Beneath Flanders Fields

Getting close to the earth was a natural reaction under fire; improving the cover of one’s position required tools. All British infantrymen were equipped with a clever personal entrenching tool, which comprised a steel head of combined spade and pick, and a separate wooden handle, called a helve. These tools were supplied to provide a means of digging a shallow scrape in an emergency, or for a multitude of other small jobs in the field, acting as hammer, pick and digging tool.  But it is doubtful that entrenching tools were used to dig many trenches; for that the ubiquitous British General Service (or ‘Bulldog’, named after their Lancashire manufacturer) shovels were needed. GS shovels were issued to the battalion at the rate of 110 per battalion; open-mouthed, with a turned back top to protect the heavy boot of the infantryman, these spades were used in earnest in the digging of frontline trenches. The time estimated in 1914 (as prescribed by the officer’s Field Service Pocket Book) for digging a man’s length of fire trench – two paces or forty-five cubic feet – was 100 minutes under normal conditions. Heavy picks were also provided where the ground was hard enough to warrant them, with seventy-six per battalion. Both tools would be used in digging trenches throughout the war, under the orders of sapper officers and NCOs, the infantry would provide the manpower to do so. Infantrymen were often to carry spades (and picks) into action, such as, famously, by the leading assault troops on the Somme in 1916. This was to allow for the turning of trench lines once captured, with the reversal of the fire step from one side to the other. This would account for the bullet hole in the third spade illustrated, a relict of the frontline trenches of Arras in 1917.

For tunnellers, famously depicted in the novel Birdsong (now a BBC drama production), the use of tools underground was fraught with danger. With both sides listening for the slightest warning that they were working in the same sector, the ringing of picks and shovels could spell disaster, with countermines or camouflets the inevitable result. The special men of the Tunnelling Companies, RE would take care not to make too much noise while kicking clay; for them, the GS spade would be much too crude a tool.

Peter Doyle is co-author, with Peter Barton and Johan Vanderwalle, of the critically acclaimed account of the tunneller's war Beneath Flanders Fields. Click here for more details and reviews.

For Kultur

'Kultur' was one of the words of the Great War period. For those committed to portraying the 'heel of German jackboot aggression' firmly stamped down on the neck of 'Gallant Little Belgium', it was an efficient way of ensuring that public opinion would always be behind those actively engaged in  recruitment for the armed forces. In this case 'Kultur' was portrayed as militant expansion of German cultural values (as held to be superior to those of other nations) across Europe. Aggressive anti-German cartoons appeared in the press illustrating the march of 'Kultur' - in the form of advancing inhuman beasts in spiked pickelhaubes and black jackboots - across the continent. It was yet more incitement to join the colours;  the fact that the very word looked and sounded harsh added to the effect.

At some point in 1914, these 'iron crosses', the traditional symbol of bravery in the German army, were issued. There are many variants. The 'For Kultur' cross is meant to be brutally ironic. Others bear the names of torched and sacked cities in Belgium - part of the German army's subjugation of this area. And then, in 1914, came the bombardment by the Imperial German Navy of the East Coast towns of Scarborough, Whitby and Hartlepool. A propaganda victory had been handed to the British - and 'Remember Scarborough' appeared on posters, alongside 'Remember Belgium'. Who made these crosses, and who sold them, is still unknown - but they represent an early phase in the anti-German propagranda campaign of the Great War.

Peter Doyle's new book First World War Britain discusses such aspects (see preview here).

Forgotten stories: forgotten images

Men of the Great War typically had their images captured by camera. The fashion had taken root much earlier, during the latter part of the nineteenth century, but during the First World War the number of photographic studios operating at home and abroad must have been phenomenal. When first in uniform, soldiers, sailors and airmen rushed to have their pictures taken, their purpose perhaps to put on record their willingness to serve, pride in their service. Multiple copies were made for distribution. There is a distinct difference between those images taken at home, and those from overseas. While clean cut faces and spotless (though not always fitting) uniforms – often with swagger sticks – scream 'home'; images taken closer to the frontline show men with respirator cases, battered caps, and mud on their boots. These men also generally have confidence written across their faces. They are no longer apprehensive.  Many bear the scars of war, with wounding stripes proudly worn on the left forearm of their uniform. But there is another story. Avidly collected by Great War enthusiasts, these images are found in any collection of postcards. But few are named. Where have they come from? What happened to these men? We might never know. But if we do know - we should feel duty bound to lightly pencil in their names - so that future generations might remember.

George Sydney Daniel (also known as Sydney George Daniel) of Sheffield pictured next to an unknown sailor in a studio somewhere in Britain, c.1918. Who was the sailor, and why he and my grandfather got their photograph taken together, we might never know. It is so important to record all details.


Peter Doyle's book British Postcards of the First World War (Shire) is available here.

