This chilling account of the use of flame throwers comes from the book “The Soul of the War' by Phillip Gibbs.
The soldiers of France have learned the full range of human suffering, so that one cannot grudge them their hours of laughter, however coarse their mirth. There were many armies of men from Ypres to St. Mihiel who were put to greater tasks of courage than were demanded of the human soul in medieval torture chambers, and they passed through the ordeal with a heroism which belongs to the splendid things of history. As yet the history has been written only in brief bulletins stating facts baldly, as when on a Saturday in March of 1915 it was stated that : “In Malancourt Wood, between the Argonne and the Meuse, the enemy sprayed one of our trenches with burning liquid so that it had to be abandoned. The occupants were badly burned." That official account does not convey in any way the horror which overwhelmed the witnesses of the new German method of attacking trenches by drenching them with inflammatory liquid.
A more detailed narrative of this first attack by liquid fire was given by one of the soldiers :
"It was yesterday evening, just as night fell, that it happened. The day had been fairly calm, with the usual quantity of bursting shells overhead, and nothing forewarned us of a German attack. Suddenly one of my comrades shouted, 'Hallo! what is this coming down on us? Any one would think it was petroleum.' At that time we could not believe the truth, but the liquid which began to spray on us was certainly some kind of petroleum. The Germans were pumping it from hoses.
Our sub-lieutenant made us put out our pipes. But it was a useless precaution. A few seconds later incendiary bombs began to rain down on us and the whole trench burst into flame. It was like being in hell. Some of the men began to scream terribly, tearing off their clothes, trying to beat out the flames. Others were cursing and choking in the hot vapour which stifled us. 'Oh, my Christ!' cried a comrade of mine. 'They've blinded me !’
In order to complete their work those German bandits took advantage of our disturbance by advancing on the trench and throwing burning torches into it. None of us escaped that torrent of fire. We had our eyebrows and eyelashes burned off, and clothes were burned in great patches and our flesh was sizzling like roasting meat. But some of us shot through the greasy vapour which made a cloud about us and some of those devils had to pay for their game."
Although some of them had become harmless torches and others lay charred to death, the trench was not abandoned until the second line was ready to make a counter-attack, which they did with fixed bayonets, frenzied by the shrieks which still came from the burning pit where those comrades lay, and flinging themselves with the ferocity of wild beasts upon the enemy, who fled after leaving three hundred dead and wounded on the ground. Along five hundred miles of front such scenes took place week after week, month after month, from Artois to the Argonne, not always with inflammatory liquid, but with hand grenades, bombs, stink-shells, fire balls, smoke balls, and a storm of shrapnel.
(Philip Gibbs was already a well-known British journalist and author upon outbreak of the war in August 1914. He was immediately sent to the continent to cover the hostilities. Arrested upon personal orders of Lord Kitchener at least 4 times, he somehow managed to return time and again, either as a volunteer stretcher-bearer, hospital orderly or as an accredited correspondent with the French armies. He was finally officially accredited as one of 5 British war journalists in uniform by intercession of prime minister Lloyd George. Philip Gibbs spent almost the whole of the war at the front, from where he sent his daily dispatches. While detesting the horrors of modern war, he was a staunch admirer and defender of the common soldier and wrote of their tribulations at the front with heart-felt passion and conviction. After the war he was knighted and continued an acclaimed career as journalist and novelist. He died in 1960.)
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Lowther of the "Lamb." - His Play Reviewed.
The New York Times carried a review of Claude Lowther’s famous play. It was not a glowing report, unfortunately.
Play By An M.P.
“The Gordian Knot,” by Claude Lowther, Produced in London – Is Not a Success.
London Times – New York Times.
Special Cablegram.
London, May 21 – The Times, in criticising “The Gordian Knot,” produced at His Majesty’s Theatre last evening, says the author, Claude Lowther, M.P. is too evidently a diligent student of the younger Dumas.
The young Vicomte de Selignac is being ruined by Garielle Belleville, whereupon his old friend Roger Martens conceives the idea of killing her. Gabrielle gives him a chance to effect his purpose through he vain determination to rehearse a sham strangling scene. She lets down her golden hair, intending to mock at Martens, but he plays the scene in real earnest, strangling her with her own hair.
Miss Olga Nethersole played the heroine in wonderful costumes and languorous poses. No English actress would make more the part. Beerbohn Tree played Martens with a never-failing sense of picturesque character.
Play By An M.P.
“The Gordian Knot,” by Claude Lowther, Produced in London – Is Not a Success.
London Times – New York Times.
Special Cablegram.
London, May 21 – The Times, in criticising “The Gordian Knot,” produced at His Majesty’s Theatre last evening, says the author, Claude Lowther, M.P. is too evidently a diligent student of the younger Dumas.
The young Vicomte de Selignac is being ruined by Garielle Belleville, whereupon his old friend Roger Martens conceives the idea of killing her. Gabrielle gives him a chance to effect his purpose through he vain determination to rehearse a sham strangling scene. She lets down her golden hair, intending to mock at Martens, but he plays the scene in real earnest, strangling her with her own hair.
Miss Olga Nethersole played the heroine in wonderful costumes and languorous poses. No English actress would make more the part. Beerbohn Tree played Martens with a never-failing sense of picturesque character.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Harry Patch
I read last week of the sad news that Harry Patch the last survivor of the First World War passed away, just a week after Henry Allingham.
With Harry’s death the generation that fought through the horror of the trenches has finally faded into the history books.
On June 3rd this year Jack Ross the last ANZAC passed away.
There has been much written about both, but I thought a paragraph in Harry Patch’s own words summed up the war for the “Last Tommy.”
“I don’t think it is possible to truly explain the bond that is forged between a soldier in the trenches and his fellow soldiers. There you all are, no matter what your life in civvy street, covered in lice, desperately hungry, eking out the small treats – the ounce of tobacco, the biscuit. You relied in him and he on you, never really thinking that it was just the same for the enemy. But it was. It was every bit as bad.”
Let us hope and pray that we never experience the horror they went through.
With Harry’s death the generation that fought through the horror of the trenches has finally faded into the history books.
On June 3rd this year Jack Ross the last ANZAC passed away.
There has been much written about both, but I thought a paragraph in Harry Patch’s own words summed up the war for the “Last Tommy.”
“I don’t think it is possible to truly explain the bond that is forged between a soldier in the trenches and his fellow soldiers. There you all are, no matter what your life in civvy street, covered in lice, desperately hungry, eking out the small treats – the ounce of tobacco, the biscuit. You relied in him and he on you, never really thinking that it was just the same for the enemy. But it was. It was every bit as bad.”
Let us hope and pray that we never experience the horror they went through.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Jam-tin Artillery Party.
This article from “A Soldier’s Sketches under Fire" by Harold Harvey describes the bombing of a tower near Armentieres by a party of Royal Fusiliers armed with Jam-tin Artillery.
“The volunteers were known as the "Jam-tin Artillery Party," from the fact that their bombs were made of jam-tins filled with gun-cotton, cordite, etc. The party had to do all the "sticky work," and this was a very sticky job.”
(On the outbreak of the war I joined the Royal Fusiliers, uninfluenced by the appeal of wall-posters or the blandishments of a recruiting sergeant. My former experience as a trooper in the Hertfordshire Yeomanry being accounted unto me for military righteousness, I sailed with my regiment from Southampton on September 3rd, 1914.).
The taking of a distillery (on the outskirts of Armentieres) of which the Germans had been in possession for about three weeks, and within the boundaries of which they set a big trap that didn't catch us. The air was poisoned with the stench of dead animals as we arrived within smell of the block of buildings I show first—and, with thoughts in the minds of some of us of what we had read of the ill-savour of the Black Hole of Calcutta, "the Black Hole" was an ejaculation before it was a designation. The enemy occupied the portion of yard shown in the foreground and used the front of the buildings and the gateway for cover. The British advanced to a position within twenty yards of the gateway in front of it, and, after several nights' work, erected a barricade of twigs, grass, and earth, rapidly collected and thrown into place. By one of their clever tricks the Germans had made the buildings look as though entirely deserted. They had been careful not to shell them when they took them from the French, and it was their intention to draw us on into the yard unsuspectingly and so get us at their mercy. For the surrounding buildings contained machine guns, though we did not then know the fact, and so quiet was everything that I was able to make my sketches undisturbed. The yard could have accommodated quite 3,000 of our men, who, if the enemy had had their way, would have been riddled with shot. However, we naturally proceeded with military caution. Scouts advanced first, and were somewhat deceived because the Germans had artfully left a caretaker and his wife in the building seen adjoining the central arch. These people, doubtless under orders, passed out milk through the window to the scouts at night to give the idea that the buildings were still peacefully occupied, though, as a matter of fact, they contained, not only the enemy soldiers, but their machine guns as well. Really we might have been drawn into the trap but for one lucky incident. The enemy were foolish enough to do some secret signalling with a light at night from the tower above the gateway. This was immediately observed by the scouts, and the game was up.
