#bef france

[pedroam-bang]

Atonement (2007)

[petermorwood]

Flying Officer B.P. “Squirrel” Nutkin of 266 Squadron RAF, seen here in a Hawker Hurricane Mk I flown by 266 during the Fall of France.

As the British Expeditionary Force were driven back by Guderian’s Blitzkrieg, 266 was badly mauled while keeping Luftwaffe bombers away from the Dunkirk beaches, losing enough Hurricanes that it re-equipped with the Supermarine Spifire Mk Ia just in time for the Battle of Britain.

Nutkin, resisting what was already becoming known as "Spitfire Snobbery", was one of the last 266 Squadron pilots to convert from his Hurricane. This snapshot, therefore, must have been taken at some time in mid-June 1940, between the end of Operation Dynamo on 4th June and the official start of the Battle of Britain on 10th July.

*****

It was during the BEF’s final withdrawal from Dunkirk that Flying Officer Nutkin, already with two kills to his credit, made ace in an afternoon and won his first DFC.

He was section leader of Red Section - comprising himself, Pilot Officer Tom E. Brock and Pilot Officer J.R.M.E. Fisher - providing top cover for the evacuation, when on 2nd June 1940 they found themselves up-sun from a raid directed against several of the “Little Ships” (civilian vessels with volunteer crews).

Red Section executed a perfect “bounce” that caught the enemy completely off guard, six Luftwaffe aircraft were shot down, and Nutkin personally accounted for two Junkers Ju.87-B Stuka dive-bombers as well as one Messerschmitt Bf.109-E4 from their escort.

(Representative images, not actual footage)

“Squirrel” Nutkin finished his RAF service in 1946 with the rank of Wing Commander. It’s widely believed he was promoted no higher after saying “Nuts!” to Air Vice-Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, even though this turned out not to have been an insult, merely a misheard comment about which bar snacks were running short in the Officers' Mess.

Regardless of explanation, Leigh-Mallory - always notoriously pompous about his own image and reputation - made a disparaging entry in Nutkin’s file and refused to amend it. His later death in an accident meant the unwarranted black mark was never deleted.

This didn't concern post-war fledgling new airline BEA (British European Airways), and Nutkin joined them directly he left the Air Force…

…going on to become one of their senior captains before transferring to Transatlantic service with BOAC (British Overseas Airways Corporation).

During a layover in New York he met and later married Cicely van Gopher of the New Hampshire van Gophers, and on retirement from flying made a fortune in forestry.

“Some people can’t see the wood for the trees, but for some reason I'm quite good at both.”

[bejeweledblondie]

A Royal Baby

Captain John Price x F! Royalty Reader

Summary: the final part in my royalty series, I thought finishing it out with a baby would be best!

Warnings: childbirth, mentions of sex, nudity, throwing up & anxiety

Y/N had always loved waking up like this, wrapped in John’s arms. Inhaling his masculine scent of cigars & bourbon. She smiled to herself & ran her delicate fingers along his arm. They had been married for three months now & after a romantic honeymoon in the south of France they had returned to London. With his morning wood poking her the back she was reminded of the many times they consummated their marriage. She’ll never forget the embarrassment of a her security hearing them. Their welsh corgi a gift from Y/N’s grandmother jumped up onto the bed & started to lick her face.

She giggled & wiggled herself out of John’s grasp.

“Alright, alright I’m up.” She replied. John was still tuckered out from the flight home. She admired his chest leading down to his happy trail. “How did I get so lucky?” She whispered to herself. When she went to go swing her legs over to the side of the best to put her slippers on a wave of nausea washed over her. Hastily putting her beloved pet on the bed & ditching the slippers she sprinting to the toilet. Holding her hair back & lifting up the lid she emptied the contents from her stomach. Last night’s dinner was floating in the water in front of her. All the commotion must’ve woken John up as she felt his hand soothingly rubbing her back. Finally once she was done, she flushed the toilet & rest back up against John.

“Were you feeling this ill when we left Paris yesterday?” He asked still rubbing her back.

“I don’t think so, I don’t know what came over me I hate throwing up.” Y/N replied. “Let me brush my teeth at least so I can get this horrific taste out of my mouth. Then we will phone for the doctor to come take a look.” While she was brushing the taste of bile out of her mouth John was already one step ahead calling for the physician.

“He’ll be here in one hour love,” John said as he walked into the bathroom. “Why don’t you lie down for the remainder of time & I’ll have of the maids get you some tea.”

Soon enough within the hour there Y/N sat with an empty tea cup on her beside table & the Royal physician sitting beside her.

“Now you said you didn’t feel like this when you got home last night, right?” The Doctor asked.

“No I felt perfectly fine it was just this morning it came out of nowhere.” Y/N replied. John sat beside her holding her hand.

“Now I do have to ask,” the Doctor started. “You two have been sexually active I’m assuming?” A blush crept up on Y/N’s cheeks at the question.

“Yes,” John replied beating her to the punch. He knew how coy she was about their intimate life.

“Have you tried a pregnancy test?” She asked as she started to dig through her bag. Once she pulled one out & she handed it to Y/N. “Morning nausea is an early sign of pregnancy, & you had also mentioned previously your monthly is late. So it’s definitely possible. Go take the test & if it is negative give me a call. I have a great referral for the wonder OB if it’s positive.”

“Thank you doctor,” John replied. “Let me have one of the staff escort you out.” John lead the doctor to the door & one of the butler’s already stood there ready to escort her. Once he returned Y/N was already out of bed & urinating onto the stick. She laid out a piece of toilet paper & laid the stick on it. Who knew two minutes could by so slowly. Y/N was pacing the floor biting onto her nails trinternally processing what was happening.

“Love you’ll started a draft if you keep doing that.” John said & he walked over to comfort her. He outstretched his arms & pulled her in for a deep hug. “Whatever happens, remember I still love you remember that.” The timer had gone off signifying that the test was done. They both walked into the bathroom & Y/N took a deep breath before picking it up. She flipped the test over to see word “positive.”

Her whole body went numb as she read the word over & over again.

“It’s positive, John.” She replied & looked at him. “We’re going to have a baby.” He looked at her with wide eyes & pulled her in for a deep kiss. Once he let go he placed both of his hands on her head & smiled at her.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He cheered. “I cannot wait to tell the boys!” It had been a few months since he had seen his former team. Being married to a member of the British Royal Family meant he had to take more of a backseat role in the military. She knew he was desperately missing his friends & this would be a great opportunity for them to be reunited. She also knew how public her pregnancy would be & how much she’d have to do to ensure stress was a factor in creating problems for her health. Her hand rubbed small circles on her abdomen as she looked down. She was taking in John’s moment of jumping around out of excitement.

“Your daddy’s a little crazy, but you’ll get used to him.” Y/N whispered to her lower abdomen.

9 months later

Pregnancy was taking a toll on Y/N. The first couple of months had been a breeze she had been sporting a little beach ball bump for the first eight months. They knew they were going to be having a little boy which made John even more elated than he was because they’d get to do father/son activities. Now she was feeling like a whale, & her stomach was incredibly heavy. Her doctor had requested she stay out of public appearances & stay in bed. John had taken a leave of absence from his position with the military due to his wife’s state. He couldn’t bear to see her in this much pain.

