French Sentry On Duty |
French Burial Party Removing Artillery Casualties |
Daily Life in a French Trench During the Early War |
Now all roads lead to France and heavy is the treadEdward Thomas, Roads
Of the living; but the dead returning lightly dance.
French Sentry On Duty |
French Burial Party Removing Artillery Casualties |
Daily Life in a French Trench During the Early War |
From the Library of Congress
At Belleau Wood by Lucian Jonas (1918) |
General Pershing Returns Home on USS Leviathan, September 1919 |
Night in Souchez (Artois) by Théophile Steinlen (1917) |
Vietnamese Drivers Assigned to Transport American Troops |
Slaughterhouse of High Culture by Jan Sluijters (1916) |
The First Stevedores to France for the Quartermaster Corps Were in an All-Black Unit (1917) |
Looking to America, Unknown (1915) |
Women's March for Peace, NYC, 29 Aug 1914 |
Peace, Nelson Harding (1919) |
Future Wartime Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan in His Prime (1908) |
War Profiteers and Angry Veterans, John C. Coacher (1919) |
Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes Signs the Washington Arms Agreement, February 1922 |
AEF Evacuation Hospital 14, Les Islettes, France |
In October [1918], Surgical Team No. 51 of Base Hospital #30, which was staffed by doctors and nurses from the University of California at San Francisco, received orders to support the offensive into the Argonne Forest. Accompanying Major Thomson were Captain Homer C. Seaver, who had graduated from the University of California Medical School only weeks before deploying to France, along with nurses Adelaide Brown and Kathleen Fores and three corpsmen.
Medical Staff, Base Hospital 30 |
In the history of the base hospital, Major Thomson described the work in the Argonne:
The Germans had been beating a slow [strategic] retreat since June, but now that their homeland was imperiled for the first time of the war, they turned and fought hard.
We were ordered from Toul to the Argonne Forest on October 8 and received transportation by ambulances to Evacuation Hospital No. 14, situated in the Argonne Forest near the village of Les Islettes. This hospital was situated in the heart of the Argonne Forest near the line of American advance and in a country that had been completely destroyed by the Germans in their former campaign.
Red Cross Hut at Evacuation Hospital 14 |
The hospital was entirely under canvas except for a small chateau which housed the nurses and senior officers. This country was very wet; it rained nearly every day and there was mud everywhere. The operating tent was pitched on the ground and for the first few days there was considerable mud on the operating room floor. In order to go from the operating room to the wards, one had to wade through about six or eight inches of mud.
While at Les Islettes, the Team was busy all the time, working on the twelve-hour shift. There never was a time when anyone had a breathing spell as the triage was always filled with patients and there was frequently a line of ambulances waiting in the road. At this hospital, only the seriously wounded were treated and there was a very large number of gas infections. Many times, patients were brought in from two or three days after being wounded and a patient was rarely operated on within 15 hours of being wounded.
Patients Arriving at Base Hospital 30 from Evacuation Hospitals |
At this hospital, we were near the German lines and were treated to the spectacle of anti-aircraft guns shooting at the German planes and could always see the observation balloons over the forest to the north. It was difficult to get supplies in this region and the hospital was rather poorly equipped. On the 25th of October the Team was ordered to return to Base Hospital 30.
Thus, the work of Base Hospital 30 continued throughout the long months from June to November 1918.
Sources: The Record (History of the 30th Base Hospital); Library of Congress; National Library of Medicine; Base Hospital 30, One Hundred Years Later, Aaron J. Jackson, PhD, UCSF Website.
Russian Troops Blockade Ukrainian Soldiers at a Base in Crimea, 10 March 2014 |
Tsar Nicholas II Visits with a Deputation of the Black Hundreds in 1907 |
19th-Century Anti-Semitic Cartoon |
To Purchase This Title Click HERE |
By Jenny MacLeod
Oxford University Press, 2015
Reviewed by Richard Fulton
Published on H-Empire (April 2016)
Gallipoli is one of four volumes in the Oxford University Press Great Battles series, edited by Hew Strahan.
Strahan has asked his authors to describe the subject battle in reasonable detail; contextualize it within the war in which it took place; and then “discuss its legacy, its historical interpretation and reinterpretation, its place in national memory and commemoration, and its manifestations in art and culture” (p. ix). In Gallipoli, Jenny Macleod has succeeded in this complex assignment by assessing the place of the battle not only in Australia and New Zealand’s national cultures but in the cultures of three of the other primary participants as well: Turkey, Britain, and Ireland.