Jam-tin Artillery Party."
When the scouts gave the warning that the enemy were in the buildings, volunteers were called for to make up a bombing party to blow up the tower where the signalling had been observed. We had no idea how many Germans the tower contained, but later found traces of only one. There were evidences that he had been there for some time, and he had stores of milk and food for a longer stay; they were not wasted, but he had no part in their consumption. The volunteers were known as the "Jam-tin Artillery Party," from the fact that their bombs were made of jam-tins filled with gun-cotton, cordite, etc. The party had to do all the "sticky work," and this was a very sticky job. The plan was to lay a trail with a fuse to bombs, which we placed under the floor at the top of the stairs leading to the upper storey of this old and disused gateway. We crept up these stairs silently for three nights running before we were successful. One hitch and the whole show would have been given away. However, we managed to place the bombs, light the fuse, blow up the floor, and blow off the top of the tower as well, the German signaller being blown up with it. Then we waited. Still the enemy showed no sign of moving, and word was sent back to our artillery to shell the building, which it did to great effect. We were then ordered to advance with fixed bayonets, in platoons, to take various buildings. The place when we captured it was found to be fitted up like a fortress inside, with machine guns trained on the yard to mow our men down as they came through the gate, if the enemy's plan had succeeded; but it entirely failed. We found but little resistance. Inside were a number of dead Germans killed by our artillery fire, a very scientific signalling apparatus, and a complete telephone system to the army corps which was intended to have wiped us out. It was solely due to our scouts and the "Jam-tin Artillery Party" that we were not all killed.
“The volunteers were known as the "Jam-tin Artillery Party," from the fact that their bombs were made of jam-tins filled with gun-cotton, cordite, etc. The party had to do all the "sticky work," and this was a very sticky job.”
(On the outbreak of the war I joined the Royal Fusiliers, uninfluenced by the appeal of wall-posters or the blandishments of a recruiting sergeant. My former experience as a trooper in the Hertfordshire Yeomanry being accounted unto me for military righteousness, I sailed with my regiment from Southampton on September 3rd, 1914.).
The taking of a distillery (on the outskirts of Armentieres) of which the Germans had been in possession for about three weeks, and within the boundaries of which they set a big trap that didn't catch us. The air was poisoned with the stench of dead animals as we arrived within smell of the block of buildings I show first—and, with thoughts in the minds of some of us of what we had read of the ill-savour of the Black Hole of Calcutta, "the Black Hole" was an ejaculation before it was a designation. The enemy occupied the portion of yard shown in the foreground and used the front of the buildings and the gateway for cover. The British advanced to a position within twenty yards of the gateway in front of it, and, after several nights' work, erected a barricade of twigs, grass, and earth, rapidly collected and thrown into place. By one of their clever tricks the Germans had made the buildings look as though entirely deserted. They had been careful not to shell them when they took them from the French, and it was their intention to draw us on into the yard unsuspectingly and so get us at their mercy. For the surrounding buildings contained machine guns, though we did not then know the fact, and so quiet was everything that I was able to make my sketches undisturbed. The yard could have accommodated quite 3,000 of our men, who, if the enemy had had their way, would have been riddled with shot. However, we naturally proceeded with military caution. Scouts advanced first, and were somewhat deceived because the Germans had artfully left a caretaker and his wife in the building seen adjoining the central arch. These people, doubtless under orders, passed out milk through the window to the scouts at night to give the idea that the buildings were still peacefully occupied, though, as a matter of fact, they contained, not only the enemy soldiers, but their machine guns as well. Really we might have been drawn into the trap but for one lucky incident. The enemy were foolish enough to do some secret signalling with a light at night from the tower above the gateway. This was immediately observed by the scouts, and the game was up.
Jam-tin Artillery Party."
When the scouts gave the warning that the enemy were in the buildings, volunteers were called for to make up a bombing party to blow up the tower where the signalling had been observed. We had no idea how many Germans the tower contained, but later found traces of only one. There were evidences that he had been there for some time, and he had stores of milk and food for a longer stay; they were not wasted, but he had no part in their consumption. The volunteers were known as the "Jam-tin Artillery Party," from the fact that their bombs were made of jam-tins filled with gun-cotton, cordite, etc. The party had to do all the "sticky work," and this was a very sticky job. The plan was to lay a trail with a fuse to bombs, which we placed under the floor at the top of the stairs leading to the upper storey of this old and disused gateway. We crept up these stairs silently for three nights running before we were successful. One hitch and the whole show would have been given away. However, we managed to place the bombs, light the fuse, blow up the floor, and blow off the top of the tower as well, the German signaller being blown up with it. Then we waited. Still the enemy showed no sign of moving, and word was sent back to our artillery to shell the building, which it did to great effect. We were then ordered to advance with fixed bayonets, in platoons, to take various buildings. The place when we captured it was found to be fitted up like a fortress inside, with machine guns trained on the yard to mow our men down as they came through the gate, if the enemy's plan had succeeded; but it entirely failed. We found but little resistance. Inside were a number of dead Germans killed by our artillery fire, a very scientific signalling apparatus, and a complete telephone system to the army corps which was intended to have wiped us out. It was solely due to our scouts and the "Jam-tin Artillery Party" that we were not all killed.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Over the Parapet by Robert W. Service.
This is an excellent poem by Robert W. Service.
I first came across Robert W. Service's poetry in the book "Over There" with the Australians by R. Hugh Knyvett, where he quoted his poetry. During the War Service worked as an ambulance driver with the Canadian Red Cross.
"All day long when the shells sail over
I stand at the sandbags and take my chance;
But at night, at night I'm a reckless rover,
And over the parapet gleams Romance.
Romance! Romance! How I've dreamed it, writing
Dreary old records of money and mart,
Me with my head chuckful of fighting
And the blood of vikings to thrill my heart.
But little I thought that my time was coming,
Sudden and splendid, supreme and soon;
And here I am with the bullets humming
As I crawl and I curse the light of the moon.
Out alone, for adventure thirsting,
Out in mysterious No Man's Land;
Prone with the dead when a star-shell, bursting,
Flares on the horrors on every hand.
There are ruby stars and they drip and wiggle;
And the grasses gleam in a light blood-red;
There are emerald stars, and their tails they wriggle,
And ghastly they glare on the face of the dead.
But the worst of all are the stars of whiteness,
That spill in a pool of pearly flame,
Pretty as gems in their silver brightness,
And etching a man for a bullet's aim.
Yet oh, it's great to be here with danger,
Here in the weird, death-pregnant dark,
In the devil's pasture a stealthy ranger,
When the moon is decently hiding. Hark!
What was that? Was it just the shiver
Of an eerie wind or a clammy hand?
The rustle of grass, or the passing quiver
Of one of the ghosts of No Man's Land?
It's only at night when the ghosts awaken,
And gibber and whisper horrible things;
For to every foot of this God-forsaken
Zone of jeopard some horror clings.
Ugh! What was that? It felt like a jelly,
That flattish mound in the noisome grass;
You three big rats running free of its belly,
Out of my way and let me pass!
But if there's horror, there's beauty, wonder;
The trench lights gleam and the rockets play.
That flood of magnificent orange yonder
Is a battery blazing miles away.
With a rush and a singing a great shell passes;
The rifles resentfully bicker and brawl,
And here I crouch in the dew-drenched grasses,
And look and listen and love it all.
God! What a life! But I must make haste now,
Before the shadow of night be spent.
It's little the time there is to waste now,
If I'd do the job for which I was sent.
My bombs are right and my clippers ready,
And I wriggle out to the chosen place,
When I hear a rustle . . . Steady! . . . Steady!
Who am I staring slap in the face?
There in the dark I can hear him breathing,
A foot away, and as still as death;
And my heart beats hard, and my brain is seething,
And I know he's a Hun by the smell of his breath.
Then: "Will you surrender?" I whisper hoarsely,
For it's death, swift death to utter a cry.
"English schwein-hund!" he murmurs coarsely.
"Then we'll fight it out in the dark," say I.
So we grip and we slip and we trip and wrestle
There in the gutter of No Man's Land;
And I feel my nails in his wind-pipe nestle,
And he tries to gouge, but I bite his hand.
And he tries to squeal, but I squeeze him tighter:
"Now," I say, "I can kill you fine;
But tell me first, you Teutonic blighter!
Have you any children?" He answers: "Nein."
Nine! Well, I cannot kill such a father,
So I tie his hands and I leave him there.
