Monday, August 4, 2014

How Life Would Change

For those of you who are new to this blog - I started it almost three years ago, to honor the generation of women who came of age in the Great War, and whose lives were changed by that war. I always felt there was much to learn from them.  I stopped writing the blog when my father fell ill in early 2012, and although I have promised to pick it up again along the way, it never seemed to be the right time.  Now it is.  Today marks the anniversary of Britain's declaration of war in 1914, so it seemed a good moment to come back to the blog, and to write about an extraordinary generation of women.

August 4th, 2014

Today is the 100th anniversary of the day Britain declared war on German in 1914.  For several days people had been out on the streets, waiting for an announcement, as speculation increased.  Already soldiers from the regular army were being deployed to the Channel ports, and trains were delayed and canceled to facilitate their travel as the plan for general war in Europe awaited action.  There were growing crowds waiting outside Buckingham Palace for news, or who made their way to St. Paul's Cathedral, and more than a few at Downing Street.  Britain was in the midst of a long, hot summer when the most pressing issues facing Parliament had hitherto been the economy,  "the Irish question" and the fight for suffrage being waged by Britain's women.

How could anyone have imagined the extent to which life would change over the coming years of war?  How could they know that so many young men would die on a foreign field, and that what became known as The Great War would, in fact, lead to another war - it seems there was only a ceasefire between 1918 and 1938/39.  Would they have believed that the Great War would herald changes in every sphere - in society, in international law, medicine, geopolitics, technology, telecommunications, global power, travel, and so on?  I am reprinting here, below, an essay I wrote that was published recently in The Daily Beast - it's a personal recollection of a few of those women who came of age in that terrible war.  They were elderly when I was a child, and I often wonder, now, how they felt on August 4th, 1914, when their country went to war.

I was wearing my best dress, best shoes, and my hair was braided with ribbon.  At four years old, I was only going to have tea with a neighbor, so I might have seemed a little overdressed – but my mother was well aware that the neighbor’s last intimate experience of childhood was her own in Edwardian England. 
            In 1959, I was the only child in our hamlet, so I was in some demand among the ladies of a certain age who lived alone, having never married.  I would sit at table with my boiled egg and toast, or a small cheese and cucumber sandwich and a scone with butter and jam, and I would answer their questions.  And because I was a curious child, I had questions of my own.  Each of those women had a sepia photograph on the mantelpiece, of a young man in uniform.  And I remember the answer, when I asked about the man.  “Oh, that was my sweetheart. He died in the Great War.”
            I already knew about this “great war” because I’d been told that my grandfather’s ailments were all due to the same event.  Granddad had been wounded, shell-shocked and gassed at the Battle of the Somme in 1916, and it was my questions about him that ignited a lifelong interest in the effects of war and its aftermath – and in particular, the changes wrought by that conflict on the lives of women.
            A young woman in pre-WW1 Britain would likely expect her life to follow that of her mother and grandmother.  Dependent her “station” in life, she might work in a factory, in domestic service, a shop, or in an office. If she were from the middle or upper classes, she would remain at home until marriage, hopefully before the age of twenty-one.  Women’s lives were as restricted as their clothing, though Britain’s suffragettes were considered the most vociferous.  Then war was declared in 1914.  By the time the Armistice was signed in 1918, a young British woman aged 16-32 stood only a one-in-ten chance of marriage. The 1921 census revealed that there were two million “surplus” women of marriageable age, a statistic that led to publication of a pamphlet, “The Problem of the Surplus Women.”  That might appear amusing, but a generation had endured a devastating human tragedy.
            It must have seemed liberating to my 18-year-old grandmother, Clara - she was living away from home in quarters close to the Woolwich Arsenal, working with volatile explosives.  She was earning “good money” for a woman, though it was half that paid to a man doing the same job.  The wage gave Clara and her women-friends a measure of independence – on a day off they could pretty much do as they liked.  In the years 1914-18, women flooded into the workplace to take on the toil of men conscripted to fight. No field of endeavor was left untouched by a woman’s hand – they built ships, aircraft, tanks. They made munitions. They drove trains and buses and became mechanics.  They worked overseas as nurses, ambulance drivers, and in military support roles.  They buried the dead, delivered the coal and the milk, and women police auxiliaries pounded the streets. Some fifty thousand worked in the Secret Service.  Women were now in very visible roles, not hidden in factories, or offices, or working at home.
After the euphoria of the Armistice gave way to a deep collective depression, it was clear that life would not return to “normal” – especially for a woman.  Certainly there were those who were married, but many floundered, living solitary lives.  But others blazed a trail, realizing they alone had to bear responsibility for their financial security, that they must build community or become invisible, and that they had to nurture relationships to sustain them in old age.  Women became teachers and scientists, they worked in business, became justices of the peace and entered politics, and if they couldn’t find work, they made it.  The time between the wars became the golden era of the British woman novelist – there’s a job you can do at home with no training!
            I believe an archetype was born in those years, that of the doughty British woman – proud, opinionated, but with a heart of gold.  I knew her – she was one of the ladies who invited me to tea because she ached to have children in her life.  The chance of becoming a mother had died when she lost her sweetheart in the Great War.





11 comments:

  1. It seems my timing is perfect! I am reading another Maisie Dobbs mystery and came to my computer to google "BBC Maisie Dobbs" to see if there's a chance these mysteries will become the basis for a new "Foyle's War." Google found your blog and listed it third or fourth, and as a result I've found you on your first day "back at work" on this blog. I'll follow it regularly and look forward to learning from it.

    Libbie

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    1. Thank you, Libbie, for your comment. No news right now on whether a TV series will ever be based upon Maisie Dobbs, but I'm glad you found the blog. Hope you found some of the past posts interesting!

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  2. Beautiful, Jacqueline. I am so glad you are back and blogging here!

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    1. Thank you, Reine - it won't be every week, but I hope it will be a more regular column now.

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  3. I'm so glad that you're back!
    I've missed you.
    Margaretha

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  4. Just finished "The Care and Management of Lies" and loved it. You present the challenges of women in that era wonderfully and your descriptions about life on the front line are horrifying. I'm off to grill my mother about my grandfather, who was a sniper in the Great War.

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    1. Thank you, Joan, for your comments and so glad you enjoyed my new novel.

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  6. Just want to be sure you see this article in the Guardian: http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/oct/14/french-soldier-room-unchanged-first-world-war?CMP=EMCNEWEML6619I2

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