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A hill to die on: why the Allies almost failed in the battle of Monte Cassino in WW2
In early 1944, the Allied advance in Italy was brought to a halt at a rocky outcrop called Monte Cassino. And at the heart of the bloodbath that followed, writes James Holland, was flawed leadership
For the men of the US 34th ‘Red Bulls’ Infantry Division, just getting up onto the Monte Cassino massif was an achievement. To reach this rocky outcrop, in late January 1944 those troops had crossed a two-mile-wide flooded valley, an area laced with enemy mines and overlooked by German troops in the mountains above. The weather was cold, wet and miserable, and the Americans’ route had taken them across a badly smashed causeway that offered an easy target for enemy artillery. Those troops had then traversed the bed of the Rapido river, which was impossible for tanks to cross, and clambered up into the hills and gulleys that comprise the lower reaches of the towering massif. Finally, they had slipped and scrambled their way up onto two of the ridges that cross Monte Cassino. By 6 February, the Second Battalion of the 135th Infantry, one of the three regiments of the Red Bulls, was within a stone’s throw of Point 593, the rocky outcrop at the end of one of these long ridges dubbed ‘Snakeshead Ridge’ by the Americans. The Germans launched a frenzied assault to displace them, only for the Red Bulls to counter-attack. Read more | Hell in Italy: the Allies' hardest fight of WW2? Bayonets fixed, shooting from the hip, they moved from rock to rock, picking their way through the increasingly loose and stony terrain along the narrow ridge. Bullets were zipping and pinging all around, mortars and grenades were exploding, and shrapnel and lethal shards of razor-sharp rock were fizzing through the air. “There was a lot of screaming and cursing,” recalled 23-year-old Sergeant Ralph Schaps from Minnesota. “We were not going to let the goddam krauts push us off the hill.” So close was the fighting that a rifle butt smashed into Schaps’ jaw but, somehow, he survived. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2024/12/GettyImages-1193060764-bf5e784.jpg" width="4516" height="3009" alt="The Benedictine abbey on Monte Cassino, established in the sixth century and destroyed by Allied bombing. Unreliable intelligence had suggested that the monastery was a key German observation post." title="The Benedictine abbey on Monte Cassino, established in the sixth century and destroyed by Allied bombing. Unreliable intelligence had suggested that the monastery was a key German observation post. (Photo by Getty Images)" /> The Red Bulls prevailed, though Point 593 itself remained tantalisingly in enemy hands. Schaps found an abandoned bottle of brandy, which he swilled around his mouth. After spitting out some blood and fragments of teeth, he took a couple more swigs and started to feel better. A costly campaign The Americans were now looking down over the far side of the Monte Cassino massif, directly onto the Liri Valley and, more importantly, onto Highway 6, the ancient Via Casilina – the main road north. If they could reach it, the entire German Gustav Line – the system of defences constructed across Italy from the mouth of the Garigliano river on the Tyrrhenian Sea to the mouth of the Sangro on the Adriatic, south-east of Pescara – would be unlocked and the route to Rome, around 75 miles to the north-west as the crow flies, laid wide open. All of which raises the question: if things were going so well at this point, why did the battle result in such a waste of lives, with the Allies suffering at least 55,000 casualties? It can be partly explained by difficult terrain and awful weather conditions; heavy rain fell almost continuously through much of the previous winter. Yet, though this was clearly a terrible place and time to fight, there were sound reasons to do so – and, were it not for lamentable failures of leadership, casualties might have been far fewer. The Allied invasion of mainland Italy in September 1943 had four key aims: to ensure that Italy was knocked out of the war for good; to draw German troops away from the eastern front and soon-to-be-opened western fronts; to capture Rome; and, perhaps most importantly, to take control of the airfield complex around Foggia, in Puglia near the spur on Italy’s heel, from where heavy bombers could further tighten the noose around Nazi Germany by bombing the southern Reich. Three of these four aims had been achieved swiftly after the initial landings at Salerno, south-east of Naples, on 9 September. However, by early 1944 Rome still eluded the Allies. In addition, having captured Foggia in September 1943, they needed to ensure that it wasn’t retaken by the Germans, who had more divisions in Italy than the Allies did. Establishing a buffer of at least 50 miles north of Rome was, therefore, a priority. That’s why, in early 1944, the Allies were desperately trying to break through mountain defences to clear a route to the capital. Read more | How Italian dictator Benito Mussolini became the first face of fascism By the time the Red Bulls approached Point 593, the German forces had already suffered a battering at the hands of a polyglot international force led by General Mark Clark, commander of the US Fifth Army. The ferocity of the onslaught had so depleted the troops of the German 44th Hoch und Deutschmeister Division, which was defending the Monte Cassino massif, that its numbers were down to about 800 men from a full-strength complement of 15,000. That high level of casualties explains why, all things considered and despite the privations their troops had endured, the Americans had enjoyed a comparatively easy time getting up onto the massif. Though they’d mounted a highly effective defence up to that point, almost every senior German commander in Italy now believed that the time had come to pull back. In the north of the country, mountains stretched almost continuously across the peninsula between Pisa and Rimini, forming a natural barrier. Defences were already being built along this new front, where supply lines were shorter and positions easier to maintain.With German forces in retreat on the eastern front, and with an Allied assault imminent west of the Reich, it made sense to cut losses and withdraw to this defensive line far north of Rome. The führer’s folly Hitler, though, refused to cede ground – and his supremo in Italy, Field Marshal Albert Kesselring, was determined to do the führer’s bidding. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2024/12/GettyImages-3293961-801febb.jpg" width="2200" height="1466" alt="Field Marshal Albert Kesselring (centre), commander of German forces in Italy, in March 1944. His decision to stubbornly hold Monte Cassino, following Hitler’s refusal to cede ground, led to the battle. (Photo by Getty Images)" title="Field Marshal Albert Kesselring (centre), commander of German forces in Italy, in March 1944. His decision to stubbornly hold Monte Cassino, following Hitler’s refusal to cede ground, led to the battle. (Photo by Getty Images)" /> On the podcast | Keith Lowe tells the story of the liberation of Naples, the first major European city to be freed by the Allies during the Second World War The result was an appalling misuse of infantry divisions: units were pulled apart, sent hither and thither, filling holes and gaps, and being butchered as a result. The replacements that arrived were largely older men and teenagers with little training. So worried was General der Panzertruppe Fridolin von Senger und Etterlin, the German XIV Corps commander, that he decided to risk the wrath of Kesselring and Hitler, and made one more personal appeal to withdraw. “This proposal,” von Senger noted tersely in his diary, “was not approved.” By doggedly defending the Gustav Line, Kesselring was committing his troops to ever more sacrifice – and for no tangible long-term benefit. Whatever the shortcomings of the overall German approach, the situation at Monte Cassino was being bolstered. Reinforcements were hurriedly sent forward, including the 90 Panzergrenadier Division and First Fallschirmjäger (Airborne) Division. Sent to take command was General Ernst-Günther Baade, a highly intelligent, experienced and skilful leader. Baade immediately organised the defence of Monte Cassino far more effectively. He created two linked rings of defence, rather like a figure of eight, with Point 593 where the two circles met. This meant that, should it be overrun, heavy fire could be directed on the attackers from each side, allowing the defenders to quickly retake it. Manning machine guns and mortars effectively required some skill and training, but the key was to avoid giving up ground and to keep firing. The newly arrived Fallschirmjäger, though hideously understrength, were ideally placed to do this, with enough experienced warriors to ensure that the under-trained teenage replacements could provide stout defence. Among those now defending Point 593 were Major Rudolf Kratzert and his Third Battalion of the Third Fallschirmjäger Regiment, which reached Monte Cassino with just 236 troops rather than the 1,000 he should have been commanding. (It was one of his men who walloped Ralph Schaps.) Time and again, the Red Bulls tried to take Point 593 and the parallel Phantom Ridge and Colle d’Angelo. Every time, they were pushed back. Down in the valley, US commanders reckoned that one more push would do it – but they had no idea of Baade’s defensive system, and could not see how these narrow ridgelines were canalising the attackers. Rather than attacking on a broad front and overwhelming the enemy, the Americans were forced to inch forward companies of 100 or fewer men across bare rock, while being mown down by mortars, grenades and machine guns. The Red Bulls were rapidly running out of steam. So General Sir Harold Alexander, the Allied Army Group Commander, created the New Zealand Corps comprising men from the New Zealand Second Division, Fourth Indian Division and British 78th Division. Leading that new force was New Zealand Lieutenant-General Sir Bernard Freyberg VC, the most senior divisional commander, who had already briefly led a corps in Tunisia. He’d won his Victoria Cross on the western front during the First World War, but he was no great intellect – and, compounding this deficiency, he’d been given no corps staff. Read more | Operation Mincemeat: how a corpse duped Hitler and got the Allies onto Sicily Political sensitivities As General Clark quickly discovered, Freyberg had been horribly over-promoted. Yet the Fifth Army commander’s hands were tied because of political sensitivities. The New Zealanders represented a British dominion, and were punching significantly above their weight in the war. There were also morale problems. Some 6,000 Kiwi veterans of the North Africa campaign had been sent home on furlough – only to discover that large numbers of their compatriots had avoided the draft. Most of these experienced soldiers refused to return for a second stint until those exempted had done their first. News of this mutiny spread to New Zealanders in Italy, and Clark had been warned to tread carefully. Freyberg’s shortcoming shouldn’t have been an issue, because commanding the Fourth Indian Division was the extremely able Major-General Francis Tuker, a soldier who could provide the strategic thinking that Freyberg lacked. Having arrived at the front ahead of Freyberg, Tuker soon realised that the only rational option was to abandon the Monte Cassino massif and to instead attack farther north. There the ground was higher but wider and less scored with gulleys, fissures and narrow ridges. It was also significantly less well defended. Tuker additionally suggested mounting a crossing of the Rapido where the Texans had earlier attempted, but this time with properly planned fire support (which the Texans had, inexplicably, not used). Freyberg readily supported these suggestions – then disaster struck: Tuker was hit by a crippling