Do I finish my little job? Well, rather;
And I get home safe with some light to spare.
Heigh-ho! by day it's just prosy duty,
Doing the same old song and dance;
But oh! with the night -- joy, glory, beauty:
Over the parapet -- Life, Romance! "
I first came across Robert W. Service's poetry in the book "Over There" with the Australians by R. Hugh Knyvett, where he quoted his poetry. During the War Service worked as an ambulance driver with the Canadian Red Cross.
"All day long when the shells sail over
I stand at the sandbags and take my chance;
But at night, at night I'm a reckless rover,
And over the parapet gleams Romance.
Romance! Romance! How I've dreamed it, writing
Dreary old records of money and mart,
Me with my head chuckful of fighting
And the blood of vikings to thrill my heart.
But little I thought that my time was coming,
Sudden and splendid, supreme and soon;
And here I am with the bullets humming
As I crawl and I curse the light of the moon.
Out alone, for adventure thirsting,
Out in mysterious No Man's Land;
Prone with the dead when a star-shell, bursting,
Flares on the horrors on every hand.
There are ruby stars and they drip and wiggle;
And the grasses gleam in a light blood-red;
There are emerald stars, and their tails they wriggle,
And ghastly they glare on the face of the dead.
But the worst of all are the stars of whiteness,
That spill in a pool of pearly flame,
Pretty as gems in their silver brightness,
And etching a man for a bullet's aim.
Yet oh, it's great to be here with danger,
Here in the weird, death-pregnant dark,
In the devil's pasture a stealthy ranger,
When the moon is decently hiding. Hark!
What was that? Was it just the shiver
Of an eerie wind or a clammy hand?
The rustle of grass, or the passing quiver
Of one of the ghosts of No Man's Land?
It's only at night when the ghosts awaken,
And gibber and whisper horrible things;
For to every foot of this God-forsaken
Zone of jeopard some horror clings.
Ugh! What was that? It felt like a jelly,
That flattish mound in the noisome grass;
You three big rats running free of its belly,
Out of my way and let me pass!
But if there's horror, there's beauty, wonder;
The trench lights gleam and the rockets play.
That flood of magnificent orange yonder
Is a battery blazing miles away.
With a rush and a singing a great shell passes;
The rifles resentfully bicker and brawl,
And here I crouch in the dew-drenched grasses,
And look and listen and love it all.
God! What a life! But I must make haste now,
Before the shadow of night be spent.
It's little the time there is to waste now,
If I'd do the job for which I was sent.
My bombs are right and my clippers ready,
And I wriggle out to the chosen place,
When I hear a rustle . . . Steady! . . . Steady!
Who am I staring slap in the face?
There in the dark I can hear him breathing,
A foot away, and as still as death;
And my heart beats hard, and my brain is seething,
And I know he's a Hun by the smell of his breath.
Then: "Will you surrender?" I whisper hoarsely,
For it's death, swift death to utter a cry.
"English schwein-hund!" he murmurs coarsely.
"Then we'll fight it out in the dark," say I.
So we grip and we slip and we trip and wrestle
There in the gutter of No Man's Land;
And I feel my nails in his wind-pipe nestle,
And he tries to gouge, but I bite his hand.
And he tries to squeal, but I squeeze him tighter:
"Now," I say, "I can kill you fine;
But tell me first, you Teutonic blighter!
Have you any children?" He answers: "Nein."
Nine! Well, I cannot kill such a father,
So I tie his hands and I leave him there.
Do I finish my little job? Well, rather;
And I get home safe with some light to spare.
Heigh-ho! by day it's just prosy duty,
Doing the same old song and dance;
But oh! with the night -- joy, glory, beauty:
Over the parapet -- Life, Romance! "
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Liquid Fire.
This excellent article from the “Great War in a Different Light” and is on the German use of the Fame Thrower.
Originally published in ‘the War Budget’ January 27th, l916 as 'Liquid Fire as a German Arm' 'Terrors of the ‘Flame Projector’' by Ignatius Phayre.
It is a brilliant article of its time; I especially like the paragraph on the wild bees of Tanga used a German secret weapon. Wonderful evocative writing worthy of a Victorian melodrama.
"It would be folly to deny military genius to the Germans. No nation since the world began was so formidably equipped for offence nor so entirely given to Odinism and aggressive intent. Luckily the cure of it inheres in its own violence. Never again will Prussia prance over all the German States, with her mad Hohenzollem tocsin of "Weltmacht oder Neidergang" — Dominion or Downfall! Reviewing the whole colossal clash we see surprise after surprise sprung upon the unready Allies. Automatic rifles and monstrous guns; aerial mines, suffocating clouds, and whole corps of professional incendiaries, armed with bags of nitro-cellulose "confetti" for blazing the trail of "Frightfulness" through terrified civilian populations. On land, at sea, and in the air, the German was full of wicked wiles. In the East African bush he stretched ropes- across the sand and brushwood tracks. Trodden on by our troops these ropes brought down flags hoisted in the trees. These flags marked the range to a yard; the whole field of fire being commanded by machine-guns in other trees farther back. No wonder the East African campaign called for a General of Smith-Dorrien's calibre.
The Flammenwerfer
It is a fact that the Germans enlisted hives of wild bees against us in these jungle wastes. As with the range-finding flags, wires or cords lifted lids from the hives, whereupon infuriated swarms assailed our advancing men. Partly smoked into stupor at first, but now thoroughly roused, the winged Huns made fierce practice, quite spoiling that of our men and bringing their gallant attack to nought. Of the Loyal North Lancashires many were horribly stung by this unexpected foe. Some were blinded for a time, or rendered incapable of holding weapons. From one of our lads a R.A.M.C. captain extracted over a hundred stings. Such tricks and guiles as these are not to be despised. I could fill a column with them, ranging as they do from wireless mendacity to the now famous "Flammenwerfer." This is a truly devilish engine for spraying liquid fire in vast sheets and jets, accompanied by palls of smoke that screen the supporting infantry. I often wonder where Germany tried the awful tools she was preparing for. Certainly not at the great "Kaisermanoevers" — those pompous reviews of all arms led by the Emperor himself and watched by all the foreign attaches. No fire-squirts were seen there, but decorous academic drill, with a cavalry charge to wind up the day — an affair magnificent indeed, but not war at all.
Flames at Hooge
Where did the Prussian General Staff experiment with Satan's own gear like the flame-projector, before whose coal-tar sheets of fire our men recoiled at Hooge? We lost 500 yards of trenches that day — a position we had held in the face of all other attacks by mortar and battery and bomb. But the aerial-blaze was too much for flesh and blood to bear; this inextinguishable Greek fire from the sky, with its withering heat and hideous slithering roar. Another surprise — each cloud of fire covering an area of 110 feet, beneath which no living thing could survive. The Flammenwerfer, a thing like a portable fire-extinguisher and made by the Fiedler Company of Berlin, was one of the Krupp secrets for blasting a road to. Calais through the best armies of the Allied Powers. So long ago as October 16th, 1914, Note 32 of the 2nd German Army fell into our hands, and gave all instructions about "Arms at the Disposal of Pioneers for Fighting at Close Quarters.
Trained Incendiaries.
The flre-squirts, troops were told, were to be in charge of specially-trained men; and the nozzle threw a liquid that flamed spontaneously as it met the air. The jet had a range of 100 ft. "The effect is immediate and deadly" the novice was assured." And the enormous heat developed forces the enemy a long way back. As jets burn from one and a-half to two minutes, and can be stopped at will, short isolated spurts of flame are advisable, so that one charge may spray several objectives. The Flammenwerfer will therefore be mainly employed in street and house to house fighting."
Beyond all doubt this instrument of Kultur was used to destroy whole towns in the early German line of march. In a reservoir cylinder is stored the nitrogen which gives the necessary pressure that forces out the oil fuel from the main body of this new arm. This cylinder, about 3ft. 6in. high, holds 14 quarts of benzine, and strapped on a man's back it supplies four or five lengths of hose and nozzles, each directed by a pioneer well trained in the devil's own war. .
Fire Among the Snows
Even the Italian Bersaglieri were sprayed with flame on dizzy rock walls South of Plezzo. Like hounds scenting their prey the famous Alpini tracked the Austrians into snowy caves, which, without a moment's warning, spouted vast sheets of fire, generating intolerable heat. Yet the Alpini prevailed. The first ranks emptied their magazines in a last agony, burning alive before their comrades' eyes. But meanwhile the great Italian howitzers plastered the caves with monstrous shell. till the foe was buried by the very rocks he'd rolled up to hide his treacherous lair. Here vast hoards of munitions were found, among them flre-squirts of German make, each weighing 2701b. when fully charged. Under a pressure of 125 atmopheres, a highly inflammable mixture of tar and benzine was forced into an ignition-tube and then expelled in hissing tongues of flame 200ft. long. A murderous arm, indeed, at the short ranges of trench warfare. As the mixture issues from the nozzle in fine diffusive sprays it takes fire with extraordinary effect, blighting all below it.