It is in gathering the national stories in one place—particularly the Turkish and Irish studies—that she has made a significant contribution to the already massive amount of work on Gallipoli in this the centenary of the Gallipoli campaign.
Her first four chapters summarize the high points of the several battles on and around the Gallipoli Peninsula: the initial British plan for a naval campaign only, which lurched into a half-baked plan to combine an infantry landing with naval bombardments; the gathering of available infantry—two Anzac (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) divisions, two British army divisions (the 29th and the 42nd), a British naval division, an Indian brigade, and a French division—and the initial landings on 25 April 1915; the inconclusive fighting over the next three months that cost tens of thousands of lives on both sides; the horrible conditions; and the eventual withdrawal on 9 January 1916. The consistently inept planning in London and equally inept command on the ground have been exhaustively studied elsewhere; Macleod provides some of the highlights (or more often lowlights) of the campaign rather than delving into tactical minutiae. She also offers some insights into the tactics of the Turkish defenders and discusses both the Turkish leadership and the quality of the Turkish soldiers.
She concludes her introductory survey with the comment that “the evacuations were the only thoroughly well-planned and successfully executed Allied operations of the entire Gallipoli campaign” (p. 65), and she provides the butcher’s bill for the roughly nine-month campaign: 250,000 Turkish casualties (101,279 killed); 70,000 British; 23,000 French; 25,725 Australians; 7,197 New Zealanders; and 5,478 Indians. And she seems to agree with Robin Prior, Rhys Crawley, Asley Ekins, and others that no matter what might have changed tactically on the British side in the Dardanelles, the excellent quality of the Turkish troops combined with the whole context of the geography of the site plus British incompetence, arrogance, and inability to plan realistically doomed the campaign from the start.
At Anzac Cove |
In the last 70 percent of Gallipoli, Macleod examines how the defeat in the Dardanelles worked its way into the national cultures of Australia, New Zealand, Britain, Ireland, and Turkey. Her main focus is on Australia and New Zealand, where Anzac Day quickly became a day of national celebration. She notes that the first use of the term “Anzac Day” occurred in Australia in October 1915 when the troops were still stalemated in Gallipoli; widespread celebrations broke out all over the country in April 1916, which included a parade of four thousand returned soldiers in Sydney. Over the next several years, this Anzac Day celebration was used as a memorial day to remember Australian dead as a day to celebrate a unique Australian warrior ethos (unstinting bravery, mateship, good humor, etc.), and as an event to raise funds for the Returned Services League (RSL, the major Australian veterans association).
The event quickly became gendered; by the end of the war, “women were expected to be an audience for—not participants in—commemorations,” she says with some asperity (p. 79). In New Zealand, the day initially became purely a solemn day of remembrance for the New Zealand soldiers of the Crown (as opposed to the Australian carnival-like atmosphere and celebration of Aussie manhood and exceptionalism). While the atmosphere of the celebrations lightened up as the century progressed, Anzac Day in New Zealand never really became the central day of national celebration as it did in Australia.
The last 30 years have seen a revised interest in Gallipoli and the Anzacs in both Australia and New Zealand. Macleod attributes the revival in part to the Peter Weir film Gallipoli (1981) (in Australia) and in part to a renewed interest by scholars and historians in the campaign (especially in New Zealand). In both countries, politicians have used the day for national purposes; thus, in Australia speeches emphasizing “valor” and “sacrifice” are used to rally Australians to continue to support Australia’s role in the wider world, and in New Zealand the integration of Maori people and Maori customs in the celebrations are used to focus on the unity of the New Zealand people.
Gallipoli Day was never the same kind of day in the other countries that participated in the campaign on the Allied side. Macleod points out that Britain in general seemed to be content with supporting the Anzacs in their celebrations. Bury and Manchester, home of the Lancashire divisions that composed a significant element of the British contingent, at first commemorated Gallipoli Day a week or more after 25 April; later, in those scattered locations where Gallipoli was memorialized, it was done so fairly consistently as Anzac Day. A sort of romantic version of Gallipoli developed—part of a tradition that included Isandlwana and Maiwand, and a host of heroic last stands across the empire—but the battle became just one of dozens of military metaphors for heroism against all odds, and duty, honor, and manhood.
In Ireland, home of the Tenth (Irish) Division, the battle was celebrated early on, but in fact Ireland was far more caught up in its independence than in looking back, and Gallipoli and all of the Great War became something of an embarrassment for the new Irish Republic. In recent years in both countries, says Macleod, people seem to be content to memorialize Gallipoli as an Anzac celebration when they memorialize it at all.
