Tommy

by Richard Holmes

  Parcels sent to soldiers who had been killed were often opened and their contents devoured, smoked or worn – although one infantry section could not bring itself to eat a dead comrade’s twenty-first birthday cake sent out by his mother, and gave it to the less fastidious members of another platoon.

  As parcels were usually distributed when a battalion was out of the line, men appreciated a mixture of items that could be eaten at once and others that would fit comfortably into packs or pouches to go up the line. Parcels sent out by the Queen Alexandra Field Force Fund were very popular because their contents were always eminently practical: ‘Towel, Mittens, Writing Tablet, Laces, Muffler, Sleeping Helmet, Soap, Handkerchief, Box of Matches, Toilet Paper.’176 At Christmas 1914 an oblong brass box containing tobacco and other goodies was sent out to all officers and soldiers on the Queen’s behalf. It was much appreciated, not least because the serviceable box could be put to many uses, but one officer was puzzled by the enclosed card which read: ‘From Mary and the Women of the Empire.’ He thought that he knew most of those jolly girls at the Empire Music Hall, but could not quite picture Mary. Oxo was every bit as popular a gift as its frequent advertisements suggested. ‘Just before “stand-to” Priest and I made Oxo for Captain Whitmore and Mr Swainson,’ wrote Rifleman Percy Jones.

  But before the water boiled it got dark and the fire made an awful light. Captain Whitmore wanted his ‘Oxo’ so badly that he didn’t order the fire to be put out, but partly covered it with a waterproof sheet, under which I had to crawl to blow the fire!! I came out like a smoked haddock – eyes streaming with tears!! But the ‘Oxo’ was magnificent.177

  Chocolate, peppermints, slabs of rich fruitcake, curry powder to enliven the all-in stew, tinned fish and meat, gentleman’s relish, processed cheese (‘cheese possessed’ when it became a ration issue), in it rolled, from hundreds of emporia from Jermyn Street to Arkwright’s corner shop. But perhaps the most welcome single item was not food at all, but tobacco.

  The British army marched less on its stomach than in a haze of smoke. Woodbines hung from pale lips, black cutty pipes jutted fiercely from beneath Old Bill moustaches and Virginia cigarettes dangled from well-manicured fingers (‘stinkers’ – Turkish cigarettes – were frowned on in some messes). Cigarettes and tobacco were issued free, sent out in parcels, bought from canteens in the rear areas or French shops, and traded as currency. A soldier-barber would expect two Woodbines for a haircut, and a piece of gauze, used by armourers to clear rifle-barrels but much sought after by soldiers who were expected to use boiling water (‘not easily procurable’), followed by flannelette was worth a whole packet.178 Although theft within the immediate military community was frowned upon, cigarettes might sometimes be ‘won’ or ‘wogged’ from the unguarded kit of outsiders. When Albert Bullock and his mate found themselves in a Passchendaele trench with ‘a B Coy chap’ who bolted when the trench was blown in: ‘We dug ourselves out and went through his pack. Found 200 Woodbines.’179

  As far as cigarettes were concerned, Frederick Hodges believed that: ‘Woodbines were prized above all other brands because the tobacco was mature, whereas White Cloud and other unknown brands were hated because of the acrid taste of green tobacco which we suspected had been foisted on the government by fat profiteers who smoked cigars themselves.’180 Sidney Rogerson wondered who had named ‘“Ruby Queens” or “Red Hussars” … those weird war brands of “gaspers”.’ Most soldiers smoked, and most smokers preferred cigarettes. ‘By far the greater number of men smoked cigarettes rather than pipes,’ affirmed David Jones,

  and those who did complained bitterly of the particular blend of ration tobacco. So that the issuing of these things usually called for considerable tact on the part of the NCOs in charge, and strained the amiability of those among whom they were to be divided.181

  Ronald Ginns agreed.