Fighting the Flames
On the French front entire trenches .were set ablaze — especially those floored with boards and "wattled” at the sides with pit-props and hurdles to hold up the oozy winter clay. There was no arguing with the Flammenwerfer — at first. Men simply melted before its blazing blast; their clothes alight, the very stocks of their rifles charred with the killing heat that came pouring out of the very sky.
"I was on patrol one morning," a badly-burned victim told me in a Boulogne hospital, "when I heard a new sort of explosion on my right. I thought the world was coming to an end when I beheld an enormous aerial fire-sheet, 20ft. long and 100ft. high. I was gaping at this when the flames swooped down. I don't think seas of water would have put out that conflagration. The whole earth appeared in flames. I screamed aloud, as a man might who fell into an ocean of vitriol. Then I ran for it with tunic and trousers uncannily ablaze. But no man has any idea what it's like to face these new blowpipes of Kultur. It's not war, sir. It's scientific flaying and withering — as one day the Germans themselves will admit, and condemn such murder as our own Field Marshal condemned it in his Hooge dispatch."
Originally published in ‘the War Budget’ January 27th, l916 as 'Liquid Fire as a German Arm' 'Terrors of the ‘Flame Projector’' by Ignatius Phayre.
It is a brilliant article of its time; I especially like the paragraph on the wild bees of Tanga used a German secret weapon. Wonderful evocative writing worthy of a Victorian melodrama.
"It would be folly to deny military genius to the Germans. No nation since the world began was so formidably equipped for offence nor so entirely given to Odinism and aggressive intent. Luckily the cure of it inheres in its own violence. Never again will Prussia prance over all the German States, with her mad Hohenzollem tocsin of "Weltmacht oder Neidergang" — Dominion or Downfall! Reviewing the whole colossal clash we see surprise after surprise sprung upon the unready Allies. Automatic rifles and monstrous guns; aerial mines, suffocating clouds, and whole corps of professional incendiaries, armed with bags of nitro-cellulose "confetti" for blazing the trail of "Frightfulness" through terrified civilian populations. On land, at sea, and in the air, the German was full of wicked wiles. In the East African bush he stretched ropes- across the sand and brushwood tracks. Trodden on by our troops these ropes brought down flags hoisted in the trees. These flags marked the range to a yard; the whole field of fire being commanded by machine-guns in other trees farther back. No wonder the East African campaign called for a General of Smith-Dorrien's calibre.
The Flammenwerfer
It is a fact that the Germans enlisted hives of wild bees against us in these jungle wastes. As with the range-finding flags, wires or cords lifted lids from the hives, whereupon infuriated swarms assailed our advancing men. Partly smoked into stupor at first, but now thoroughly roused, the winged Huns made fierce practice, quite spoiling that of our men and bringing their gallant attack to nought. Of the Loyal North Lancashires many were horribly stung by this unexpected foe. Some were blinded for a time, or rendered incapable of holding weapons. From one of our lads a R.A.M.C. captain extracted over a hundred stings. Such tricks and guiles as these are not to be despised. I could fill a column with them, ranging as they do from wireless mendacity to the now famous "Flammenwerfer." This is a truly devilish engine for spraying liquid fire in vast sheets and jets, accompanied by palls of smoke that screen the supporting infantry. I often wonder where Germany tried the awful tools she was preparing for. Certainly not at the great "Kaisermanoevers" — those pompous reviews of all arms led by the Emperor himself and watched by all the foreign attaches. No fire-squirts were seen there, but decorous academic drill, with a cavalry charge to wind up the day — an affair magnificent indeed, but not war at all.
Flames at Hooge
Where did the Prussian General Staff experiment with Satan's own gear like the flame-projector, before whose coal-tar sheets of fire our men recoiled at Hooge? We lost 500 yards of trenches that day — a position we had held in the face of all other attacks by mortar and battery and bomb. But the aerial-blaze was too much for flesh and blood to bear; this inextinguishable Greek fire from the sky, with its withering heat and hideous slithering roar. Another surprise — each cloud of fire covering an area of 110 feet, beneath which no living thing could survive. The Flammenwerfer, a thing like a portable fire-extinguisher and made by the Fiedler Company of Berlin, was one of the Krupp secrets for blasting a road to. Calais through the best armies of the Allied Powers. So long ago as October 16th, 1914, Note 32 of the 2nd German Army fell into our hands, and gave all instructions about "Arms at the Disposal of Pioneers for Fighting at Close Quarters.
Trained Incendiaries.
The flre-squirts, troops were told, were to be in charge of specially-trained men; and the nozzle threw a liquid that flamed spontaneously as it met the air. The jet had a range of 100 ft. "The effect is immediate and deadly" the novice was assured." And the enormous heat developed forces the enemy a long way back. As jets burn from one and a-half to two minutes, and can be stopped at will, short isolated spurts of flame are advisable, so that one charge may spray several objectives. The Flammenwerfer will therefore be mainly employed in street and house to house fighting."
Beyond all doubt this instrument of Kultur was used to destroy whole towns in the early German line of march. In a reservoir cylinder is stored the nitrogen which gives the necessary pressure that forces out the oil fuel from the main body of this new arm. This cylinder, about 3ft. 6in. high, holds 14 quarts of benzine, and strapped on a man's back it supplies four or five lengths of hose and nozzles, each directed by a pioneer well trained in the devil's own war. .
Fire Among the Snows
Even the Italian Bersaglieri were sprayed with flame on dizzy rock walls South of Plezzo. Like hounds scenting their prey the famous Alpini tracked the Austrians into snowy caves, which, without a moment's warning, spouted vast sheets of fire, generating intolerable heat. Yet the Alpini prevailed. The first ranks emptied their magazines in a last agony, burning alive before their comrades' eyes. But meanwhile the great Italian howitzers plastered the caves with monstrous shell. till the foe was buried by the very rocks he'd rolled up to hide his treacherous lair. Here vast hoards of munitions were found, among them flre-squirts of German make, each weighing 2701b. when fully charged. Under a pressure of 125 atmopheres, a highly inflammable mixture of tar and benzine was forced into an ignition-tube and then expelled in hissing tongues of flame 200ft. long. A murderous arm, indeed, at the short ranges of trench warfare. As the mixture issues from the nozzle in fine diffusive sprays it takes fire with extraordinary effect, blighting all below it.
Fighting the Flames
On the French front entire trenches .were set ablaze — especially those floored with boards and "wattled” at the sides with pit-props and hurdles to hold up the oozy winter clay. There was no arguing with the Flammenwerfer — at first. Men simply melted before its blazing blast; their clothes alight, the very stocks of their rifles charred with the killing heat that came pouring out of the very sky.
"I was on patrol one morning," a badly-burned victim told me in a Boulogne hospital, "when I heard a new sort of explosion on my right. I thought the world was coming to an end when I beheld an enormous aerial fire-sheet, 20ft. long and 100ft. high. I was gaping at this when the flames swooped down. I don't think seas of water would have put out that conflagration. The whole earth appeared in flames. I screamed aloud, as a man might who fell into an ocean of vitriol. Then I ran for it with tunic and trousers uncannily ablaze. But no man has any idea what it's like to face these new blowpipes of Kultur. It's not war, sir. It's scientific flaying and withering — as one day the Germans themselves will admit, and condemn such murder as our own Field Marshal condemned it in his Hooge dispatch."
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Eastbourne Recruiting - September 1914.
The Eastbourne Gazette reported on Wednesday September 2nd 1914 a current update of the recruiting in the town and district.
Lowther’s Lambs would come from these recruiting efforts. The work was well organised with every effort made to spur men on to join the colours.
As was pointed out no uniforms were available to new recruits and most were left to find their own entertainment in the evening.
ACTIVE RECRUITERS
Work in the Eastbourne District
CAPTAIN ARGALL AND HIS HELPERS PATROITIC FERVOUR ON THE SEAFRONT
In describing the onrush of the Germans in a recent engagement a British officer remarked that they came “like peas poured out of a sack.” While the influx of recruits in Eastbourne and the surrounding district does not justify the use of such expressive language, it showed a marked improvement at a time when rumours of disaster (happily unfounded) had gained general currency and this may surely be taken as an encouraging indication of the spirit of the nation.
