For Remembrance & the Armistice: Some very personal messages……

labelsHave you forgotten yet?…
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you’ll never forget’ –(Siegfried Sassoon)

At the launch of my book Shell Shocked Britain: The First World War’s legacy for Britain’s mental health  on the 22nd October 2014, I offered people the opportunity to take a red luggage label, a pen and write a simple message on it, tying it to the life-sized white wooden tree installations in the event space at Foyles in Bristol. I waffled on a bit about saying something about the evening, about the book, about the nibbles etc, but I also suggested people might want to offer up the names of someone they hold in their heart, as an informal act of remembrance.

I have to say, when I looked through them after the event, I was really moved at the names and comments people had taken the time to note down. So for Remembrance Sunday, for Armistice Day and for posterity I thought I would note some of them here on my blog, and say a huge thank you to everyone who made the event such a special evening for me.

In loving memory of my dear father George who died aged 83. He was an officer in the Royal Engineers and served in the Korean War. Love you always Dad

To the past, the present and for a better future with more understanding and available help x

A cliché but Never Forget

Thinking of my Italian ancestors who fought for Italy in WWI

To Grandpa, who couldn’t bear dirt or to be dirty after the trenches…

John Cant grandfather survived died 1970. Wilfred Carr Great Uncle. Died of wounds December 1917 near Ypres.

For Herbert My grandfather who never spoke of his experiences and I was too frightened of him to ask, hoping for exciting stories no doubt. Now, when it is too late I respect his silence and regret I never got close to him

Remembering Ronald Robertson RIP

To all conscientious objectors from The Society of Friends

Remembering all those women who served abroad In memory of all the conscientious objectors

In memory of my dear and beautiful friend Susan – I will carry you in my heart to every launch, event, exhibition and special place…xx

I also had some lovely congratulatory messages, but I am so pleased that the launch and my book offered people the space simply to remember. We have so little time to think now that we are in danger of losing sight of our essential humanity and connections to each other, and to those people in our lives who have made us who we are.

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The best way to market a book? Shell Shocked Britain on ‘blog tour’….

marketingWe have all seen it – on our twitter timelines, our Facebook feeds and our Instagram image lists. The endless stream of book plugs can get really frustrating, as tweets or status updates from people whose lives we connect with get subsumed in links to Amazon or personal websites where a book with great reviews  can be bought at a bargain price. Evidence suggests that if you only follow other writers, and they are the only ones that follow you back; if you just collect ‘followers’ and fail to actually engage and enthuse, or just bombard them with ‘buy me’ links, your books sales will be little influenced by anything you do on social media. Twice daily links and highlights of new reviews are fine, but every hour, just in case I missed it? I think not.

Looking at my own behaviour I know that it takes me a while to get to know a writer online and that recommendations from others I admire hold greater weight. Some authors seem to develop a ‘brand’, rather than work to build a relationship with their reader based on mutual interest and that is something that brings out the cynic in me. Are you the product, or is it the book? I am not sure I want to feel manipulated by a brand; perhaps the Coca Cola of the book world.

Shell Shocked jacket high res jpegSo as my own book, Shell Shocked Britain: The First World War’s legacy for Britain’s mental health (Pen & Sword October 2014) came up for publication last month I wanted to ensure I did more than just say ‘look at me, I’ve got a book out so buy it PLEASE’. I hate asking people to buy a £1 raffle ticket for a good cause, so how on earth could I ask people to buy a book that might cost them nearly £20?

I have got to know some lovely writing friends via twitter and Facebook and know that I have been encouraged by their approach to grabbing my interest as a reader. I had recently hosted guest posts by both Vivienne Tuffnell (who had just written Square Peg) and Angela Buckley (author of The Real Sherlock Holmes) on this blog, as part of their own ‘blog tours’ so I thought I would give something similar a go. In doing so, I hoped, I could offer potential readers the opportunity to see the sort of issues Shell Shocked Britain deals with, and highlight the legacy of the Great War for Britain’s mental health and whet their appetite for the book. And hope they bought it, of course.

I have to say to any author considering a blog tour that it is no mean feat. I was lucky to have lovely bloggers agree to host me, but I still had to write the posts, find the images and make sure I got the copy to the bloggers in a timely fashion. I underestimated the amount of work it takes to promote a book in the early months. But I am SO glad I did it and I want to send a big ‘thank you’ to all the lovely people who hosted me. Of course, all the (hopefully) fascinating content I came up with to tempt people to find out more is on other people’s blogs, but not here on my own. So I thought I would link to them all on here and encourage you to go over to the other sitesand read not just my article, but others on each of them. All are writers and historians that I admire and I am proud that my writing now sits alongside theirs.

