was staggeringly
spot-on. But then, he did hate politicians almost as much as he hated
journalists...”
The
recruitment campaign, Paxman explains, used Kitchener's face, but the
head of censorship wrote and organised all the advertising. This
drive saw a huge surge of volunteers, but the MoD formed the
battalions based on the neighbourhoods they were from. The drawback
of this is that if in war, if a battalion fell under attack killing
all the troops, an entire British village would be wiped out. The
knock-on effect of this was that postmen were resigning, not able to
take being the bearer of so much bad news.
It was
easy to join the army in 1914, but incredibly hard to leave. What
barred entry into the forces, however, was bad teeth- resulting in
lots of poor people failing the tests. This infuriated a lot of
largely patriotic members of the public. “What are we supposed to
do?” quotes Paxman. “Bite the Germans?”
The
recruitment general would advise them, “Come back tomorrow,” with
a knowing wink. Or he'd say, “Come back when you're 'older'”,
practically encouraging young men to apply underage.
They
signed up partly out of patriotism, partly out of following the
crowd- the rest of their mates were doing it- and partly out of
excitement. They got that excitement, but maybe not the type they
were expecting.
But the
soldiers still tried to keep the experience homely. The trenches were
nicknamed in sections, after British places, like 'Piccadilly
Circus'. As homely as the tried to make the trenches, they just
couldn't tell their families how bad they actually were. Zigzagged to
prevent invading troops from firing down the trench and killing many,
the trenches were filthy.
“There
was shit everywhere,” Paxman says, and he recites a poo-themed
rhyming poem by AP Herbert, getting a few laughs. “I bet it's the
first time a poem has been recited from the pulpit,” he muses.
“If
your friend goes over the top and into the battlefield, he may get
shot. But you can't go out and bring him back. You can hear him
screaming.”
The
church is dead silent.
“Eventually
he dies. And when you do steal a glance over the top of the trench,
the body is moving. What you're looking at is the rats that have
gotten between his uniform and his body.
“To
come through that, to not be mentally stressed by it... it's quite an
achievement.”
In
1915 questions rose regarding the ethics of conscription. Most of the
accounts of people finding exemptions were mysteriously destroyed,
but the records Paxman found relating to those seeking exemptions
from service are hilarious. Bathing machine operators were
successful. A man trying to put off service until after his course of
hair restoration was not so. Not a single person was shot for
cowardice, though- 16 were sentenced to death, but no executions were
carried out and all were commuted.
By
1917 there was a crisis of supply. German U-boats were sinking ships
providing us with goods, hence rationing started. On 16th
December, 3 German battle cruisers opened fire on Hartlepool.
During research for the book, one of Paxman's interviewees- a
105-year-old who experienced the shelling as a child- described to
him hearing the bangs, and mistakenly took it for a neighbour beating
carpets. She walked out of her house and saw people fleeing the
shoreline, pushing prams, being cut down in the street.
As the
bombs continue to fall throughout the country, the nation becomes
familiar with the sight of disabled people. After the war, when the
soldiers have returned, the surgeons face a huge surge of workload.
The Somme left 2000 men with serious facial wounds. Many surgeons
realised that facial scars were a different type of injury to any
other- that when a man loses his face, he loses his identity. So, in
many of the hospitals mirrors were banned. Many patients never left
the hospital, taking jobs as porters. Their own children feared them.
They found work as cinema projectionists and any type of work that
didn't need a great deal of public contact. And this led to the
development of plastic surgery.
“Now
plastic surgery is cosmetic,” Paxman says. “Then it was
groundbreaking. It was something that... saved men, really. It helped
them keep faith.”
The Q
and A section begins. The first question relates to Syria.
“I was
in Lebanon last month,” Paxman admits. “What's happening to
children out there is heartbreaking. We should be helping. How
precisely you help by firing a cruise missile I don't know. The vote
was probably the right one, but I don't want to see Syria dominated
by Islamist headbangers.”
A girl
next to me asks to confirm whether Hitler sent people to leave mice
and snakes in cinemas to stop people watching anti-nazi propaganda
movies, and asks about soldiers' connection to wildlife.
“It's
absolutely true that men really relished the sight of butterflies and
birds, and admired their freedom. Away from the front line, they'd
grow daffodils and acorns. When the soldiers stormed the German
trenches, they found them in a better state than ours- lined with
concrete and hung with tapestries. The Germans also had the luxury of
choosing where they served.”
Question:
Was the general public told enough information about the war at the
time, through the media?
“There
was no fierce scrutiny, but people cannot have been unaware of what
was happening. Many people would return home to their wives and tell
them their stories. But they endured until the end. Maybe the
government should have an easy ride for taking the decision to go to
war.”
The next
question: How do we make World War One relevant to today's society?
“I
discovered that schoolteachers are using Blackadder
as if it were fact. Others are doing a better job.
“If
you go to the memorials, the stories you will find portray a profound
empathy. It's a very good way of reading a document archive. There's
plenty of letters from the front to home, but not many going the
other way. When you do find these letters, their banality is
incredible. The contrast between these and the soldiers' letters is
remarkable. It's amazing, and painfully moving.”
Question:
I was wondering if you had thought about what you would have done.
“I
have thought about it. As I was at that age, I would have gone. I was
lucky enough to go to a school that had officer training- whether I'd
have been lucky or unlucky I don't know. But we owe these men a
memory. What these people did forged the society we know. There were
some clever people, and some idiots, but that's human nature!"
The
signing was held over at the Deansgate Waterstones branch. Mr. Paxman
himself came across as a surprisingly friendly bloke, dropping his
hard-nosed hack image for his fans. I'm going to give the book as a
Christmas present. He picked up on that without me telling him, and
he left a Yuletide message next to his signature.
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