Owing to the pressure of other work Surgeon-Colonel G. Somerville Robinson asked to be relieved of his duties as recruiting officer at Eastbourne and he was succeeded on Friday last by Captain P.B. Argall (National Reserve) who formally served under Colonel Keyser and has lately been assisting at the Depot at Chichester. The captain has thrown himself very zealously into his work and by reason of his attendance at Royal and patriotic gatherings he is already known to a large number of people.
VILLAGERS DOING BETTER THAN THE TOWNSMEN.
The medical examination of men who wish to enlist is conducted by Surgeon-Colonel Robinson and assistance is being rendered by Surgeon-Major Brannigan (late of the R.A.M.C.) and Colonel Hawkins (late of the Indian Medical Service).
The experienced recruiting sergeant at the Ordinance Yard is Sergeant Thomas Hayward, and on Monday afternoon it was stated that the number of men enrolled from Eastbourne and the district was increasing; that 56 had enlisted since Friday and that 76 had joined previously, making a total of 132.
Up to Monday afternoon, we believe the villagers had joined in larger numbers than the townsmen. We mention the fact not by way of reproach but in order to arouse a spirit of emulation. The physique of Eastbourne men is above, rather than below, the average and they are capable of doing their country good service. Those who know them best consider that they will yield to persuasion rather than to dictation. Nearly a score of young men assembled near the office in the Ordnance Fields about five o’clock on Monday. They had, it appeared, already enlisted; and were told that they could sleep in one of the barrack room at night. During the evening they were free to do as they pleased and we noticed some of them on the Sea Front during the band performance in the evening. Most of them looked under 25 years of age and were dark haired and rather slim. There was, however, nothing approaching any uniform type of appearance or physique.
SUPPLY OF FORMS EXHAUSTED
The work which is being carried on at the Ordinance Yard is far more intricate than might be supposed. In the case of each recruit an elaborate form has to be filled in; and then a duplicate copy has to be made. By Monday Afternoon the supply of forms had run out, so that application had to be made for authority to employ a local printer to produce additional copies. The War Office seems to share the fondness of other Government departments for minute details. One might have imagined that at a time like the present all red tape methods would go by the board; but such is not the case.
CENTRAL OFFICE IN TERMINUS ROAD – MOTOR SERVICE.
By the kindness of Mr. Beardall, the gratuitous use of the central premises at the corner of Terminus Road and Gildredge road has been granted. Mr. Mullaly and Mr. Beatty are in charge. In the window there are pictures of various types of the British Army and any needful information can be supplied.
Colonel Stainforth, Colonel Broome, Colonel Moody, the Mayor (Councillor C.W. Bolton, C.S.L.), the deputy Mayor ( Councillor R.T. Thornton) and others are rendering help. Councillor O. Darell and Mr. Plummer have organised a motor service the object kept steamily in view being to have cars constantly available without over taxing willing owners.
ANOTHER BATTALION OF THE ROYAL SUSSEX REGIMENT
In compliance with the desire of the authorities a special effort is being made to raise a service battalion of the Royal Sussex Regiment and it is this battalion which men of the Eastbourne and district recruits will join.
The pay is 1s a day clear. The men are well fed; the war ration includes 1lb of meat a day and plenty of bread, jam and bacon. In the case of a married man the wife receives 1s a day (7s a week) and 2d a day (1s 2d per week) for each child. Any soldier disabled whilst on active service will enjoy a liberal pension for the rest of his days.
Men between 19 and 35 years of age may join. The standard height is 5ft 9ins and 6ft 3ins; while the chest measurement is 34ins.
LOCAL CENTRES OF INFORMATION
The Eastbourne district has now been divided into four parts (Hailsham, Herstmonceux, Mayfield and Willingdon) and any information may be obtained of the following local representatives:-
Hailsham – Mr. A.K. Burtenshaw.
Hellingly- Mr. J. Grant Duff Ainalie.
Arlington- Mr. Hobden.
Upper Dicker- Mr. S. Russell.
Chiddingly- Mr. Muddle.
Pevenset and Westham – Mr. C. Allen.
Herstmonceux- Mr. Barchard.
Windmill Hill- Mr. Nash.
Rushlake Green – Mr. Sidell.
Willingdon – Mr. H.R. Bean.
Polegate – The curate.
Jevington – The Rev. E.E. Clarke.
Alfriston – The village constable.
Wilmington – The landlord of the Black Horse Inn.
Mayfield – Mr. Usborne and Mr. Farrer.
Heathfield – Mr. Stone.
Fives Ashes – Mr. R.A. Bangham.
The Rev. F.S. Williams (headmaster of Eastbourne College) and the Rev. W.N. Willis ( Ascham – St. Vincent’s School) were among the helpers at the recruiting office at the Ordnance Yard on Monday.
RECRUITING MEETING AT HAILSHAM.
On Saturday evening a largely attended meeting was held in the Market Square, Hailsham, when an appeal for recruits for the Army was made.
Mr. A. F. Smith acted as chairman and the speakers included Dr. A.P. Sherwood (Eastbourne), Mr. Davall amd Mr. A.K. Burtenshaw. The last named gentleman, who is acting as recruiting officer, has already sent the following recruits who volunteered to Eastbourne: Messers N.E. Mansfield, J. Shirley, E. Bragg, Percy Noakes, James Harmer, Joseph Clapham, Walter Elphick, Ernest Mathews, H. Moon, Arthur Walker and Joseph Matthews.
Lowther’s Lambs would come from these recruiting efforts. The work was well organised with every effort made to spur men on to join the colours.
As was pointed out no uniforms were available to new recruits and most were left to find their own entertainment in the evening.
ACTIVE RECRUITERS
Work in the Eastbourne District
CAPTAIN ARGALL AND HIS HELPERS PATROITIC FERVOUR ON THE SEAFRONT
In describing the onrush of the Germans in a recent engagement a British officer remarked that they came “like peas poured out of a sack.” While the influx of recruits in Eastbourne and the surrounding district does not justify the use of such expressive language, it showed a marked improvement at a time when rumours of disaster (happily unfounded) had gained general currency and this may surely be taken as an encouraging indication of the spirit of the nation.
Owing to the pressure of other work Surgeon-Colonel G. Somerville Robinson asked to be relieved of his duties as recruiting officer at Eastbourne and he was succeeded on Friday last by Captain P.B. Argall (National Reserve) who formally served under Colonel Keyser and has lately been assisting at the Depot at Chichester. The captain has thrown himself very zealously into his work and by reason of his attendance at Royal and patriotic gatherings he is already known to a large number of people.
VILLAGERS DOING BETTER THAN THE TOWNSMEN.
The medical examination of men who wish to enlist is conducted by Surgeon-Colonel Robinson and assistance is being rendered by Surgeon-Major Brannigan (late of the R.A.M.C.) and Colonel Hawkins (late of the Indian Medical Service).
The experienced recruiting sergeant at the Ordinance Yard is Sergeant Thomas Hayward, and on Monday afternoon it was stated that the number of men enrolled from Eastbourne and the district was increasing; that 56 had enlisted since Friday and that 76 had joined previously, making a total of 132.
Up to Monday afternoon, we believe the villagers had joined in larger numbers than the townsmen. We mention the fact not by way of reproach but in order to arouse a spirit of emulation. The physique of Eastbourne men is above, rather than below, the average and they are capable of doing their country good service. Those who know them best consider that they will yield to persuasion rather than to dictation. Nearly a score of young men assembled near the office in the Ordnance Fields about five o’clock on Monday. They had, it appeared, already enlisted; and were told that they could sleep in one of the barrack room at night. During the evening they were free to do as they pleased and we noticed some of them on the Sea Front during the band performance in the evening. Most of them looked under 25 years of age and were dark haired and rather slim. There was, however, nothing approaching any uniform type of appearance or physique.
SUPPLY OF FORMS EXHAUSTED
The work which is being carried on at the Ordinance Yard is far more intricate than might be supposed. In the case of each recruit an elaborate form has to be filled in; and then a duplicate copy has to be made. By Monday Afternoon the supply of forms had run out, so that application had to be made for authority to employ a local printer to produce additional copies. The War Office seems to share the fondness of other Government departments for minute details. One might have imagined that at a time like the present all red tape methods would go by the board; but such is not the case.
CENTRAL OFFICE IN TERMINUS ROAD – MOTOR SERVICE.
By the kindness of Mr. Beardall, the gratuitous use of the central premises at the corner of Terminus Road and Gildredge road has been granted. Mr. Mullaly and Mr. Beatty are in charge. In the window there are pictures of various types of the British Army and any needful information can be supplied.
Colonel Stainforth, Colonel Broome, Colonel Moody, the Mayor (Councillor C.W. Bolton, C.S.L.), the deputy Mayor ( Councillor R.T. Thornton) and others are rendering help. Councillor O. Darell and Mr. Plummer have organised a motor service the object kept steamily in view being to have cars constantly available without over taxing willing owners.
