Methodist Ministers at War: Wesleyan Chaplains of World War I

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Digitisation, First World War, Methodist Archives and Research Centre, Methodist Church, Military Chaplains, World War I

Dr Gareth Lloyd writes:

On 4 August 1914 Britain declared war on Germany starting the countries involvement in what became known as the Great War.

Army chaplain writing a letter home for a casualty. Wikimedia Commons image.

Every aspect of British life was affected by the sudden descent into global conflict. The response of the Wesleyan Church, the largest of the several Methodist denominations, was sharply divided. In the days after the outbreak of hostilities, there was profound shock and dismay – the official Church newspaper referred to the crisis as “the horrible nightmare of a restless sleeper”.

Some ministers and laymen became conscientious objectors, but the majority opinion regarded the war as a just cause and Methodists volunteered in their thousands for military service. By the summer of 1917 more than 200,000 Wesleyans and tens of thousands more from other Methodist denominations were serving in the armed forces.

Methodist Chaplain Reverend Owen Spencer Watkins. From Methodist Magazine, March 1915, page 160.

The Wesleyan ministry was quick to answer the call to duty. Approximately 330 ministers served as army and navy chaplains for the duration of the conflict. Most were volunteers from the civilian circuit ministry, who were appointed honorary chaplains to the forces to distinguish them from the small number of regular serving chaplains. Other ministers and candidates for ordination waived exemption from conscription to serve in the ranks as ordinary soldiers and sailors.

Meeting of the synod of Australian Imperial Forces held on 7 August 1918 at Wesley’s Chapel, London. From Minutes of Two Methodist Synods: Methodist Church of Australasia, 1918, page 4 (reference MAW Pa 1918).

While classified as non-combatants, chaplains shared the dangers and privations of the battlefield. They lived under daily shellfire and accompanied the infantry as they launched or defended against attacks. Often employed in dressing stations and field ambulances, the chaplains provided comfort to the seriously wounded and dying as well as their comrades in the trenches. Many chaplains were decorated for bravery, typically for trying to help others. Reverend Spencer-Watkins, for example, whose photograph and service record is featured in this blog, was mentioned in despatches five times. By the war’s end in 1918, thirty Methodist ministers had been killed and many more wounded.

“When I reached my billet, I sat down and, putting my aching head between my hands – bedaubed with trench mud, iodine and human blood – I wept.”
“Stories from the Front by United Methodist Chaplains” (London: 1917), p.21

“Mine’s a pretty bad job at times, but I’m damned glad I haven’t yours. The best of luck to you”
The commanding officer of a front-line unit to a Wesleyan chaplain, quoted in “Reflections on the battlefield: from infantryman to chaplain, 1914-1919” Robert. J. Rider, ed. Robinson and Hair (Liverpool University Press: 2001)

Army chaplain preaching from the cockpit of a plane. National Library of Scotland image licensed for reuse CC-BY. http://digital.nls.uk/first-world-war-official-photographs/archive/74548938.

To commemorate the centenary of the end of the Great War, the Methodist Church in Britain and the John Rylands Library have collaborated to digitise a volume containing the service records of Wesleyan chaplains who served between 1914 and 1919.   Details typically include the individual’s pre-war and post-war ministry, commissioning and promotions, unit attachments, decorations, wounds, dates and location of frontline service and additional comments. Some of the names have no record attached and it appears that the details recorded in the volume are exclusively for attachments to the army, including the Royal Flying Corp, the predecessor of the Royal Air Force. Similarly, the document only appears to cover service in a theatre of war or supporting UK base establishment as opposed to a peacetime garrison.

This unique document provides a vivid and moving insight into the faith, courage and self-sacrifice displayed by Methodist chaplains who ministered to and served alongside the soldiers, sailors and airmen of World War I.

Service record of Reverend Owen Spencer Watkins. Ref. MA 1999/1, p. 309 of the volume of service records.

The Methodist Armed Forces Board services records are available online via Luna at http://luna.manchester.ac.uk/luna/servlet/s/857a6y. The above images and digitised chaplaincy records are reproduced with the permission of the Trustees for Methodist Church Purposes and the John Rylands Library. They are made freely available to the public for non-commercial usage under the terms of a creative commons licence held by The University of Manchester Creative Commons Licence Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0).