So mind the doors please, here we go….

Stop 1: Shell Shocked Britain – Suzie Grogan shares the crime that inspired her book on Angela Buckley’s Victorian Supersleuth

Stop 2: Is Britain still “Shell-Shocked”? A question for World Mental Health Day on Vivienne Tuffnell’s Zen & the Art of Tightrope Walking

Stop 3: A Short History of Shell Shock by Suzie Grogan on the Leeds Big Bookend blog

Stop 4: Gender & the Great War – The myth of the ‘superfluous woman’ on Emma Jolly’s genealogic blog

Stop 5: Shell Shocked Civilians -Fire over Folkestone and the bombing of Tontine Street on Rachael Hale’s The History Magpie

Stop 6: Avoiding the trickcyclist and nutpicker: First World War home remedies and miracle cures on Caroline Rance’s The Quack Doctor

Stop 7: The Children of Conflict: How the First World War Shaped the Next Generation on Debra Watkins’s Writer blog

Thanks all! And to everyone who has, or will buy Shell Shocked Britain, a ‘thank you’ too. We need to get the mental health message out there and ensure that if this four years of commemoration of the First World War achieves anything it does at least get recognition of the issues current service personnel face  – remarkably similar as they are to those experienced by their shell shocked forbears 100 years ago.

Posted in Book, Books, Family History, First World War, History, Mental health, Reading, Shell Shocked Britain, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Shell Shocked Britain – The First World War & inter-generational trauma

keatsbabe:

I will be writing a post on the Shell Shocked Britain blog tour shortly, but I thought I would share this piece on The Terrace Psychotherapy & Complementary Therapy clinic’s blog ‘Let’s Talk!’, where it looks at links to trans or inter-generational trauma. Thanks to them for featuring the book – I am glad it is of interest to the mental health professional as well as those interested in the Great War and social history.

Originally posted on let's talk!:

Shell Shocked jacket high res jpegAs we approach the first Remembrance or Armistice Day commemorations of the First World War centenary  it is appropriate to be mindful of what exactly we are marking on Sunday, and on the 11th of November 2014. Yes, we are offering up our thanks to those who gave their lives in the Great War and subsequent conflicts, but we must also remember those who survived, lived, and are living with the aftermath of the war.

In Shell Shocked Britain: The First World War’s legacy for Britain’s mental health, Suzie Grogan looks at the impact of the First World War on the men, women and children who survived it. How did those four years of conflict affect the way we view the mental health of those traumatised by their experience of war, whether directly or indirectly?

Dr Peter Heinl, in Splintered Innocence and others have long studied how…

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Is Britain still “Shell-Shocked”? A question for World Mental Health Day

keatsbabe:

Today, for World Mental Health Day, my second stop on the Shell Shocked Britain blog tour is the lovely Vivienne Tuffnell’s Zen & the Art of Tightrope Walking. Viv writes wonderful, thoughtful books herself, and inspired the title of my previous book ‘Dandelions and Bad Hair Days. In this piece I wanted to reflect on how far we have, or haven’t, come in the last 100 years since the outbreak of the First World War. Statistics relating to the struggles experienced by 21st century service personnel shocked me and on this day we need to recall ALL those who experience lasting trauma from their involvement in conflict around the world.

Originally posted on Zen and the Art of Tightrope Walking:

Today I am hosting a guest post for my friend Suzie.

Suzie Grogan is a London-born professional writer and researcher in the fields of social and family history and mental health. Suzie’s first book Dandelions and Bad Hair Days: Untangling Lives Affected by Depression and Anxiety was published in 2012 and she also writes for a wide variety of national magazines. Suzie also runs a popular blog, ‘No wriggling out of writing’, and presents a local radio show on literature, called ‘Talking Books’.

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In 2012 I edited a book entitled Dandelions and Bad Hair Days: Untangling lives lived with depression and anxiety. It is an anthology of poetry, prose and photos produced by more than twenty people good enough to contribute to a monthly guest post slot on my blog No wriggling out of writing. They were prompted by my own story ‘Mental health, motherhood and finding the…

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The Courage of Cowards – Conscientious Objectors in the First World War

9472Today I am lucky to be hosting a guest blog by writer Karyn Burnham whose book The Courage of Cowards: The Untold Stories of First World War Conscientious Objectors was published by Pen & Sword Books earlier this year. I read it and learnt so much about the much vilified ‘conchie’ of the Great War, who faced bullying, ostracism and imprisonment for his beliefs. Here Karyn tells us more…

‘Your Country Needs You!’ was the message being shouted from the walls of most public buildings during the Autumn of 1914. ‘Boys! Come Along, You’re Wanted’. How could any patriotic young man resist such an enthusiastic call to arms? By the end of August, 300,000 men had willingly volunteered to take part in the great adventure. Let’s teach the Hun a lesson he won’t forget! Give him a bloody nose and be home for Christmas.