  In fact, never whilst in France was I short of tobacco & I never had to buy any. At any time I had as much as 8oz in a week & when, later on, I went on leave, I took home a pack full for my dad. But this army ration tobacco was poor stuff, most … under fancy names, never heard of either before, or since the war. Those weeks when we had BDV [tobacco] we considered ourselves in luck.182

  Jones caught the moment of distribution on the Somme, with pipe men eager for the more negotiable cigarettes:

  Always ‘ad fags corporal, always ’av’ of.

  Seen you with a pipe, Crower.

  Not me corporal.

  Who are these pipe smokers – ’35 Float, you’re a pipe man.

  Somehow’s right off it corporal, since they brought us into this place.

  ‘Struth – very well – one packet of Trumpeter all round …183

  Officers and men wrote home for favourite brands. Second Lieutenant H. M. Stanford, an unusually keen pipe smoker for one so young, ended his second letter home on 7 November 1914 with a request for:

  Carlyle tobacco

  Safety matches (wooden)

  The Field

  Punch

  2 No.1 Brownie films.

  He was soon seeking ‘another pipe-lighter like the last … I have broken the top off mine’. And then on 16 November there was a request which did credit to his classical education: ‘Please send matches and baccy quam celerrime’. On the 23rd he asked:

  Please send me some baccy and matches; none has arrived yet, though the films and envelopes arrived some days ago, so I am afraid it has been pinched on the way. It would be best when sending baccy and matches to wrap them up in socks or ‘foodstuffs’ or something … I will close now, hoping to receive your baccy and matches before long.

  A delighted postscript added: ‘As you were! 3 parcels and some papers just arrived; amongst them, baccy.’184 Private Herbert Boorer was also a pipe man, telling his wife that:

  BDV tobacco is the best, I could do with some more and cigarettes. I should think 50 cigarettes and 2oz tobacco would do per week, together with a few that we get issued sometimes …

  I think there will be a shortage of matches soon as they are dear here, so always send some when sending cigarettes.185

  Alcohol was as eagerly sought but, at least as far as private soldiers were concerned, was less easily come by. The rules were clear. Apart from the rum ration, spirits were forbidden to NCOs and men on active service. As we shall see in the next section, beer and wine could be purchased in the rear areas, but it was hard, though not impossible, to smuggle them into the trenches. The rum ration, a quarter-gill (one-sixteenth of a pint) per man per day, was not a right, and had to be approved by divisional commanders on medical advice that conditions were arduous. In practice almost all divisional commanders granted the rum ration. We have already seen how Major General Reginald Pinney’s refusal to do so did not endear him to the troops. In Robert Graves’s opinion the sick list of 2/Royal Welch Fusiliers rose alarmingly when the rum issue ceased. ‘Our men looked forward to their tot of rum at dawn stand-to as the brightest moment of their twenty-four hours,’ he wrote. ‘When this was denied them, their resistance weakened.’186 Rum was drawn by battalion quartermasters in brown earthenware jars marked ‘SRD’. This officially stood for ‘Special Rations Department’, but was popularly believed to mean ‘Seldom Reaches Destination’ or ‘Service Rum Diluted’.

  The rum ration has fuelled its own set of myths, with stories of almost insensible men going over the top and staggering across No Man’s Land. While it is impossible to prove that this never happened, I have not encountered a single reliable contemporary source that mentions large-scale alcohol abuse in the trenches. Soldiers drank themselves into oblivion in rear areas, and sometimes individuals or small groups with access to drink did so in the front line. When asked by a young officer whether the rum ration was a good thing, Frank Crozier gave a textbook justification:

  Rum properly issued, under supervision, tot at a time to each, an officer being responsible for the issue, which must be in his presence, no man forced to take it against his wish, no p
ooling of tots to be put into the tea brew, each tot being drunk when issued, in the presence of an officer, is a medicine, ordered only by the divisional commander on the advice of his principal medical officer. It is a temporary restorative in times of great stress. Where the harm comes is where regulations concerning the issue of rum are not observed, or when youngsters get the taste for strong drink by first drinking rum as a matter of routine and so acquiring the habit of it … Misguided people at home have, I know, scandalised the army by saying that we dope men with rum to make them attack. Such utterances are utterly unworthy of the British race and a slander on our men.187