 

Neurosurgery & Long-term Medical Effects of WWI

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#histmed, History of medicine, Neurosurgery, World War I, WW1

The case files of neurosurgeon Geoffrey Jefferson survive for patients admitted between 1927 and 1940 and inevitably a number of his patients were soldiers during World War One, and in one case the Boer War. Despite dating from over a decade after Armistice Day the effects of the war tend to play a part in these individual’s medical histories, some much more than others. Very often reference to a patient’s military past is brief and simply part of a thorough medical history, however there are a handful of patients who were still suffering the direct after-effects of their injuries many years later.

Jefferson himself was a member of the RAMC during World War One and spent time working as chief surgeon to the Anglo-Russian Hospital in Petrograd before heading to the 14^th General Hospital of the British Expeditionary Force in Boulogne, France as surgical specialist. He published a number of articles relating to his time in the RAMC largely relating to gunshot wounds to the head.

Examples of war injuries from Jefferson’s patient files include:

Head Injuries

Both patients 1928/7 and 1935/168 had received direct injuries to the head during the war which were believed to be the cause of their subsequent attacks of epileptiform fits. The former had received a gunshot wound to the temple whilst the latter had been injured by a hand grenade, small fragments of which could still be identified in the patient’s head on x-ray examination in 1953. There a number of patients amongst Jefferson’s case files that developed seizure disorders as a result of traumatic head injuries and very often little could be done surgically to treat them.  Patient 1935/168 was one such case and was discharged home in status quo and treated medically and his seizures ceased naturally about three years later. Patient 1928/7, however, developed an abscess in the right temporal region and following surgical efforts to drain the abscess died in December 1928.

V0047844 WWI: face of soldier suffering effects of gas poisoning Credit: Wellcome Library Copyrighted work available under CC BY 4.0

Gas Poisoning

In September 1933 patient 1933/115 came under the care of Jefferson owing to a metastatic cerebral abscess. Central to this man’s condition was the bronchiectasis (disease of the lungs) he had suffered from since being gassed in the army. His condition quickly deteriorated and a post mortem examination confirmed the diagnosis and also identified multiple abscesses in the right lung.

Strangely the medical effects of toxic gases, and particularly mustard gas, went full circle following World War Two. Manchester haematologist John Frederick Wilkinson worked closely with workers in the toxic gas factories during World War Two and his observations contributed to his work on the development of chemotherapy utilising nitrogen mustards to treat leukaemia. More information on his work can be found amongst his research papers also housed at the University of Manchester Library.

Shell Shock

Patient 1934/110 had been demobilised from the army in 1918 suffering from deafness and shell shock and was still receiving a pension as a result of this when he came to see Jefferson in 1934. A few months before his admission his condition deteriorated significantly with alteration in behaviour and severe lapses of memory. His wife reported that he would sit in a chair doing nothing and when asked what was wrong replied “my head is going wrong”. He only remained an inpatient under Jefferson for a couple of days and no treatment was recorded during this period and he was discharged as suffering from cerebral degeneration complicated by syphilitic periarteritis.

Patient 1937/151 JCN/12/138

Phantom Limbs

Whilst with the British Expeditionary Force in France in 1916 patient 1937/151’s left leg was blown off during a battle on the Somme and was amputated shortly afterwards. The patient reported that he was still able to feel his left foot immediately after the operation but was not troubled by pain. By the time he saw Jefferson in 1937 he had been experiencing regular episodes of extreme pain in his phantom limb, which had led him to contemplate suicide. A surgical root section of nerves affecting the pain pathways to the limb, or cordotomy, was performed after which his pain subsided, although he was still aware of the presence of the limb. At first considered a success, a return of the patient’s pain was regrettably reported only a few months after his discharge.

See an earlier posting by Dr Rebecca Wynter for further information about Jefferson’s involvement with phantom limbs during WWI.

In conjunction with Jefferson’s personal papers relating to his work during WWI (including his time in Russia and research into amputations) and the works and publications of many of his contemporaries it is possible to gain an insight into the methods employed to treat war injuries, the medical research they informed, and how this influenced developments in the practice of medicine.

Letters from the Front: A Soldier’s Experiences in the First World War

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Arthur Powell, First World War, World War I

Penny Blackburn, an archive volunteer, writes:

The Great War Letters of Arthur Powell, acquired by the Library in 2014, chronicle a soldier’s life on the Western Front during the First World War.

Arthur Powell enlisted with the Manchester Pals in October 1914, at age of eighteen. For most of the war he served with the 19th King’s Liverpool Regiment. After a period of time in Salonika, Greece, where he was involved with the British withdrawal of troops, he finally reached home in May 1919. By the time of demobilisation he had risen to the rank of Corporal and the pride he had in his new title is clearly evident in the way he addressed his letters.