ANOTHER BATTALION OF THE ROYAL SUSSEX REGIMENT
In compliance with the desire of the authorities a special effort is being made to raise a service battalion of the Royal Sussex Regiment and it is this battalion which men of the Eastbourne and district recruits will join.
The pay is 1s a day clear. The men are well fed; the war ration includes 1lb of meat a day and plenty of bread, jam and bacon. In the case of a married man the wife receives 1s a day (7s a week) and 2d a day (1s 2d per week) for each child. Any soldier disabled whilst on active service will enjoy a liberal pension for the rest of his days.
Men between 19 and 35 years of age may join. The standard height is 5ft 9ins and 6ft 3ins; while the chest measurement is 34ins.
LOCAL CENTRES OF INFORMATION
The Eastbourne district has now been divided into four parts (Hailsham, Herstmonceux, Mayfield and Willingdon) and any information may be obtained of the following local representatives:-
Hailsham – Mr. A.K. Burtenshaw.
Hellingly- Mr. J. Grant Duff Ainalie.
Arlington- Mr. Hobden.
Upper Dicker- Mr. S. Russell.
Chiddingly- Mr. Muddle.
Pevenset and Westham – Mr. C. Allen.
Herstmonceux- Mr. Barchard.
Windmill Hill- Mr. Nash.
Rushlake Green – Mr. Sidell.
Willingdon – Mr. H.R. Bean.
Polegate – The curate.
Jevington – The Rev. E.E. Clarke.
Alfriston – The village constable.
Wilmington – The landlord of the Black Horse Inn.
Mayfield – Mr. Usborne and Mr. Farrer.
Heathfield – Mr. Stone.
Fives Ashes – Mr. R.A. Bangham.
The Rev. F.S. Williams (headmaster of Eastbourne College) and the Rev. W.N. Willis ( Ascham – St. Vincent’s School) were among the helpers at the recruiting office at the Ordnance Yard on Monday.
RECRUITING MEETING AT HAILSHAM.
On Saturday evening a largely attended meeting was held in the Market Square, Hailsham, when an appeal for recruits for the Army was made.
Mr. A. F. Smith acted as chairman and the speakers included Dr. A.P. Sherwood (Eastbourne), Mr. Davall amd Mr. A.K. Burtenshaw. The last named gentleman, who is acting as recruiting officer, has already sent the following recruits who volunteered to Eastbourne: Messers N.E. Mansfield, J. Shirley, E. Bragg, Percy Noakes, James Harmer, Joseph Clapham, Walter Elphick, Ernest Mathews, H. Moon, Arthur Walker and Joseph Matthews.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Lowther of the "Lambs" - Part 2.
In the second and final part of the Eastbourne Gazette article published in 1914 on Mr. Claude Lowther, it goes into his military career, political life and some “amusing” stories of his wicked sense of humour.
It all paints an elaborate picture of the new Colonel of the South Downs battalions.
MILITARY EXPERIENCE
The Southdown Battalion of the Royal Sussex Regiment have as their colonel no tyro in the art of war. The command has been given to a man who served with more than ordinary distinction in the South African War. He was A.D.C to Sir Charles Warren and for one act of valour was recommended for the Victoria Cross. From South Africa he went straight into politics.
The constituency he had to woo (this was in 1900) was an old Liberal stronghold and I have wondered how a man of his disposition and temperament managed to gain the affections of the aloof, unimaginative, dour Northern farmers. Yet I am told he carried them by storm. His success in the House of Commons was just as surprising. Beyond his brief electoral campaign he had no oratorical experience before he took his seat; and yet upon his maiden speech Sir William Harcourt congratulated him and he quickly caught the eye of Mr. Chamberlain. He had become an adherent of the latter immediately upon entering into politics and he remained his staunch follower.
Politicians say that one important way to gain the attention of the House is to be yourself as a critic upon some prominent member of the other side. Mr. Claude Lowther fastened himself on to Mr. Winston Churchill. Upon Mr. Churchill’s vitriolic attacks on Mr. Balfour or Mr. Chamberlain he would follow with equally sarcastic comments. At a time when discussion ranged round the “beri-beri” disease one of the symptoms of which was said to be a swelled head. Mr. Lowther accused Mr. Churchill of being a victim of the complaint. The two are personal friends and when they met at a dinner party a night or two after, the First Lord remarked, “You are wrong Claude, about beri-beri. It doesn’t cause a swelled head but swelled feet.” “Oh,” came the apt retort, “then I should have said, ‘you were too big for your boots!’”
AN ANTI-SOCALIST
Undoubtedly, had his own health and his party’s fortunes gone differently, M. Lowther might by now be a widely known politician. Had he kept his seat in 1906 (he lost it by a small majority) he would have had a splendid chance among the little ban of Unionists in the 1906-1910 Parliament; for he has the real Parliamentary manner and that saving grace of humour which the House loves. A Tariff Reform Government would certainly have seen him in some post (he was one of the select few permitted to visit Mr. Chamberlain after his breakdown compelled the retirement to Highbury) and when the Unionists expected to win in 1910 he was “tipped” as a possible Under Secretary for the Colonies. His health, however, has sadly interfered with his political activities of late years; he regained his seat in December, 1910 but has rarely sat in the present House, although he has concentrated a good deal of interest upon the anti-Socialist movement.
His antipathy to Socialists once took an amusing turn. He was watching a mob orator in Hyde Park and had with him, Norman Forbes, the actor. Now Norman Forbes was abnormally thin; so thin that when his brother, Sir J. Forbes Robertson, was producing “Hamlet” and wanted a role for Norman, somebody suggested that he should be cast for the part of the skull in the graveyard scene. To divert the attention of the crowd, Claude Lowther began to refer to the man beside him as the celebrated fasting man. “Saccho” or “Zaccho” who was then startling London. Before long the whole crowd were staring at the man and the orator was wasting his eloquence on the park trees.
A PRACTICAL JOKE
I have reason to know that M. Lowther dearly loves a joke – even a practical joke. The editor of a certain newspaper tells a story to this effect. He once applied to Mr. Lowther for a portrait of himself which was to be given to the editor’s newspaper. As he knew that Mr. Lowther had an objection to have his portrait in the public press, he had little hope of his request being granted. However, to the editor’s surprise, a portrait was sent and was published in due course. Only then did the editor (who had never seen Mr. Lowther) find that the photograph that had been sent to him and inserted in his paper was that of quite another man.
Claude Lowther once wrote a play. It was called “The Gordian Knot.” And his friend, Sir H. Beerbohm, produced it. Tree engaged Olga Nethersole, then a big London star, at a handsome salary, to play the chief role. All the M.P.’s came down from Westminster to His Majesty’s for the first night and most I am told dozed in the stalls long before it was over. Anyhow, the play ran only about six nights. The smartest thing said about it was that its title should have been “The Claudian Rot.” The author, I believe, came to the conclusion that the British public did not want serious drama. I fancy he has never though much of the dramatic critics from that day to this. As for Mr. Beerbohm Tree, he went back to Shakespeare.
SOME LOWTHER STORIES
Although he failed as a dramatist there can be no doubt that Mr. Claude Lowther would have found an excellent career, had he needed it, as an actor. He has the very style for drawing-room comedy. I can imagine his treading the stage of the St. James quite attractively as Sir George Alexander. His sister, Miss Aimee Lowther, is, of course, well known in society as an amateur actress and has even essayed the role of Romeo. Nearly all the Lowthers, indeed, have a penchant for theatricals. Once the subject of this sketch played the part of a curate. But that was at a country house and for a joke. The deception was carried out most successfully.
For, as I have said, he is an enormous practical joker. The Drury Lane conductor, Mr. Jimmy Glover, known to us in Sussex, for his association with the public life of Bexhill, narrates one of his most daring exploits in his pleasant book of theatrical gossip. “Claude Lowther,” he writes, “once got himself into trouble for an innocent piece of carnavalian humour at Covent Garden. He dressed up a dummy of poor Gus Harris (Sir Augustus Harris, the famous impresario) Inverness cape and all, and worked it in an imitation of making a speech from a private box, to all but an unsympathetic and humourless officer in blue, who promptly carted the offending one off to Bow Street.”
Jimmy Glover’s book also contains the following – “Few people who know that charming lady, delightful sportswomen and excellent actress, Lady de Bathe, will appreciate what a good-natured humanist she is in the cause of charity, She once, with Claude Lowther, M.P. disguised herself as a flower girl and sold flowers in Haymarket outside the clubs to such a state of realism that Lord Brabazon did not recognise her and made an appointment with her the next day to further patronise her floral wares.”
