It must have been a great shock to the Edwardians to go from extreme lavishness in meals to extreme want during the height of the war. During the early months, food prices soared as Britons fearfully stocked up on basic necessities and other foodstuffs. However, this was quickly curbed by the newly-founded Cabinet Committee on Food Supplies, who on August 7th, fixed the maximum prices for food “such as 4½d. per lb for granulated sugar, 5d. for lump, 1s. 6d. per lb for butter, 8d. for margarine, 9½d. for Colonial cheese, and 1s. 4d. and 1s. 6d. for continental and British bacon.” Many considered these prices extravagant, what with the menus in Maud Pember Reeves’ study on poverty, Round About on a Pound a Week (1913), averaging about 10s. for 2 oz of tea, ½lb of sugar, 4 oz of butter, and a loaf of bread per day. Ironically, just as prices were fixed and rationing set in, luxury foods fell drastically in price due to the lack of entertaining (for example, pineapples fetched only 1s.!), and the wine trade just about collapsed.

During the autumn and winter of 1914, supplies of fuel and light were curtailed, street lamps were dimmed, and no long lines of lights were permitted. In London, Mrs. Peel declared that the city had gone back twenty years as regards to lighting and “by the end of the war it was almost as dark as the Middle Ages.” New laws required that everyone put up blinds to the windows and keep them drawn at night at the risk of a fine of up to £100 or six months’ imprisonment, a precaution that became imperative once Zeppelins began dropping bombs on England at various intervals throughout the war. By early 1915, the coal shortage had shortened people’s tempers, and the suspicion of neighbors hoarding private stashes of coal or even of coal mine owners profiteering were frequent complaints. The price of coal rose steadily each month, and the coal queue became as familiar a site as the food queue, and to mitigate the acute fuel shortage, newspapers filled their pages with advice on fuel-saving cookery and fuel substitutions.

In December 1916, after a bleak autumn (due to the shortages and the news of the Somme), a Food Controller was appointed and a Ministry of Food established “to promote economy and to maintain the food supply of the country”. Yet, it was not until 1917, when the Germans began their unrestricted U-boat warfare, that the British government realized how vulnerable the country was to being cut off from their imported food supplies. In April of that year, 555,000 tons of shipping alone were lost in the submarine campaign, and in response, the Food Controller authorized the organization of a national kitchen, where ostensibly healthy and nourishing food was cooked and served to the masses now that most men had been called up to the Front and women had taken their places in the workforce. The Board of Agriculture also sent instructors around the country to demonstrate bottling and canning fruits and vegetables to cut back on waste, and the London County Council issued posters advising people to buy bread by weight rather than by the loaf (as the poor did).

Months later, when the food shortage became more serious, control, or rations, grew stricter: “to throw rice at weddings became a criminal offense, the sale of luxury chocolates and sweets were stopped, the use of starch for laundering was restricted, horses and cows and even the London pigeons were rationed, no corn was allowed for cobs, hunters, carriages horses and hacks, the amount of bread or cake sold at tea shops was reduced to 2 ounces, and it became an offense to adopt and feed stray dogs.” Butchers were ordered to display price lists, and bakers, with only barley, rice, maize, beans, oatmeal and potato permitted, were forbidden to bake anything but Government regulation bread. Everyone was advised to “Eat slowly: you will need less food.” or “Keep warm: you will need less food.”, yet no explanations were given on how to keep warm with fuel rationed and an insufficiently fat diet.

The winter of 1917 saw the formation of food queues, where people in the poorer districts waited outside of shabby shops for hours, and the better-off sent their servants round to fetch what they could. This latter practice and the resentment it stirred up no doubt convinced the Government to institute compulsory rationing in 1918. After February, it became impossible in London and the six home counties to buy butter, margarine, or meat without cards; by the end of April, everyone was required to register for bacon as well. Those in the country, and the aforementioned well-to-do, were a tad better off, since they had gardens and livestock, but food shortages, inflation, and rationing remained a threat to the average Briton’s meals even after the U-boat campaign ended by August 1918. Yet, rationing did have a bright side: the malnutrition documented in the poor during the Edwardian eras had all but disappeared, and no one truly starved.