Cartoon mocking the masculinity of a COLord Kitchener, Secretary of State for War, knew the war would not be over by Christmas and that the British Army was in desperate need of a lot more men if Britain were to stand any chance of winning. The recruitment campaign was stepped up, the pressure on men to enlist was increased. Words such as ‘cowards’, ‘shirkers’ and ‘slackers’ took pride of place in the British vocabulary as posters reflected the damage wreaked on civilian homes in Scarborough by the German Navy; women were told to be selfless and send their menfolk off to war with pride. White feathers were issued with anonymous malice to unsuspecting young men who were caught out on the street in civilian clothes while in the personal column of The Times appeared the missive: ‘Jack F.G. If you are not in Khaki by the 20th I shall cut you dead. Ethel M’.

Throughout the whole of 1915 this sledgehammer form of patriotism continued, but still there were not enough men enlisting to replace those being killed or wounded. For many, the decision not to enlist was a practical one; with a wife and family to support, a man would be reluctant to swap his secure, well paid job for a meagre army wage. For others though, the decision was more complex. There were those who believed that war was fundamentally wrong, for reasons both religious and political. Despite the ever growing pressure to join up, these men remained free to act according to their consciences without repercussions from the State.

This changed in January 1916 with the introduction of the Military Service Act which stated, quite baldly, that every unmarried man between the ages of 19 and 41 was ‘deemed to have enlisted for the period of the war’, though the scope was soon widened to include married men. The decision to introduce conscription had been difficult and unprecedented because, unlike other European countries, Germany included, Britain had never enforced military service on her people. However, the government accepted that for some, taking up arms and going to war was against their deepest principles and included a controversial clause for exemption to military service on grounds of a conscientious objection to war.
When called up, a man would register his claim of conscientious objection and appear before a local tribunal to justify himself. Between January and June 1916, the tribunal system creaked under the weight of around 750,000 claims for exemption (many would have been on grounds of ill health, financial hardship of dependents etc,) and the tribunals were ill disposed towards ‘conchies’. While there was some sympathy and understanding for religious objections, there was absolutely none for political objections. Of the 16,000 conscientious objectors registered by the end of the war, only 350 had been granted absolute exemption.

Absolutist COs at Dyce Quarry

Absolutist COs at Dyce Quarry

So what happened to the rest? Many would have accepted some form of alternative service such as the Friends Ambulance Unit, the Royal Army Medical Corps or even the army’s Non Combatant Corps. For some though, supporting a war they disagreed with was out of the question. Known as the ‘absolutists’, these men would not accept alternative service if it aided the military and were automatically conscripted into the army where they refused to co-operate from the outset. Refusing to put on a uniform, to follow basic orders or even accept army pay, the men would be court martialled and imprisoned. Upon release, the process would repeat.

The army would often resort to bullying, or worse, to pressure the COs into giving up as in the case of George Beardsworth, a political objector and absolutist from Lancashire. Beardsworth was dragged around an army training ground in full view of the public in Birkenhead Park; he was kicked, punched, stamped on, thrown over railings and pushed head first into water in an ordeal that lasted most of the day. The army’s treatment of Beardsworth, and others like him, contributed to a change in how absolutists were dealt with and hard labour in a civilian prison became the norm along with Home Office Work Schemes which aimed to provide the COs with work of ‘national importance’ which did not contribute to the war. This seemed a reasonable compromise to most COs, although it was hard to see the national importance of sewing mailbags or breaking rocks for 10 hours a day.

Conscientious objectors during the First World War were popularly regarded as cowards, but it is hard to attach such a label to men who were prepared to face ostracism, beatings, imprisonment and hard labour rather than compromise their beliefs. The easy thing, the cowardly thing, would have been to give in and go to war.

karynKaryn Burnham: Karyn lives in North Yorkshire and has written The Courage of Cowards: The Untold Stories of First World War Conscientious Objectors, (April 2014) and York In The Great War, (November 2014) both published by Pen and Sword Books. She has also written for Family History Monthly, Discover Your History and BBC’s Who Do You Think You Are? Magazine as well as contributing to various history websites.