Arthur wrote home to his parents regularly, every three or four days, except when he was on the march, with his unit, or during periods of ‘fatigue’ duty when he was taken for Lewis Gun training and trench building. Otherwise the communication between son and home was frequent and unbroken. The letters demonstrate an affectionate, loving bond between son and parents.

This was the invisible thread between battlefield and home; love and hope. This came in the form of both news, and for our correspondent, essential food parcels (one of Arthur’s primary concerns!)  Letters were an essential communication which kept alive the hope, for the loved ones anxiously waiting for news back home, and those separated by the call of duty and war. For soldiers fighting in the First World War letters and parcels made their situation almost bearable and something to which they could look forward to receiving; they were a taste and reminder of home.

 

Letter dated 20 February 1917, France, written in indelible pencil. Powell mentions that he has been wading thigh-high in mud, and jokingly titles himself “SLOPPY MUD ESQ”.

This work has mirrored, most fortunately, work that I have been doing in the Archives and Cultural Collections Centre in Bury Central Library. There as a volunteer also, we have been collecting and saving digitized images and articles from the local newspapers of that time, building up to the Centenary of the end of WW1. In conjunction with the support of and involvement of the Lancashire Fusiliers Museum opposite the library archives, we’ve held open days and events which have been both rewarding and illuminating for ourselves and the public. I’m explaining this because I feel the letters which I’m currently transcribing here, have enriched and enlightened my understanding of this most terrible time.

Arthur’s letters begin at the time of his enlistment in February 1916, where he is despatched to a training camp in Sussex, until his demobilisation from the army in Salonika where he was stationed after the war.  Arthur’s handwriting was neat and assured; he wrote on all sizes and forms of paper, lined and unlined, from tiny A6 sized pieces, to larger A4 pieces folded, with heavy margins drawn down the middle. Arthur took from whatever was to hand, from the backs of restaurant menus to letter headed paper of the YMCA and the stationary of the Church Army.

Postcard photograph entitled “European War Pictures 313, Wounded Soldiers in Hospital – Brighton”.

What has struck me most, in these deeply personal accounts of Arthur’s experiences, is the affectionate, and unswerving love and devotion shared by him and his parents. Arthur’s relationship with his parents is a healthy and happy one. He holds them in high esteem, as they do him. It is remarkable indeed, even in the grimmest of fighting conditions, when Arthur has been wading thigh high in mud, and ‘chums’ have fallen by his side as he’s ‘gone over the top’, that he is still able to find the courage and cheery disposition to console and reassure his parents.

Arthur’s accounts of the fighting conditions are surprisingly graphic, and he spares no unpleasant detail as to the reality of his situation. From assisting the chaplain in identifying the bodies, to burying the dead, left out on the open ground; all this done while under continual fire from the enemy, ‘As regards shelling & machine gun fire it has been the worst experience I have had by far’. Arthur pulls no punches and says it as it is, with honesty and realism.

In one letter home to his parents, Arthur is too exhausted to write, but he feels fortunate to be ‘still alive’. He has only received one small skin wound to his face, below his eye, while one unfortunate chum had a large piece of shrapnel embedded in his thigh, and sadly, more deeply affecting for Arthur, his chum ‘Norman’ was killed by a bullet through his stomach. We learn that as the soldiers ‘push over the top’, they are instructed not to go back and help a fallen comrade, they are told to ‘push on’. By the time Arthur returns to his friend it is too late, ‘he was dead as door nail’.  He now has the unpleasant task of ‘writing to his people back home’.

We can be assured though that this will have been done with sensitivity and kindness, as in his letters Arthur demonstrates thoughtfulness and artistic imagination. In one letter he clearly describes a dawn on a glorious Sunday morning. Arthur can hear church bells ringing in the distance, it reminds him of home and he becomes reflective; ‘in fact I began to wonder if Father had gone down stairs to light the fire & brought Mother tea up. It is a beautiful day & I can just imagine Alex Park this afternoon with the band playing and all my old chums about me’.

Arthur upholds a strong tenacity to life; he believes he will return home in ‘A1 condition and very much smiling’.

What does shine through all the mud, blood, exhaustion and hunger, is gratitude, and a deep appreciation of his parents. Their loving devotion to him and diligent upbringing has helped shaped the character he has now become; ‘I think it reflects great credit on your dear selves, for my early rearing, that I should land in the strain of this terrible existence when so many men are breaking down’. Arthur is able to draw on their love for him, and seek comfort and reassurance, and for this he is eternally grateful and able; ‘to enjoy the very good health that I do today’.