Sources:
How We Lived Then, 1914-1918: A Sketch of Social and Domestic Life in England During the War by Mrs. C. S. Peel
Camille DeAngelis tries two recipes from the Peel book, Savoury War-Time Pie & War-Time Soup
Rationing and Food Shortages during the First World War – Imperial War Museum
Rationing – WWI Propaganda Posters
Rationing and World War One – History Learning Site
Food rationing in Britain in the First World War – Join Me in the 1900s
From Beef and Chocolate to Daily Ration–British Rations in Transition, 1870-1918
The Home Front in World War One: Rationing of Basic Foodstuffs – BBC History

THE editors got back from their Irish trip in time to see how London received the news of the armistice. They had had a rough encounter with the Irish sea–two encounters, indeed, one going and one coming back. It lived up to its tradition as an unruly, restless and troublesome teapot ocean.

Three times, in all, the editors have compassed its waters, and in each instance they found the Irish sea in an ugly mood. The packet on which they went from Holyhead to Dublin had its nose under the billows half the time, and the same little vessel on its return performed amazing stunts in riding alternately on one ear and then on the other, rolling and wallowing in the angry waves in ways quite disconcerting. It was a positive relief to put one’s feet again on dry land, in the comparative security, if not quiet, of a London crowd celebrating victory after four long years, and more, of war.

The news of the signing of the armistice was given out by Premier Lloyd George to the papers a little before 11 o’clock on Monday, November 11. Up to that time London had preserved its usual phlegmatic calm. The successive announcements, in the closing days of the war, that Turkey had succumbed, that Austria had sent up the white flag, that the Kaiser had abdicated, and finally that Germany had sent its representatives to General Foch to arrange for a suspension of hostilities — all failed to disturb the Londoner in the pursuit of his established and historic routine. Apparently everything was coming out as England expected, and there was nothing to do but await events. The crash of empires and the fall of dynasties were the mere incidents of an arranged schedule.

The armistice was signed at 5 o’clock in the morning. The news accounts here have it that New York and Washington got word of the great consummation at 3 o’clock A. M., and promptly proceeded to celebrate; and doubtless the Pacific Coast was favored with the same happy information sometime about midnight, or shortly thereafter. Making due allowance for all differences in time, London and England should have been notified of the result early in the day, immediately after the signing of the document. But the London evening papers are poor contraptions, and they have a way here of awaiting official announcements. It isn’t news until the King, or the Premier, or some other great man has said it or done it. Or perhaps the censor was still on the job. In any event, the method of communicating to the public the great fact that Germany had officially acknowledged that it had lost was through Lloyd George.

The day was threatening and misty; a very poor time for a public celebration of any kind. Then a lorry came lumbering up the Strand firing anti-aircraft guns. The significance of the exploit was not at first clearly understood. Some thought it was a final German air raid. But at last it dawned on the London mind that the war was over; and the impossible happened. London cast all reserve to the winds and let itself loose in a spontaneous and mighty demonstration. It was mainly a thing of moving and joyous crowds, going somewhere, anywhere, and making a noise—not a din after the American fashion, but yet a fairly noisy noise, all quite seemly, disciplined and respectable.

London is not yet thoroughly up in the art of getting the most out of a tin horn or a cow-bell. But the crowds, the crowds were enormous, and they were everywhere. It is said that London has 7,000,000 people. It must be an underestimate. Far more than that number apparently assembled at Trafalgar Square and before Buckingham Palace, and marched in platoons or companies or irregular regimental formations up and down the Strand. Or perhaps it was the same millions going in turn to all these common meeting places.

The crowd before the palace wanted to see and hear the King and Queen. That royal lady has a very large place in the calculations of the English people. “We want King George!” cried the people. The thoughts of more than one American went back to memorable and unexampled scenes in Chicago in 1912, when uproarious throngs insistently proclaimed “We want Roosevelt!”

There the very air was tense with the electric fervor of irrepressible feeling loudly and vehemently expressed. Here, where they have King George, and evidently intend to keep him, there was no emotional outburst, no passionate outcry, no mob frenzy, merely the more or less formal call of a disciplined people to see their King, doubtless because they reasoned among themselves, in good English style, that it was the correct procedure in the circumstances. There is no denying the popularity of the King, however. If they were to hold an election for King in England tomorrow, the incumbent would distance all others at the polls.