bout of rheumatoid arthritis, and had to be taken to hospital. Left without Tuker’s strategic vision, the easily swayed Freyberg was influenced by the views of the US II Corps commander General Geoffrey Keyes and General Charles ‘Doc’ Ryder, commanding the Red Bulls, who both questioned Tuker’s plans. Neither had been on the mountain, and were unaware of the situation on the ground. Freyberg was persuaded to continue the assault on the Monte Cassino massif. When Tuker learned of this change of tack, he forced himself from his hospital bed to plead with Freyberg – but found the New Zealander deaf to his arguments. Tuker pointed out the problems of troops attacking along narrow ridges, and suggested that the only way to break the German defences was with an overwhelming bombardment of the entire massif using high-capacity 2,000lb and 4,000lb ‘bunker buster’ bombs. Among other things, this would be necessary to destroy the tall, thick stone walls of the ancient Benedictine abbey perched at the end of the massif, which the Allies believed housed a German observation post. “The 1,000lb bomb,” Tuker told Freyberg in a follow-up note, “would be next to useless to effect this.” Heavy four-engine bombers were needed, not fighter-bombers, and the bombing should be carefully co-ordinated with an immediate infantry attack to follow. “The essence of the bombardment,” Tuker added, “should be its obliterating weight, suddenness and duration and the immediate continuance of the bombing by artillery bombardment and infantry attack early in the night under the artillery bombardment.” Read more | Mussolini's willing followers? The Italians devoted to Fascism and the duce Fatal misunderstanding Tuker’s intention had been to shock Freyberg into readopting his original plan. Instead, the New Zealander headed to Clark’s command post, where he demanded an air assault using single-prop ‘Kittybombers’ and 1,000- pounders to destroy the abbey. How Freyberg could have so badly misunderstood Tuker’s suggestions is hard to fathom: the latter had followed up his personal visit, conducted in acute pain, with written instructions so that there was no chance of mistaking his very specific plans. Clark was, understandably, opposed to destroying the abbey for what seemed to him to be no good reason. The way Freyberg presented it, there was no co-ordinated plan involving the infantry or the destruction of other German positions on the massif. Moreover, the historic site was originally founded in the sixth century, and the Allies aimed to portray themselves as liberators, not cultural vandals. Clark appealed to Alexander, who backed Freyberg. Had Freyberg been American, it’s clear, Clark would have kicked this plan into the long grass. The bombing itself was a catastrophe. The Fourth Indian Division was delayed in getting onto the mountain, because so many of the surviving Red Bulls had to be carried back down, and because different ammunition had to be brought up. In addition, in Tuker’s absence his command had passed to Brigadier Dimoline, the division’s artillery commander, who had neither the experience nor the strength of character to impose himself. Having finally ascended onto the massif, the Fifth Indian Brigade discovered that – despite being told otherwise – Point 593 was still in German hands, and hatched plans to capture it first in a preliminary assault on the night of 15 February. That morning, however, without any warning from Freyberg or anyone else, they learned that the bombers would arrive to unleash their loads at any moment. There was to be no co-ordination between air and ground forces. The strategic air forces had a weather window and a gap in action elsewhere, so flew over quickly, dropping a handful of 1,000-pounders but mostly 500-pounders – far less powerful than the bombs that Tuker had insisted would be necessary. True, the abbey was destroyed, leaving a shattered wreck of tumbling debris and killing hundreds of civilians sheltering there – though not, it seems, a single German. But when the First Royal Sussex tried to take Point 593 that night, they failed. So did a subsequent attack the following night and, with it, the chance of swiftly clearing Monte Cassino. The Germans held firm in their figure-of-eight positions, with the Fourth Indian Division, supported by the Texans on their right flank, holding the Allied half of the massif. A subsequent German counter-attack in Italy – Operation Fischfang, launched on 16 February at Anzio on the coast between Cassino and Rome – was thwarted by the Allies. This only served to re-emphasise the challenges of launching a successful offensive in this inhospitable terrain during a savage winter. Alexander thus decided to wait for better weather before the next push, and to bring both the Eighth Army – mainly on the Adriatic flank of Italy – and Fifth Army side by side, to hammer German supply lines with air power and then to strike along a broad front once he had built up overwhelming strength. Read more | The thorns in Mussolini’s side: the anti-Fascists who opposed the Italian regime Alexander was, though, persuaded to make one more attempt on Monte Cassino and at capturing the town below. Rain fell solidly for more than three weeks, so the attack was not launched until 15 March. Freyberg was still in place – a situation that Clark, much to his frustration, was unable to change, such were Allied politics. This time, Freyberg insisted on obliterating Cassino town with the same weight of bombs and shells Tuker had suggested for the mountain above. The town was destroyed but, instead of sending in overwhelming numbers of tanks and infantry immediately after, as Clark had instructed, a couple of battalions carefully inched into the town from one direction only. Overnight, the Germans reinforced – and the chance to sweep through the town was lost. What followed was a brutal attritional battle amid the ruins. After this debacle, the New Zealand Corps was finally dissolved and Freyberg posted away from the immediate firing line. With the arrival of spring, the ground hardened. Alexander was able to bring his two armies side by side and, with the advantages in men and materials he had always wanted, on the night of 11 May he launched Operation Diadem. Monte Cassino fell on 18 May to the Polish II Corps in what was their first battle. It was the Poles, after their initial assault had failed, who finally discovered the secret of the figure-of-eight defences. Once Monte Cassino was taken, the entrance to the strategically vital Liri Valley – and the route to the capital – was secured, and the Allies pushed rapidly north. Rome fell on 4 June. Diadem was a great Allied victory – an operation that showed what could be achieved when skies were cleared, the ground was dry, and commanders had time to plan and prepare properly. Yet it is the earlier setbacks, and especially the images of the shattered abbey and the utterly obliterated town below, that continue to define the campaign in Italy, rather than the enormity of the victory two days before D-Day. The tragedy is that these dark stains on the campaign were so very avoidable. This article was first published in the January 2025 issue of BBC History Magazine
Is The Six Triple Eight a true story? The real WW2 history, as told by the movie’s historical consultant
Netflix’s historical film The Six Triple Eight tells the story of the all-woman, predominately-Black 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion in the Second World War. Molly Sampson, one of the film’s historical consultants, describes the true history seen on screen
How did one battalion almost-entirely staffed by Black women solve a crisis that affected the morale of millions of US servicemen during WW2? Netflix’s The Six Triple Eight is the story of a WW2 group, the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion, the first and only Women’s Army Corps (WAC) unit of colour to serve overseas in the Second World War. Written and directed by Tyler Perry, the film stars Kerry Washington as Major Charity Adams, the commanding officer of the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion. Despite facing racism and sexism – and gruelling working conditions – they were committed to serving their country with honour and distinction. Molly Sampson, a historical consultant on the film, spoke to HistoryExtra about these unsung heroes who were united in their determination, and in doing so they delivered hope and shattered barriers. Is The Six Triple Eight, based on a true story? Yes, though some details have been adapted for the screen, The Six Triple Eight is based on a true story. It tells the tale of the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion, a ground-breaking unit of 855 women who volunteered to serve their country during the Second World War. The movie highlights their extraordinary mission: clearing a staggering backlog of undelivered mail for US troops stationed in Europe. It also addresses the systemic racism and sexism they faced, as well as their resilience and unity in overcoming these challenges. During the Second World War, US military policies and societal norms enforced rigid racial classifications, shaping the experiences of service members. Women of Latinx heritage serving in the WAC were often required to choose between identifying as Black – thereby being placed in segregated units – or White. Lydia Thornton, a member of the Six Triple Eight and of Afro-Mexican descent, faced this decision during her enlistment. She chose to serve under the strict rules of segregation, a testament to the complex interplay of race, identity, and military policy during the era. While the film dramatises certain events for storytelling purposes, its foundation is a true account of these unsung heroes’ service and dedication. Why was the Six Triple Eight formed? The Six Triple Eight was created to solve a US Army crisis: the backlog of over 3.7 million undelivered letters and packages for troops in Europe. It might not sound like one of the most pressing problems in a time of war, but mail sent during the conflict provided soldiers with a vital connection to home, and was a major morale booster. The situation demanded urgent attention, and so the War Department responded by forming the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion, an all-Black, all-female unit led by Black officers. Their mission: clear the backlog, restore the mail system, and boost soldier morale. The Six Triple Eight’s creation marked not only a solution to a logistical problem but also a significant step forward in racial and gender integration within the military. Read more | An army of women: adventures in the Auxiliary Territorial Service The Six Triple Eight was part of the US Army’s Women’s Army Corps. This branch had been created in May 1942 as the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC) – an emergency reserve without full military status enlisted women to serve in support roles and fix a growing manpower crisis. In July 1943, additional legislation was passed, eliminating the auxiliary status and creating the Women’s Army Corps. By late 1944, nearly 14,000 Wacs were serving overseas. However, due to the US Army’s segregation policy, Black Wacs were excluded from these deployments, confined to stateside roles despite their training and qualifications. This exclusion was challenged by civil rights leaders like Mary McLeod Bethune, whose advocacy with First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt highlighted the capabilities of Black Wacs and pressured the War Department to act. The Six Triple Eight’s creation answered Bethune’s campaign that there should be “a role for black women in the war overseas,” and in February 1945, they set sail for Europe. Who was the real Major Charity Adams? In The Six Triple Eight, Kerry Washington portrays Major Charity Adams, the trailblazing commander of the 6888th. Born in North Carolina and raised in South Carolina, Adams was a teacher and graduate student in Ohio before joining