In the title of a book by H.G. Wells, this was described as The War to End All Wars. Only, of course, it wasn’t. Within 21 years the nations of the world were in strife again and, as we will see, many of the seeds of that second global conflict were planted in 1918.
Or should that be “in 1919”? If you go down to the Cathedral Close here in Winchester you will find two substantial war memorials. One of them speaks of the war of 1914 – 1918. The other commemorates 1914 – 1919. And the memorials in many other towns and cities also show an end-date of 1919, while others use the more usual year of 1918, which we are remembering this evening. Later on, we will explore the reason for the alternatives.
In either case, these yearly divisions are beginning to look more and more irrelevant. We in Hyde have looked at the First World War year by year as we have remembered those who did not return.
But across the nation, the patriotic fervour of 1914 was by now a distant memory. In this Hyde community, as in others, 1918 was a year of contrasts, both joy and sorrow.
And It is impossible to understand some of the events of 1918 without recalling what happened in the preceding year. The Russian Revolution and the United States entry into the war both took place in 1917 but both made a direct, substantial impact on the campaigns in Flanders in 1918 and, indeed, on the history of the world to this day.
And there is another reality which we need to remember. Nowhere did the drag of drawn-out conflict have greater effect than at home.
By 1918 the nations (on both sides) had become war-weary. In the UK, the queues of jingoistic young men at the recruiting offices had long since disappeared. In their place were conscripts, willing - more or less - to serve.
When conscription was introduced in 1916, the requirement for service was for unmarried men between 18 and 40 years old. By 1918 that bracket had widened to 18–51 and the number of categories exempted from service had been much reduced. The war continued to produce significant numbers of casualties, so their replacement was urgently needed.
And shortages did not only appear in the military units. The national infrastructure was increasingly affected by lack of (literally) MANpower. So as time went by, their replacement by women became more and more essential and diverse. But while we remember the professional roles of women across an increasing number of occupations during the First World War, we must not forget that the bulk of the domestic situation still fell to them to manage without support.
There were many millions of women, on both sides of the conflict, who were also wives and mothers, missing the ones that they loved and still having to carry on regardless.
When the vision dies in the dust of the market place,
When the light is dim,
When you lift up your eyes and cannot behold his face,
When your heart is far from him,
Know that this is your war; in this loneliest hour you ride
Down the Roads he knew:
Though he comes no more at night he will kneel at your side,
For comfort to dream with you.
May Wedderburn Cannan
Women had to feed their families and food shortages presented them with an ever-bigger problem. The Germans mounted a significant U-boat campaign in the Atlantic, aimed at cutting off essential supplies for these islands, including food. Merchant ships were targets and as a result, for example, 46,000 tons of meat had gone to the bottom of the ocean in 1917, as well as 85,000 tons of sugar. Flour and wheat were down to two months’ supply. Local rationing schemes were introduced in some places, and in February 1918 general food rationing was imposed. It was largely a success and one welcome feature was that it put an end to black-market prices which had appeared during the days of shortage – prices which had borne most heavily and inappropriately on the poorest in society.
It was little comfort to know that food was even shorter for German families, thanks to the Royal Navy’s blockade of Europe. In Austria and elsewhere there were even food riots. In the UK we did not have riots, we had the Women’s Land Army who helped to fill the gaps in the agricultural labour force left by the absent men. Rather more than 23,000 of them, with a high proportion trained at their dairy training centre at Sparsholt College. Even so, the absence of male workers was lamented by some farmers, as this letter of 1918 to the Hampshire Chronicle reveals:
Dear Sir
I have been farming 50 years and never saw the land in such a state as at present. I can stand at my door and see a thousand acres of good corn land and not a plough has been in it or is likely to be; and if the military take such men as carters and shepherds from the land ; there will be double the land idle next year.
I have already four sons in the army who should be on the land producing food . My farm is nearly 500 acres and all the labour I have is three men. At the end of two months , two of my men out of the three are to be taken. As we are urged on all hands to produce more food , surely this is tying a man’s legs and telling him to run…
But the roles of women extended far beyond the fields. They became the bedrock labour force in the munitions industry. And no discussion of the wartime role of women would be complete without describing their service as nurses. Apart from the professionals in the nursing Corps of the Army or Navy, there were tens of thousands who joined as volunteers in Voluntary Aid Detachments. These women, who themselves became known as VADs, worked in all parts of the system, as ambulance drivers, in dressing stations just behind the front line and in hospitals in the UK. Incidentally, May Cannan who wrote that beautiful poem was a VAD. Like her, many came from middle-class or professional family backgrounds and were exposed to sounds and scenes for which they were ill-prepared. But they acquitted themselves splendidly (some 90,000 of them in all) and there is plenty of documentation that reveals how much wounded soldiers appreciated their care.