The baby was now overdue & Y/N was pacing with her nurse in the comfort of their master bedroom to help see if it would induce labor. John sat in a chair with their beloved Corgi draped across his lap.

“Oh how I wish I could evict you,” She grumbled at her belly. “I know it’s probably warm & you get food whenever but you’ll have to stop freed loading at some point.”

“Love, why don’t you have some of the spicy Mexican food that the chef made for you? It might help with speeding this up.” He said. She waddled over to him with the nurse still holding her side. She took the plate from him & started to eat.

“I blame you for this,” Y/N said and pointed her fork at him. “You just had to be all sexy & down to-“ She stopped mid sentence. Both the nurse & John looked at her with worried looks.

“Darling what’s wrong?” He asked in a worried tone. He looked down at her pajamas pants & they were soaked. He took the plate of food out of her hands and put it on the table besides them. Looking down at the floor & he noticed a big puddle around her feet.

“I think my water broke.” She replied. A sharp pain in her abdomen caused her scream out a bunch of curses.

“We need to get to the hospital.” The nurse said. “I’ll phone the doctor, your highness get the baby bag & we will get her to St. Mary’s.” The nurse ran into the other room & John took hold of Y/N’s hand.

“How are you feeling love?” He asked. With tired eyes she glared at him.

“Wet.” She replied. “I need to change.” She waddled off with John quickly trailing behind her.

“Love,” John started as he watched her walk into her closet. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Ah ha I found it!” She cheered & stripped out of her now wet pajamas into a nightgown. “Much better.”

“Okay that’s great you look beautiful now let’s go before you have our son in our closet.” He said & gently guided her to the doorway. Baby bag in hand, they all quickly made their way down to were the ambulance was waiting for them.

Once at the hospital, they were put in a private wing & Y/N was hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Even with the epidural, labor was still a very intense process. It killed John to see her like this, seeing her in any pain caused him emotional distress. He never wanted to see her hurt like this. Soon she was fully dilated & ready to push.

“Alright your highnesses, are you ready to meet your son?” The doctor said as he walked in. He sat down right in front of her & put gloves on. Two nurses held her feet & legs in the air while John held her right hand. “When I say push, push.” The doctor instructed. “Take deep breaths in between. I can see the babies head. Okay. Push.” The doctor instructed.

With a bone crushing grip on John’s hand Y/N let out a strangled scream & pushed. Once she couldn’t push anymore she relaxed & took a deep breath. A nurse took a wet towel & brushed over her forehead. “Okay Push!” The doctor yelled again. The epidural had started to wear off & Y/N started to scream bloody murder as soon as the ring of fire started to happened.

“You’re doing great my love keep pushing.” John said & kissed her forehead.

“That’s great your highness, he’s so close keep pushing!” The doctor said & soon enough he caught the screaming infant in his hands. The wail of her son filled the room & Y/N started to cry. A nurse placed her son on her chest as they started to wipe off of the some of fluid from his head.

“Oh John,” Y/N said look at him. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” John said as he started to cry. “Thank you for gifting me the best thing in my life.” He placed a kiss on her forehead, & the nurse took the infant to clean him up.

After a few hours once Y/N was all stitched up & well rested she was holding her newborn son. He was latched to her breast & John was just in awe at the life that was created. His son was so little & he was just so beautiful. They had decided on a family name for him, James, named after Y/N’s paternal grandfather. It took a few days, but soon Y/N allowed for visitors to come in before they revealed the infant to the world. A slew of family & friends came to see the new edition.

Then the Task Force came by. Y/N was all dolled up in a dress for the reveal later on in the day. Simon, maskless & in casual clothing was holding the newest edition to the Price household. They came with gifts, including a camouflage onesie with a custom name tape on it, a baby blanket, & many other items. John & Y/N watched as the infant was cooing at Simon. His little body was able to fit in the crook of his arm.

“Oi you’ve had your turn let me hold the little lad.” Soap said. Simon passed the infant off to the Scotsman. “I want one.” As soon as the infant was placed into his arms.

“You can’t just go to the store & buy one MacTavish.” Gaz said. “You can barely take care of a goldfish.” James started to wiggle around in Soap’s arms & giggling at the silly faces he was making while mocking Gaz. A knock at the door turned everyone’s attention to the front of the room. One of the Royal advisors was standing there alerting them that in fifteen minutes they were due in the front for a photo op with the press. Soap reluctantly, handed the infant back to Y/N. They said their goodbyes to the team, & started to gather themselves.

“Are you ready to meet the world little one?” John asked as they exited the delivery room. “Come on love it’s time for the world to meet our son.” Side by side they walked out of the doors of St. Mary’s & introduced their first born son to the world.

[whencyclopedia]

Dunkirk Evacuation

The Dunkirk Evacuation of 26 May to 4 June 1940, known as Operation Dynamo, was the attempt to save the British Expeditionary Force in France from total defeat by an advancing German army. Nearly 1,000 naval and civilian craft of all kinds, aided by calm weather and RAF air support, managed to evacuate around 340,000 British, French, and Allied soldiers.

The evacuation led to soured Franco-Anglo relations as the French considered Dunkirk a betrayal, but the alternative was very likely the capture of the entire British Expeditionary Force on the Continent. France surrendered shortly after Dunkirk, but the withdrawal allowed Britain and its empire to harbour its resources and fight on alone in what would become an ever-expanding theatre of war.

Germany's Blitzkrieg

At the outbreak of the Second World War when Germany invaded Poland on 1 September 1939, France was relying almost entirely on a single defensive line to protect itself against invasion. These defences were the Maginot Line, a series of mightily impressive concrete structures, bunkers, and underground tunnels which ran along France's eastern frontiers. Manned by 400,000 soldiers, the defence system was named after the French minister of war André Maginot. The French imagined a German attack was most likely to come in two places: the Metz and Lauter regions. As it turned out, Germany attacked France through the Ardennes and Sedan on the Belgian border, circumventing most of the Maginot Line and overrunning the inadequate French defences around the River Meuse, inadequate because the French had considered the terrain in this forested area unsuitable for tanks. Later in the campaign, the Maginot Line was breached near Colmar and Saarbrücken.

To bolster the defences of France, Britain had sent across the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) under the command of General John Vereker (better known by his later title Lord Gort, 1886-1946). Around 150,000 men, mostly infantry, had arrived in September 1939 to strengthen the Franco-Belgian border. The BEF included the British Advanced Air Striking Force of 12 RAF squadrons. The aircraft were mostly Hawker Hurricane fighters and a few light bombers, all given much to the regret of RAF commanders who would have preferred to have kept these planes for home defence. The superior Supermarine Spitfire fighters were kept safely in Britain until the very last stages of the battle in France. The BEF had no armoured divisions and so was very much a defensive force, rather than an offensive one. More infantry divisions arrived up to April 1940, so the BEF grew to almost 400,000 men, but 150,000 of these had little or no military training. As General Bernard Montgomery (1887-1976) noted, the BEF was "totally unfit to fight a first class war on the Continent" (Dear, 130). In this respect, both Britain and France were very much stuck in the defensive-thinking mode that had won them the First World War (1914-18). Their enemy was exactly the opposite and had planned meticulously for what it called Fall Gelb (Operation Yellow), the German offensive in the west.