At a quarter to 11 there were no signs of special commotion before the palace. A few idlers had gathered to watch the ceremony of changing the guard. The only flag in sight was the royal standard. At 11 o’clock, precisely, a typewritten copy of the Premier’s announcement that hostilities had ceased was hung outside the railings and then the maroons exploded.
The crowds began to gather, coming from all directions like bees in a swarm. Many had flags. Men on horseback came from somewhere and reined up before the palace. Taxicabs and motor cars came along and people who wanted to see better began to climb on the roofs. Within a few minutes many thousands had assembled and they began to call for the King.

At 11:15 King George, in the uniform of an Admiral, appeared on the balcony. The Queen, bareheaded and wearing a fur coat, was with him. The Duke of Connaught came too, and the Princess Mary. The soldiers presented arms and the Irish Guards’ band played the national anthem and the crowd solemnly took up the slow refrain. Then the band played “Rule Britannia.” The people sang again and flags began to wave. They were nearly all British flags. The King removed his cap and his loyal subjects cheered, and someone proposed a groan for the Kaiser, which was given sonorously, and the ruler of Great Britain and all the Indies donned his cap and the royal group went back into the palace.

The throngs, pleased and decorously animated, moved away, but their places were taken by other thousands, and the whole performance was repeated. At one of his appearances the King was graciously inspired to make a speech. It consisted of only a sentence or two, but it was all right and the people applauded rapturously.

Later, the King decided to drive through the city. He was accompanied by the Queen and the Princess Mary. Rain was falling, but nobody in England minds rain. It was a triumphal procession. Everywhere at central points had gathered many thousands to welcome their majesties. One mighty group was at Victoria Memorial; another at Admiralty Arch; another at Ludgate Circus; and still another at Mansion House, where the Lord Mayor, in his official robes of black and gold, was on hand to receive the royal pair.

The streets were encompassed all the way by many people. Here and there was a police officer, but the police had no difficulty with the crowds. There was no special or unusual guard for the King and Queen, only a few outriders. They have no fear, evidently, in England, that anything untoward will happen to the Crown, through the act of a madman, or the deliberate deed of a regicide. A policeman’s baton is enough. The English respect authority and obey it.

On the succeeding day it was announced that the King and Queen would attend a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s Cathedral. The street scenes of the previous day were repeated during the progress of the royal couple to the magnificent center of worship. It is a noble and wonderful shrine, with a fit setting for occasions of vast importance. Great bells rang and a mighty concourse gathered, and a solemn and beautiful ceremony was conducted in commemoration of the triumph of the allied cause. The climax of the peace celebration was of course reached in the movements of the King and Queen; but these were merely the outstanding events. It is a fact, however, that it was everybody’s affair, and he took his own way to show his joy that the end of the long and weary road had been reached at last.

The Strand, ending in Trafalgar Square, the heart of London, is the most popular thoroughfare in the city. It attracts the visiting soldiers, and the soldiers make up a great part of the ordinary moving crowds. The Strand is about as wide as Washington street, and it may easily become congested. But somehow the people get along and the traffic proceeds and nothing much ever happens.

When the joy-making began, the crowds took possession not only of the Strand, but of all available vehicles. A favorite adventure of men and women was to commandeer a taxicab and to pile in and on anywhere, preferably on top. One car, with a prescribed capacity for four, had exactly twenty-seven persons sardined in its not-too-ample proportions. Then there were lorries–automobile trucks–crowded with soldiers, civilians and girls, all waving flags and singing or shouting.

Soldiers formed in procession and marched along. After a while they turned about and went the other way. Girls in uniform– munitions workers–appeared in large numbers, and walked along, arm-in-arm with the men in khaki. Flags were plentiful, mostly British, with a fair proportion of American, French and Belgian. But the unvarnished truth is that Britain was celebrating a British victory. Well, why not? They were polite enough to make reasonable concessions to their allies–whenever they thought of it.

A group of Americans standing on the walk, somewhat uncertainly displaying American flags, were frequently cheered by the passing revelers. Once a lot of Canadians came in sight, and some of them broke from their fellows, and came over and asked the Americans for the flags, which were promptly given them.

