World War One Commemoration

The 14-18 Now programme has announced 26 cultural commissions as the art world chooses several ways of commemorating the Great War. One of them, the painting of two ships in 'dazzle camouflage' drew a broadside from the Guardian Art Editor, Jonathan Jones, who claims such a piece is a "a disturbingly celebratory way to remember a monstrous war". Like an opening salvo from an Italian Warship, he seems to have missed the point by a few nautical miles. By explaining how the allies won the conflict, some critics seem to think this glorifies war and all children will soon be joining up in a neo-Kitchener's army to hunt down the boche for the rape of Belgium. By celebrating the genuine heroism of men who went over the top to meet a wall of machine gun bullets and high explosive shells, walking gingerly through shell holes and barbed wire, some critics will have you believe we will foster a military state where the next generation will be thirsty for the blood of any Prussian on horseback. 

To gauge just how well-informed, hip and up to date Mr Jones is, he draws on a classic 1960s opinion of the war, lazily attacking 'the Generals' who sent men to their deaths. Does he include General Hubert Plumer? Whose creeping artillery barrages and devastating victories at Messines Ridge and Broodseinde in 1917 set the blueprint to break out of trench warfare. Horace Smith-Dorrien had fought in the Anglo-Zulu War and was one of the handful of British soldiers to escape the slaughter of Isandlwana. Even Douglas Haig, the so-called 'butcher' of the Somme, was open to new ideas, approving the use of tanks which broke the deadlock for some time at the latter stages of the Somme battle at Flers-Courcelette. It is also the fund that bears his name that collected millions of pounds for the veterans of the Great War and subsequent conflicts by selling poppies. Such criticism of generals is a lazy one; the fact that most had enormous moustaches akin to General Melchett in Blackadder Goes Forth means lazy journalists will insist that men were shot at dawn for eating a lovely plump breasted pigeon called Speckled Jim.

                    

Plumer, Smith-Dorrien and Haig - All Generals. All with moustaches. Must have needlessly sent men to their deaths.

The great tragedy of the conflict is that the tactics and technology of the age meant after lines of infantry, armed only with rifles and a light machine gun per company, were at stalemate in the winter of 1914, strategy dictated that the men were required to 'dig in'. Once the belligerents lined up across the fields of Belgium and Northern France, the old tactic of bringing the cavalry onto the battlefield to soften up the flanks was not an option. As the armies of Marlborough and Wellington had done so on the same ground years before, the British infantryman would be forced to face his enemy head on. They would no face musket ball or cuirasseur, instead, they would be met by the dawn of mechanised and industrialised warfare: heavy artillery and machine guns. Tactics would change but Generals of both sides were generally constrained by the mindset and knowledge of the time; the tin helmet was not issued to the whole of the British Army until 1916. The 'Tommy' was forced to faced the shrapnel bursting above with just a cloth cap on his head.

British Troops during the retreat from Mons in 1914. Not a tin helmet in sight.

Mr. Jones would like to focus on the gritty poetry of Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen which gives us a deep understanding of the hell of the trenches. But by ignoring the fighting and everyday travails of each soldier, we are doing a great disservice. They were both officers in the Army; and very brave ones. Sassoon's soldiers only felt safe with him and he was awarded a Military Cross for charging a German trench with a handful of grenades. After objecting to returning to the Front, he would finish the war back on the Western Front. Owen would die days before the end of the conflict and his 'Anthem for Doomed Youth' perhaps colours our perception of the conflict unlike any other piece of work. Both men felt an allegiance to their men and it is this bond, this camaraderie which should be celebrated and not attacked.



 In 1914, Britain's hegemony was threatened by Germany. Not since Napoleon a century before had this happened. Men had joined up to protect their country and their way of life; something they felt strongly about and something that should not be sniggered or scoffed at by modern journalists and scholars. The bond men felt meant that the 11th Batallion of the East Lancashire Regiment was mainly made up of friends and work colleagues from Accrington. On the first day of the Somme, these men, mostly civilians before the war, went over the top at Serre. Out of the 720 men who made the attack, 584 were killed, wounded or missing. They would cease to become an effective fighting unit. Hundreds of wives were widowed in that small Lancashire town and hundreds of mothers lost their sons. Despite the losses and despite such desperate odds, the men stood firm:

"The result of the H.E. shells, shrapnel, machine-gun and rifle fire was such that hardly any of our men reached the German front trench. The lines which advanced in such admirable order, melted away under fire; yet not a man wavered, broke the ranks or attempted to go back. I have never seen, indeed could never have imagined such a magnificent display of gallantry, discipline and determination." Brigadier General H.C. Rees

Men of the 11th Battalion, East Lancashire Regiment 'The Accrington Pals', still without their uniforms on camp.

We should never forget such sacrifice; no matter how fruitless it now appears with hindsight. Instead, one must consider the teenage mill worker from Lancashire. Schooled about the mighty British Empire and the heroes; Gordon of Khartoum and Kitchener, whose pointed finger, glare and bushy moustache urged him to join the ranks. He followed his friends to the recruiting office, ready for a great adventure, ready to fight for his country; there were many reasons. He trained with his friends and on the morning of 1st July 1916, he stood on the firestep of a trench near Serre and listened to the birdsong which could be heard as the artillery ceased. It would be punctuated by the shrill whistle of his platoon commander who was the first to climb the wooden ladder over the parapet. He would follow the example of the junior officer and clamber up the ladder with his friends either side, laden down by 70lbs of kit. If he was not hit by the machine gun bullets sweeping the parapet, he would pick his way through the shell-cratered earth as his friends fell beside him. He may make it to the German trench to find the barbed wire had not been destroyed as promised. He would then be picked off by the German defenders. 

This was not blind faith. This was a true human bond, which is rarely seen and is one of the very few good things to come from war. This is the humanity which can shine through. So in the face of criticism of art projects by Guardian art critics whose biggest daily struggle is whether to have soy or goat's milk in his latter, let us instead remember the ordinary Tommy. The ones who couldn't write eloquently like Sassoon or Owen. The one who had to sign with an 'x' on his attestation paper, who never wrote their memoirs because he had to forego education in Edwardian Britain. Let us remember the ones whose first taste of combat ended as soon as they peered over the parapet. We should never forget the slaughter and our own ways of commemoration should not be attacked or critiqued. Whether you quietly read a book, visit the battlefields, watch a film or visit your local war memorial, just make sure you remember.