Totally unprepared for a war of movement, the defensive-thinking French were overwhelmed in the middle weeks of May 1940 by the German Blitzkrieg ("lightning war") tactics of fast-moving tanks supported by specialist bombers and smartly followed by the infantry. German forces swept through the three neutral countries of the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Belgium. The 9th Army punched through the Ardennes and raced in a giant curve through northeast France to reach the coast around Boulogne. The BEF and the northern French armies (7th and 1st) were cut off from the rest of the French forces to the south. Germany had achieved what it called the 'Sickle Slice' (Sichelschnitt). By 24 May, the French and British troops were isolated and with their backs to the English Channel, occupying territory from Dunkirk to Lille. Although there were sporadic counterpunches by the defenders, Gort had already concluded that the French army had collapsed as an operational force. Gort considered an attack on the Germans to the south, which he was ordered to make, would have achieved very little except the annihilation of his army. The BEF must be saved, and so he withdrew to the north.

Continue reading...

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Outrun the Future G.Cleven Ch 3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch4 Ch 5

Ch 3

A gentle shake had Marley nearly jumping out of bed. Betty was standing over her, robe wrapped around her body, trying her hardest to wake the pilot up without waking the others. “Captain Sutton just came by and told me to get you. Looks like ya’ll are headed out this morning.”

Marley let out a deep sigh and nodded her head. “Thanks, Betty. Sorry you were woken up so early.” She didn’t have to look at the clock to know it was before sunrise. Mission days always started the same and it was clear that a change of location wasn’t going to change that.

“It’s no problem.” She paused for a few seconds, trying to figure out the best way to say goodbye without actually saying it. “I better not see you in medical later. As much as a few of us would love to see your handsome brother around, something tells me he wouldn’t do well with you hurt.”

Marley chuckled as she got out of bed and gave her friend a hug. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

The base had a different feel to it this morning. Majority of the men and women were still asleep, not knowing the small group of fighter pilots were getting ready for a mission so soon after getting there. It made Marley feel on edge as she walked to the mess hall to try and eat whatever would stay down. Their base prior had a few different squadrons housed there, making go days loud and energetic from the moment feet hit the ground.

But with only ten of them here, the base stayed in a state of slumber while the group made peace with whatever God they prayed to.

Marley walked into the mess hall to find a handful of kitchen staff working and most of the pilots sitting at two tables next to each other while the rest stayed empty. Grabbing a plate of food, she sat next to Sparky, thanking him for the wakeup call. “Not a problem. Have any idea where we are flying today?”

She shook her head, “No idea. Can’t be too big if the 100th aren’t headed out.” While the P-51’s mainly provided air support for the bombers, they quickly realized that when the 100th wasn’t called out, the mission was typically a shorter one. Or at least they hoped.

The morning went by faster than any of them would’ve wished for and before too long, the planes were being fueled and preflight checks were under way. The sun had started peaking over the horizon, signaling the day was taking charge and soon the base would be buzzing with life.

Sparky walked up to her plane and watched as she finished her checks. “Are we just going to ignore the fact that your brother has no idea you’re flying today?”

Marley hummed in response as she ran her hand across one of the wings. “If I had told him, I would be getting a lecture right about now and another one when we get back. By not telling him, I have now reduced the amount of nagging to one sitting. Call it time management.”

Her friend shook his head but didn’t argue. He learned that when she had her mind set on something, there was nothing anyone could do to change it. “Be safe out there. I know it’s a short flight to France today, but you know things always seem to go bad on the easy ones.”

She gave him a small smile and told him to do the same. He gave her a small boost into her plane and tapped the side of it as he walked back up to his. The small group of ten was ready to take off all before anyone had left their bunks.

John Egan took pride in knowing what was going on at the base. His job title made sure of it. So, when he heard the sound of planes starting up at the ass crack of dawn, he sprinted out of bed. Standing outside in only his boxers, he watched as all ten P-51’s took off without hesitation. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be shocked, scared, or angry at the fact that his little sister just flew off on a mission without so much as batting an eye in his direction.

The door opened behind him, and Buck stepped out with at least more clothes on than his friend, extra jacket in his hands. “Might want to get dressed before the guys see you. You’ll never hear the end of it.”

Bucky took the jacket, not taking his eyes off the dots in the sky. “She didn’t tell me.” His words were quiet, but Buck heard them clearly. He had a feeling the younger Egan didn’t wake them up so they wouldn’t worry as much. But she didn’t realize how much that would piss off her brother.

He took a small step back when he saw Bucky shake his head. “If she makes it back in one piece, I’m going to make sure she’ll never fly again.”

“When. When she makes it back.” Buck tried to keep things positive, but he knew it was a lost cause in this moment. Because right now, it wasn’t Major Egan standing outside watching the planes get smaller. It was big brother Egan who didn’t get to say goodbye to his baby sister.

Bucky was on edge for the next few hours. Some of the guys tried to lighten the mood but nearly had their head chewed off by the Major. Soon, everyone but Buck had left him alone.

The two of them were sitting in the jeep, eyes in the direction the P-51’s left in. Neither of them had said a word for the past half hour, making Buck antsy. John Egan always had something to say no matter the situation. Most of the time you couldn’t get him to shut up long enough to get a word in. It was one of the reasons why the two of them worked well together. Buck was never one for the spotlight.

But with brunette silent, Buck felt like he needed to say something. “She’s going to be fine.”

Bucky shook his head, “First she didn’t tell me she followed me into this damn war and now she’s runnin’ off on missions without so much as a wave. I deserve better than that.”

He agreed with his friend, not liking the way things happened this morning. They all knew what could happen out there and robbing your family of one last goodbye is something that will haunt a man.

Conversation stopped as they both saw the first plane come into sight. Bucky got out of the jeep and counted each plane as he was able to see them, praying one of them held his sister.

His jaw clenched as he counted and counted again. “Am I blind or is that only seven planes?” Buck wished he could’ve corrected him, but he too counted three less than what should’ve been.

Each plane landed without issue and they both had to wait until the fighter pilots jumped down. The grounds crew rushed out to assess the damages, already trying to work on what needed to be fixed.

After what felt like ages, Bucky’s shoulders dropped with relief as he saw the familiar braid jump down from her plane. “Go easy on her.” Buck’s voice drew his attention.

“Like hell I am. She deserves everything I’m going to give her.” Bucky went to walk towards her when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned and saw his friend giving him a somber look. “Only seven planes came back.”

And it was like cold water had been thrown on him. Bucky was so wrapped up in his sister making it back, that he didn’t think of the pilots who didn��t. Three teammates were lost, and he didn’t know how close they might have been or if she saw it happen. While no one wanted to become a prisoner of war, it was still a chance of possibly surviving.

Now, instead of walking over there to chew her ass out, he needed to make sure his sister was okay.

As he got near her, he could see a faraway look in her eyes. It was like she was physically there, but her mind had escaped to some place dark. He took that moment to look her over, making sure there were no injuries. A quick glance at her plane showed bullet holes riddled throughout the structure.

Each piece of information he was learning had the grip on his heart tightening. Never would he have wished this life for his sister, but he knew he needed to learn to cope with it for both of their sakes.

“Come here, Mar.” His voice seemed to snap her back to reality, shocking her with how close he had gotten without her noticing.

Marley shook her head, tears already pooling in her eyes. “If I do that, I’m going to have a breakdown on this runway, and I really don’t want to ruin my mascara. I didn’t splurge and get the waterproof one.”