At another time, a great lorry with perhaps 50 passengers aboard, stopped in front of an American with a bandaged head, waving Old Glory, and gave him three rousing cheers. They thought, doubtless that he was a hero of the war, with a wound honorably won in battle. He did not undeceive them. The day went on with no diminution of the crowds or moderation of the excitement. Apparently it increased rather than diminished. Business was wholly suspended, except in the restaurants and hotels, and the metropolis gave itself up to merry-making. Yet it was mainly an unorganized, though orderly, spectacle of movement, without any great variety of stunts or picturesque Incidents. Perhaps the crowd did not know how to do things as they do in America; or perhaps it was merely content to go and go and go–and then come back.

There was little drinking or drunkenness, apparently, in the streets, though there was plenty, and to spare, later in the great hotels. Possibly the crowd was sober because intoxication costs money nowadays in England; or perhaps it was not in the humor to drink. But the gay assemblies within the walls of the restaurants had no such scruples. There was much drinking, much noise, much laxity, a complete departure from the innocent gayety of the streets.

The celebration did not end on Monday night. But it started up again on Tuesday and continued through the week. When London celebrates it celebrates. There is no question about it. Occasionally the crowd broke bounds. At Piccadilly Circus there was a great bonfire made up of big signboards taken by force from passing omnibuses. The same thing occurred at Trafalgar Square, where the effort to subdue the flames by water from a firemen’s hose led to cracking the stones at the foundation of the Nelson monument, making a serious disfigurement of that splendid column. But such scenes were rare.

London had not sobered down, or up, when the editors left, on a Friday. It was said that Saturday night would probably see the culmination of an entire week’s festivities in a great saturnalia in which the whole population would join.
It is pleasant to contemplate the comparative calm of a voyage at sea, even in Winter time, when storms abound, but submarines do not.

– Edgar Bramwell Piper, Somewhere Near the War (1919)

The Press Bureau which was established at the commencement of the war was a civil department, entirely independent of the Admiralty and the War Office although it was in close touch with those institutions, as also with the Foreign Office, the Board of Trade and other branches of the Government. In so far as the War Office was concerned, the Bureau dealt with the Operations Directorate, which was responsible for watching the censorship of newspapers in general, just as it was responsible for actually controlling the censorship of cables and foreign correspondence. As the primary raison d’être of newspapers is to provide their readers with news, it was inevitable that restrictions placed upon publication of information, however necessary they might be in the interest of the State, would hamper the activities of those in charge and be regarded as a nuisance. It was natural that the Press should chafe at the restraint and should be disposed to exaggerate the inconvenience to which it was put. But the public, it must be remembered, have heard only one side of the story. The country has derived its information concerning the Press censorship from the Press itself—in other words, from what is to all intents and purposes a tainted source. The nation has had to decide on a subject of general interest on one-sided evidence.

In so far as the military share of the Press censorship was concerned, some of the groans of its victims were, no doubt, well justified. Delays were inevitable. But cases of unnecessary delay no doubt occurred. Instances could be mentioned of one censor sanctioning the publication of a given item of news while another forbade mention thereof. It is human to err, and individual censors were guilty of errors of judgment on occasion. Examples of information, which might have been given to the world with perfect propriety, being withheld, could easily be brought to light. How the humorists of the Fourth Estate did gloat over “the Captains and the Kings”! There was at least one instance early in the conflict of an official communiqué that had been issued by the French military authorities in Paris being bowdlerized before publication on this side of the Channel.

Few of the detractors of the military Press Censorship, on the other hand, gave evidence of possessing more than a shadowy conception of the difficult and delicate nature of the duties which that institution was called upon to carry out. There is little evidence to indicate that the critics had the slightest idea of the value of the services which it performed. Nor would they appear to be aware that the blunders committed by the censors, such as they were, were by no means confined to malapert blue-pencilling of items of information that might have appeared without disclosing anything whatever to the enemy. As a matter of fact, cases occurred of intelligence slipping through the meshes which ought not on any account to have been made public property.