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No need for endings yet: a poem for late summer by Jennifer Grotz

daisyI have been looking back over old blog posts recently. My latest posts have focused on the First World War and issues I address in Shell Shocked Britain and readers of this blog know how much I love to discover new poems and poets; a wander around the Poetry Archive website being my favourite form of procrastination. This despite rumours that Bejewelled Blitz is my distraction of choice…

It is cool in Somerset today; nothing very new in that, but it really has felt as if ‘warm days will never cease’ in recent days. Autumn is a season I enjoy as a rule, only slumping into a depression after the new year, when I find the evenings truly dark, and the mornings little better. But it still feels a little early for To Autumn by John Keats (as much as I love it) so I thought I would post a poem I have only recently discovered. I think it neatly sums up the late summer feeling that persists despite increasing evidence that autumn is truly upon us. It is by American poet and translator Jennifer Grotz.

Late Summer
Jennifer Grotz

Before the moths have even appeared
to orbit around them, the streetlamps come on,
a long row of them glowing uselessly

along the ring of garden that circles the city center,
where your steps count down the dulling of daylight.
At your feet, a bee crawls in small circles like a toy unwinding.

Summer specializes in time, slows it down almost to dream.
And the noisy day goes so quiet you can hear
the bedraggled man who visits each trash receptacle

mutter in disbelief: Everything in the world is being thrown away!
Summer lingers, but it’s about ending. It’s about how things
redden and ripen and burst and come down. It’s when

city workers cut down trees, demolishing
one limb at a time, spilling the crumbs
of twigs and leaves all over the tablecloth of street.

Sunglasses! the man softly exclaims
while beside him blooms a large gray rose of pigeons
huddled around a dropped piece of bread.

Jennifer Grotz

Jennifer Grotz

The penultimate stanza, with its line ‘spilling the crumbs of twigs and leaves all over the tablecloth of street’ (though I am not sure why it isn’t  ‘the street’, and am not sure I like it – any thoughts?) conjures up the tiny remnants of dead wood that refuse to find their way into the rubbish bag however hard one sweeps, and seem a metaphor for those last days out in late summer.  Those romantic and organised enough to have proper picnics will have made their sandwiches and pies, eaten them under the branches of sleepy trees  and have spilled the crumbs into the folds of the screwed up gingham cloth (or, more likely an old rug) which, when opened in the spring of the next year, will find the same crumbs clinging, desiccated, to the fibres. And ‘sunglasses!’ – how nice it is to find we still need them on into autumn as the sun burns early mist away and casts a gentle light over the afternoon.

Is it about ending? I am not so sure. How can we call it that, with a quarter of the year yet to come?

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‘I opened up the window and in flew Enza..: How Spanish ‘flu added to Great War heartache

1007_flu-3090440_166x138In Shell Shocked Britain: The First World War’s legacy for Britain’s mental health, I examine a number of different causes of the trauma experienced by British society as a whole during and after the conflict. I also acknowledge that we should not attribute 21st century responses to those who lived 100 years ago. However, there are some that are, surely, timeless and there are moments in history that shake the very foundations of everything we believe in. Without getting too cliché ridden, there is only so much an individual can take, and in Shell Shocked Britain I consider extending this to the nation as a whole.

So take yourself back to September 2001 and the shocking attacks on the Twin Towers in New York. After the horrors of that day, and the aftermath, do you remember how worried everyone was that an anthrax attack was imminent? That the postal service could become the means by which death was spread across the US, and Britain (I was refused some strong antibiotics for  cellulitis on the basis that they must be stockpiled for just such an eventuality)?  The fear of the ‘other’ became overwhelming, leading nations into war and beginning a chain of events we have yet to recover from. Would we, some wondered, ever feel safe again?

Imagine that after 9/11 an epidemic strikes, affecting the world in the winter of 2001; it is a disease so virulent that hundreds of thousands are dead within weeks, including many who survived the horrors in New York. It is the stuff of disaster movies. But when considering the aftermath of the Great War what is often overlooked is a similar, real, event; another equally devastating but natural disaster that was about to scythe down those that had survived the worst years of the fighting. Influenza.

A protein from the virus, recently identified in 2004

A protein from the virus, recently identified in 2004

When the virus was first noted the symptoms were benign, no worse than the common cold. Soldiers in the trenches complained of sore throats, headaches and lack of appetite. Highly infectious in the cramped, insanitary conditions, no-one seemed to suffer the symptoms beyond three or four days and military doctors were relatively unconcerned. Similar outbreaks had occurred in 1916 and 1917, when illness spread amongst gas-weakened troops and may have been caused by contact with wild and domesticated birds. However, the virus quickly mutated and, mistakenly reported as having originated in Spain, ‘Spanish’ influenza became a killer. By the end of 1919, between 50 million and 100 million deaths could be attributed to the virus worldwide.