Crested china: the materiel of war in miniature

Crested china was a phenomenon of Edwardian Britain. With visits to the seaside fashionable - and by simple charabanc day-trips - affordable, came the development of an industry that was to provide souvenirs of a 'grand day out' to millions.  'Crested china' as we know it today was developed by the company W.H. Goss, who kicked off the craze for glazed, white porcelain models bearing crests of towns across the country. Competitors within the potteries town of Stoke-on-Trent were soon to get in on the act, and today we have a legacy of small models of such delights as the anvil at Gretna Green, the Cheshire Cat, and the Smallest House in Britain. Whereas these might conceivably be representative of tourist destinations, the crested china industry clearly saw opportunity with the dawn of the Great War.

Emerging from Stoke on Trent came incendiary bombs, howitzers and 'Tommy's helmets'. There were legs in puttees, pistols, Mills bombs and 'Anzac hats'. With companies rushing to patent their wares, the first to produce a tank in 1916 was followed by a host of others who sailed close to the copyright wind in producing their own versions. Such objects must have been bought avidly during the war; at its close, new models would arrive, depicting the cenotaph - a sombre addition to a collection of war materiel played out in garish white porcelain on the mantlepiece. The industry itself would not last long in the postwar world.

Peter Doyle has written a number of books on the Great War and its material culture; visit his Amazon page here for more details.

Battlefield tourists; battlefield pilgrims

There was a new world that emerged blinking from four years of conflict at the end of the Great War.  At home, there was social awareness and the growing understanding of social welfare. The way had been paved to universal suffrage, and, perhaps against all odds, there was increased life expectancy for those at home - who had earned more money than ever before while the nation was mobilised for war. During the Great War this simply enabled the great mass of people to put food on the table - not altogether an easy task in pre-war, Edwardian Britain. One other change was the birth of mass travel to the continent. In the immediate postwar world, such travel was driven in part by curiosity, but also by a desire to seek out the sites of battle, and, all too often, those sites where a loved one was killed, and was buried or commemorated by the Imperial War Graves Commission (now Commonwealth War Graves Commission). Frontline towns like Ypres and Arras played hosts to visitors and pilgrims alike, with hotels, guides and tour companies offering facilities well into the 1920s. As often as not, visitors would bring back a memento of their trip; photographs, pieces of trench art, or books of postcards like these.

Easily carried, and often depicting the towns in question before and after the war, such souvenirs found their way back to Britain and across the Commonwealth. Today, the images these innocent books contain are stark reminders of the war and its destructive powers - and of human loss.

Peter Doyle's forthcoming book on home front life, First World War Britain, part of the Shire Living History Series will appear this year. It is available on pre-order here.

Digging the Great Escape - Dick's story

With the 'Great Escape' once more in the public eye through archaeology, it is amazing to think what can still be revealed through this science. In fact, the dig at the site of Stalag Luft III just last year wasn't the first by any means. I was fortunate to lead a team that discovered the site of tunnel 'Dick' just a few years before in 2004, and which can still be seen on the Nova website (here). Having first discovered the entrance slab (this was the one with the sliding slab door in the washroom sump), using geophysics - and a big digger - we found the shaft, and were able to look in detail at the construction of the gallery, and its airline made from tins ('Klim' milk tins, we thought, but now most likely 'Maple Leaf' butter tins). While digging the shaft we found mutton fat lamps, candles and elicit electrical cables - as well as this stamp, cut from a boot heel and intended for the forger's bench - to adorn travel passes and the like. Real escaper's stuff. We could not have hoped for more.

The Great Escape was filmed by Windfall for Channel 5/Nova, directed by Mark Radice. It has spawned a number of academic papers with colleagues Jamie Pringle and Larry Babits, see www.peterdoylemilitaryhistory for more details.

 Peter Doyle's book on POW life Prisoner of War in Germany was published by Shire, and is available here.

The humble cap badge

The cap badge is a symbol that is revered in the British Army, each recruit taught how to read them. And with each regiment and corps of the British Army issued with its own distinctive device, there is a lot of reading to be done. Such devices were worn in headgear for centuries, but it was only with the adoption of a recognisable cap by the army in the late nineteenth century – rather than a spiked helmet or tall shako – that these small transportable and easily lost metal items were worn. They have been worn ever since. The fact that the badge means more to the average soldier that is understood is seen through the existence of large numbers of home-made items - trench art - that were emblazoned with the regimental badge. In the First World War this would be embroidered items and pieces of scrap metal with buttons and badges attached. During the Second World War the advent of new materials meant the opportunity to create new objects.

This cap badge was hand made, cut from scrap perspex ('plexiglass') that was widely used in aircraft during the war. Perhaps this was recovered from an enemy aeroplane, or fashioned from a scrap piece lying around the workshops of the Corps of Royal Engineers.  Who can tell?  But what we can be sure of, is that the soldier who carried out the work felt a strong enough bond to his Corps that committed him to hours of patient work, Never underestimate the power of the humble cap badge.

Peter Doyle has written two books on cap badges, written with friend and co-author Chris Foster. The first, British Army Cap Badges of the First World War was published by Shire last year (click here for details); the second volume in the series, British Army Cap Badges of the Second World War is due out in February (and is available for preorder).