Bucky gave her a slight smirk, “When have you ever known me to listen?” He didn’t give her a chance to back away as he tightly embraced her.  

And there the two Egan siblings stood. One, feeling like the world was crumbling around her. And the other, holding his entire world in his arms.

[george-the-good]

KING GEORGE VI visits the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) in France, December 1939 // British Pathé

[ww1-uniforms-tournament]

United Kingdom on the left, France on the right.

A potentially controversial bracket, the British face off against the French!

This Tommy of the British Expeditionary Force is the dream of propagandists, smiling and confident on his way to France, the perfect imagery of the English during the First World War. He wears the classic M1908 webbing and carries a SMLE Mk III rifle on his shoulder.

The fixed picture of the French army is a later one, the Poilu of the battle of Verdun. Conscripted rather than a volunteer like the BEF soldier, he sports the same pipe but a more serious face, along with his cumbersome 'as de carreau' backpack. He wears the iconic Poiret greatcoat (designed by the famous haute couture tailor Paul Poiret) and carries a M1886 Lebel rifle.

[psalm22-6]

Dolce far niente: the hypocrisy of the critics of Les Misérables, according to Nelly Lieutier

First, who was Nelly Lieutier (1829-1900)? She was a novelist, poet, author of children's books, and journalist whose articles were published in many of the popular papers of her time. Today there is even a square named for her in her hometown, in the region of la Charente-Inférieure. And she is one of the few women whose review of Les Misérables was published.

As she put it though, it wasn't so much a review of that book as it was a response to the many negative and disingenuous reviews of it which had been published the last three months. In L'Indépendant de la Charente-Inférieure, on 7 June 1862, she wrote:

I don’t want to undertake an analysis of Victor Hugo’s capital work; even less do I want to pass judgment on it. I just want to express my feeling of indignation over certain assessments, which I will not call false (for those who write them are following their consciences), but which all borrow from the bliss of dolce far niente [the sweetness of doing nothing]. There are people who have, if I may express myself thus, the good faith of bad faith; they speak what they feel; but they do not seek to know if what they feel is justified; this satisfies them and reaffirms the happy reality in which they believe they live. And beyond that?...what does it matter to them! That is how I classify all the detractors who are indignant over the great characters in Les Misérables! 

For context, many of the early reviews of Les Misérables were decidedly negative, with many dismissing the idea of a reformed convict and a humble bishop out of hand. Lieutier places herself in opposition to the Catholic, legitimist, and Bonapartist papers (which is to say, almost everyone) and identifies the limits of their worldviews. One of the main criticisms levied at Hugo was that he had greatly diminished himself by abandoning his old beliefs in Catholicism and the monarchy. It was said that Hugo’s greatest achievements were behind him; that Les Misérables was being praised due to Hugo’s mythical status, not because it was in itself worthy of praise or likely to have enduring popularity. Lieutier refutes this:

It is true, as one of his adversaries stated that “for those of our times with lively imaginations, Victor Hugo is today to liberalism in France what, for a long time, Béranger was.” It seems, they say, that Victor Hugo is already a shadow of himself, who lives as though he were witnessing his apotheosis from beyond the grave. But despite these men who want to lower to their own level the glories of the present which they do not understand, and who blindly trample on the glories of the past, Béranger and the bard of  Les Misérables will remain great men for all time because they have produced invigorating ideas which engender moral improvement. Who then can kill their ideas?

Lieutier addresses critics who thought that Les Misérables was a dangerous book, especially in the hands of the poor. Cuvillier-Fleury was the most prominent journalist to express this idea but Lieutier actually directly references Benoît Jouvin (“Monsieur J.”) of Le Figaro:

What does it matter to you, Monsieur J., that the novel is “the master key to philosophy and that this master key, in certain hands, may become a lock pick?” Has not the sun which warms and invigorates us also served to kill the imprudent and ignorant? And yet the heat of the sun is a gift from God. 

One reason Les Misérables was thought to be dangerous was that Jean Valjean, a criminal, is its hero. Critics wrote that Hugo's book absolved individual responsibility and blamed society for all social ills. Lieutier's review highlights that Hugo does, in fact, examine both the responsibilities of the individual and of society.

People must be pure in order to free their sacred souls (that gift sent from heaven) from their abject bodies, bodies which Victor Hugo knew how to fashion into characters; and I bow before and respect people who know how to see and to become. Who would dare to hold the human creature responsible for his work when he is traversing the vile environment into which vice and misery threw him? You would have to think yourself stronger than God himself, for Jesus Christ did not throw stones at the guilty woman. Two great characters, in particular, stand out in this philosophical work called Les Miserables: Monseigneur Bienvenu Myriel, a bishop, which is to say a high-ranking man who is afforded consideration and respect by everyone, and Jean Valjean, the galérien, which is to say the abject being, the garbage, the dregs of that anthill we call society.

Besides Jean Valjean, there was another unconventional character who received a lot of criticism and not much praise…Lieutier is one of the few writers I have found who appreciates this important part of Les Mis:

A third figure also stands out, but as he is only a frontispiece on the monument, and as he does not rein over the work, we will only point to him in passing. This figure, who no one can glimpse without forming a strong impression, is the conventionnel G. Doesn’t it seem to you that his presence made Monseigneur Bienvenu a bit smaller when he was so grand before? What a Socrates is this man, whose contemporaries made him drink that moral hemlock so well known in our days by those who refuse to bow their heads to prejudice! Yes, certainly, there are great men and they are those who God has endowed with a fragment of the sacred fire that illuminates truth we cannot discern, and the conventionnel G was one of those men. Also, what a sublime chapter that fire inspired in Victor Hugo! His voice was as solemn as God’s when he spoke to Moses in the middle of the tempest. Who among us can see truth, if not the man who is about to die and who, still clinging to life through his relationship to man, already belongs to another world which already illuminates him with its light? Monseigneur Bienvenu Myriel was great because of his goodness, his selflessness, and his devotedness; he becomes sublime because of his humility before that man who was disdained, scorned, and jeered! This is one of the greatest titles which we can admire.

Next Lieutier praises Myriel’s treatment of Valjean. Although many reviews did praise Myriel as an unironic example of Christian charity (and as proof of the goodness of Christianity) Lieutier doesn’t forget that society by and large is at fault for rejecting Valjean, emphasizing that Myriel is the exception and that furthermore, Valjean’s struggle is on going, even after the transformative meeting with Myriel.

What a lesson is imparted by the galérien Jean Valjean! That man without initiative, without personality, neither good nor bad, who becomes a criminal, who becomes repugnant under the pressure of a society that rejects him instead of helping him, which makes him into a wild animal everyone guards themselves against, instead of taming through good treatment: Bienvenu Myriel, you alone understood the task of moral improvement expected of us all! It took superhuman goodness to withdraw that brute from his state of degradation, it took light from heaven to remake a pearl from that muck; and you were that goodness, you were that light come from on high! And what a brilliant pearl is the virtue of Jean Valjean, who becomes M. Madeleine, a pearl which I am afraid will return to the mud if the branch which bears it is shaken by an evil hand….