When, for example, one particular London newspaper twice over during the very critical opening weeks of the struggle divulged movements of troops in France, the peccant passage was, on each occasion, found on investigation to have been acquiesced in by a censor—lapses on the part of overworked and weary men poring over sheaves of proof-slips late at night. Nearly all our newspapers published a Reuter’s message which stated the exact strength of the Third Belgian Division when it got back by sea to Ostend—not a very important piece of information, but one that obviously ought not to have been allowed to appear. At a somewhat later date, a journal, in reporting His Majesty’s farewell visit to the troops, contrived to acquaint all whom it might concern that the Twenty-eighth Division, made up of regular battalions brought from overseas, was about to cross the Channel.

It will readily be understood that incidents of this kind—those quoted are merely samples—worried the officials charged with supervision, and tended to make them almost over-fastidious. Soldiers of experience, as the censors were, remembered Nelson’s complaint that his plans were disclosed by a Gibraltar print, Wellington’s remonstrances during the Peninsular War, the details as to the siege-works before Sebastopol that were given away to the enemy by The Times, and the information conveyed to the Germans by a Paris newspaper of MacMahon’s movement on Sedan. They were, moreover, aware that indignant representations with reference to the untoward communicativeness of certain of our prominent journals were being made by the French and Belgians. So the Press Bureau took to sending doubtful passages across for our decision—a procedure which necessarily created delay and caused inconvenience to editors. Publication, it may be mentioned, was approved in quite four cases out of five when such references were made. One rather wondered at times, indeed, where the difficulty came in.

But a verdict was called for in one case which imposed an uncomfortable responsibility upon me. This was when a telegram from the Military Correspondent of The Times from the front, revealing the shell shortage from which our troops were suffering, was submitted from Printing House Square to the Press Bureau in the middle of May 1915, and was transmitted by the Press Bureau to us for adjudication. It was about three weeks after Mr. Asquith’s unfortunate reference to this subject in his Newcastle speech. Publication of the message could at the worst only be confirmatory to the enemy of information already fully known, and national interests did seem to demand that the people of the country should be made aware how this particular matter stood, seeing that the labour world had not yet fully risen to its responsibilities in connection with the prosecution of the war which depended to so great an extent upon our factories. Choice of three alternatives presented itself to me—leave might be refused, higher authority might be referred to, publication might be sanctioned then and there. The third alternative was adopted, although one or two minor details in regard to particular types of ordnance were excised. It seems to be generally acknowledged that publication of the truth about the shell shortage was of service to the cause; but for some of the attacks upon the War Office to which the publication of the truth gave rise there was no justification whatever. The attacks, indeed, took the form of a conspiracy, which has only been exposed since mouths that had to remain closed during the war have been opened.

The Voluntary Aid Detachment started in 1909 when the War Office placed on the British Red Cross responsibility for forming and training VADs in every county to provide additional aid to the territorial medical service to meet the needs of war. Detachments were also formed by the Order of St. John and St. Andrews’ Ambulance Brigade in Scotland. The VADs were made up of both men and women who gave their time voluntarily and who underwent a detailed training programme including lectures and practical field days.

To qualify for VAD membership, women had to pass first aid and nursing qualifications and men first aid qualifications. These examinations had to be regularly renewed. In March of 1911, a uniform was introduced and on qualifying as a British Red Cross VAD, a new member would be permitted to sew the distinctive Red Cross emblem onto her apron and later onto her head veil. Although the VAD scheme was originally intended to provide voluntary aid in times of war, it was soon realised that practical experience was necessary and VADs began to help in hospitals and dispensaries during peace time.

The first public first aid duty was carried out at the Coronation of King George V when “Red Cross squads” were stationed along portions of the route. The First World War saw the VADs fully mobilised and carrying out duties both at home and abroad. Amongst their functions were the transportation of the wounded, the supervision of dressing stations, cooking and nursing duties in both military and auxiliary hospitals. By the Armistice, there were over 90,000 British Red Cross VADs and a tradition of voluntary service with the Red Cross that continues to this day was well and truly established.

Joyce Dennys served with the Budleigh Salterton Auxiliary Hospital, which contained some twenty beds, from December 1914 until December 1915 and then served at the Number Two Military Hospital in Exeter, which had some 220 beds, from January to October 1916. Before the war started, Joyce was attending an art school in London and it was around 1915 that the publishers, John Lane The Bodley Head, commissioned her to draw the pictures for “Our Hospital ABC” with verses by Hampden Gordon and M.C. Tindall.

