Somme Prelude

At 7.30 a.m. on Saturday, 1st July 1916, the British artillery barrage on the Somme, that had not ceased for seven days, finally lifted. For a brief moment ears assaulted by the concussion of high explosive and shrapnel shells picked out other sounds. Some spoke of the sound of skylarks high above the battlefield; others of exchanges of ‘good luck’ between friends; and then the ‘Phrr….’ of whistles and the sound of men clambering up scaling ladders as they went over the top……

What followed has been told so often that it has become the British folk memory, a tale of innocent youth walking towards certain death, leaving behind a British idyll of rolling green countryside and a world at ease with itself. The nature of the Battle of the Somme, and the honeyed image of an English demi-paradise, was rather less straightforward than those simplistic images conjure up.

Rumours of a ‘Big Push’ had been spoken of for weeks. But the thoughts of some back home could still turn to more pacific pastimes. The day before the barrage began on 24th June 1916, the story of a country ramble taking in the historic Newstead Abbey, ancestral home of the poet Lord Byron, appeared in a Nottinghamshire newspaper.

“When the Sun beats down on hedgerow and highway, here is to be found a grateful shade. In this secluded spot the war and the turmoil of the outside world seem very far away. Here there is nothing to strike a jarring note. There is a wonderful harmony of tint and tone in woodland, and if you walk leisurely and observantly along you may note the contrasts in the trees, catch fleeting glimpses of some of the denizens, and with a little knowledge of old customs, conjure up a pleasant picture of the time when kings and priests met together to enjoy a good day’s hunting of the wild deer...

“We continue our journey, and on the borders of the wood, where we leave the park for the road, we are presented with a glorious spectacle. Great masses of rhododendrons are a blaze of colour, and against the background of the trees they stand out in fine relief… From the roadway we obtain one of the finest views of the Abbey and grounds. The East front, with the Sussex tower rising at one corner, and the remains of the old church showing through the trees at the other, makes a picturesque scene, and to add to the interest we can pick out Boatswain’s Tomb, the statues in the Devil’s Wood, and portions of the gardens. Noble trees border the road, and on the left we can peer into a vague expanse of woodland, the lurking darkness in the thickets being relieved by glimpses of rhododendrons.” [1]

The weather had been good for a walk in the country and a bumper hay harvest, the best in years, was expected. But the loss of men to the armed forces and the disinclination of miners, who in times past had supplemented their income by working in the fields but who were already working six days a week to meet the demands of the war economy, risked it rotting in the fields. Women were being brought in to carry out the work (even if the farmers’ preference was for cheaper child workers) but this gave rise to concerns from the labour movement; not that women were to carry out the work per se but that they would displace male labourers after the war. The Independent Labour Party sent their concerns to Nottinghamshire County Council towards the end of June.

“We respectfully point out that, whilst the Education Committee is to pay public moneys for training women to work on the land, after such training, these women are to be at the mercy of farmers, who are to get skilled labour, supplied and trained at the public expense, which can, and we fear will, be used almost solely for profit-making purposes.” [2] Other sources of labour were available locally, however.

Detachments of labour battalions from the Sherwood Foresters and Leicestershire regiments were stationed in and around Hucknall; the latter had only just arrived in the area, whilst the former under the command of Second Lieutenant Ernest H. Marsh, a veteran of the Gallipolli campaign, had been stationed locally for some weeks past. Marsh had been wounded on the Peninsula with the regiment’s 9th Battalion during their belated and disastrous attempts to move in-land in August 1915. After surviving that debacle, he had had to deal with more prosaic domestic concerns, organising the men’s billets in the town. His attitude to what were most likely petty local rivalries after his experiences at Gallipoli can be imagined. In May he had been moved to write to the local newspaper, giving vent to his evident annoyance.

“Dear Sir, - It has come to my knowledge that the moving of certain privates from one billet to another has given rise to adverse criticism of the householders concerned.

“Will you allow me to say that such changes are often necessary in order to secure better distribution of control of troops, and for other military reasons. It would, of course, be quite impossible for me always to publish such details, and it is absurd for anyone to assume that the reasons for the transfer are detrimental to the characters either of the civilians or of the soldiers.

“I may say that no soldiers have been better treated in any billets than the men of my Company have been and are being treated in Hucknall. Yours faithfully,

ERNEST H. MARSH, 2nd Lieut.,

Commanding “A” Labour Co.” [3]

Other locals continued pretty much as they had always done, war or no war. As readers took in the story of the ramblers’ odyssey, Hucknall’s Thomas Sissons was beginning a month’s imprisonment after being arrested for being drunk earlier in the month for at least the 42nd occasion [4]. The magistrates’ only regret was that the sentence could not have been longer. Similar frustration was experienced by the authorities dealing with the case of two rather less experienced criminals, William Brearley and Joseph Bakewell, aged 12 and 11 respectively, had broken into George Vincent’s home on 24th June and stole a silver watch valued at 20s. The young lads got six strokes of the birch for their pains but the real criminal in the eyes of the law was the woman who pawned it at George Wakefield’s pawnbrokers on Hucknall High Street, Margaret Banks. As Deputy Chief Constable William Harrop remarked, “Little boys are brought to this court for theft, while this woman receives things publicly and pledges them,” but against whom there was no evidence that she had knowingly handled stolen property [5]. No charges could be pressed.