She further disputes the idea that Valjean’s story ends with his transformation into Mayor Madelaine and that he should have stayed Madelaine, rather than save Champmatieu:

Who was it that said that in order to obtain a fortune, honors, and consideration this man had only to change his name? Did he not have struggles, conflicts, and the terrible temptations of a return to the past for this man who had been at the bottom of society and who wants to return to the surface? How could it be that God, who must be a good judge, promised a thousand times more joy to the man who has fallen and repents than to he who has never strayed from the right path?....O Jean Valjean, you never existed, you are but the personification of the most sublime human virtue; otherwise we would prostrate ourselves before you when, though you were great before men, you voluntarily stripped yourself of your prestige, of your belongings, of all the happiness of the earth, in order to become great only before God!... I will stop and catch my breath; for it was under the influence of a feeling of indignation that I have written these few lines. I have already said that I do not pretend to make an analysis or pass judgment: I only wanted to respond to the needs of my heart.

Go off Nelly! Hope you enjoyed reading.

[intheshadowofwar]

3 July 2023

Oh It’s A Lovely War

Amiens 3 July 2023

By the end of 1917, time was running out for Germany. Russia may have sued for peace, but the United States had entered the war, and Generals Hindenburg and Ludendorff, now effectively dictators of Germany, knew that numbers would soon inexorably favour the Allies on the Western Front. Ludendorff needed one last masterstroke - a decisive battle to destroy the French and British before the Americans could arrive.

The great offensive - Operation Michael - was aimed at Gough’s Fifth Army, still exhausted from the hell of Passchendaele. On the 21st of March 1918, after a sudden and violent artillery and gas attack, German stormtroopers smashed into the Fifth Army, and although their losses were massive, they attacked with such force that Fifth Army gave way. For a moment, as Haig scrambled to plug the gaps in his line and Fifth Army’s command and control disintergrated, it looked Germany might actually win the war.

It is here, in the popular narrative, that Australia stops them at Villers-Bretonnaux. In reality, there were two battles here that sometimes get conflated into one. At First Villers-Bretonnaux, British and Australian troops managed to halt the German offensive just short of the town. This wasn’t the only place where the BEF had managed to blunt Micheal - Arras held, and while the Germans had taken Albert, they had advanced little further. It was however the final nail in the coffin for any German effort to take the vital railway hub at Amiens. The Germans made a second attempt on the 24th of April and briefly captured the town, but were repulsed by a counterattack the following day. The popular idea here is Chunuk Bair in reverse - the British ‘lost’ the town and the Australians ‘retook’ it. In fact it wasn’t so simple - two Australian and one British brigade took part in the counterattack, alongside French Moroccan troops to the south.

It was a significant victory, but it didn’t stop the Germans completely. Ludendorff launched more offensives throughout the spring (including towards Hazebrouck, which was defended by First Australian Division and several British divisions.) Against all of them, the Allies held, although the fighting was hard and the cost was appalling. The cracks in the German strategy began to show - more and more American troops were being moved in front of them, and more and more of their best men were being killed. The end of the Spring Offensives came at the Second Battle of the Marne, in which chiefly French but also British, Italian and (for the first time in significant numbers) American troops decisively stopped Ludendorff’s last throw of the dice. No one country can claim credit for this - stopping the Spring Offensives required the full effort of every major participant in the Allied order of battle. It was a team effort.

Some people don’t seem to understand that, and sadly they’re often the people in charge of commemorating the war. Which brings us back to Villers-Bretonnuex.

Our first stop today was Adelaide Cemetery, just outside the town. If the name seems familiar, it’s because I’ve mentioned it before, although it seems like years ago now; this was where the Unknown Soldier was exhumed. Today, his former spot is marked with a special inscription, but otherwise the plot has the same shape of tombstone as everybody else. One might lament that he’s been removed from a peaceful plot in France to the hustle and bustle of Canberra - if, of course, they didn’t know that Adelaide Cemetery is sandwiched between a major road and a railway line, so he probably would find the AWM more peaceful.

We went from there to the Australian Memorial outside Villers-Bretonneux. John Monash Centre aside - and I swear, we’ll get to that soon - this is beautiful site, nestled amongst rolling hills and endless fields of wheat. To get to the main monument, you pass between two cemetery plots, as if the graves are lined up on parade - these are largely Australians, but there’s also a lot of Canadian and British soldiers who lost their lives in the battles around Amiens in mid-1918. You pass through two flag poles - French and Australian - and reach the main facade, in which the names of Australia’s missing in this sector of the front are carved. In the middle is a tower - it still bears the scars of the war that followed the war to end all wars.

Visitors can climb the tower, where they can get a commanding view of the countryside. You can see the town itself, and the distant shapes of other strategic features - for example Le Hamel, which we’ll talk about at the end of this log entry. Even if you’re not interested in military minutia, the view is amazing.

It was as we left the tower that one of the most curious and strangely moving episodes of this tour occurred. As I walked down the front steps, I saw a man with a bugle in British service dress - the uniform of the British Tommy - and an officer trudging up to our position. Somehow, in the middle of France, I had encountered some reenactors. It turned out there were seven of them - three men in Welsh Guards uniforms, a Highlander, a nurse, and two members of the Royal British Legion. They’d been deputised by an Australian family to pay tribute to one of their members lost in France during the war.

Suddenly, we were conscripted into this odd little ceremony. We gathered around - the bugler sounded the Last Post, there was a minute’s silence, and then two of us left a wreath in the tower as the Highlander played his bagpipes. It ought to have been very silly, this memorial service with these men in old uniforms, recorded on an iPhone for a faraway family. And yet I teared up. I don’t know why this got me, but I think part of it is the spontaneous nature of the event. These guys were from Wales and England. They had no obligation to pay one of our men this heed - and yet they did, and they went to such effort to do it. We even sang the national anthem together - I can’t remember the last time I actually sang it.

We interrogate forms of remembrance a lot on this course - it’s kind of the point - and we did have a little discussion of this a bit later. Sometimes I feel we as historians can be a little too cynical about this sort of thing. I don’t know if crossgeneration or surrogate grief is something that can be quanitified, but it was real for them, and I think that’s what really mattered.

And then we went into the Sir John Monash Centre. And oooooooh boy.

Remember how I said the museum at Peronne didn’t meet my expectations? Well, this exceeded my expectations, and it did so triumphantly. I expected that this would be bad, but what I got was a nearly heroic example of utter shitness. It crosses the line into utter inappropriateness, speeds right across the world like the Flash, and crosses the line a second time. I’m almost impressed.

First of all, everything - everything - is digitally integrated. You actually have to install an app onto your phone andhave headphones plugged in (or rent them for three euros) to understand anything that goes on here. You then walk up to screens - it’s almost entirely screens, like a sale at Harvey Norman - and press the number of the screen - except if its already playing, the recording just picks up where it already was, which is often halfway through the video. If the screen is out of order, well, no content for you. The inevitable question, of course, is how would you interact with this if you were blind, or deaf? I guess being deaf is just un-Australian.

And the content? I will be fair here and say nothing is technically incorrect, or at least nothing I was actually able to view and hear. My problem is more about what the museum doesn’t say. Monash’s somewhat indifferent career commanding 4th Brigade is neatly glossed over. So too is the Hindenburg Line battle of 29 September, and don’t worry, we’ll get to that. Every other combatant in the war is a footnote, which gives the impression that Monash and the Australians are personally winning every major battle of 1918. Then there’s the language - Australian units withdraw, while British units are shattered. All this is underlined with dodgy, overacted dramatisations and a tactical war that uses 3D models to showcase the battles of Fromelles, Polygon Wood, Amiens and St. Quentin - all rather badly posed, and all looking like they came out of a pre-alpha version of Battlefield 1.