This was followed by “Our Girls in Wartime”, with rhymes once again by Hampden Gordon. Joyce Dennys: service at Budleigh Salterton was at a small hospital used at first for the men of the local garrison and then used exclusively for the men of the Expeditionary Force. The hospital building was lent free by ColoneL M. Barton, RE, DSO and was situated on the high ground overlooking the sea. The Number Two hospital at Exeter was one of five hospitals in and around Exeter which were used for military purposes.

The wonderful images that Joyce Dennys drew for the two books are all caricatures and were drawn from what she had seen in and around the Devon hospitals and from life in the great metropolis. From March to September 1917 she was on the staff at Devonshire House which was the office from which all VAD administration was carried out. It was during this period that she must have visited the County of Cornwall Royal Naval Auxiliary Hospital, Truro. The hospital, with 150 beds, was located in the Truro workhouse, a roomy well-ventilated building standing on a healthy, open site. a mile out of the city.

The preparation of the hospital involved the removal of the inmates, the installation of gas which entailed the laying of over half a mile of main, many structural additions and alterations, and the furnishing of the entire hospital and nurses’ home. The nurses’ home accommodated some forty members of the nursing and VAD staff, each having a separate curtained cubicle. Joyce Dennys, on visiting the hospital, recorded in one album some thirty one drawings in pastel and gouache; they were all unsigned. These drawings all came into my possession some years ago and after much research with the help of the British Red Cross Archivist, Helen Pugh, we were able to determine the identity of the artist as Joyce Dennys. All the drawings were illustrative caricatures, yet all are of actual personnel at the hospital, some of whom appear two or three times in the collection. They are a delightful historical reminder of the very special inmates and their very special nurses. [Source]

Our hospital ABC (Anzac British Canadian) © University of Washington Libraries

Our hospital ABC (Anzac British Canadian) © University of Washington Libraries

Our hospital ABC (Anzac British Canadian) © University of Washington Libraries

Now, as I said, I can do social history, I can do politics, I can do food, and I can even do diplomacy, but the military goes right over my head (Shh, don’t let my very military family hear this!); however, since WWI looms largely over both Downton Abbey and the Edwardians, it behooves me to do my bit and research the basics of the Great War (though naturally, I do get caught up in the spy stuff!). According to the Downton Abbey companion book, the regiments of Lord Grantham and Matthew Crawley, the North Riding Volunteers and the Duke of Manchester’s Own, respectively, were created for the series, and Lord Grantham’s mess kit was copied from that worn by an officer in the Indian Guides in 1912.

Costume designer Rosalind Ebbutt further explains that “Matthew, as an officer, would have his uniform made by his own tailor. In full dress he wears a shirt with a soft collar and tie, breeches, a service tunic that has buttons embossed with his cavalry regiment crest, field boots with laces and a Sam Browne belt, which is worn across the chest and around the waist.”

According to Wikipedia:

The British soldier went to war in August 1914, wearing the 1902 Pattern Service Dress tunic and trousers. This was a thick woollen tunic, dyed khaki. There were two breast pockets for personal items and the soldier’s AB64 Pay Book, two smaller pockets for other items, and an internal pocket sewn under the right flap of the lower tunic where the First Field Dressing was kept. Rifle patches were sewn above the breast pockets, to prevent wear from the webbing equipment and rifle. Shoulder straps were sewn on and fastened with brass buttons, with enough space for a brass regimental shoulder title.

Rank insignia was sewn onto the upper tunic sleeves, while trade badges and Long Service and Good Conduct stripes were placed on the lower sleeves. A stiffened peak cap was worn, made of the same material, with a leather strap, brass fitting and secured with two small brass buttons. Puttees were worn round the ankles, and ammunition boots with hobnail soles on the feet. Normally brown, they were made of reversed hide and had steel toe-caps, and a steel plate on the heel. …

The 1908 Pattern webbing equipment comprised a wide belt, left and right ammunition pouches which held 75 rounds each, left and right braces, a bayonet frog[jargon] and attachment for the entrenching tool handle, an entrenching tool head in web cover, water bottle carrier, small haversack and large pack. A mess tin was worn attached to one of the packs, and was contained inside a cloth buff-coloured khaki cover. Inside the haversack were personal items, knife and when on Active Service, unused portions of the daily ration. The large pack could sometimes be used to house some of these items, but was normally kept for carrying the soldier’s Greatcoat and or a blanket. The full set of 1908 webbing could weigh over 70 pounds (32 kg).