the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps in 1942. She was part of the first WAAC officer training class, where she graduated as a Second Lieutenant and quickly distinguished herself as a training officer at Fort Des Moines, Iowa. While at the training centre, Adams experienced the realities of discrimination. Following her first visit to the Officer’s Club, she was berated by an unnamed white male Colonel for socialising in a desegregated space. Her experience would be echoed in the Officer’s Club at Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, where the Six Triple Eight were stationed while training for overseas service. Adams later recalled how these instances, handled with necessary grace, fuelled her motivation for her remarkable career. Her leadership and exceptional service led to rapid promotions, and by the time she took command of the Six Triple Eight, she had risen to the rank of Major. By the time she left the army in 1946, she was a Lieutenant Colonel, the second-highest rank available to women in the Corps. Known for her professionalism and unwavering dedication, Adams not only ensured the success of the Six Triple Eight’s mission but also served as a role model for the women under her command, navigating the dual challenges of racism and sexism with her reputation for dignity and determination. How was the Six Triple Eight received overseas? The Six Triple Eight’s arrival in Europe was both celebratory and fraught with challenges. Disembarking in Glasgow in February 1945, the women were greeted by the sound of bagpipes and the presence of Brigadier General Davis, who conducted an onboard inspection. Their journey continued to Birmingham, England, where they were welcomed warmly by US troops and British citizens. The women were billeted at King Edward’s School, where American troops had prepared their accommodations. A parade reviewed by US Lieutenant General John CH Lee drew large crowds, reflecting both the curiosity and respect of the British public. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2024/12/GettyImages-1438109388-f984198-e1734711473347.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="Captain Mary Kearney and Major Charity Adams inspect the first arrivals to the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion at a temporary post in Birmingham, England" title="Captain Mary Kearney and Major Charity Adams inspect the first arrivals to the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion at a temporary post in Birmingham, England" /> What did the Six Triple Eight do in the Second World War? The 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion took on the enormous task of clearing a massive backlog of mail for US troops in the European theatre of operations. Upon their arrival at the First Base Post Office in Birmingham, England, they faced 3.7 million pieces of undelivered mail. These ranged from letters from home, to care packages filled with food and gifts – some dating back to Christmas 1943. Using a sophisticated system of locator cards and Central Directories, the women worked in three eight-hour shifts around the clock, cross-referencing and updating outdated locator information to ensure accurate delivery. When addresses could not be verified, undeliverable mail was returned to the sender. What discrimination did the women of the Six Triple Eight face? Within the military, the women faced ongoing discrimination. While the segregation that existed stateside – such as the water fountains labelled “colored” at Fort Oglethorpe – were resolved, in the UK new issues existed. Beauty parlours were readily available in the US, even at smaller installations without one on base. However, no hair salon or shop was stocked with the necessary hair treatments and cosmetics in Birmingham. Instead, Adams and her Special Services officer, Captain Mildred Carter, had to acquire all the materials and equipment necessary to create their own beauty parlour. This facility would also be used by members of the Army Nurse Corps, who sometimes used leave passes to make an appointment. Read more | Wrens at war: life in the Women's Royal Naval Service in WW2 The unit also faced other challenges. While in Birmingham, the American Red Cross tried to prevent the Six Triple Eight members from using service clubs. In one instance of discrimination, a member of the unit was not allowed to stay overnight, instead having to stay with a local English family (who in turn welcomed her warmly). The Red Cross’s response was to eventually offer another facility to the unit – one that was wholly separate and segregated – which was promptly boycotted by the Six Triple Eight. Tensions escalated further when an unnamed general demanded a review of the battalion. Because of their duty schedule – three eight-hour shifts – only one-third of women were available for the parade. The general demanded the rest of the women quit either working or sleeping. When told this was impossible, he threatened to replace Major Adams with a lower-ranking white officer. Her defiant response – “Over my dead body” – has come to represent the unit’s wartime reputation for resilience and resolve in the face of systemic bias. Adams was warned she would be facing a court-martial for insubordination. Her defence came down to a counter-court-martial based on directives that banned the use of racially charged language. The general dropped his charge, and Adams continued her command. What difference did the Six Triple Eight make? In just three months, the Six Triple Eight had cleared the backlog of letters and packages in Birmingham. That is half the time that they had been allotted. Their success led to their reassignment to Rouen, France, where they continued their work under similar conditions. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2024/12/6888Day04202301121817r-970a896-e1734712138890.jpg" width="620" height="423" alt="Milauna Jackson as Lt. Campbell, Kerry Washington as Major Charity Adams and Ebony Obsidian as Lena Derriecott King in The Six Triple Eight" title="Milauna Jackson as Lt. Campbell, Kerry Washington as Major Charity Adams and Ebony Obsidian as Lena Derriecott King in The Six Triple Eight. The unit cleared a huge backlog of delayed post destined for US soldiers during WW2" /> Despite the gruelling schedule, the women participated in community events (including a parade celebrating French saint Joan of Arc) and hosted an open house to showcase their facilities. Members of the unit also participated in several sports events; the basketball team made it to the championship tournament but faced difficulties securing transportation due to segregation. In the end they won – but only after Lieutenant General John CH Lee was informed and provided his private train car for their use. Tragedy struck the battalion in Rouen when three members – Mary Bankston, Mary Barlow, and Dolores Browne – were killed in a vehicle accident. A testament of the esprit de corps of the Six Triple Eight was the fact the women were not given a typical military burial. Instead, the unit collected money to purchase caskets, women with prior experience handled the preparation of the bodies, and Protestant and Catholic funeral services were held. Today, these three are among only four women buried at the Normandy American Cemetery. In October 1945, the unit moved to Paris. By the time the Six Triple Eight was disbanded in March 1946, they had processed an estimated 17 million pieces of mail, ensuring soldiers remained connected to their loved ones. What happened to the Six Triple Eight after the Second World War? After the war, the Six Triple Eight returned to the United States, and the unit was formally disbanded at Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, in March 1946. Major Charity Adams received a promotion to Lieutenant Colonel upon her return, making her one of the highest-ranking women in the Corps. For many of the women, military service was a temporary chapter. While some stayed in the armed forces, most returned to civilian life. Despite their extraordinary contributions, the Six Triple Eight’s story faded into obscurity for decades, overshadowed by larger narratives of the war. What is the legacy of the Six Triple Eight today? In recent years, the Six Triple Eight has gained greater recognition. A monument dedicated to the battalion was unveiled at Fort Leavenworth in Kansas in 2018, sparking renewed interest in their story. In 2019, the unit was awarded the Meritorious Unit Commendation for its exceptional service in the Second World War. This recognition highlighted their impact on the morale and welfare of US troops and their professionalism in the face of adversity. Through the efforts of advocates including retired Army Colonel Edna Cummings, the Six Triple Eight was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 2022, the highest civilian honour given by Congress. These commemorations ensure that the story of the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion – their service, sacrifices, and triumphs – continue to inspire future generations. The Six Triple Eight is available on Netflix. For more content like this, check out the best historical movies of all time as chosen by historians and ranked by you, history TV and film to stream tonight, and our picks of the new history TV and radio released in the UK this week Molly Sampson is the Executive Director of the Maritime Museum of Sandusky. She is also a historian focusing on the Women’s Army Corps during the Second World War and served as historical consultant for The Six Triple Eight
How the early SAS became heroes of the Second World War
Gavin Mortimer explores how Britain’s daring commandos brought down Hitler’s empire in the Second World War
It was only fitting that a unit that would finish World War II as a byword for boldness began its life with an act of audacity. In July 1941, a tall, slender Scots Guards officer limped up to the front gate of Middle East Headquarters (MEHQ) in Cairo. Lieutenant David Stirling wasn’t long out of hospital, and he still carried the scars of a parachute accident the previous month. The 25-year-old officer had spent his convalescence working on an idea that he now intended to present to General Claude Auchinleck, commander-in chief of the Middle East Forces. The trouble was that Stirling didn’t have a pass to present to the sentries stationed outside the entrance to MEHQ. And no pass meant no entry. Having failed to sweet-talk his way past the guards, Stirling shuffled away in dejection, but then something caught his eye. A flap of the wire fence that encircled the headquarters was loose. Was it big enough to squeeze through? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, thought Stirling, and in an instant he was through the flap and making his way as fast as he could into MEHQ. Pitching in Once inside, Stirling located the office of General Neil Ritchie, the deputy chief of staff and a family friend of long-standing. The breathless young officer saluted, handed Ritchie the memo, and briefly explained its contents. The General ran an eye over the memo, then over Stirling, and said he would show it to Auchinleck. Three days later, Stirling was summoned to MEHQ. This time he did have a pass, and an appointment with General Auchinleck. He wanted to know more, so Stirling elaborated on his idea. “I argued the advantages of establishing a unit based on the principle of the fullest exploitation of surprise and of making the minimum demands. on manpower and equipment,” he wrote shortly after the war had finished. “I sought to prove that, if an aerodrome or transport park was the objective of an operation, then the destruction of 50 aircraft or units of transport was more easily accomplished by a sub-unit of five men than a force of 200.” And his force wouldn’t just attack one target on a given night, but several, sowing fear and confusion into the mind of the enemy. Auchinleck liked what he heard. He was new to his job, having replaced General Wavell as commander-in-chief the previous month, and the war in North Africa against Field Marshal Erwin Rommel and his Afrika Korps was not going well. It was clear to Auchinleck that desert warfare offered opportunities to the bold and unconventional, and Stirling’s proposal was certainly that. Promoting Stirling to captain, Auchinleck authorised him to recruit six officers and 60 other ranks to a unit that was designated ‘L’ Detachment of the Special Air Service Brigade – that way, if one of the myriad enemy spies lurking in Cairo got wind of the force, he would report back to his German masters that the British now had an airborne brigade in Egypt. Read more | Did appeasement cause the Second World War? The men Stirling recruited to his new unit were representative of Great Britain – there were Scots, Welsh, Irish and English. Some were regular soldiers before the war, others hotel managers, tile fitters and solicitors. What united them was a thirst for adventure. “We were just hanging around in the desert getting fed up,” recalled Jeff Du Vivier, a Londoner who had worked in the hotel trade before enlisting in 1940. “Then along came Stirling asking for volunteers. I was hooked on the idea from the beginning, it meant we were going to see some action.” From painter to warrior: Colonel David Stirling David Stirling was 23 when World War II broke out. An aristocratic dreamer who had failed in his ambition of becoming a Bohemian painter in Paris, he was commissioned into the Scots Guards, and soon his quest for romantic adventure led him to volunteer for the new unit formed in 1940 called the British Commandos. Among Stirling’s fellow commando officers were the novelist Evelyn Waugh and Randolph Churchill, the Prime Minister’s son. Shipped to the Middle East in early 1941, the Commandos spent several frustrating months launching a series of largely unsuccessful seaborne raids against German and Italian targets in Libya, Syria and Crete. At 6ft 6in, Stirling was not physically a natural commando, but had the intelligence, innovation and adaptability of a man ideally suited to guerrilla warfare. In war, Stirling found his vocation, and it was inevitable that peace would once more leave him feeling restless and unfulfilled. He dabbled in business in Africa and Britain, but never found anything to match the excitement of the war years. Knighted in 1990, Stirling died a few months later aged 74. Another of the recruits, Aberdonian Jimmy Storie, enjoyed the philosophy of the new force, commenting: “In the SAS you were treated as men; in the rest of the army you did what your sergeant said or the lieutenant said, but in the SAS... you got your say.” Throughout the rest of the summer and into the autumn, the SAS trained at their base at Kabrit, a desolate desert location 90 miles east of Cairo. The unit was divided into One and Two Troops under the command of Jock Lewes, a former president of the Oxford University Boat Club, and Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne, a 6ft 4in Ulsterman who had. played rugby before the war for Ireland and the British Lions. Mission complete: the SAS hit list Agedabia, Libya: December 1941 Five men creep onto a German airfield and, in the darkness, plant bombs on 37 aircraft, managing to withdraw unseen as the explosions rock the desert. Sidi Haneish, Egypt: July 1942 Eighteen heavily armed jeeps appear out of the desert darkness and lay waste to a remote German airfield, destroying or damaging 40 aircraft in a blizzard of gunfire. Murro di Porco, Sicily: July 1943 The SAS are in the vanguard of the Sicily invasion, landing in darkness and capturing three powerful coastal guns ahead of the arrival of the main invasion fleet. Op. Baobab, Italy: January 1944 Ten SAS raiders land on the Italian east coast by canoe and blow up the railway bridge on the line linking Ancona and Rimini. OP. Houndsworth: June – August 1944 In three months of guerrilla warfare in occupied central France, an SAS squadron kill 220 Germans, derail six trains and destroy 23 vehicles. The training was brutal and relentless, but by the end of October the men were survival experts, masters of navigation, explosives specialists and certified paratroopers. They were now ready for their first operation. It was timed to coincide with a major British offensive, codenamed ‘Crusader’, the aim of which was to retake the eastern coastal regions of Libya that had been lost to the Germans just the previous June. Bumpy start The task of the SAS was to parachute into enemy territory and attack the airfields at Gazala and Tmimi, in eastern Libya, at midnight on 17 November. They took off in five aircraft in the early evening of 16 November, and flew straight into one of the fiercest storms to sweep the region in years. In his report on the operation, a laconic Blair Mayne described the landing as “unpleasant,” adding: “I estimated the wind speed at 20-25 miles per hour, and the ground was studded with thorny bushes.” In his diary, Jeff Du Vivier recounted how the wind had dragged him 150 yards until finally he snagged on a thorn bush. “When I finally freed myself, I was bruised and bleeding and there was a sharp pain in my right leg,” he wrote. “When I saw the rocky ground I’d travelled over, I thanked my lucky stars that I was alive.” Enemy number 1: how Hitler reacted to the SAS Special forces were a new phenomenon to Adolf Hitler, a veteran of World War I when the nature of trench warfare made such soldiers unnecessary. Consequently, like many men of his generation, he regarded special forces as little more than terrorists, and his prejudice became murderous in the autumn of 1942. The Nazi leader was incensed by reports that Canadian troops who had raided the French port of Dieppe in August 1942 had bound the hands of Germans prisoners, some of whom drowned. Then, on the night of 4 October, a 14-strong commando raiding party landed on the Channel Island of Sark and killed a number of Germans. News of the deaths provoked Hitler into issuing the same month what came to be known as his Commando Order, in which he instructed his military that all captured Allied commandos or similar units were to be “annihilated to the last man”. The Order, issued in the utmost secrecy, was ignored by a small number of senior German officers, most notably Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, who continued to adhere to the Geneva Conventions. But he was in the minority. The first SAS soldiers to die as a consequence of the Order were a group of raiders who parachuted into Italy in September 1943 to sabotage railway lines. The British learned of the Commando Order in April 1944, when one of their offiers returned to the UK having escaped from a German military hospital in Italy with the connivance of a sympathetic German doctor, who had been ordered to hand the wounded SAS officer to the SS. Initially, his testimony was treated with scepticism by British authorities, but in August 1944 two SAS soldiers escaped execution in a French forest by sprinting into the trees before their executioners had organised themselves into a firing squad. They eventually returned to the UK and revealed all. By then, more than 70 SAS and SBS soldiers had been executed, and more would die in 1945 as a result of the Commando Order. After the war, an SAS War Crimes Investigation Team spent three years pursing those responsible and bringing them to justice, which in some cases meant the gallows for Nazis who had murdered on the orders of their Führer. Then it began to rain, a deluge that turned the dried river beds (‘wadis’) into raging rivers. The temperature dropped and suddenly the mission became not a daring raid but a fight for survival. “I was shivering, not shaking,” described Du Vivier. “All the bones in my body were numbed. I couldn’t speak, every time I opened my mouth my teeth just cracked against one another.” Of the 54 men who took part in the inaugural SAS raid, only 21 returned to British lines. The rest were killed or captured. Not one enemy plane was destroyed. Stirling gathered the survivors, and with characteristic confidence, told them it was a setback but certainly not the end. He promised there would be “a next time,” prompting Du Vivier to tell his diary: “I don’t fancy a next time if this is what it’s going to be like.” Down to earth Stirling fulfilled his promise. There was a “next time”, and it was only a few weeks after the disastrous first raid. The targets were the same – German and Italian airfields in Libya – but the modus operandi was different. Instead of parachuting, the SAS would be driven in trucks to the target by the Long Range Desert Group before making the final approach on foot. Read more | Why December 1941 was the most important month of the Second World War Paddy Mayne scored the first success for the SAS in December 1941, leading eight men onto the airfield at Tamet. As the huge Irishman passed a building en route to the aircraft, he heard voices. The special forces expand… The idea for a seaborne special forces unit came from Roger Courtney in the summer of 1940. A former big-game hunter and adventurer in Africa, Courtney envisioned sending canoeists to raid German targets in occupied France. Once established, this small unit – called the Special Boat Section (SBS) – were sent in early 1941 not to Europe but to the Middle East. However, within the year, Courtney’s health broke down and he returned to the UK, leaving the SBS in the hands of David Stirling and his SAS. In the summer of 1942, the SBS launched a series of raids on the Mediterranean islands of Crete and Rhodes, the men paddling ashore from submarines, before moving inland on foot and attacking airfields. Dozens of aircraft were destroyed, but at a high cost of men killed or captured. In September 1942, Stirling was given permission to increase the size of the SAS to regimental strength, enabling him to form a squadron dedicated to seaborne guerrilla warfare. They were rechristened the Special Boat Squadron, and throughout the rest of the war they operated with ferocious audacity, attacking German targets in the Aegean before taking the war onto the European mainland in Greece, Yugoslavia and Italy. Their methods weren’t to everyone’s tastes. One British MP described them during a Commons debate as “a band of murderous, renegade cut-throats,” to which Churchill replied: “If you do not take your seat and keep quiet I will send you out to join them.” “I kicked open the door and stood there with my Colt 45, the others at my side with a Tommy gun and another automatic,” he later recalled. “The Germans stared at us. We were a peculiar and frightening sight, bearded and unkempt hair. For what seemed an age we just stood there looking at each other in complete silence. I said: ‘Good evening’. At that a young German arose and moved slowly backwards. “I shot him… I turned and fired at another some six feet away. He was standing beside the wall as he sagged… the room was by now in pandemonium.” Leaving four men to deal with the German air crew, Mayne and the rest of the raiders moved onto the airfield and festooned 24 planes with bombs. Then they withdrew, calmly striding off the airfield and melting into the darkness as the 30-minute fuses started to detonate. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2016/11/GettyImages78988607-cee5a8b-e1666700915592.jpg" width="620" height="412" alt="British troops of the Special Air Service (SAS) drop from a helicopter, into a jungle clearing in search of bandits (Photo by Popperfoto/Getty Images)" title="British troops of the Special Air Service (SAS) drop from a helicopter, into a jungle clearing in search of bandits (Photo by Popperfoto/Getty Images)" /> A fortnight later, another SAS raiding party surpassed Mayne’s tally, wreaking havoc at the airfield at Agedabia. Jeff Du Vivier was among the party, describing in his diary the “blood-curdling deafening roar” as the bombs on 37 aircraft exploded. “Though we must have been at least half a mile away by this time,” wrote Du Vivier, “we felt the concussion press on our lungs.” The raids continued in 1942, and by June the SAS had destroyed more than 150 enemy aircraft along with supply dumps and enemy vehicles. Pushing boundaries: other special forces Long Range Desert Group The pioneers of British special forces in World War II, the Long Range Desert Group (LRDG) were formed in June 1940 by Ralph Bagnold, a desert explorer in the. inter-war years. Their primary role was the reconnaissance of enemy positions, although later in the Desert War the LRDG navigated SAS raiders to their targets. Chindits Determined to strike back at the Japanese in the Far East, the British Army raised a special forces unit to penetrate deep into the Burmese jungle, waging a guerrilla war against their enemy in 1943 and 1944. Commanded by Orde Wingate, the Chindits were named after the mythical Burmese creature. Z Special Unit An Anglo-Australian unit formed to attack Japanese targets in the Far East, Z Force carried out dozens of missions by sea and parachute. The most successful operation was in 1943, when six men paddled into Singapore’s harbour and sank or damaged seven Japanese ships using limpet mines. Marine Raiders The first US unit to be formed for purely guerrilla warfare, the US Marine Raiders Battalion was established in 1942 under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Evans Carlson. They took part in a number of raids on Pacific islands, using their jungle skills to good effect during the bitter battle for Guadalcanal. Fallschirmjäger Formed in the 1930s, German airborne units played a significant role in the rapid occupation of the Low Countries in May 1940. A year later, a mass airborne drop captured the island of Crete, but the heavy casualty rate deterred Hitler from using his paratroopers again in similar operations. Tenth Light Flotilla Italy’s underwater special forces unit used 22-feet mini submarines to attack British shipping in the Mediterranean. The flotilla’s biggest coup was in December 1941, when three subs, each crewed by two frogmen, slipped into Alexandria Port and sank two British battleships by placing limpet mines on their hulls. The Germans responded by strengthening airfield defences, so Stirling altered the SAS tactics, procuring a fleet of jeeps armed with heavy machine guns capable of firing 1,200 rounds a minute. Sidi Haneish airfield was attacked in the early hours of 26 July with the 18 jeeps emerging out of the darkness in two columns. “Gun discipline was vital,” recalled Jimmy Storie, a gunner on one jeep. “We had to keep in a strict formation, two abreast, firing outwards the whole time.” Read more | The eastern front in WW2: how it all went wrong for the Germans More than 40 aircraft were destroyed or badly damaged as the SAS drove methodically up and down the airfield. It was a pattern repeated in the weeks that followed, the British raiders accounting for 86 enemy aircraft downs in the space of a month. New horizons Stirling’s luck eventually ran out in January 1943. The previous October, General Montgomery’s Eighth Army had gone on the offensive at El Alamein, sending the Germans into a headlong retreat west across Libya towards Tunisia. Stirling was captured as he led a reconnaissance patrol into Tunisia, and the founder of the SAS spent the rest of the war in Colditz, Germany. Read more | A short history of long-distance warfare It was a heavy blow to the SAS at a time when their existence was being discussed at the top level. Though they had expanded into regimental size in September 1942, the SAS was still considered a guerrilla force by many senior British officers, ideally suited for desert warfare but not on mainland Europe. With Stirling captured, it was left to his replacement, Paddy Mayne, to argue for their continuation. The Irishman was successful, leading the SAS ashore during the invasion of Sicily in July 1943, and then taking them into Italy where they fought a series of bloody engagements as the Allies pushed slowly north. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2016/11/96c.GettyImages-154422434-bcf356c-scaled-e1666700443487.jpg" width="620" height="412" alt="Photo of a SAS jeep patrol" title="A Special Air Service jeep patrol is greeted by its commander, Colonel David Stirling, on its return from the desert, 18 January 1943. (Photo by Capt. G Keating/ Imperial War Museums via Getty Images)" /> In 1944, the SAS reverted once more to guerrilla warfare to complement the main Allied landings in Normandy. A typical SAS operation in the summer of 1944 was the one codenamed ‘Houndsworth’, undertaken by the men of ‘A’ Squadron, 1SAS. Parachuting into the wooded countryside approximately 80 miles west of Dijon, their tasks were to cut railway lines between Lyon and Paris, arm and train the French Resistance, and generally harry the German reinforcements being sent to Normandy, where the main Allied invasion fleet was fighting its way inland. In three months, ‘A’ Squadron killed or wounded 220 Germans, derailed six trains and destroyed 23 vehicles. Jeff Du Vivier was partly responsible for one of the trains. “We found a suitable spot and set about laying the charge,” he wrote in his report on the incident. “I had decided that we should make three charges and join them together with cortex at 50 feet apart and all under the same rail.” The first train that came down the line triggered charges, “completely wrecking” the engine and derailing and damaging ten wagons laden with munitions. Red-Letter day In total the SAS Brigade was estimated to have killed 7,733 German soldiers during operations in France. Around 740 motorised vehicles were destroyed, seven trains, 89 wagons and 29 locomotives. 33 trains were derailed and railway lines were cut on 164 occasions, and the SAS called in more than 400 air strikes on German targets. So impressed was General Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander in Europe, that he expressed his gratitude in a letter to the SAS, commenting: “I wish to send my congratulations to all ranks of the Special Air Service Brigade on the contribution which they have made to the success of the Allied Expeditionary Force. “The ruthlessness with which the enemy have attacked Special Air Service troops has been an indication of the injury which you were able to cause to the German armed forces both by your own efforts and by the information which you gave of German disposition and movements.” An end to the horror By the time the last of the SAS squadrons had withdrawn from France, the Allies were well on the way to winning the war in Europe. In March 1945, elements of the SAS were in the vanguard of the advance into Germany – several soldiers were veterans of the first raid of November 1941, men who thought that they had seen the very worst war had to offer. Then on the morning of 15 April, an SAS patrol drove through a pine forest and saw up ahead a signpost to a place called Belsen. New challenges: the SAS post-WWII Despite vigorous campaigning by the SAS to remain a part of the British Army, the regiment was disbanded in October 1945, with the new government believing that the postwar world had no need for a special forces unit. Its optimism was soon brutally shattered as the British Empire began to crack under the pressure of countries demanding independence. In the summer of 1947, it was decided that a territorial regiment should be raised, and within 12 months it numbered 200, with a third of those veterans of the wartime SAS. Their first deployment was to Malaya (now known as Malaysia) to fight a communist insurrection, which launched its guerrilla attacks from jungle bases. In 1952, a regular SAS was formed – 22SAS – which today comprises four squadrons of approximately 60 soldiers. Once Britain granted Malaya its independence in 1957, the SAS spent the next 20- odd years fighting other insurgencies in far-flung outposts of the Empire, including Aden and Oman, away from the glare of publicity. It was the emergence of Irish and Islamic terrorism in the 1970s and 80s that propelled the SAS into the global spotlight, most memorably when live on television they spectacularly ended the siege at the Iranian Embassy in May 1980. Heavily involved in the conflicts in the Falklands, Afghanistan and Iraq, the SAS remain the world’s most secretive and most elite fighting force. “We imagined that a concentration camp was similar to a barracks,” recalled Sergeant Duncan Ridler. The SAS drove up to the main gate and peered through the three-metre wire fences. “We had never seen people looking like this,” said Ridler. “They were all trying to say something – not shouting – their faces dull, exhausted, emotionless, not capable of expressing joy or excitement as had everyone else in Europe.” It was a sight those SAS men present never forgot. A unit that had been formed to fight in the chivalrous theatre of North Africa had come face to face with the depravity of the Nazi regime. Yet because of their audacity, their ingenuity and their initiative, the SAS had played a small but significant part in bringing down Hitler’s evil empire. Gavin Mortimer is the author of David Stirling: The Phoney Major: The Life, Times and Truth about the Founder of the SAS (Constable, 2022), which he discusses on an episode of the HistoryExtra podcast This article was originally published in the November 2016 edition of BBC History Revealed
10 surprising facts about First World War uniforms
The camouflage uniform donned by soldiers during the First World War is, to many, instantly recognisable, but how much do you really know about the garments? Jane Tynan, the author of British Army Uniform and the First World War: Men in Khaki, reveals 10 surprising facts about the wartime apparel
Khaki was first adopted in India The word ‘khaki’ comes from the Persian portion of the Hindustani language. The use of khaki for military camouflage is thought to have begun with Harry Lumsden, who raised the Corps of Guides in 1846, a regiment of the British Indian Army. He bought up white cotton cloth at the bazaar at Lahore, which was then taken down to the riverbank, where his troops soaked the cloth in water and rubbed mud into it. Lumsden’s second in command was convinced that khaki would make his men “invisible in a land of dust”. By the First World War, the British Army had transitioned from red to khaki uniforms in response to new technologies: aerial reconnaissance and smokeless guns were making soldiers’ visibility a real problem on the battlefield. Read more about WW1 beyond the western front: David Olusoga shines a light on forgotten clashes in distant lands, and on the extensive contributions of Africans and Asians <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2018/11/GettyImages-3170981_cmyk-a2fa96b.jpg" width="1967" height="1447" alt="A British officer stands alongside two of his Japanese counterparts in 1914 in Tsingtao (now Qingdao). Japanese troops played a key role in the capture of that strategic German concession in north-east China. (Photo by Getty Images)" title="A British officer stands alongside two of his Japanese counterparts in 1914 in Tsingtao (now Qingdao). Japanese troops played a key role in the capture of that strategic German concession in north-east China. (Photo by Getty Images)" /> British khaki dyes came from Germany Before the war, Germany was the centre of the synthetic dyestuffs industry. By 1913, it was exporting more than 20 times the volume of dyes coming out of Britain. During the First World War the only khaki dye available for British Army uniforms was manufactured in Germany, which, at first, it secretly imported. Read more | 10 WW1 generals you should know about For a time, khaki was replaced by ‘Kitchener blue’ ‘Kitchener blue’ was the collective name given to replacement uniforms used by the British Army when it ran out of khaki in 1914. The War Office had failed to obtain enough khaki uniforms in the opening weeks of the war, and early recruits were forced to wear replacement uniforms. They were obtained from a range of unlikely sources: 500,000 suits of blue serge uniforms from Post