Australian School Group Visiting Gallipoli (Your Editor Rear in Gray Cap) |
In her summary of the role of Gallipoli in modern Turkish culture, Macleod embeds the battle as part of modern Turkey’s struggle to be born out of the ancient Ottoman Empire. By far the most important foundation myth for Turkey is the War of Independence, but because Gallipoli was the one shining victory among many Ottoman defeats during the Great War, and because Mustafa Kemal (later Atatürk) commanded Ottoman troops at Gallipoli, the battle is still remembered with national pride. During World War II and later, the Turks reached out to the Anzacs in friendship, and a kind of joint celebration of martial pride has developed in recent years. But as Macleod points out, because the battle was fought at a time that ethnic cleansing and the Armenian genocide was taking place, the Great War in general is a period of some ambivalence for Turkish historians, and official celebrations on Gallipoli have often carried the freight of some difficult political messages.
Macleod’s Gallipoli is a valuable contribution to the sea of Gallipoli scholarship available. Her focus on the meaning of the campaign to the cultures of several of the participant nations is a much-needed scholarly approach to what is often an emotional discussion (especially as it concerns the militaristic, gendered, racialized Australian creation myth). The presentation could have been strengthened by a list of abbreviations at the beginning (RSL for Returned Serves League, MEF for Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, RND for Royal Naval Division, etc.). Also, at least a nod to the Indians and French, who suffered over 20 percent of the casualties, would have been helpful. Certainly the battle must have some cultural significance for the French especially, for whom this was a joint exercise, albeit under British command. And there may be some memory in the home territories of the Sikh battalion, which was virtually wiped out with 74 percent casualties at the Third Battle of Kristhia. Still, her carefully researched accounts of the continuing importance of Gallipoli in the popular culture adds much to our appreciation of the meaning of the campaign to the participant nations.
James Patton
Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen (1892–1918), familiarly known as the Red Baron, was an obscure cavalry lieutenant in 1914. With the advent of static warfare, his unit was broken up and he was assigned to a supply unit, duty that he found distasteful. He volunteered for aviation service in May 1915, serving as an observer until October, then went through flight training. He flew two-seaters until August 1916, when he finally became a true fighter pilot. He chanced to catch the eye of Oswald Boelcke (1891–1916), known as the “Father of Air Fighting Tactics,” who selected von Richthofen for his elite “Jasta 2“ (short for Jagdstaffel 2). Von Richthofen later formed his own elite squadron, Jasta 11, which out-performed Jasta 2. In January 1917, he painted his Albatros D-III bright red, which led to his famous sobriquet.
SE-5a of Captain Grinnell-Milne with 56 Squadron Markings |
The Red Baron became a special target for the British Royal Flying Corps for several reasons. First, he shot down a lot of their planes; second, he was in-your-face flamboyant; and third, although of noble background, he was not gentlemanly in his behavior, pursuing his foes ruthlessly. The RFC bore a huge grudge against the Red Baron for hunting down their first ace, Maj. Lanoe Hawker ,VC, who was trying to nurse his shot-up DH-2 back to his lines.
With the mounting success of Jasta 11 and then von Richthofen’s four-squadron Jagdgeschwader 1 (JG1), known as the “Flying Circus”, the RFC decided to create a special "Black" squadron whose primary mission was to hunt down the Red Baron and his ace pilots. In March 1917, No. 56 Squadron was uprgraded, staffed exclusively with experienced pilots, some already aces (particularly Capt. Albert Ball, a future VC), equipped with brand-new SE-5 aircraft, the latest and best available, and dedicated to fighting in packs rather than in dashing mano-a-mano duels, always outnumbering their quarry and luring them into traps.
Maj. James McCudden's Four-Blade Propeller |
Since the original pilots were all experienced, they tinkered with their aircraft. In particular, Maj. James McCudden, VC, a gifted mechanic, supervised changes in engine compression, the exhaust system, the propeller, and the dihedral angle of the top wing, as well as reductions in weight, in order to improve high-altitude performance. With these aircraft, a flight of No. 56 changed its mission and went after the German high-altitude reconnaissance planes, particularly the Rumpler C.VIIs. McCudden died on 9 July 1918 in an aircraft accident.