Pattern 1908 Web Infantry Equipment (from Osprey's The British Army, 1914-1918)

As the war progressed and the weapons began to include tanks, hand grenades, and–worst of all–chemical gas attacks, the kit of a typical English soldier changed accordingly. To their already weighty kit was added the Brodie helmet, devised in 1915 to reduce casualties via lethal head wounds, and gas masks, developed after the first poison gas attack in April of 1915,  and–turning once more to The World of Downton Abbey–”officers stopped wearing their ranking badges because they made them too easy a target for the Germans.”

Thus ends my first foray into actual military matters! For those who are very interested in the minutiae of soldiery and trench warfare, I highly, highly recommend the books published by Osprey. Their extensive catalog includes books about trench warfare, the uniforms and insignia of all participating armies in WWI, brief but incredibly rich histories of the war, and titles dedicated to the particular branches of service in WWI (and some of them even include women’s uniforms!).

For those who like a general view of the war and life for the soldiers, I recommend Six Weeks: The Short and Gallant Life of the British Officer in the First World War by John Lewis-Stempel, which Dan Stevens (Matthew Crawley) found invaluable to understanding life in the trenches. And of course, don’t forget about the official companion book!

For now, I direct you to Trench Warfare: A Manual for Officers and Men (1917) by J. S. Smith.

Click on the page to open the book:

I’ve done a bit of digging and have unearthed a plethora of information about women’s war work during the Great War, and it is shockingly broad in its scope. The 1922 edition of the Encyclopedia Britanica devotes nearly 20 pages to this topic, which ranged from civilian work (canteens, supplies, fundraising, etc), to military work (WRENs, WRAF, the Women’s Volunteer Reserve, etc), to factory work (munitions, shells, gas masks, etc), to medical work (nurses, doctors, ambulance drivers, etc), to replacing the absent men as tram conductors, police officers, and so on. I’ve uploaded a PDF of the section for your personal reading, which you can download at the bottom of this post. Since the Red Cross is pretty self-explanatory, I shall focus on the Women’s Land Army.

Due to recruitment, enlistment, and in 1916, involuntary conscription, there was an acute shortage of manpower on Britain’s farms. During the Edwardian era, flower gardens and small holdings were the extent of ladies’ and women’s experiences with the land. As able-bodied men gradually trickled to the various Fronts, the Government faced a serious problem: if no one worked the land, there would be no food for the troops. By 1915, Britain had only three weeks of food supply left, and German U-boat action imperiled the shipping of foodstuffs, when the Board of Agriculture organised the Land Army. Lady Trudie Denman, chairwoman of the Women’s Institute Sub-Committee of the Agricultural Organisation Society, helped to spearhead the formation of the Women’s Land Army, and by 1917 (after sending agricultural officers around the UK to persuade farmers to take women as labourers and farm hands), over 250,000 – 260,000 women worked as farm labourers, with 20,000 in the land army itself.

A 1917 issue of Monthly Labor Review described the program thus:

In Great Britain the services of women on land will be more imperatively needed than ever owing to the withdrawal at the end of May of the 40.000 soldiers lent by the Army to do the spring work in the fields. The new Women’s Land Army of the National Service is being organized to meet this need and the work is being greatly helped by the existence of a small nucleus of trained women, or at least of women with some experience on the land, known as the Women’s National Land Service Corps. In February, 1916, conditions having become serious and promising to be more so owing to continual drain of men off the land, the Women’s Farm and Garden Union, the only association which dealt with women’s outdoor work before the war, sent a deputation to the board of agriculture, with the result that in subsequent negotiations ground was allowed to the association for the training of women for land cultivation. This led to the immediate formation of the Women’s National Land Service Corps with headquarters in upper Baker Street in London, which were lent for the purpose by Lord Portman.