Office stocks, and approximately 500,000 greatcoats purchased from the clothing trade. The War Office also ordered a huge volume of jackets, trousers and greatcoats from Canada and the United States. Some soldiers were issued with old full-dress parade tunics – scarlet with colourful facings and blue trousers from various reserve stores. A 1914 article in the trade periodical the Tailor and Cutter reported that one of the alternative outfits was “not at all liked, the first men to wear it being mistaken for inmates of an industrial home”. Why are poppies worn, plus 4 more things you need to know about Armistice Day Most uniforms were not made by the army Most were, in fact, made by various civilian tailoring firms. War Office plans for dealing with an outbreak of war were insufficient for the scale of this conflict. In August 1914, reserves were capable of supplying no more than the original expeditionary force and first-line units of the Territorial Force for a few weeks. Clothing an expanding volunteer army overwhelmed the official army factories. By November 1914 a new director of army contracts had reorganised the system of supply, which led to a boom in ‘khaki contracts’ in the British tailoring trade – a system the war office regulated by public competition. It seems that war was good for business. Official knitting patterns were introduced to discourage ‘rogue knitters’ Civilians were busily knitting garments for British soldiers during the First World War. The gloves, socks, mittens, jerseys and balaclavas made by civilians became affectionately known as ‘comforts’. But what started as a response to small gaps in uniform supply became a mass knitting frenzy, which made the government very nervous about the colourful, quirky garments reaching soldiers at the front. Hence knitting patterns were issued, warning women – thought to be the typical knitters – to narrow the range of garments, and to use only khaki wools. But the success of the knitting projects often highlighted army failures. The First World War was a step into the unknown – much of the war effort had to be improvised. When the efforts of volunteer knitters threatened to expose official shortcomings, the state intervened; one such gesture was the issue of the official Kitchener stitch, which improved the comfort of knitted socks for men in the trenches! Turbans were worn by soldiers on the western front By November 1914, one third of the British Army on the western front came from India and fought with the Indian Expeditionary Force (serving from September 1914 to December 1915). An official photograph taken in France depicts Indian troops marching along the road while young women rush up to pin flowers on them as they pass. They wear turbans and have long tunics –resembling the Indian Kurta – falling to their knees. For Sikh soldiers, these distinctive features described their colonial status, but it also became part of war propaganda. In July 1915 The Graphic newspaper ran a feature to celebrate the spectacle of Indian soldiers marching to battle, in which they reported that the Germans “themselves admit their surprise at this rally of India”. Photographs were a bit more realistic; one from July 1916 shows Indian cyclists – despatch riders – at the crossroads on Fricourt-Mametz Road wearing khaki service dress with traditional Sikh turbans. Unfortunately, rather than reflect a proud military tradition, their distinctive clothing often symbolised their lowly rank on the western front. Listen | Santanu Das explores the experiences of Indians who fought in and were affected by the First World War The First World War saw the invention of the trench coat Well, not really, since this weatherproof sports coat had been around since the late 19th century, but as the name suggests, its re-invention as the trench coat is certainly attributed to its use in the First World War. It was an optional item of military kit for officers on the western front. Initially, soldiers were kitted out with the greatcoat, which was far too heavy for the rain and mud. When uniform manufacture went out to the trade, a range of civilian outfitters began to supply mass-produced garments to officers. This was how various firms, including Burberry and Aquascutum, began to sell versions of the trench coat. The coat was a practical garment for British officers enduring the muddy conditions of the trenches, and was a great improvement on the heavy, cumbersome greatcoat. The light fabric gave soldiers mobility, while water-repellent material protected them from wet weather: large pockets kept maps dry, and cleverly placed flaps offered ventilation. Protecting the body, and keeping mobility at a maximum, was vital in trench conditions – this light, weatherproof sports coat was the ideal solution. Conscientious objectors were forced to wear uniforms against their will Following conscription, conscientious objectors who were arrested for failing to respond to the call to military duty often refused to wear the uniform. Treated as enlisted soldiers, their disobedience brought the full force of the law upon them, and they could then be sentenced to imprisonment. COs might refuse to strip for a medical examination or resist having their measurements taken. Often, soldiers would forcibly remove their clothes, or attempt to dress them in military uniform against their will. Fred Murfin recalls his arrival in France, when he defied the authorities by deliberately and mischievously leaving his puttees on the ship. Their refusal to wear khaki was a powerful protest, and the penalty was often violence and humiliation. An outfit allowance was introduced for officers who could not afford a uniform As the war progressed, it became clear to British Army authorities that officers’ uniforms would have to be subsidised. Many new army officers struggled to meet the expense of getting a uniform made. Hence outfit grants were issued to them, so that they could be commissioned from the ranks, without concern as to how they might meet the cost of the uniform. Heavy losses meant that officers were being recruited from a wider range of social classes than before the war, and many of these men could not afford the traditional trip to the tailor. The introduction of an outfit grant ensured their continued recruitment. This might be why the established officer class were quick to label them ‘improvised officers’ or worse, ‘temporary gentlemen’. More than 1 million civilian suits were issued to discharged soldiers at the end of the war Legally, a man could not wear his uniform more than 28 days after discharge, so upon demobilisation they were supplied with civilian suits by the Royal Army Clothing Department. Before he left his unit, each man was given a plain clothes form and a certificate of employment. When he went to a dispersal centre he received a protection certificate, a railway ticket to get home, a pay advance, a fortnight’s ration book, and a voucher for the return of his greatcoat. Here he had the option of a clothing allowance or a suit of plain clothes. What happened to the 8 million people who were disabled during WW1? The army issued a total of 1,413,760 suits to demobilised men at the end of the war, in dark blue, brown or grey. However, the trade press were quick to criticise the quality of the suits, which were thought to be an insult to returning war heroes. Jane Tynan is a lecturer in design history at Central Saint Martins, University of the Arts London, and author of British Army Uniform and the First World War: Men in Khaki (Palgrave, 2013) This article was first published by HistoryExtra in 2014
Innocence under fire: how children were used in warfare of the past
From medieval times to the modern day, young children have been put to tragic use in warfare. Emma Butcher and James Rogers tell their story
Children of “hard flesh” Wrenched from their homes at the age of seven, Sparta’s boys were battle-ready by 20 The ancient Greek city of Sparta was a military superpower, and its children were enveloped within this fighting ethos from a very early age. Soon after birth, a council of inspectors would judge a male infant’s physical attributes; if he was deemed unfit, the baby would most likely be abandoned on a nearby hillside. At the age of seven, Spartan boys were removed from their parents’ homes and conscripted into the ‘agoge’, a military training scheme. The first-century AD Roman historian Plutarch detailed their regime: “Their training was calculated to make them obey commands well, endure hardships and conquer in battle… When they were 12 years old, they no longer had tunics to wear, received one cloak a year, had hard flesh and knew little of baths.” Despite the boys’ early military education, the Spartans didn’t entertain the concept of a child army. From a practical perspective, children weren’t strong enough to handle the heavy weapons of the time. Instead, the youthful recruits served by conducting menial chores, such as bearing shields and mats for the more senior warriors. It was only when he turned 20 years old that a Spartan man would be deemed fit to serve as a soldier of the state. Read more: Were there really only 300 Spartans at the Battle of Thermopylae? The fearless fledglings of God Armed with the gospel, a young Christian army set off on a crusade to Jerusalem. It turned out to be mission impossible In 1212, around 30,000 children from across Europe banded together and marched towards Jerusalem. Although the facts are marred by mythology and a lack of historical sources, we know that their aim was to peacefully convert Muslims to Christianity. Versions of the story – over 50 of which have been found dating back to the 13th century – tell us of various child leaders marching to the Holy Land. One was a young French boy, Stephen of Cloyes, who believed he’d been chosen by Jesus to lead the divine mission. He gathered followers by performing miracles and portents, and claiming that the Mediterranean Sea would part for his followers on their journey. Across the continent, droves of children joined the cause, taking the crusader’s vow, which was both militant and legally binding. Sadly, their mission was to end in disaster. Once the band of children reached the coast and the sea remained unmoved, those who chose to continue their journey on ships were either taken to Tunisia and sold into slavery or died in shipwrecks. Despite their failure, however, their quest could be considered as the first mass European youth movement. Noble warriors Boy pages were often seen on medieval battlefields and were deadly with a crossbow In medieval Europe, boy pages were a regular sight in the homes of aristocrats. At the age of seven, noble boys would be sent from their family homes and stationed in another aristocratic household, where they would dutifully serve the lord of the estate through menial chores and personal service. In return, they received hospitality and education. They also underwent military training, learning how to use weapons and ride. The children would mount wooden horses, learn how to handle lances and conduct target practice. Boy pages witnessed their fair share of conflict, dressing and arming their lords on the field. They mainly performed minor auxiliary roles but, in the event of a siege, were expected to know the basics of how to defend a castle with a crossbow. This was one of only a few weapons a child could use; the string could be pulled back with a lever, or by winding a crank, giving the bow tension, power and the ability to travel long distances – all of which meant a child could kill without engaging in direct combat with an adult. Despite their military training, even in the heat of battle it was bad form to consider the boys a target. In the 1415 battle of Agincourt, it is rumoured that Henry V was so enraged by the French targeting his army’s boy pages, that he retaliated by slitting the necks of his prisoners. Trained to die for their sultan masters As the Ottoman empire flourished, non-Muslim children were rounded up and forced into military