In the course of their service, No. 56 scored 427 victories (most in the RFC/RAF) while losing 40 killed and 31 taken prisoner. The squadron had 22 aces, including McCudden (57 victories) and Ball (44).
Memorial to 56 Squadron Pilot Albert Ball |
No. 56 didn’t get the Red Baron, although they came close, claiming one of his top subordinates, Lt. Werner Voss (48 victories), who in an epic fight was tricked into taking on eight No. 56 pilots, all of whom were aces, and scored hits on all the No. 56 planes before he was shot down. No. 56 also brought down Lt. Kurt Wissemann, who had shot down the French ace Capt. Georges Guynemer (54 victories) 17 days earlier.
No. 56 has had a long and colorful history. Known as "The Firebirds" since 1960, when it transitioned to the RAF’s first supersonic aircraft, the Lightning F-1, today it is an RAF Reserve unit that tests, evaluates, and operates drones; previously, from 1992 until 2008, No. 56 was the only Reserve Squadron operating the Tornado F-3 frontline interceptor.
The squadron has its own website, which you can visit HERE.
Revised on 19 April from original version.
Three Submarine Chasers in Port |
The U.S. Navy employed a type of anti-submarine craft from which much was expected. These were the 70-ton, 110-foot wooden-hulled patrol boats with the evocative name of "submarine chasers." Outfitted with gasoline engines, they were armed with a single three-inch gun and a small number of depth charges. No fewer than 448 were ordered, and 303 took part in the war. Seventy-two were sent to Europe, equally divided between Plymouth and the Straits of Otranto in the Mediterranean. The French navy purchased 50 in 1917 and another 50 in 1918. They were armed with a 3-in Poole deck gun, racks of depth charges, a Y-gun launcher, and Lewis and Colt machine guns on the bridge wings. Below decks were a galley, an engine room, a radio room, quarters for two officers and a crew of over 20 men, fresh water tanks, and storage rooms. To achieve the technical specifications for speed, the chasers each had to be fitted with three enormous Standard 220-hp gasoline engines.
They never really fulfilled the hopes placed on them, however. They were too slow and too small to escort convoys, and, while able to withstand rough weather, could not make much headway in heavy seas. The gasoline fuel made them prone to fires. Admiral Sims admitted to a French officer that the United States was using them simply "because we have them." They had been designed before the difficulties of anti-submarine warfare were fully realized. On the other hand, the relatively unsophisticated nature of the boats made them well suited for amateur crews, called up for service from the Naval Reserve.
Location of the Otranto Barrage |
Those deployed at Otranto had a high proportion of college men and were dubbed the "Harvard-Yale Squadron." The "Otranto Barrage" was an Allied naval blockade of the Strait of Otranto between Brindisi in Italy and Corfu on the Greek side of the Adriatic Sea in the First World War. The blockade was intended to prevent the Austro-Hungarian Navy from escaping into the Mediterranean and threatening Allied operations there. The blockade was effective in preventing surface ships from escaping the Adriatic, but it had little or no effect on the submarines based at Cattaro.
At Otranto, the little boats worked in groups of three or four to exploit what was thought to be a war-winning invention, the hydrophone. It was believed, perhaps correctly, that the American listening devices were superior to anything developed by the Allies. In order to function effectively, the hydrophones required silence, with nearby ships stopping their engines so a submarine might be detected. Three of the "chasers" would then supposedly locate the enemy submarine by "triangulation." Another "chaser," or preferably a destroyer with more offensive firepower, would be on hand for the "kill." Their use in this manner conformed to Benson's desire that they act "offensively," but the commander at Otranto reported to Sims: "It has been very difficult to induce people to believe the safety of their vessels was enhanced by stopping them for set periods in waters traversed by enemy submarines."
Subchaser SC-26 at Sea |
The little "chasers" at Otranto conducted 37 submarine hunts and believed they had made 19 "kills." In fact, none could be confirmed. However, there is evidence that the subchasers hampered enemy U-boat activity. Hampering the progress of enemy submarines meant shortening their hunts, ideally preventing them from crossing the barrage lines entirely, but in any case slowing them down and forcing them to return to base with fewer days and hours in the shipping lanes. In fact, the numbers seem to bear out the effectiveness of the effort. As the barrage lines were fortified by chasers and other ASW craft, U-boat kills in the Mediterranean were significantly reduced.
Sources: "The U.S. Navy in the Great War" by Paul Halpern, Relevance, Spring 2004; "U.S. Navy Submarine Chasers in the Great War" by Todd A. Woofenden at The Subchasers Archives.