Then there’s the experience. The experience is what this whole thing is built around - the brilliant idea to have a light and sound show right beneath the graves of the dead, giving the visitor a feel - as if that’s possible - of what the Villers-Bretonneux and Hamel battles were like. I actually managed to get a session where I was the only oneside when it started (the door shuts while it’s playing.) I am truly thankful I was. When the government commissioned historians to plan this, they outright said that they wanted visitors to feel ‘pride with a touch of sadness.’ It would probably be difficult for audiences to feel such emotions if they were sharing a room with a university student pissing himself laughing.

Yes, this is conceptually appalling to me - but it’s also so silly that I couldn’t help but laugh, and laugh hysterically at some points. After opening with British troops fleeing Operation Micheal, literally screaming and crying - I’m surprised the director showed enough restraint to stop himself from staining all their trousers with wet patches - a sinister German voice who’s probably meant to be Hindenburg but sounds more like Major Toht from Indiana Jones declares his intention to destroy the British. The viewer is ‘gassed,’ which feels more like sitting in a smoking room at Hong Kong Airport. Then come the brave, steely-faced Australians, counter-attacking alone into Villers-Bretonneux. They get into the Beastly Hun with their bayonets. Some die and it is Sad. One kicks in a door and hip-fires his Lewis Gun into three Germans Rambo-style whilst going “AAAAAAAAAAA” - and then I don’t know what happened for the next ten seconds because that scene was so ridiculous I started cry-laughing.

Then we move onto Hamel, and here comes the great hero, Monash. He points at maps. He walks next to tanks. He stares heroically into the distance. There are no other generals, or even other officers - there is only Monash. (I could almost feel the ghost of Pompey Elliot swearing up a storm next to me.) Monash unleashes his vague powers of tactics upon the Beastly Hun, and the Australians go in. The Germans all have gas masks and therefore have no faces, making it okay to kill them. The sound of artillery forms the drum beat of a Hans Zimmer style musical track as the battle goes on. There’s tanks. There’s explosions. There’s strobe lights. There’s another bloke hipfiring a Lewis Gun and going “AAAAAAAAA.” There are no Americans. Americans don’t exist. And then, because the director suddenly realised that this is meant to be a site of commemorative diplomacy, a brave Australian soldier waves a French flag. Monash has won the war.

If I tried to come up with a satirical depiction of Australian history, I honestly couldn’t beat this. It is sublime in its idiocy. I want this on DVD. I want to show all my family and friends. This might be the best First World War comedy since Blackadder.

Don’t get me wrong, I think this is very offensive and it shouldn’t be anywhere near a cemetery, let alone under it. But at some point, you just have to laugh.

Now there’s one big problem with the Centre, apart from everything else, and that’s the name. John Monash fought a lot of key battles in the Australian Corps’ history. Villers-Bretonneux was not one of them. I do wonder if there was another option here, to focus not on Monash but on Harold ‘Pompey’ Elliot, a superb brigadier who was haunted by his experiences of the war, and whose life was tragically cut short by the consequences of PTSD. At very least, he was actually there and played an important part in the battle.

The Sir John Monash Centre is not the best museum in France - in fact, it’s not even the best Australian war museum in Villers-Bretonneux. That laurel belongs to the French-Australian Museum in the town itself, which we visited afterwards. This is in the top story of the local school, which was rebuilt after the war with subscription money raised by Victorian schoolchildren. To this day, there’s a sign above their courtyard - ‘DO NOT FORGET AUSTRALIA.’ The museum is very small and very intimate, although perhaps a little scattered - it’s clearly a labour of love, a collection of a few treasured relics, models and artworks that connect this small French town with a country on the far side of the world. The assembly hall, which the staff kindly let us go into, is decorated by wooden carvings of Australian animals made by a disabled Australian veteran after the war. This probably cost a fraction of the Sir John Monash Centre, and is probably maintained by two staffmembers and a goat, but it is worth infinitely more than that supposedly ‘world-class’ installation.

Sadly, this museum doesn’t get many visitors anymore - all the tour groups want to go to the glitzy new thing down the road. So here’s my advice - go to the Australian Memorial by all means, but skip the Centre, unless you want a quick laugh. Come here instead. You won’t regret it.

The main teaching for today ended at Heath Cemetery, where we discussed some Aboriginal soldiers’ graves that we’d actually found out about at the aforementioned museum. It’s hard to find Indigenous soldiers - as Aboriginal people were banned from the armed forces, those that passed as white were hardly going to write what they were on their enlistment forms. It’s led to a significant part of the AIF’s history being obscured - but today, it’s being reclaimed as families find their veteran ancestors, dead or alive. In fact, one of the few things I liked about the Centre was an art installation of two emus made from (imitation) barbed wire - a symbol of these men who died so far from Country under an unfamiliar sky, with no Southern Cross to guide them home.

We headed back to Amiens, and most of the group alighted here, but a few of us - the cool members of the group - went back out to the memorial at Le Hamel. This is a curious memorial, but I don’t hate it - it’s basically a big slab in the middle of a wheatfield with the Australian, American, British, French and Canadian flags flying above it. (This is where the Red Baron was shot down, and as the Canadians still think they got him, they get to have a flag.) Plaques on the path to the memorial describe the course of the battle fairly well (although I feel they do a bit of an injustice to the Tank Corps, which are never mentioned by name.) Once there, you have a pretty good picture of the fields leading to Le Hamel, the town that Monash famously captured in ninety-three minutes on the 4th of July 1918.

Hamel was a great achievement, but it needs to be put into context - this was a local action in preparation for the real offensive at Amiens in August. Here Monash also performed very well, but so too did Currie and the Canadian Corps, and Sir Henry Rawlinson in overall command. (The British III Corps advance was less impressive, but still outstanding by Western Front standards.) Between Hamel, Amiens and Mont St. Quentin, Monash more than earned his reputation as an outstanding commander. But he wasn’t infallible, and now I can finally talk about 29th September 1918 and the St. Quentin Canal.

Monash and the Australian Corps were meant to be the main force here. IX Corps (remember them from Suvla?) were to swing south in a secondary role, while III Corps, whose commander had just been sacked, was mostly left out. By this time, Australian Prime Minister Billy Hughes was insistent that the Australian divisions be taken out of the line for a rest, and this had already happened with the 1st and 4th Divisions. Monash and Rawlinson had managed to hold onto the 2nd, 3rd and 5th Divisions for this final action against the Hindenburg Line, but had had to replace the other two with the 27th and 30th US Divisions. These troops were nowhere near as experienced as the men they’d replaced, but Monash’s plan doesn’t seem to have accounted for that, and he used a strategy he’d used to great effect at Amiens - send two divisions in first, then leapfrog them with fresh divisions once the first wave had taken their objectives.

The Americans performed about as well as could be expected, and their bravery was in no doubt, but they didn’t know how to properly clear out the German trenches that they were advancing over. Inevitably, when the Australians came in, they ran into German strongpoints that had been temporarily suppressed, but not destroyed. This resulted in heavy casualties and bogged down the advance. A frustrated Monash took days to pound through, and with the benefit of hindsight, he really should have altered his plan to account for the greener troops - instead, he and Rawlinson, somewhat unfairly, blamed them.