Arthur’s optimism is remarkable, we might think that his words are merely to comfort his parents and on occasion, to disguise his true anxieties, but his letters are humbling and inspiring to read. He acknowledges the responsibility his generation faces, and admonishes his parents for even considering the idea that his Father should swap places with him, ‘It has fallen to the lot of our generation to see this war through & we must do it’ he concludes.

These letters go some way to reflect the strength of character of what must have been a remarkable young man. They are also a testimony not only to Arthur’s involvement in the war, but also to those many thousands of other men and women who so bravely fought and paid the ultimate price. Arthur concludes that the only souvenir he wishes to bring home will be; ‘myself, “yours truly Esq” & that will do’.

Letter dated 5 August 1917, France, written on Church Army headed paper. The Church Army brought much needed support to the soldiers fighting on the front line.

 

University Academics and the First World War

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Anglo-German relations, Arthur Schuster, British Association for the Advancement of Science, First World War, University of Manchester, World War I

Dr James Peters writes:

The First World War not only dislocated the everyday work of the University’s academics, but also undermined some of their cherished beliefs about transnational scholarship. Long-established academic networks between Britain and Germany soon broke down.

At Manchester, few academics were either publicly jingoistic or pacifist; most seem to have agreed with the official policy on the War, and encouraged  students and colleagues to enlist. Some, especially those with German connections, experienced public hostility because of their previous links with belligerent states. One of the most eminent was the physicist Arthur Schuster.

Schuster (1851-1934), who held chairs in physics from 1881 to 1907,  had built up an international reputation for Manchester’s physics department.  He had been born in Germany, but moved to Manchester in the late 1860s, and became a naturalised citizen in 1875. He lived at Kent House, Victoria Park (now part of St Anselm Hall), before moving to Twyford, Berkshire  after his retirement.

Arthur Schuster in his study, c.1905.

Schuster was a passionate believer in international academic co-operation, particularly between national scientific academies, in support of free enquiry and scholarly communication. Like many other British academics, Schuster was a great admirer of the German university system and he helped organise British-German student exchanges in the years before 1914.

This made him a source of suspicion for some once War had broken out. Schuster had to remove radio equipment from his house after being accused of spying, and one of his brothers was forced to issue a public statement declaring the family’s loyalty to Britain.

In early 1914 Schuster had been appointed president of the British Association for the Advancement of Science’s meeting at Manchester in September 1915.  This was a great personal honour, but unfortunately, Schuster’s  German background was to become an issue.

Anti-German feeling in Manchester had been relatively muted in the early months of the War, but riots had occurred in May 1915, with German shops and homes being attacked. The triggers for these outbursts appear to have been the sinking of the Lusitania and the use of poison gas at the second battle of Ypres.

The British Association meeting became embroiled in these conflicts as this flier indicates.

Flyer protesting Arthur Schuster’s presidency of the British Association. Henry Roscoe Papers (additional), ROS/5.

The leaflet was discovered during the cataloguing of the papers of Henry Roscoe, another eminent University academic, who was using his good offices to support Schuster’s presidency.

In the event, the Meeting, which was held at the University, passed off without incident. Schuster’s presidential address, “The common aims of science and humanity”,  was a passionate assertion of the benefits of free scientific inquiry. Carefully avoiding controversy, Schuster hoped that scientists’ support for the War effort would not be self-defeating: “…only through victory shall we achieve a peace in which once more science can hold up her head, proud of her strength to preserve the intellectual freedom which is worth more than material prosperity, (and) to defeat the spirit of evil that destroys the sense of brotherhood among nations”. Poignantly, he learnt on the same day that his son had been wounded at Gallipoli.

Schuster’s experience was by no means uncommon. Academics who were German nationals and of military age faced internment, while others lost their jobs or faced ostracism from colleagues. By comparison, Arvid Johannson, the University’s professor of German and a Baltic German by background, was something of an exception, when he was appointed dean of the faculty of arts in 1916, apparently without controversy.

 

 

A Manchester Clergyman’s Perspective on the First World War

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Archives, First World War, John Jowitt Wilson, Volunteers, World War I

A Special Collection volunteer, Isabel Sinagola, has been working on one of our less explored archive collections, the John Jowitt Wilson Papers. Isabel has found that the collection contains a wealth of interesting material on the social and religious impact of the First World War on Manchester’s citizens.