Since I came back from my first trip to the Western Front in 1990, I have been telling everyone that you can't really appreciate what happened in the Great War until you have actually visited and walked its battlefields. From 1991 to 2018 I led World War One tours to France, Flanders, Italy, and Gallipoli and I can't remember a traveler who said the experience had not changed his thinking about the war.
This year my old outfit, Valor Tours, Ltd., is providing the sort of tour I can strongly recommend to our readers. Below are some details from the brochure. You can download the full brochure HERE. MH
Highlights
Near the Front Treatment at a British Wound Dressing Station |
The military experience in World War I profoundly shaped the medicine practiced on the battlefield. Trenches were inherently unhealthy environments. “We lived a mean and impoverished sort of existence in lousy scratchy holes,” recalled British soldier George Coppard in his memoir.
Overcrowding with poor sanitation led to diarrheal diseases like dysentery. Rats ran freely. Closely packed men lacking the ability to shower or change clothes created conditions amenable to the spread of vector-borne diseases like the aptly named trench fever, transmitted by lice. Prolonged standing in cold water resulted in a malady dubbed trench foot. These conditions came on top of the exhaustion, malnutrition, and malaise that afflicted frontline combatants .
Doctors also struggled mightily to contain the epidemic of trauma that engulfed Europe over these four years. In their efforts to do so, they established intricate evacuation chains to move the wounded to hospitals where ongoing research on shock and infection led to novel therapies like blood transfusions and innovative wound irrigation methods. By 1917, surgery became increasingly aggressive across multiple specialties as laparotomies and craniotomies emerged as standard of care.
Problematically, the medical and surgical needs of the war outstripped the abilities of belligerents’ medical professions. The resulting personnel deficit left illprepared physicians treating the wounded while also providing women doctors with unprecedented opportunities . . .
Those individuals who survived their initial injury were at high risk of death from infection. The unsanitary conditions of the trenches where, according to one military medical manual, “the earth teemed with micro-organisms,” exacerbated the problem. By October 1914, almost 70 percent of German wounds were infected. Physicians responded to this threat with multiple interventions. Anti-tetanus sera proved particularly effective in World War I and by 1915 became a mandatory therapy. With its addition, the rate of tetanus dropped from around 20 percent of wounds in 1914 to 0.1 percent by 1918.
In the Rear Treating a Wounded Man at an American Base Hospital |
In the Russo-Japanese and Boer Wars, doctors treated most injuries conservatively, reasoning that operative intervention would cause increase morbidity and mortality compared to allowing the body to heal on its own. This strategy seemed to work well on the steppes of Manchuria and veldts of South Africa, but it failed miserably in the manure-churned fields of Flanders. Pioneers like H.M.W. Gray in the British Army, and especially Antoine DePage in the Belgian military, recognized the importance of keeping fresh wounds open with delayed primary closure, removing all foreign bodies, and extirpating any necrotic or devascularized tissue. These steps markedly reduced the rate of infection and helped obviate amputation following extremity injury.
By 1917, almost every doctor on the Western Front recognized the value of debridement; one even wrote a poem to memorialize it.
Of the edge of the skin
Take a piece very thin
The tighter the fascia
The more should slash’er
Of muscle much more
Till you see fresh gore
And bundles contract
At the least impact
Hardly any of bone
Only bits quite alone
JRL Learmonth
Surgeons soon recognized that they could not cut out every bacterium with their scalpels. With the recently adopted principle of aseptic surgery impossible in the filthy trenches, they reverted to antiseptic principles, deploying various chemicals to kill the bacteria debridement missed and that compromised immune systems struggled to eliminate. Surgeons proposed a variety of modalities, but by far the most popular came from Nobel laureate Alexis Carrel.
Carrel worked with Rockefeller chemist Henry Dakin, who invented an antiseptic treatment consisting of a solution of sodium hypochlorite buffered to physiologic pH–Dakin’s Solution. Carrel designed a series of fenestrated catheters to distribute the solution evenly through the wound bed. Anecdotally at least, the Carrel-Dakin system significantly reduced the rates of infection and remained the standard of care for treating septic wounds until the arrival of penicillin in the 1940s. Dakin’s Solution remains in use for contaminated wounds in both military and civilian patients.
Note: For a list of other articles on treating wounds during the First World War that we have published on Roads, click HERE.
Source: Extracted from "From Trench to Bedside: Military Surgery During World War I Upon Its Centennial," Military Medicine 184, 2019.