I am sure that “Lowthers Lambs” will all become as much attached to their colonel as his men were in South Africa and his political supporters were in Cumberland. And I am sure that their colonel will find fighting this war an even more congenial task that fighting the Boers. For he will know that while fighting for the British, whose possessions have always made him the most intense of Imperialists, for whose sturdiness and love of fair play he has so much admiration, he is also fighting for “La Belle France,” whose spirit he understands and enters into as can few Englishmen. And he will be fighting the Germans. I can imagine few things about the Germans which would not strike him with a cold shudder.
It all paints an elaborate picture of the new Colonel of the South Downs battalions.
MILITARY EXPERIENCE
The Southdown Battalion of the Royal Sussex Regiment have as their colonel no tyro in the art of war. The command has been given to a man who served with more than ordinary distinction in the South African War. He was A.D.C to Sir Charles Warren and for one act of valour was recommended for the Victoria Cross. From South Africa he went straight into politics.
The constituency he had to woo (this was in 1900) was an old Liberal stronghold and I have wondered how a man of his disposition and temperament managed to gain the affections of the aloof, unimaginative, dour Northern farmers. Yet I am told he carried them by storm. His success in the House of Commons was just as surprising. Beyond his brief electoral campaign he had no oratorical experience before he took his seat; and yet upon his maiden speech Sir William Harcourt congratulated him and he quickly caught the eye of Mr. Chamberlain. He had become an adherent of the latter immediately upon entering into politics and he remained his staunch follower.
Politicians say that one important way to gain the attention of the House is to be yourself as a critic upon some prominent member of the other side. Mr. Claude Lowther fastened himself on to Mr. Winston Churchill. Upon Mr. Churchill’s vitriolic attacks on Mr. Balfour or Mr. Chamberlain he would follow with equally sarcastic comments. At a time when discussion ranged round the “beri-beri” disease one of the symptoms of which was said to be a swelled head. Mr. Lowther accused Mr. Churchill of being a victim of the complaint. The two are personal friends and when they met at a dinner party a night or two after, the First Lord remarked, “You are wrong Claude, about beri-beri. It doesn’t cause a swelled head but swelled feet.” “Oh,” came the apt retort, “then I should have said, ‘you were too big for your boots!’”
AN ANTI-SOCALIST
Undoubtedly, had his own health and his party’s fortunes gone differently, M. Lowther might by now be a widely known politician. Had he kept his seat in 1906 (he lost it by a small majority) he would have had a splendid chance among the little ban of Unionists in the 1906-1910 Parliament; for he has the real Parliamentary manner and that saving grace of humour which the House loves. A Tariff Reform Government would certainly have seen him in some post (he was one of the select few permitted to visit Mr. Chamberlain after his breakdown compelled the retirement to Highbury) and when the Unionists expected to win in 1910 he was “tipped” as a possible Under Secretary for the Colonies. His health, however, has sadly interfered with his political activities of late years; he regained his seat in December, 1910 but has rarely sat in the present House, although he has concentrated a good deal of interest upon the anti-Socialist movement.
His antipathy to Socialists once took an amusing turn. He was watching a mob orator in Hyde Park and had with him, Norman Forbes, the actor. Now Norman Forbes was abnormally thin; so thin that when his brother, Sir J. Forbes Robertson, was producing “Hamlet” and wanted a role for Norman, somebody suggested that he should be cast for the part of the skull in the graveyard scene. To divert the attention of the crowd, Claude Lowther began to refer to the man beside him as the celebrated fasting man. “Saccho” or “Zaccho” who was then startling London. Before long the whole crowd were staring at the man and the orator was wasting his eloquence on the park trees.
A PRACTICAL JOKE
I have reason to know that M. Lowther dearly loves a joke – even a practical joke. The editor of a certain newspaper tells a story to this effect. He once applied to Mr. Lowther for a portrait of himself which was to be given to the editor’s newspaper. As he knew that Mr. Lowther had an objection to have his portrait in the public press, he had little hope of his request being granted. However, to the editor’s surprise, a portrait was sent and was published in due course. Only then did the editor (who had never seen Mr. Lowther) find that the photograph that had been sent to him and inserted in his paper was that of quite another man.
Claude Lowther once wrote a play. It was called “The Gordian Knot.” And his friend, Sir H. Beerbohm, produced it. Tree engaged Olga Nethersole, then a big London star, at a handsome salary, to play the chief role. All the M.P.’s came down from Westminster to His Majesty’s for the first night and most I am told dozed in the stalls long before it was over. Anyhow, the play ran only about six nights. The smartest thing said about it was that its title should have been “The Claudian Rot.” The author, I believe, came to the conclusion that the British public did not want serious drama. I fancy he has never though much of the dramatic critics from that day to this. As for Mr. Beerbohm Tree, he went back to Shakespeare.
SOME LOWTHER STORIES
Although he failed as a dramatist there can be no doubt that Mr. Claude Lowther would have found an excellent career, had he needed it, as an actor. He has the very style for drawing-room comedy. I can imagine his treading the stage of the St. James quite attractively as Sir George Alexander. His sister, Miss Aimee Lowther, is, of course, well known in society as an amateur actress and has even essayed the role of Romeo. Nearly all the Lowthers, indeed, have a penchant for theatricals. Once the subject of this sketch played the part of a curate. But that was at a country house and for a joke. The deception was carried out most successfully.
For, as I have said, he is an enormous practical joker. The Drury Lane conductor, Mr. Jimmy Glover, known to us in Sussex, for his association with the public life of Bexhill, narrates one of his most daring exploits in his pleasant book of theatrical gossip. “Claude Lowther,” he writes, “once got himself into trouble for an innocent piece of carnavalian humour at Covent Garden. He dressed up a dummy of poor Gus Harris (Sir Augustus Harris, the famous impresario) Inverness cape and all, and worked it in an imitation of making a speech from a private box, to all but an unsympathetic and humourless officer in blue, who promptly carted the offending one off to Bow Street.”
Jimmy Glover’s book also contains the following – “Few people who know that charming lady, delightful sportswomen and excellent actress, Lady de Bathe, will appreciate what a good-natured humanist she is in the cause of charity, She once, with Claude Lowther, M.P. disguised herself as a flower girl and sold flowers in Haymarket outside the clubs to such a state of realism that Lord Brabazon did not recognise her and made an appointment with her the next day to further patronise her floral wares.”
I am sure that “Lowthers Lambs” will all become as much attached to their colonel as his men were in South Africa and his political supporters were in Cumberland. And I am sure that their colonel will find fighting this war an even more congenial task that fighting the Boers. For he will know that while fighting for the British, whose possessions have always made him the most intense of Imperialists, for whose sturdiness and love of fair play he has so much admiration, he is also fighting for “La Belle France,” whose spirit he understands and enters into as can few Englishmen. And he will be fighting the Germans. I can imagine few things about the Germans which would not strike him with a cold shudder.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Wickham War Memorial, Hampshire.
Wickham, Hampshire War memorial is located in the grounds of St. Nicolas Parish Church. The names of the fallen are recorded on the plinth, above which is an ornate carved cross.
There are 49 names of those from World War 1 and 12 from World War 2.
For a full description and details of those recorded go the excellent web site Roll of Honour.
There are 49 names of those from World War 1 and 12 from World War 2.
For a full description and details of those recorded go the excellent web site Roll of Honour.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Lowther of the "Lambs" - Part 1.
Claude Lowther, MP for Eskdale Cumberland who lived at Herstmonceux Castle was a local land owned who formed the 1st Southdowns Battalion. He later went on to appeal for a second and third battalion.
The new recruits were trained at Cooden Camp, near Bexhill-on-Sea, Sussex, where conditions were basic; bell tents for accommodation, the mess halls were marquees and for washing they used wooden troughs and standpipes.
The Eastbourne Gazette published the following article in 1914 on Mr. Claude Lowther to give the public a character study of the battalion’s new colonel.
LOWTHER OF THE “LAMBS”
A Character Sketch: By Sussexian
The career of Mr. Claude Lowther, M.P.., follows the traditions of the great English territorial house of which he is an offshoot. He has been concerned with diplomacy, with the Army, and with politics; and always the Lowthers have had representatives in one or other of these branches of the country’s affairs.