  Some contemporaries maintained that the rum ration was never abused. James Jack emphasised that it was ‘in no sense a battle dope’, and reprimanded Sidney Rogerson for allowing Sergeant Major Scott to issue it to his company, as it came out of the line, without the officer supervision demanded by reglations. Charles Carrington maintained that officers’ privately-purchased spirits were never common enough to permit front-line drunkenness: ‘Whisky – at seven and sixpence a bottle, a subaltern’s daily pay, was a rarity which we husbanded.’188 Frank Richards maintained that in his battalion:

  we never got enough rum to make a louse drunk.

  I have seen non-commissioned officers and men drunk in action, but it wasn’t on their rum ration: it was on rum they had scrounged from somewhere else. Our ordinary rum ration was very beneficial to us and helped to keep the cold out of our bodies, but any man who had an extra drop before he went out on patrols, night raids or attacks was looking for trouble; a man needed all his wits and craft when he was taking part in any of those, and an extra drop made one reckless.189

  However, rum was certainly used to reinforce, if not to induce, fighting ‘spirit’. A former Black Watch medical officer told the 1922 War Office Committee on Shell Shock that ‘had it not been for the rum ration I do not think that we should have won the war’. In his battalion they always tried to give the men a good meal and a double ration of rum in coffee before going over the top. Colonel Walter Nicholson believed that the rum ration ‘saved thousands of lives … It is an urgent devil to the Highlander before action; a solace to the East Anglian countryman before the fight.’190 In Thomas Penrose Marks’s battalion an extra ration was given before an attack. This ‘is supposed to give us Dutch courage. It might fulfil its purpose if it were handed out in more liberal doses … It does not even make us merry … But every one of us welcomes it.’191 Lieutenant Vaughan, recently arrived in the line, felt increasingly nervous at the prospect of an imminent attack, ‘so that I was forced to go into the dugout and dispel the images with a whisky’.192

  Even the pious John Reith admitted that rum:

  Was a very real boon, even to an habitual char wallah like myself … An officer was authorized to issue a tot of rum to troops coming off sentry duty or back from a raid or patrol or after persistent shelling. Dosage required putting a couple of teaspoonfuls into a mess tin of boiling hot tea, for it was strictly forbidden to allow it to be drunk neat. It warmed us up, eased tension, and even helped soothe the inevitable toothache and abscess troubles. There were many highly exaggerated tales of soldiers being drunk on rum before going over the top during a battle, but as far as my own experience is concerned such tales are wickedly untrue.193

  Gerald Burgoyne agreed that it was an invaluable asset to tired men.

  A drop of rum in our tea works wonders … Sir Victor Horsley and all the drink cranks can say what they like about the issue of rum to troops, and drink generally, but if instead of writing from the comforts of a nice cosy room they’d put in a few days in the trenches I’m sure they’d change their minds. We don’t want rum in the cold, or for the cold; but we want it as a ‘pick me up’ when we are ‘done to the wide’.194

  Edward Underhill thought that those in Britain who were trying to stop the rum ration ‘are fools, for it is the best thing out here. On a cold morning after a cold night a tot of rum is very good. The dawn is the worst time of the night for cold, and so that is when they have it.’195 When Ernest Shephard’s rum ration failed to arrive on 27 April 1915 he blamed ‘newspaper agitation by cranks’, and hoped that those responsible would come up the line to supply hot coffee to the troops.

  But of course things sometimes went wrong. Private Ernest Parker was sent back from an outpost to draw the rum ration for his section, and:

  returned by mistake with a dixie half full. Matty Parker and the other stalwarts were loud in their praises, but soon became incoherent, retiring heavily into the shelter to fall fast asleep. Fortunately when Captain Pumphrey visited us I challenged him smartly, but to my horror I noted too late that the other sentry was asleep. Corporal Matty Parker was severely reprimanded, but when we came out of the line no one was placed under arrest and we realised that the dear old Bombing Officer had not reported us. In consequence we were all thoroughly disgusted with ourselves.196