slavery Between the 14th and 19th centuries, the Ottoman empire trained elite infantry units known as Janissaries. These units were populated by strong children, aged 7–18, who had either been kidnapped from local non-Muslim families or taken during military campaigns against Christian communities. This system of abduction and enlistment became known as ‘devshirme’, which is Ottoman Turkish for ‘lifting’ or ‘collecting’. Upon capture, the children were dressed in red so that they would be recognised in the event of an escape. They would then be circumcised and converted to Islam. As the sultan’s personal slaves, the children were trained for a life of service; indoctrinated to fight and die for their master. They were known in society as ‘kapikulu’, servants who were neither free nor ordinary slaves. Over the centuries, Janissaries were used in all major campaigns, including the 1453 capture of Constantinople and the Battle of Mohács in 1526. Despite their life in captivity, many considered their high standing in the Ottoman administration an honour. In the powder keg of war Children endured tough conditions while serving in some of history’s most famous naval battles The British Royal Navy first began using the term ‘powder monkey’ in the 17th century. In the golden age of sail, young boys would be recruited or press-ganged to service artillery guns on warships. Their job was to ferry gunpowder from the magazine in the ship’s hold to the gun crews. It was a dangerous job: gun carriages would regularly dismount and maim crewmembers, scalding iron rained from misfired guns and giant splinters would penetrate flesh. Brief autobiographical accounts from powder monkeys survive. One such account is from a boy named Robert Sands, who worked on Admiral Nelson’s ship during the battle of Trafalgar in 1805. He explained that “the smoke sofecated us… our skreens took fire and burnt the Leftanant of mereans [marines] badley. I had jest left thair wen the exploshon took place. The men inside the skreens was burnt to deth… Then I had to go to the fore magesene for my powder.” Despite his age and lower-class status, Sands’ unlikely memoir is one of the few accounts that exist from the battle. Beating hearts Historically, drummer boys have played a central role on the battlefield, especially in the American Civil War The use of drummer boys on the battlefield has been a longstanding western tradition. These musical mascots had a practical role to play, using different drum rolls to enable officers and troops to communicate with each other. Despite their wide-spanning history, drummer boys have become synonymous with 19th-century American warfare: sentimentalist poetry, art, sculpture and autobiography from the era juxtaposed these innocent children with sweeping battlescapes. The American Civil War propelled drummer boys to semi-celebrity status. The youngest recruit of the war, nine-year-old John Clem, rose to fame after he opened fire on a Confederate colonel who’d ordered him to surrender, and managed to escape. ‘The Drummer Boy of Chickamauga’, as he became known, was subsequently promoted to sergeant, making him the youngest soldier ever to become a non-commissioned officer in the US army. Other notable Civil War drummer boys include 13-year-old Charles King, the youngest recruit to be killed in the war; 12-year-old William Black, who lost his left arm during battle; and Louis Edward Rafield, who inspired the sentimental Confederate song ‘The Drummer Boy of Shiloh’, written by Will S Hays in 1863: On Shiloh’s dark and bloody ground The dead and wounded lay; Amongst them was a drummer boy, Who beat the drum that day. The teenage Tommies Children as young as 12 and 13 lied about their age to fight for Britain in the First World War During the First World War, British youth movements such as the Boy Scouts, the Sea Scouts and the Girl Guides militarised the youth of the nation and provided them with practical medical and survival skills. These children were quick to volunteer their services. One such child, nine-year-old Alfie Knight, pleaded with the then-secretary of state for war, Lord Kitchener, to let him join the army: “I want to go to the front. I can ride jolley quick on my bicycle, and would go as a despatch ridder. I wouldint let the Germans get it.” Kitchener replied to thank the lad, but noted that he was a little too young to fight. Many young boys did, however, find their way into the army. Approximately 250,000 British soldiers were under the legal age limit of 19. The youngest recognised soldier was 12-year-old Sidney Lewis, who fought in the battle of the Somme. Another young recruit, 13-year-old George Maher, lied about his age and was sent to the front line. His true age was revealed after he was found crying during heavy shelling. Punch magazine satirised this epidemic of willing youths with a cartoon. In it, an officer points to a young boy in a soldier’s uniform and booms: “Do you know where boys go who tell lies?” The applicant replies: “To the front, sir.” Hitler’s final hope Only lightly trained, the youthful soldiers recruited to support the Nazis’ last stand were essentially cannon fodder The Hitler Youth and the League of German Girls were among the primary tools used by the Nazi regime to control Germany’s future generation. Despite the compulsory gender roles attributed to each movement, the militant rhetoric that implored young subjects to devote themselves to the strength and defence of the ‘Fatherland’ was similar. The Hitler Youth received only quasi-military training as part of their political programme, learning how to march, drill, throw grenades, dig trenches and escape through barbed wire reels under pistol fire. And when they were ordered to join the fight against Allied forces in the final months of the war, the boys were woefully inexperienced and ill-prepared. They were sent out in lightly armed ambush squads, fulfilling their vow to “be ready as a brave soldier, to stake my life at any time for this oath”. Fifteen-year-old Heinz Shuetze was put in an SS uniform and sent to fight Soviet forces on the front line after being given just half a day’s training. He was armed with a panzerfaust, an anti-tank rocket. A survivor from some of the Soviet confrontations, Guenter Dullni, noted: “They [the Soviets] had no mercy for child soldiers, particularly when you were slapped into an SS uniform.” Tragically, many of the children who lost their lives in battle were sent to fight after the fate of the war had effectively been decided. Young guns How the proliferation of assault rifles gave birth to a new breed of child warriors While children were once of little use in combat roles, the invention of assault rifles like the Kalashnikov and the M-16 – smaller, lighter and with less recoil than previous guns – has enabled youngsters to be deployed as deadly ‘soldiers’. The Cold War marked the emergence of this trend, El Salvador in the 1980s being a prime example. Fighting between government troops and the rebel FMLN (Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front) resulted in the kidnap and rape of children, but also their conscription into the military by both sides. It’s reported that more than one in five of the FMLN’s troops were children, while 80 per cent of the government’s forces were under 18. In other words, children fighting children. The FMLN would send ‘kids units’ into villages to recruit even younger children, but also deployed them in active fighting. The government forces reportedly sent children to kill or injure members of their own family to ‘prove’ their loyalty. Like the FMLN, they also used children in overt active combat roles. One former child soldier recalled “eight-year-olds carrying M-16s and losing their whole families”. “Eyes wide, screaming in pain, fear and hatred” Child soldiers in recent conflicts in Africa have been forced to participate in a number of terrible atrocities The impact of child soldiers was ramped up to brutal new levels during the African civil wars of the 1990s, with mercenaries, gangs, arms dealers, militias and weakened governments all incorporating children into their ranks. In Liberia, ‘Small Boys Units’ were frequently used by the warlord/president Charles Taylor. Armed with Uzis or AK-47s, children would be used to engage against UN peacekeepers, pillage and plunder communities, or commit mass atrocities. One former child soldier recalled “the scent of gunpowder, eyes stinging from smoke, your friend crying… it was terrible. I missed my mother at that moment.” Children were also used by the FDLR (Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda) to take part in the country’s devastating 1994 genocide. Boys aged 14 and younger, many of them orphaned and desperate for protection, were drugged, kidnapped and sold, then forced to act as combatants taking part in rape, mutilation and the killing of civilians. A staggering 800,000 people were murdered in the space of just 100 days. As the commander of the UN mission in Rwanda said at the time: “Those child soldiers’ eyes were wide and brilliant, screaming in pain and anguish, fear and hatred.” For these fresh-faced fighters, the innocence of youth is short-lived. Emma Butcher is a BBC/AHRC New Generation Thinker 2017. James Rogers is associate lecturer in international politics at the University of York. They are both investigators on the Wellcome-funded project, ‘Legacies of War Trauma’ This article was first published in the July 2017 issue of BBC History Magazine
A panel of eyewitnesses recall their memories of the divided city and the dramatic events of November 1989
As we approach the 60th anniversary of the Berlin Wall’s construction, Major General Sir Robert Corbett and journalists Mark Wood and Alastair Stewart discuss their memories of the divided city and the dramatic events of November 1989. The discussion is chaired by the author Iain MacGregor. Iain MacGregor is the author of Checkpoint Charlie: The Cold War, the Berlin Wall and the Most Dangerous Place on Earth (Constable, 2019) Buy now on Bookshop.org Buy now on Amazon Buy now on Waterstones
Following the horrors of the First World War, people around the world set out to create “perfect” societies – with mixed results. Anna Neima charts their efforts
Left traumatised by the horrors of the First World War, between the 1920s and 1940s people around the world set out to create “perfect” societies – with mixed results. Anna Neima, author of The Utopians: Six Attempts to Build the Perfect Society, charts their efforts. Anna Neima is the author of The Utopians: Six Attempts to Build the Perfect Society (Pan Macmillan, 2021) Buy now on Bookshop.org Buy now on Amazon Buy now on Waterstones
Oliver Cromwell’s remarkable rise to power
Ronald Hutton discusses Oliver Cromwell’s early life and career, exploring the brilliance and cruelty of the future Lord Protector
Historian Ronald Hutton discusses Oliver Cromwell’s early life and career, exploring the brilliance and cruelty of the future Lord Protector and explaining how he rose from obscurity to become one of the dominant figures of the age. Ronald Hutton is the author of The Making of Oliver Cromwell (Yale, due to be published 10 August) Buy now on Bookshop.org Buy now on Amazon <a href="https://www.awin1.com/cread.php?id=489797&clickref=historyextra-183816&awinmid=3787&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.waterstones.com%2Fbook%2Fthe-making-of-oliver-cromwell%2Fronald-hutton%2F%2F9780300257458%3Fawaid%3D3787%26utm_source%3Dredbrain%26utm_medium%3Dshopping%26utm_campaign%3Dcss%26gclid%3DCjwKCAjwr56IBhAvEiwA1fuqGqetttghKWSLjkPVav_MzUTX1JTfW1D-68Vgr8muo23kdTYq-PzZwhoC1pYQAvD_BwE" target="_blank" rel="sponsored">Buy now on Waterstones
10 facts you (probably) didn't know about the First World War
It's one of the most well-documented conflicts in history, but how much do you know about World War One (also known as the First World War and the Great War)? Here, Seán Lang reveals 10 lesser-known facts about the global conflict fought between 1914 and 1918...