All this was probably academic, because while the Australian Corps was pounding along, the Hindenburg Line had already been broken. Remember how I said that I didn’t think Mont St. Quentin was the greatest military achievement of the war? I define military achivement differently to Rawlinson. Taking a position against all odds is definitely impressive, but carrying out an operation so effectively that your troops don’t really need heroic daring do is quite another, and this was what happened on the IX Corps front in the south. The 46th Division at Bellenglise - as standard and normal a division as any - had swept across the St. Quentin Canal in perfect concert with their artillery, capturing an intact bridge and the village. For the loss of 800 casualties they captured over 4000 men, and tore a gaping hole in the Hindenburg Line that the following 32nd Division was able to exploit. This, in my opinion, was the outstanding military feat of the First World War - because so much was gained for such (by Western Front standards) a cheap cost. Rawlinson rightly shifted the main axis of his advance south to support it, and after a few more days of hard fighting, the Australian Corps was finally taken off the line for a well deserved rest. The war would end before it could return.

Well, that was a digression and a half. Tomorrow we leave Amiens, heading down into the Somme for the last big day of battlefield touring, and then onwards to the City of Lights itself.

Oh, one last story before I forget - our professor dug this up while looking through Monash’s correspondence for a history of Melbourne’s Shrine of Remembrance. Towards the end of Monash’s life, he began to think of what he ought to leave for Australia. As a war hero, he thought, he needed to leave them an example to look up to. As he was making arrangements for his legacy, he noted particular papers that he needed dealt with properly, as a matter of national importance.

So, shortly after he died, someone gathered these papers - I think his executor. As John Monash was buried in his modest grave, marked only with his name and eschewing his many honours, this person took them somewhere safe - perhaps an incinerator, or a bonfire in the bush. I can imagine this person, a tear in his eyes, a bugler playing the last post, as he was forced to consign a major piece of Australian history to the flame.

But duty called, and this man would obey. And therefore, with a heavy heart, he destroyed General Sir John Monash’s enormous collection of pornography.

[magnaiptv]

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[pedroam-bang]

Dunkirk (2017)

“We shall never surrender.”

[ronmanmob]

💬

Unsent Texts Meme

[Bef]: Luv could u go see Frances l8r? [Bef]: Clocked a bruise on her cheekbone 2day [Bef]: Wouldn't look us in the face

[buttercupkg66]

France’s rail network paralyzed by ‘coordinated’ arson attacks hours bef...

[whencyclopedia]

Dunkirk Evacuation

The Dunkirk Evacuation of 26 May to 4 June 1940, known as Operation Dynamo, was the attempt to save the British Expeditionary Force in France from total defeat by an advancing German army. Nearly 1,000 naval and civilian craft of all kinds, aided by calm weather and RAF air support, managed to evacuate around 340,000 British, French, and Allied soldiers.

The evacuation led to soured Franco-Anglo relations as the French considered Dunkirk a betrayal, but the alternative was very likely the capture of the entire British Expeditionary Force on the Continent. France surrendered shortly after Dunkirk, but the withdrawal allowed Britain and its empire to harbour its resources and fight on alone in what would become an ever-expanding theatre of war.

Germany's Blitzkrieg

At the outbreak of the Second World War when Germany invaded Poland on 1 September 1939, France was relying almost entirely on a single defensive line to protect itself against invasion. These defences were the Maginot Line, a series of mightily impressive concrete structures, bunkers, and underground tunnels which ran along France's eastern frontiers. Manned by 400,000 soldiers, the defence system was named after the French minister of war André Maginot. The French imagined a German attack was most likely to come in two places: the Metz and Lauter regions. As it turned out, Germany attacked France through the Ardennes and Sedan on the Belgian border, circumventing most of the Maginot Line and overrunning the inadequate French defences around the River Meuse, inadequate because the French had considered the terrain in this forested area unsuitable for tanks. Later in the campaign, the Maginot Line was breached near Colmar and Saabrücken.

To bolster the defences of France, Britain had sent across the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) under the command of General John Vereker (better known by his later title Lord Gort, 1886-1946). Around 150,000 men, mostly infantry, had arrived in September 1939 to strengthen the Franco-Belgian border. The BEF included the British Advanced Air Striking Force of 12 RAF squadrons. The aircraft were mostly Hawker Hurricane fighters and a few light bombers, all given much to the regret of RAF commanders who would have preferred to have kept these planes for home defence. The superior Supermarine Spitfire fighters were kept safely in Britain until the very last stages of the battle in France. The BEF had no armoured divisions and so was very much a defensive force, rather than an offensive one. More infantry divisions arrived up to April 1940, so the BEF grew to almost 400,000 men, but 150,000 of these had little or no military training. As General Bernard Montgomery (1887-1976) noted, the BEF was "totally unfit to fight a first class war on the Continent" (Dear, 130). In this respect, both Britain and France were very much stuck in the defensive-thinking mode that had won them the First World War (1914-18). Their enemy was exactly the opposite and had planned meticulously for what it called Fall Gelb (Operation Yellow), the German offensive in the west.

Totally unprepared for a war of movement, the defensive-thinking French were overwhelmed in the middle weeks of May 1940 by the German Blitzkrieg ("lightning war") tactics of fast-moving tanks supported by specialist bombers and smartly followed by the infantry. German forces swept through the three neutral countries of the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Belgium. The 9th Army punched through the Ardennes and raced in a giant curve through northeast France to reach the coast around Boulogne. The BEF and the northern French armies (7th and 1st) were cut off from the rest of the French forces to the south. Germany had achieved what it called the 'Sickle Slice' (Sichelschnitt). By 24 May, the French and British troops were isolated and with their backs to the English Channel, occupying territory from Dunkirk to Lille. Although there were sporadic counterpunches by the defenders, Gort had already concluded that the French army had collapsed as an operational force. Gort considered an attack on the Germans to the south, which he was ordered to make, would have achieved very little except the annihilation of his army. The BEF must be saved, and so he withdrew to the north.

Continue reading...

[barbucomedie]

Stretcher Bearer Uniform of the Border Regiment from the British Empire dated to 1940 on display at the Cumbria Museum of Military Life in Carlisle, England

The Border Regiment was part of the Britsih Expeditionary Force (BEF) from 1939 - 1940 that was part of the battle for France to halt the fascists invasion and then later the evacuation at Dunkirk. The evacuation, or Operation Dynamo as it was called, was done amid chaotic conditions and initially due to wartime censorship it was not known about in Britain. When it did come to the public attention support was raised from the merhcant navy and other vessels helping the evacuation. Support was also raised in synagogues, churches and other places of worship in Britain.

Photographs taken by myself 2023

[intheshadowofwar]

30 June 2023

This Earth

Lille 30 June 2023

In July 1916, as the meatgrinder of the Somme wound on, the British high command looked for methods to divert German troops from that sector of the front. At this stage, the area near Armentières was already soaked in the blood of the BEF - the catastrophic attack at Aubers Ridge on the 9th of May 1915 comes to mind. Now there would be a new attack by Richard Haking’s IX Corps, pushing against the German positions at the town of Fromelles. Two divisions would be involved; the British 61st Division and the newly arrived Australian 5th Division.