About 2,000 women have joined the corps and have been placed on farms in various parts of the country. The recruiting of the right type of women for work on the land is essential to success, and since county committees dealt mainly with the enlistment of local resident women in country districts, it became the work of the corps to recruit suitable girls and women in the towns who could be sent to any district to supplement local labor. According to a statement of Mrs. Roland Wilkins, chairman of the corps, all the women enlisted in the corps have had a secondary education and have gone onto the land mostly from patriotic motives. The corps has not encouraged girls who had to live on their earnings to take up agricultural work because of the low rate of pay. Patriotic motives alone made it worth while to women to take up this hard work for such wages as would only provide them with the necessaries of life. It is for this reason that the chairman of the corps is not sanguine in the expectation of a large number of women continuing in agricultural professions at the close of the war.

The value of educated women in the work which the corps is doing has been very clearly shown. Many members of the corps in taking up work on a farm have after a short time been asked by the farmer to see if they could not get the village women to give a helping hand, and in many cases they have succeeded in organizing the women into whole-time or part-time gangs. Force of example and a little persuasion are doing wonders in breaking down prejudice and timidity at embarking on unaccustomed work. The farmers have thus found the value of women’s aid and have been led to ask for their help. The corps has always dealt perfectly frankly with the farmers and has never led them to expect skilled labor where all they could be provided with was good but untrained material, which, at most, was no more experienced than a six weeks’ course can provide.

As for the accommodation of the women, a cottage occupied by two or three women, which is the number generally sent out to work on a farm, is the arrangement preferred. They either cook their own meals or get a friend to live with them who will do the housework. Others live on the farm or take lodgings in the villages, but in the low-wage districts the amount earned barely covers the charge for board and lodging. In isolated districts the total lack of accommodation was often all that prevented farmers from applying for women laborers.

During the training of the women, which takes place on a number of farms lent for the purpose to the parent association, the Women’s Farm and Garden Union, hotels are provided for the pupils by the Land Service Corps, which are run by a superintendent, who not only is housekeeper but also supervises the carrying out of the work to which she sets the pupils on the farm daily. Many women who applied to the corps to be put in the way of work on the land are sent to the National Service Land Army Organization, and they in turn send some of their applicants to the Women’s National Land Service Corps. The corps does not offer the advantages of full training and full traveling expenses and equipment, but, on the other hand, the women who become members of the corps do not engage themselves in quite the same way as the recruits of the Land Army of National Service.

The only agency which offers such facilities for training to women anxious to do their share in helping their country and to whom the out-of-door life appeals more than work in factory or office is the national service department of the board of agriculture. Once the decision to go on the land is reached the first step for the recruit to take is to go to the nearest post office, obtain the necessary form, and sign it. In due time a business-like summons arrives, naming place and date and requesting her to appear before a joint committee of the employment exchange and the district selection and location committee of the Women’s War Agricultural Committee. A railway ticket to the place mentioned is also sent, and the future land worker eventually finds herself before the district selection and location committee. If she is accepted after the interview the committee decides whether she is sufficiently skilled to go straight to a farm as a paid worker or if she is suitable for a bursary—-i.e. 15s. ($3.65) a week—-in which case she is allocated direct to the farm on which she will work, or it may be decided to send her for 4 weeks to a training school. After certain formalities a return railway ticket is given to the recruit and she is told to await further orders. If she is fit to work on the land the committee proceeds to act on the decision arrived at during the interview.

When a recruit is sent to a training school all particulars regarding her are first sent to the committee in the county town to which they have sent her instructions and a railway voucher. If the recruit’s work is satisfactory arrangements are made to place her upon a farm as soon as she is ready, and whenever possible a place is obtained for her in the locality where she was trained. Whenever a recruit is placed at work the village registrar or a specially appointed welfare worker visits her. and if any difficulty arises the recruit has someone to whom to appeal.
The recruit is now a full-fledged war land worker, and if she should be dismissed from her employment through no fault of her can if she wishes it be sent back immediately to the county town. If she then wishes to return to her home at her own expense she can do so only with the permission of the district representative.

Though the work of the Women’s Land Army did not halt the acute food shortages (the government introduced rationing in 1918), and the WLA was disbanded in 1919, they were the fruit of socio-political movements of the Edwardian era–suffrage, urban and rural reform, women’s education, scientific management, and labor rights. Members of the WLA came from all areas of society and challenged conventions of “what was ‘proper’ work for women to do, their role in wartime, how they should be paid, and how they should dress.”

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From Carry On: British Women’s Work in War Time