Yet his personality is not that of the typical Lowther. Mr. A G. Gardiner, while regarding, Mr. J.W. Lowther as the greatest speaker of our time, insists that his success is that of “a plain man without a touch of genius, almost without a touch of brilliancy, but with all the qualities of the average man in perfect equilibrium.” Now, Mr. Claude Lowther has more a touch of brilliance and he would be the first to admit that he does not possess, “all the qualities of the average man in perfect equilibrium.” The Lowthers embody to a remarkable degree the love of the open air of the old British Aristocracy; the Earl of Lonsdale is the finest sportsman in England; and the speaker brings to Westminster the freshness of the Cumberland fells on which he loves to hunt. Mr. Claude Lowther, on the other hand, excellent soldier though he makes, belongs, rather to the drawing-room – polished, courtly, a man of exquisite taste, fond of the arts.
He has lived much in Paris; indeed Max Beerbohm once drew him in a cartoon labelled “Mr. Claude Lowther dominating Paris.” It represented the subject with longs legs towering over the roofs of the French capital. He was so popular in Paris that if the English colony there could have obtained a representative in the House of Commons he would never have needed to go to Cumberland for a seat. It is his passion for the picturesque which set him upon buying Herstmonceux just as it had made him select as his home in his constituency a ruined old Border castle long uninhabited and almost uninhabitable until he had adapted it.
THE RESTORATION OF HERSTMONCEUX CASTLE
When it was made known in East Sussex that a gentleman from the north had purchased Herstmonceux Castle with the intention of restoring that historical pile and using it as a dwelling house many men regarded the event with foreboding. They feared that “restoration” in this instance was but another spelling of the word “vandalism,” and it was with very real regret that they gazed upon an army of builders who, as they believed, had come to shear the old castle of those picturesque features with which it had been caparisoned by Father Time. But those who shook their heads did not know Mr. Lowther.
He took the restoration in hand with perfect good taste and a sense of veneration, restoring only as much of the front of the building as would serve him for a dwelling and leaving the remainder of the castle pretty much in the condition in which he found it. The critics were silenced; as a matter of fact they were delighted and the only grumble one now hears in connection with Herstmonceux Castle is on account of the disappearance of the magnificent old tythe barn that once stood near by. The reason for its demolition, I believe, Mr. Lowther has yet to explain.
HIS PATRIOTISM
I think that Mr. Lowther is genuinely proud of his successful “restoration” of Herstmonceux. I judge largely from the fact that many people who have expressed an interest in it have asked by the owner to call and see for themselves what has been done. It sometimes happens that Mr. Lowther gives an invitation of this kind, and then forgets all about it. There are those thus invited who line in the hope that the invitation will, some day, materialise.
If I were to name the most prominent feature of Mr. Lowther’s character I should instantly cry “Patriotism.” With him patriotism is no mere word for love of one’s country; it is almost a fetish. Duty to one’s country should compel a man to give of his best - or a little more than his best – whether he be well or ill. That is how Claude Lowther regards patriotism; and it was this spirit that urged him, soon after the declaration of the present war, promptly to form a Home Defence Company of the men of Herstmonceux and district. Having organised his company for home defence he was yet unsatisfied; his ardent patriotism urged him to do something more and better; to wait for the enemy’s coming into his own country was not, after all, altogether in accordance with his view of a man’s duty in a great war; he must meet the enemy before he arrived.
Therefore Mr. Lowther formed a battalion for service abroad and under his leadership the 1,150 men, now popularly known as “Lowther’s Lambs” will, I do not doubt, bring laurels to the county in which they have been raised.
APPEAL FOR A SECOND BATTALION
The completion of the first battalion, its popularity and the country’s cry “More men” seem to have stimulated Colonel Lowther to further efforts. Read his appeal for a second battalion:
“I call upon every man, with red blood in his veins, to join the second Southdown Battalion of the Royal Sussex Regiment.”
“You will not be separated!”
“Together (in your own county) you will train.”
“Together you will fight.”
“Together you will die if need be, but together, pray God, you may return.”
That is the Lowther patriotism! It is a patriot appealing to all men wh0 are patriots – men with “red blood in their veins.”
That is why Colonel Lowther has secured his second battalion so quickly and why he will succeed in raising the third he is now asking for.
The new recruits were trained at Cooden Camp, near Bexhill-on-Sea, Sussex, where conditions were basic; bell tents for accommodation, the mess halls were marquees and for washing they used wooden troughs and standpipes.
The Eastbourne Gazette published the following article in 1914 on Mr. Claude Lowther to give the public a character study of the battalion’s new colonel.
LOWTHER OF THE “LAMBS”
A Character Sketch: By Sussexian
The career of Mr. Claude Lowther, M.P.., follows the traditions of the great English territorial house of which he is an offshoot. He has been concerned with diplomacy, with the Army, and with politics; and always the Lowthers have had representatives in one or other of these branches of the country’s affairs.
Yet his personality is not that of the typical Lowther. Mr. A G. Gardiner, while regarding, Mr. J.W. Lowther as the greatest speaker of our time, insists that his success is that of “a plain man without a touch of genius, almost without a touch of brilliancy, but with all the qualities of the average man in perfect equilibrium.” Now, Mr. Claude Lowther has more a touch of brilliance and he would be the first to admit that he does not possess, “all the qualities of the average man in perfect equilibrium.” The Lowthers embody to a remarkable degree the love of the open air of the old British Aristocracy; the Earl of Lonsdale is the finest sportsman in England; and the speaker brings to Westminster the freshness of the Cumberland fells on which he loves to hunt. Mr. Claude Lowther, on the other hand, excellent soldier though he makes, belongs, rather to the drawing-room – polished, courtly, a man of exquisite taste, fond of the arts.
He has lived much in Paris; indeed Max Beerbohm once drew him in a cartoon labelled “Mr. Claude Lowther dominating Paris.” It represented the subject with longs legs towering over the roofs of the French capital. He was so popular in Paris that if the English colony there could have obtained a representative in the House of Commons he would never have needed to go to Cumberland for a seat. It is his passion for the picturesque which set him upon buying Herstmonceux just as it had made him select as his home in his constituency a ruined old Border castle long uninhabited and almost uninhabitable until he had adapted it.
THE RESTORATION OF HERSTMONCEUX CASTLE
When it was made known in East Sussex that a gentleman from the north had purchased Herstmonceux Castle with the intention of restoring that historical pile and using it as a dwelling house many men regarded the event with foreboding. They feared that “restoration” in this instance was but another spelling of the word “vandalism,” and it was with very real regret that they gazed upon an army of builders who, as they believed, had come to shear the old castle of those picturesque features with which it had been caparisoned by Father Time. But those who shook their heads did not know Mr. Lowther.
He took the restoration in hand with perfect good taste and a sense of veneration, restoring only as much of the front of the building as would serve him for a dwelling and leaving the remainder of the castle pretty much in the condition in which he found it. The critics were silenced; as a matter of fact they were delighted and the only grumble one now hears in connection with Herstmonceux Castle is on account of the disappearance of the magnificent old tythe barn that once stood near by. The reason for its demolition, I believe, Mr. Lowther has yet to explain.
HIS PATRIOTISM
I think that Mr. Lowther is genuinely proud of his successful “restoration” of Herstmonceux. I judge largely from the fact that many people who have expressed an interest in it have asked by the owner to call and see for themselves what has been done. It sometimes happens that Mr. Lowther gives an invitation of this kind, and then forgets all about it. There are those thus invited who line in the hope that the invitation will, some day, materialise.
If I were to name the most prominent feature of Mr. Lowther’s character I should instantly cry “Patriotism.” With him patriotism is no mere word for love of one’s country; it is almost a fetish. Duty to one’s country should compel a man to give of his best - or a little more than his best – whether he be well or ill. That is how Claude Lowther regards patriotism; and it was this spirit that urged him, soon after the declaration of the present war, promptly to form a Home Defence Company of the men of Herstmonceux and district. Having organised his company for home defence he was yet unsatisfied; his ardent patriotism urged him to do something more and better; to wait for the enemy’s coming into his own country was not, after all, altogether in accordance with his view of a man’s duty in a great war; he must meet the enemy before he arrived.
Therefore Mr. Lowther formed a battalion for service abroad and under his leadership the 1,150 men, now popularly known as “Lowther’s Lambs” will, I do not doubt, bring laurels to the county in which they have been raised.
APPEAL FOR A SECOND BATTALION
The completion of the first battalion, its popularity and the country’s cry “More men” seem to have stimulated Colonel Lowther to further efforts. Read his appeal for a second battalion:
“I call upon every man, with red blood in his veins, to join the second Southdown Battalion of the Royal Sussex Regiment.”
“You will not be separated!”
“Together (in your own county) you will train.”
“Together you will fight.”
“Together you will die if need be, but together, pray God, you may return.”
That is the Lowther patriotism! It is a patriot appealing to all men wh0 are patriots – men with “red blood in their veins.”
That is why Colonel Lowther has secured his second battalion so quickly and why he will succeed in raising the third he is now asking for.
Herstmonceux Castle today - 2009
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