Haking’s planning was rushed, and intelligence was poor. Generally, one wants to attack when one outnumbers the enemy by about three to one - at Fromelles, the Australians and British attacked an enemy that outnumbered them two to one. The ground had not been reconnitorered, and the attack required men to advance on a narrow front into German pillboxes and breastworks that covered just about every inch of the flat ground of advance.

The result was an unmitigated military disaster and the elimination of the 5th Division as an effective military unit for a very long time afterwards. The AIF suffered over five thousand casualties and two thousand dead - it remains the bloodiest day in Australian military history.

We departed Ypres early this morning and crossed the border into France, arriving at Le Trou Aid Post near Aubers Ridge around 9am. Most of the graves here are British troops killed either in late 1914 or in the disaster of 9th May 1915, but there are scattered names from later battles, including Australians killed at Fromelles. There is one French soldier mixed in with the British, easily identifiable by the French cross headstone, and in the corner what we believed was an unnamed French civilian. Like Essex Farm, Le Trou was an obvious place for a cemetery, being the place where the wounded were carried to be processed or - more often than not - to die.

A little way down the road from Le Trou was VC Corner. This is one of two wholly Australian cemeteries on the Western Front - the other is somewhere in Flanders - and one of the most stark and brutal of the CWGC’s sites. When the dead were exhumed after the war, not a single man could be identified - their bones had become entangled together, with only the shrapnel of their uniforms to tell that they were Australians. It was decided that it would be too much to have a cemetery filled entirely with headstones reading ‘Known Unto God’ - it would be an obscenity - so the men were reburied in two mass graves, covered by flat stone crosses and squares of roses. The names of the missing of Fromelles were engraved at the back of the cemetery, behind the Cross of Sacrifice. There are 410 men here, of 1299 missing altogether.

It was here that I finally got that opportunity to read Wilfred Owen’s Anthem for Doomed Youth that I’d been angling for. I think my professor was a little hesitant to let me, but afterwards he agreed that this was the best place to read it.

Between VC Corner and the modern Digger Memorial is what was No Man’s Land, and few poorer places for a general advance I have ever seen. It is a perfect killing ground - especially in 1916, when the concept of the creeping barrage and combined arms were in their infancy. Many of the bunkers are still there, albeit mostly decrepit - some enterprising farmers preserved trenches and fortifications after the war, knowing they could make a quick franc off of British tourists in the area. The Digger Memorial is a recent installation, erected during the centenary - it depicts an Australian soldier carrying a wounded comrade, and it faces back towards Australian lines. It’s a poignant piece, but it’s a bit of an example of selective memory. In some parts of the line, the Germans allowed this, but in others they used wounded men as bait to draw others into their fire. It all depended on who was in charge and the character of the unit, and I’d be dishonest if I said the Allies never did it too, but the memorial is a conscious choice to focus on remembering compassion rather than killing. This is a good thing, but it’s always good to have a pesky historian around to remind you that war is fundamentally a violent affair.

We proceeded from there into Fromelles itself, although we went to the museum just outside the town rather than the town itself (not that Fromelles is particularly large.) The museum is recent, for a reason we’re about to get into, and it’s a fairly small and simple affair. It resembles a lot of French museums I’ve seen - the French love their mannequins, even if some look a little disconcerting. It’s a good primer to the battle, so if you’ve never visited the site I’d recommend it. It ends with the story of the recovery of the dead - not in the early 1920s, but in the early 21st century.

I have met Lambis Englezos, and I want you to understand that I mean this in the most affectionate way possible. Like most people who make history, he’s absolutely insane. In the 2000s, Lambis carried out extensive research and posited that a mass grave existed at Pheasant Wood near Fromelles. He worked this out through a number of primary sources - perhaps most notably, looking at the old German light railway lines behind their front, and aerial photographs from the summer of 1916. His ideas weren’t taken entirely seriously by historians, and there was a hesitancy to dig. It’s hard to blame them - here was this oddball, who didn’t even have a degree never mind a doctorate, proposing to dig up a wood in France to find bodies the Australian government had given up on in 1924. Lambis persisted - in 2007, the government commissioned a geological survey that found out that he could well be right, and in 2008 he was allowed to dig. His team found 250 bodies, mostly Australian but a few British, and for the first time in fifty years, the CWGC was tasked with building them a cemetery.

Pheasant Wood Cemetery is the result, and it’s one of the most poignant cemeteries on the Western Front. All other cemeteries record on their epitaphs the words of a lost generation; here, the worlds are ours. There remain the exaltations of sacrifice and giving one’s life for another - and there’s nothing wrong with that, I must add - but among them are reminders of communities, memorials to parents and siblings long past, even nods to how commemoration has evolved since 1918. Wilfred Owen is quoted - even if, thanks to the guidelines of the CWGC, it’s not one of his more condemnatory verses - as is Eric Bogle. Yet for all of this, there’s a sense of disconnection. There’s comfort in calling these deaths sacrifice, in saying they laid their life down for mates or country or king - but from my historian’s perspective, I think this battle was a total waste of human life, not so much a sacrifice but an act of murder by incompetence. Of course, the CWGC would never let you say that on an epitaph, but I think some people found their own ways to get past the censors. One particularly stark one was that of Private J. R. Smith, 31st Battalion. His grave has no cross, just a stark white space between the date of his death and his epitaph.

‘This Earth, his final peace.’

Sometimes the most simple language is the best.

We left Fromelles for Neuve-Chapelle. Neuve-Chapelle was attacked in March 1915 by Canadian, British and Indian troops - it is here that the latter are commemorated. Hindus and Sikhs are cremated after death, and as a result you will not find many in a CWGC cemetery. Instead, their names are listed here - nearly 5000 died on the Western Front. (All in all, at least 74,000 Indians died during ther Great War.) The First World War sits awkwardly in Indian history - the British Indian Army was entirely voluntary, and Indians went to fight because they fought war an honourable, or because they genuinely believed in the cause and were loyal to the Empire, or because it was simply a job and a roof over one’s head. Many supported the war because they believed Indian participation would coax the British into allowing them greater independence, perhaps as a dominion - a lawyer named Mohandas Gandhi being one of them. Instead, they were rewarded with great repression after the war, including the inexcusable and hideous massacre at Amritsar. The combination of the failure of Britain to adequately acknowledge the Indian participation in the war, and the piles and piles of dead bodies at the Jallianwala Bagh (and other places) put paid forever to the idea of peaceful Indian independence within the British Empire. The seeds of the Indian Independence Movement - and Partition - were planted in this war.

Nearby is the memorial and cemetery of the Portuguese Expeditionary Corps, or CEP. The CEP had a bad war - it was absolutely smashed at the Battle of the Lys in April 1918, with a third of its force killed, wounded or (overwhelmingly) taken prisoner by the Germans. This is not to say that the Portuguese were not brave nor good soldiers - the Peninuslar War a hundred years earlier is testiment that they were - but they were not at all prepared for the Western Front, to say nothing of the hurricane bombardments and stormtrooper attacks of the German Spring Offensive. We didn’t go into the cemetery, but it felt remiss not to mention it.

We entered Lille, and that ended the day. I had an early lunch - the first McDonalds I’ve had in what feels like ages, to be completely honest - and settled in to write this. Now, France is currently participating in it’s favourite pasttime, that being rioting, but I feel fairly comfortable and safe where I am, so don’t worry too much about me - and tomorrow we’ll be fairly rural, heading down to the Arras sector of the line.