The pattern of spread in Britain can be traced from May 1918 with the first cases in Glasgow, moving south to London by June. In July, 700 were reported dead from the virus in one week. Schools all over the country closed and church attendances fell drastically as people tried to avoid infection. Over the summer, the number of deaths declined, but by the autumn the disease had returned, this time causing the deaths of 17,000 in London alone. Cinemas, theatres and any public buildings where large numbers might congregate were closed down.

100 years ago, the public were ignorant of the ways in which infection was spread and even as the war drew to a close were inclined to believe the conspiracy theorists who blamed the Germans.

Spanish fluThere was no cure; like the common cold it simply had to run its course. Hospitals became overcrowded and unable to deal with the number patients admitted. In Aldershot those most desperate cases were left under shelter in the open air to ensure there was room on the wards for those more likely to recover. Many families stocked up on the suggested home remedies, such as quinine, and crowd control was necessary at dispensaries. The  population was advised to wear small surgical masks, ensure good hygiene and sleep in well-ventilated rooms, all sensible advice.

Whilst researching Shell Shocked Britain I came across other supposed ‘cures’ that caused practical problems for those resorting to them. In August 1918, Joseph Jackson, a 31-year-old soldier who had fought at Mons and returned home later with shell shock, had been recommended to drink beer for the influenza he had contracted. This resulted in a six-month prison sentence for kicking a policeman when he was arrested for drunkenness.

Contrary to the rather ‘romantic’ scenes depicted in Downton Abbey, when the lovely Lavinia succumbed, watching someone suffer could be shocking, especially if they were one of the 20 per cent of patients who developed septicaemia or pneumonia, for which there were no modern antibiotic treatments. Some developed a lavender tinge to their skin, the sign of ‘heliotrope cyanosis’. Its onset was alarmingly fast and signalled lack of oxygen and imminent death. A fit, young person could be well first thing in the morning and dead by tea-time. Whole families were affected, children orphaned and left in the care of grandparents as mothers and fathers died.

The families watched as the lungs and major organs of loved ones became filled with a thick jelly, which caused suffocation; bleeding from the ears and haemorrhage from the mucous membranes made it a terrible death. A feeling of intense depression came over those infected and, even patients who recovered were left with a lasting feeling of dejection and hopelessness. In the book I detail some of the reports I uncovered of suicides successful and unsuccessful – by those affected.

Communities large and small could be free of the infection one day and prostrate the next. Troop movements and conditions on the Front contributed to the spread, with the autumn outbreak coinciding with the Armistice Day celebrations. The circumstances required to spread infection were maximised as strangers kissed and hugged in the crowded streets. This time wealth and status was no protection and the age group hardest hit were those who were actively engaged in war work: 20 to 30-year-olds. It is still not clearly understood why this otherwise fit age group was most affected. It might have been because they benefited neither from exposure and possible immunity from previous ‘flu outbreaks or from the improved nutrition available to school children through free school meals. Whatever the reason, it increased the pressure on already fragile temperaments and the Hackney Gazette did little to assuage fears, printing an article in January 1919 stating that ‘this adds a new danger to life. One is never safe in this world.’

Famous names were lost to the virus. Sir Hubert Parry, composer and musician; economist Max Weber; William Leefe-Robinson VC, the first man in Britain to shoot down a Zeppelin airship. But Kaiser Wilhelm contracted flu and survived.

By early 1919 the numbers infected by the virus were gradually falling and the worst was over, although reported cases continued well into the summer of that year. Experts still dispute how many died from this strain of influenza across the world, but estimates range between 40 million to 100 million and around 230,000 of the victims were British. Other countries were hit even more cruelly; 4 per cent of India’s population died, and in some parts of the United States bodies were piled high in the streets until mass graves could be dug, as nearly 675,000 people lost their lives and 25 per cent of the population contracted the virus. It was tragedy on a monumental scale.

Surely, when assessing the impact of the trauma of the 1914-18 conflict, one has to imagine how we would respond now to such a nightmare, bearing in mind at the hint of ‘bird’ or ‘swine’ flu we are on major alert. It is remarkable to think that the consequences of an illness with a higher body count than the Black Death, remains a footnote to the Great War.

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