Also known as the Great War, the First World War was a global conflict primarily fought between two groups: the Triple Alliance (Germany, Austria and Italy) and the Triple Entente (Great Britain, France and Russia). It began on 28 July 1914, following the assassination of Franz Ferdinand a month earlier, and ended on 11 November 1918 with the signing of a ceasefire, or 'armistice'. It's one of the most well-documented conflicts in history, but how much do you know about World War One? Discover 10 surprising facts below... The alliance system didn’t cause the war Many people assume that the war resulted directly from the alliance structure that bound all the European great powers together before 1914. Germany was allied to Austria-Hungary and Italy; Russia was allied to France, and both countries had an entente (a diplomatic agreement) with Britain. Who was involved in the First World War? Who was on each side? Why didn’t the Allies march on Berlin in 1918? 10 ways Christmas was celebrated during the First World War The alliances certainly contributed to the prewar build-up of tension between the great powers but, perhaps surprisingly, none of these alliances actually produced a declaration of war. In July 1914 Germany gave Austria-Hungary a sweeping guarantee of support known as the ‘Blank Cheque’, which went far beyond the terms of their formal alliance. The French came in because Germany launched a pre-emptive strike against them; Britain declared war not because of the entente agreements but because the Germans invaded Belgium, and Italy first kept out of the war and then came in against its own allies! There were special battalions for short soldiers The minimum height requirement for the British Army was 5ft 3ins, but many shorter men were caught up in the recruiting enthusiasm of August 1914 and were keen to enlist. Rather reluctantly the War Office established a number of ‘bantam battalions’, attached to more conventional regiments. Many bantams were coal miners, and their short height and technical expertise proved a great asset in the tunnelling work that went on underneath the western front. However, bantams were not particularly effective in battle, and by the end of 1916 the general fitness and condition of men volunteering as bantams was no longer up to the standard required. It wasn’t easy to maintain recruitment: increasingly the bantam battalions had to accept men of ‘normal’ height. And there’s not much point in a bantam battalion that is largely made up of taller men, so after conscription was introduced in 1916 the bantam battalions idea was quietly dropped. 10 things you (probably) didn’t know about First World War uniforms 10 golden rules of fitness for First World War soldiers Munitions girls kept football going The Football League suspended its programme after the 1914–15 season (although the FA continued to allow clubs to organise regional competitions), and amateur tournaments were difficult to run with so many men in the army, so women stepped into the breach. Munitions workers – ‘munitionettes’, as they were known – formed football teams and played against rival factories. Munitionette football attracted a wide following, and many matches were played at the grounds of professional clubs. When peace came, however, the female players had to hang up their boots and go back to the domestic lives they had been leading before the war. But the sport continued to enjoy success until women were banned from playing in Football League grounds in 1921. Female Tommies: women in the First World War In pictures: Navy women in the world wars Portuguese troops fought in the war Like many neutral countries, Portugal was angry at German U-boat attacks on its merchant shipping. The Portuguese were also worried that the German military campaign in Africa might move into their colonies in Mozambique and Angola. In March 1916, Germany declared war on Portugal. As well as patrolling the oceans and strengthening their border controls in Africa, the Portuguese also sent a military force to the western front. The Portuguese won the respect of their more battle-hardened allies, and put up a particularly stubborn fight against the great German offensive of spring, 1918. The Russians first solved the problem of trench warfare Launching a successful attack against a heavily fortified enemy trench was one of the most difficult problems facing military commanders on both sides: barbed wire and machine guns gave a considerable advantage to the defender. Even if an attacker did break through, the attacking force usually ran out of steam just as the defenders brought up reinforcements. The man who solved the conundrum was the Russian general Alexei Brusilov, who in 1916 launched a massive offensive against the Austrians in co-ordination with the British and French attack on the Somme. Brusilov realised that offensives on the western front were too heavily concentrated on trying to ‘punch a hole’ through the enemy line at a particular point, so the enemy knew exactly where to send his reinforcements. Read more | 10 WW1 generals you should know about By attacking over a much larger area, Brusilov was able to hide the direction of his main attack from the Austrians, so they never knew which points to reinforce and which to abandon. Of course, Brusilov’s approach needed the sort of huge numbers of men that were the Russian army’s speciality, and after its initial success the attack petered out because the supply system for food and ammunition couldn’t cope. The war produced Britain’s worst rail disaster On 22 May 1915 a troop train carrying men of the Royal Scots Guards and the Leith Territorial battalion south to embark for the Gallipoli campaign crashed into a stationary local train sitting outside a signal box near Gretna Green. Moments later the Glasgow express crashed into the wreckage of the two trains, and the whole scene was engulfed by fire. Some 226 people were killed, 214 of them soldiers, and 246 were seriously injured. It remains to this day the biggest loss of life in a railway accident in Britain. The crash happened through the carelessness of the two signalmen, who were found guilty of criminal negligence and sent to prison. They had shunted the local train onto the main line instead of a siding and had been too busy chatting about the war to change the signals to warn the approaching troop train. Wartime demand for rolling stock was so high that trains were using old wooden-framed carriages, which caught fire with terrifying speed. The crash was another unwanted by-product of the First World War. 8 ways railway travel changed everything for Britain History explorer: The birth of the railways Japan came to the rescue of the British in the Mediterranean Britain’s only formal alliance before 1914 was with Japan, and it was designed to relieve the Royal Navy of some of the burden of defending Britain’s Asian colonies, and to enable Britain and Japan to help one another safeguard their respective interests in China and Korea. When war broke out, the Japanese attacked German possessions in the Pacific and China, but in 1917 Britain requested Japanese assistance with escort duties in the Mediterranean. The region was vital for supplying Allied armies in Italy and Greece, and for maintaining communications with Africa, but the Allied navies faced threats from German and Austrian submarines. The Japanese, operating from Malta, provided escorts for Allied merchant and troop convoys, and a search-and-rescue service for the crews of torpedoed vessels. Japan’s important role in the war strengthened its claim to be accepted by the Americans and Europeans as a fully fledged great power. Listen | Gary Sheffield explores the final moments of the First World War that devastated the world for four and a half years The Chinese worked on the western front Who actually filled all those sandbags we see in photographs of the trenches? Who loaded the guns, ammunitions and food onto lorries or trains? Who cleared up after a train was derailed or a headquarters building shelled? The answer was the Chinese Labour Corps. They were volunteers from the Chinese countryside who were sent to Europe to fulfil a vital, but almost completely overlooked role in making an Allied victory possible. They were paid a pittance, and were generally regarded by both the British and French as expendable ‘coolies’. They mostly served behind the lines, which limited their casualties from enemy action, although they suffered very badly from the ‘Spanish’ flu epidemic of 1918. Why Britain was right to go to war in 1914 In WW1, what did the Allies want to achieve? The war dragged on two weeks longer than you think Although we mark the Armistice Day, 11 November 1918, as the end of the First World War, it actually lasted two further weeks in Africa. The German commander, Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck, had become a national hero in Germany through his ruthless guerrilla campaign against Britain’s imperial forces in East Africa, forcing Africans to act as his porters and devastating the economy of the local villages as he did so. Vorbeck had been forced into Portuguese Mozambique by November 1918, but he still had some 3,000 troops under his command and he was still launching raids into Southern Rhodesia when news reached him of the armistice in Europe. Unlike the German army in Europe, Vorbeck could regard his own force as undefeated, and he decided to end the African war at a time of his own choosing. He formally surrendered to the British in Northern Rhodesia (modern Zambia) on 25 November, two weeks after the Armistice in Europe. First World War soldiers: life after the Armistice 5 things you need to know about Armistice Day Kipling’s words were tragic The words that appear on the gravestones of unidentified soldiers of the First World War, “A soldier of the Great War known unto God”, were written by the celebrated writer and Nobel Prizewinner, Rudyard Kipling. Commissioning leading figures like Kipling was a way of showing that Britain honoured its war dead. The words on the Cenotaph in Whitehall, built by the architect Sir Edwin Lutyens, even calls them “The Glorious Dead”. The words were chosen by Kipling, but there was a cruel irony in this commission. Kipling’s own son John had been taken into the army despite his appallingly weak eyesight, and was killed by a German shell in 1915 at the battle of Loos. His body was never found, so he too became, in his father’s words, “a soldier of the Great War known unto God”. This article was first published in August 2014
George Morton-Jack reflects on the contributions made by the Indian soldiers who fought for Britain in the First World War
George Morton-Jack, historian and author of The Indian Empire at War, reflects on the contributions made by the vast number of Indian soldiers who fought for Britain in the First World War.