And there were women in khaki, as members of the Women's Auxiliary Army Corps. They were confined to support tasks and had curious ranks such as Administrator or Foreman, because only men could hold the King's commission. But things developed and in the end they adopted an English folksong ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill’ as their quickmarch.
On Richmond Hill there lives a lass,
More bright than May-day morn,
Whose charms all other maids' surpass,
A rose without a thorn.
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill,
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill,
I'd crowns resign to call thee mine,
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.
I am conscious that I have been speaking for some twenty minutes without describing a single military engagement. I make no apology for that. This was total war, engaging the civil population as well as the military. With the war entering its fifth year, consideration of the scenery is nearly as important as watching the events on stage.
The war at sea had a significant role throughout the war. We have only limited time this evening and Hyde had few maritime casualties , so we can do no more than acknowledge with gratitude the essential part played by the Royal Navy, particularly in maintaining a blockade of German trade and in countering the U-boat offensive in the Atlantic.
And, of course, there was the Royal Air Force, founded on 1st April 1918 and bringing, in every sense, a new dimension to warfare.
The importance of aerial operations can be gauged by the growth of the number of British military aircraft from under 200 when the war started to over 22,000 when it ended. Air-to-air combat, reconnaissance, artillery spotting were just some of their roles. And there was bombing.
There is very little that is amusing about being bombed, but you may care to sympathise with James Kendall, a dairy farmer in Kent, who was charged in 1918 with selling watered-down milk in an area where there had recently been a bombing raid. His defence was that his cows were suffering from shell-shock. Fined £8-3s.
But at the turn of the year there were two significant off-stage events that were in the mind of the German commander, Count Erich Ludendorff, as he planned his big attack to win the Western Front. The first was the fact that the United States had entered the war and soldiers of the American Expeditionary Force had started to arrive in France. He was not to know that by May 1918 there would be a million United States soldiers, nicknamed “Doughboys”, in Europe, some of them transiting through Morn Hill Camp, up on the Alresford Road, broadly along where St Swithun's School and the cemetery are now. As they prepared to leave for France, many of them would have known the Scottish song of farewell ‘Parting Glass’ which appeared in several American publications.
Ludendorff’s other consideration was the fact of the Russian Revolution in late 1917. Germany and her allies set about wooing the new Bolshevik government and in March 1918, by treaty, the Russians left the war. The great German strategic curse of having to fight on two fronts was lifted. And although he left about a million garrison troops behind in the East, Ludendorff set about moving enough men and their materiel from the East to give him numerical superiority in France and Flanders, as he planned for a great spring offensive - the “Kaiserschlacht” – the Emperors Assault.
It was in fact a series of major assaults on the Allied lines and among other things it introduced a new term into the military vocabulary. “Storm-trooper”. Storm-troopers were specially selected, fit younger men who were even given special rations to build up their strength. Their role was to punch rapidly into our lines, by-passing points of resistance which were left to follow-up echelons to deal with. Speed of advance was their characteristic.
And it was at dawn on 21st March, that the Germans first attack was launched. Operation Michael began. Six thousand artillery guns and three thousand trench mortars, without prior warning, started to rain a mixture of high explosive and gas shells on a 60 mile front of the British Expeditionary Force. Some hours later the storm-troopers advanced, under the cover of a helpful (helpful for them) thick fog.
They moved, as planned, spectacularly quickly, broke through our 5th Army’s lines in a number of places and within 4 days had advanced over 20 miles, capturing some 150 square miles of territory.
And yet, despite its initial success, the advance stalled. For a number of reasons. First, the Allied commanders, Field Marshal Haig and Marechal Petain, poured in reinforcements who defended aggressively. Second, the Germans had to advance over the old Somme battlefield with ground still severely scarred and broken from earlier fighting.
The withdrawal of the British 5th Army had been so rapid that a large amount of stores were left behind, to fall into enemy hands. More than one historian has commented that the advancing German troops did not suffer from a lack of fighting spirit but rather from an excess of Scottish drinking spirit.
But a more fundamental weakness was that Ludendorff’s plan lacked a strategic aim. Attack – yes. Breakthrough – yes. Overrun – yes. But then what? Without an overall aim, Operation Michael faltered.
But Ludendorff was not done. He mounted a second, similar incursion, this time into Flanders and the north of the Allied line. It started on the 9th April, using the same tactics as Michael and enjoying the same initial success. A measure of its impact can be gauged from a rather extraordinary Special Order of the Day issued by FM Haig on 11th April. It is far from being a Churchillian rallying cry and has a somewhat desperate note about it, as can be judged from its conclusion
“There is no other course open to us but to fight it out. Every position must be held to the last man: there must be no retirement….Each one of us must fight on to the end”.