  Gerald Burgoyne was not as forgiving. In March 1915 he found that a platoon sergeant and his corporals had finished off a half-jar of rum intended as a St Patrick’s night libation for the whole platoon, ‘getting beastly drunk … instead of giving each man in the platoon a tot … But I’ll have ‘em for it, the Swines.’197

  Bernard Livermore was grateful that his company sergeant major was kinder. He had enjoyed an early-morning rum ration, made more generous by the fact that there had been many casualties and so there were extra tots, and shortly afterwards an officer, telling him that he looked frozen, gave him a slug of whisky from his hip flask. Then Company Sergeant Major Dawes sent him to battalion HQ with a message.

  Happy, happy day! … I strode off briskly but, almost immediately, my legs let me down and I crashed. The CSM came along and found me stretched out full length on the slippery duckboards.

  ‘I told you to go to the BHQ. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Don’t know, Major … slipped on duckboard … just can’t get up.’

  ‘How much rum did you have?’

  ‘Quite a nice lot, Major. Jolly good stuff, that rum.’

  ‘And I suppose you’ve eaten nothing since four o’clock last night? I know what’s the matter with you.’

  He picked me up and dumped me on the nearest firestep.

  ‘Now don’t you dare move until you have recovered. If any officer asks what you are doing … tell them that CSM Dawes found you ill in the trench and ordered you to rest.

  Have you got that clearly?

  Ordered you to rest!’

  A great man, our CSM. If he had run me in for Drunk in Front Line I obviously could not have mentioned the whisky in mitigation of this very serious charge.198

  A drunken man in a forward trench could be a dangerous liability. In September 1917 a drunken soldier in 13/Royal Fusiliers yelled ‘“Over the top! Over the top! We’re coming for you” before an early morning attack. An officer ordered: “Keep that man quiet.” And presently the noise stopped. When I went along the next day I found him, very quiet. Someone had stuck a bayonet into him.’199 A drunken officer was a more serious liability. When Frank Crozier was commanding 9/Royal Irish Rifles he regarded two other COs as ‘a menace to our safety’ because of their drinking.

  One has just kept me waiting several hours after the relief of the line was complete, during which time I commanded his battalion in action, while finishing his port in billets! The other had become so drunk during a relief of the line that the outgoing colonel refused to hand over to him and remained in command of the toper’s battalion until he had slept off his liquor.200

  Both were relieved of their commands.

  On his rounds one night Crozier found one of his company commanders, the brave and popular George Gaffikin, drunk in his dugout.

  His eyelids droop, his head bends down. At last I speak. ‘Look at me,’ I order, and he does so. ‘Will you give me your word of honour not to touch liquor again so long as you are with the battalion? I don’t care what you do when you are on leave,’ I
say slowly. ‘I will, Sir,’ comes the instant reply. ‘Right,’ I remark, holding out my hand. We go to ‘stand-to’ together … Of course I should have ‘run’ Gaffikin; but I knew him and his men. I knew it wouldn’t occur again, if he said so. Of course, a court martial could only mean dismissal.201

  Crozier was right about the court martial. Colonel Nicholson knew a commanding officer who was a regular of eighteen years’ service:

  He drank, but none of us knew it. His drinking culminated on the night before a battle when he was incapable of issuing orders to his unit. His second in command placed him under arrest; and the general court martial which tried him sentenced him to be cashiered.

  An officer court-martialled for such an offence early in the war would be immediately discharged with ignominy, thrust into civilian life shorn of rank and pension. But once conscription was in force he was deemed to be available for service as a private soldier. ‘Automatically he was reduced to the ranks and handed over to an APM’s [assistant provost marshal’s] escort,’ wrote Nicholson. ‘Thence he went to the base as a prisoner, perhaps in the charge of a lance corporal, where he was posted as a private into another regiment.’202 Within a few days a man like this went from the peak of commanding a battalion at the front to the trough of being a private soldier in the rear, with guard duties and fatigues, and the juddering pattern of hurry-up-and-wait, all glimpsed through a haze of uncertainty.