Concerns about the rise in juvenile crime added to the moral crisis that many felt was facing the country. The British Women’s Temperance Union held a rally at the Y.M.C.A. on 27th June, with the local M.P., Leif Jones, a strong temperance campaigner, donating £1 to the cause. [6] The cause was evidently lost on the likes of Watnall Road resident, William Hardstaff, who claimed to have left his dray in charge of a friend when he appeared in court the following day but both appeared to be inside the Yew Tree Inn whilst the horse & cart was left unattended outside the pub. Hardstaff’s previous convictions for being drunk in charge of his wagon, having a vehicle with no light and ‘furious’ driving led to his being fined 15s. for his trouble. [7]

Other allegedly anti-social elements came from further away than Watnall Road. Belgian refugees had first arrived in Nottinghamshire in October 1914 and, at first, their reception was most enthusiastic. But the cuddliest Christmas puppy can quickly transform into the unwanted New Year encumbrance and by the time a flag day for the welfare of Belgian refugees was proposed to be held in Nottingham on 1st July, there was considerable opposition to it on the grounds of, “the ingratitude and misbehaviour of some few Belgian refugees” [8]. It took an appeal from the Lord Mayor, who found “that as might be expected when a large number of people of all grades of society are dealt with there are a few whose conduct is not all that could be desired, but that the majority of the refugees are of exceedingly good character and behaviour and have done their best to find employment, so far as possible to be self-supporting: in fact, by far the larger proportion of the men in Nottingham are so employed” [9].

Nevertheless, the ‘grades of society’ giving greatest cause for concern remained the drinking classes, particularly young women and soldiers’ wives. On 1st July, as men were fighting for their lives, Baptist Minister, 29 year-old Rev. Harry Dixon Longbottom’s chief concern was to fight for the souls of those he saw on a trip round some of the pubs in Sneinton, Nottingham. The piety practically drips from his account.

“I have no desire to libel a class, because of the excess of some of its members [sic], but I certainly came to the conclusion that drinking among women is on the increase. The temptation for these poor women is to drown their sorrow and anxiety in strong drink. Many a brave soldier will, I am afraid, come back to find his wife cursed by this evil habit.” [10]

He next entered a hotel where, “there must have been more than 200 people present. A number of the women evidently belonged to that unfortunate class, and I was amazed at the laxity of our licensing justices in permitting screens, partitions, and other arrangements inside a licensed house which were such as to make it impossible for any police officer to observe all that was transpiring. But the most painful scenes of all were witnessed at the next house visited. We entered the house from an entry or yard, and here were to be seen youths and girls of fifteen or thereabouts under the influence of drink. Their behaviour was boisterous, and, coarse jokes were being bandied about. Inside, one saw girls who were, after all, only children, drinking ale and spirits. Girls of fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen were to be seen smoking cigarettes, laughing uproariously and foolishly. The language was indescribable. One girl with hair hanging down her back was leaning her head on a soldier who looked about 40. He was lighting her a cigarette. One shudders to think what the future of some of these girls may be.” [11]

The licensing laws had been tightened considerably during the war (although the likes of Rev. Longbottom and Leif Jones M.P., would have only accepted the introduction of outright prohibition). The licensing authorities reduced pub opening hours inside a three mile radius of Nottingham city centre, with closing time brought forward from midnight to 9.00 p.m. Outside of that customers had an extra half hour to enjoy their drinks. Enforcing this were the local police who adopted a controversial entrapment policy.

Deputy Chief Constable William Harrop, who had served as an Inspector in Hucknall, entered the ‘Three Crowns’ pub in Ruddington, south of Nottingham at 10.10 p.m. on the night of 1st July. As thousands of men on the Somme made their way as best they as best they could to their own lines without attracting attention, Harrop followed two constables – all in plain clothes – already inside to find a number of city residents still enjoying a drink. The landlord, Albert Blood, received a fine of £10 for his trouble and five drinkers £1 each for their grave sin. [12]

Amongst those lying on the battlefield were many men from 11th Notts. & Derby., a unit with many local men serving in its ranks. One of them, Pleasley man George Hall, had written to his parents before going into action. A man of clear religious conviction, he wrote what was to be his last letter home, for by the time it was received he would already be dead.

“Just a few lines, hoping to find you in the very best of health, as it leaves me quite well at present. We are having a bit better weather out here now. I am sending you one of my photos in this letter. It is not so good as I should have liked it to have been, but still, we don’t expect to look as smart out here as we did when we were in England. I have got something to tell you, but don’t put yourself about, and don’t be surprised if you don’t get another letter from me for a bit. I cannot tell you the reason why, because I am not allowed to, but we have heard that they are stopping all letters going and coming to France for a while. We have got a very big job in front of us. No doubt you have heard rumours about it in England, but do try and cheer up. I have put my trust in God, and I feel [..] that He will guide me through it. If I am not able to write to you for a while I shall be thinking about you and ever praying for you, and I know that you will be praying for me. We have only to ask God to help and guide us, and He will never leave us.

“Dear Mother, do try and cheer up. I am asking God to guide and protect me, also to comfort my loved ones at home.” [13]

By the end of that summer Saturday, 1st July 1916, all too many parents were to be in need of comfort, although none of them would have realised that at the time. For very many, they would never learn what happened to their loved ones. George Hall, at least, has a known grave, being buried in Blighty Valley Cemetery, Authuille Wood.

Notes:

[1] ‘The Mansfield and North Notts. Advertiser’, 23rd June 1916.

[2] ‘Nottingham Daily Guardian’, 13th July 1916.

[3] ‘Hucknall Dispatch’, 25th May 1916.

[4] ‘Hucknall Dispatch’, 29th June 1916.

[5] ‘Nottingham Evening News’, 1st July 1916.

[6] ‘Hucknall Dispatch’, 29th June 1916.

[7] Ibid.

[8] ‘The Nottingham Evening News’, 24th June 1916.

[9] Ibid.

[10] ‘Nottingham Evening News’, 10th July 1916.

[11] Ibid.

[12] ‘Nottingham Daily Guardian’, 24th July 1916.

[13] ‘The Mansfield and North Notts. Advertiser’, 13th July 1916.