“There must be no retirement. Each one of us must fight on to the end”
By the end of April, Georgette was closed down with some gain of territory, but not enough to call it a success.
But Ludendorff was still not prepared to concede and time was critical for him as American troops were arriving in theatre at the rate of 250,00 a month. He moved the focus of further attacks to the south of the Allied line, planning to push the British Expeditionary force out of Flanders and then to engage French troops and threaten Paris.
It started well for him and in July he advanced to the Marne river and in five days took 50,000 prisoners. Many citizens moved out of the capital as the Germans approached and the French government made plans to move to Bordeaux. But once again the German’s plans failed. The French, reinforced by two American divisions, fought gallantly to keep the enemy out of Paris. The Allies were now aware of storm-trooper tactics and how to counter them with a combination of all arms. “All arms” is a military term meaning all components of the force – armour, infantry, artillery, aircraft – acting in concert.
The Germans were short of fuel which kept their aircraft grounded while ours had freedom of movement. Ludendorff was forced to abort his campaign.
And while he failed to enter Paris, his allies the Austro-Hungarians attempted a march against Venice. It met a similar fate. Their army lost 142,000 men; another 200,000 deserted.
It was time for the concluding act.
And, indeed, half-way through 1918, the final scene was ready to be played out. This closing episode has become known as “the Hundred Days” – the same name that had previously been given to Napoleon’s escape from Elba and his last campaign which ended at Waterloo.
In mid-July, the French, supported by British and American divisions, counter-attacked. On 20th of the month, Ludendorff abandoned his campaign and on 24th, The French General Foch, now C-in-C of all allied armies, ordered all formations to advance.
On 8th August the British opened an attack near Amiens, using infantry, tanks, artillery and aircraft. Ludendorff was to call it “Der schwarze Tag des deutschen Heeres”. “The black day of the German Army”. And with good reason. Allied troops made rapid progress against an enemy that was tired, short of supplies and reserves, and low in morale.
Nevertheless the Germans were able to withdraw to their defensive positions on the old Hindenburg Line - though not in time to fully prepare them. On 29th September the Allies opened a major attack, the Hindenburg Line was broken and on 26th October General Ludendorff, the German C-in-C, resigned. The end was inevitable and close at hand.
Negotiations between governments were opened. The Ottoman Empire and Austro-Hungary sued for peace and on 9th November Kaiser Wilhelm abdicated and left Germany for ever. A German republic was proclaimed and after some discussion the Armistice was signed in a railway carriage in the Forest of Compiegne to come into effect at 1100 hours on the 11th day of the 11th month.
Yes! We had won the war. It was over. But the abiding emotion was not so much victory as relief. And the cost was monumental for nation, town and community.
And so fighting in the West was over. After 1568 days, the guns fell silent. During that time in Great Britain 5,397,000 men had been mobilized. More than a million and three-quarters of those had been wounded and some 703,000 killed.
But of course there was rejoicing and dancing in the streets. Cathedral bells were rung. Speeches were made.
Here in Winchester the news arrived at about 10:45 while a party of American soldiers from Morn Hill was being shown round the cathedral by the Dean. He wisely broke off the tour and he and the US officer in charge made patriotic speeches instead.
A crowd gathered in the High Street; a party of more US soldiers marched to the Broadway and were joined by Rifles soldiers marching down from Peninsula Barracks.
The College bells were rung for the first time in 4 years. At 1400 hrs a flight of 14 aircraft flew over the city. The Mayor made a speech, warning people to avoid too much exuberance. He probably knew what he was talking about because he was not only a brewer, but born in Australia. The pubs duly stopped serving spirits.
Among the more thoughtful, though, there was another strain. This from a Rifles officer who might well have trained here in Peninsula Barracks.
We were told that this was “the war to end war” and some of us at least believed it. It may sound extraordinarily naïve, but I think one had to believe it. All the mud, blood and bestiality only made sense on the assumption that it was the last time civilised man would ever have to suffer it. I could not believe that anyone who had been through it could ever allow it to happen again. I thought that the ordinary man on both sides would rise up as one and kick any politician in the teeth who even mentioned the possibility of war.
The November Armistice was essentially a cease-fire. The full peace treaty, with all its provisions, was signed at Versailles on 28th June 1919 – hence the use of that year on some war memorials.
The settlement was not perfect, nor was it permanent. The Germans resented its terms and their army claimed not to have been beaten in battle, but at the conference table. Four monarchies were swept away and social structures changed forever. But all that is for another day. Tonight is certainly an occasion to remember those who served and those who suffered. But it is also an occasion to rejoice with those who did come home to their lives here in Hyde.