Postcard from the John Jowitt Wilson Papers

Isabel writes:

“Over the next four years there will be numerous explorations of First World War, both historical and commemorative, across every medium imaginable, from radio and television, books and newspapers, to interactive exhibitions and social media. For my part, I have been involved with a small but fascinating archive relating to local people during the First World War, the papers of the Rev. John Jowitt Wilson. Wilson donated these papers to the Library in 1928, believing they would be valuable “for the student of the atmosphere of the ordinary soldier’s mind during the war.”

The letters are particularly interesting for the information they provide – both directly and indirectly – on the role of faith and religion in the lives of these correspondents during wartime. These range from small, apparently incidental comments – “God be with you” etc. – to longer discussions of God’s role in the War. These brief snapshots of opinion illuminate the larger history of people for whom the War was uncontestably a devastating cataclysm for their lives, shaped not just by the far distant events in Serbia, Belgium, France, and Greece, but by the conditions much closer to home.

We know relatively little about the Reverend John Jowitt Wilson, but apparently he was a “stalwart figure, with the big, kind genial face, so well-known to every man, woman and child in Saint Michael’s parish”. His parish was St Michael and All Angels, Manchester, where he was Rector from 1913 until 1927; he died a year later ‘worn out’ from his tireless work in what was one of the poorest parts of the city. St Michael’s was in the heart of industrial Manchester, built next to the pauper’s graveyard of Angel Meadow, which Friedrich Engels described as having “a black irony to its name”, when he visited in 1844.

The letters in the collection make clear the trials of life there; a number of correspondents appear to have borrowed money from Wilson, which he (sometimes unsuccessfully) attempted to have repaid. Some of the loans were to help couples marry – for instance to a sergeant named William because he had left a girl “in disgrace”. It seems Wilson reached the end of his tether with William who borrowed money to ‘do his duty’, neglected to show up at the wedding when he was granted furlough, and finally when the couple did marry, failed to repay the Rector: “you have broken every undertaking and treated the funds of this poor parish disgracefully.”

However, Wilson’s role – like other clergy across the country – was not restricted simply to weddings and loans. He increasingly provided active spiritual support, as the War lengthened and casualties mounted. Wilson supported parishioners who enlisted, some of whom joined the local Manchester Regiment; for them, he was the man they could turn to for help with anything from the provision of religious materials and prayers, to hunting down missing earnings and helping care for elderly parents back home. Wilson also corresponded with the military authorities to get leave for important family events or to help search for missing soldiers for their families.   One envelope, tattered and browned with age, contains Wilson’s notes on a search for a missing husband, and includes a small card reading “Thy Will Be Done, announcing: “In Loving Memory of My Dear Husband, John Woodward Broadfoot, (49,295, 1^st Batt. Lan. Fus.) Who was killed in France on April 11^th, 1918. Aged 27 years.” Wilson’s role in engaging with the authorities was therefore vital in supporting these parishioners, in both spiritual and material matters.

The Wilson papers, which contain several hundred letters from many correspondents, provide extremely valuable insights into the myriad roles and influences of organised religion during the War, as well as on how the conflict impacted on one small, under-privileged Manchester parish.

James Peters

World War I Hospital Patients’ Souvenir Album Digitised

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Archives, Dunham Massey, Earls of Stamford, First World War, National Trust, Photographs, Stamford Military Hospital, Visual materials, World War I

Like many country houses, Dunham Massey Hall near Altrincham in Cheshire was converted into a military hospital during the First World War, and offered sanctuary to hundreds of soldiers injured in the conflict.

We have recently digitised a remarkable and poignant souvenir album, compiled by the patients, who were apparently encouraged to draw and write as part of their recuperation. There are also photographs of many of the patients, and the nurses. Lady Jane Grey (1899-1991), sister of the 10th earl of Stamford, was a nurse at the hospital, and judging by the number of dedications to her in the album, she was a firm favourite with the soldiers. You can view the entire album at http://enriqueta.man.ac.uk/luna/servlet/s/02kb78.

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To mark the centenary of the First World War, the National Trust has meticulously recreated the military hospital at Dunham Massey, transforming normally grandiose rooms into wards and even an operating theatre, using much of the original furniture and equipment that had been carefully stored at the hall for the past century. For further information see the Dunham Massey page of the National Trust website.

The archives from Dunham Massey are held at the Library on deposit from the National Trust, to whom the 10th earl of Stamford bequeathed the hall and estate in 1976. Thanks to the collecting instincts of the 10th earl and his mother Penelope, the archive contains a complete record of the history of the hall in the 20th century, including the period when it served as a military hospital.