Armistice

And so it was all over.  Not altogether - news of men who had been killed in the last hours of fighting continued to arrive for some time longer, which must have been especially hard to bear.  And there were men who died of wounds after the armistice took effect.  There were prisoners of war on both sides who had to be returned home, and wounded and broken men in hospitals, some of whom would never recover fully.  Food and fuel shortages at home did not instantly disappear, and Spanish flu was killing millions of people throughout the world.  But still, the armistice was undoubtedly a huge relief.

My family did not lose anyone during the war. My mother's father was in the Royal Navy; he joined before the war, and was a stoker.  He was at the Battle of Jutland and later served in K-class submarines, a strange and disastrous class that were designed to be fast on the surface as well as underwater and so needed stokers.  It must have been a very unhealthy environment in the engine-room - he developed T.B., was discharged from the Navy and died in the 1920s, when my mother was only 6 years old.  Her mother married again in the 1930s, and her second husband, my Grandad, had been in the Army during the war.  He was wounded in the knee, and wore a caliper on his leg, with special boots, for the rest of his long life - he lived to be 96.

I will give the last words of this blog to two people who have appeared in it several times.  Alice de Winton had been busy throughout the war, amongst other things collecting supplies of comforts for the troops from the knitters of Breconshire.  She was notably brisk in issuing her demands, as in the following letter in the Brecon County Times on the 5th December:

To the Editor of the COUNTY TIMES.
Sir,—Will all the knitters of Breconshire please help again and make 300 pairs of mittens for the 2nd S.W.B. [South Wales Borderers], now marching into Germany.  Germany is very cold.  Col. G. Raikes, D.S.O., is begging for mittens.  There is wool at 89, The Watton, Brecon.  Here is the pattern for knitting.  Eight pairs should be made out of 1lb. [one pound, or about 450gm.] of wool. Please begin at once.
PATTERN FOR MITTENS. 4 No. 12 needles. Cast on 48 stitches. Knit 24 rows, 3 purl 3 plain.  Knit 20 rows, plain.  To make hole for thumb—turn and purl all 3 needles turn and knit plain all 3 needles (as for back of sock heel).  Do this 12 times.  Then knit plain all round six rows; 12 rows, 3 purl 3 plain. Cast off loosely.
ALICE M. DEWINTON.

John Penoyre's style was very different.  He wrote regular letters to the newspapers (mainly The Times) from October 1914 on, always witty and erudite. He started out collecting sweaters that could be dyed khaki, then when the supply of ready-made sweaters began to dry up, asked for sweaters to be knitted.  He also collected field-glasses for army officers - officers had to provide their own equipment, and the supply of field-glasses rapidly dried up, so he asked for the families of officers who had been killed to donate them.  Towards the end of the war, he started to collect games for the troops in France, and these requests continued for some time after the Armistice.  The letter below to the editor of The Times, which appeared on January 29th, 1919, shows that demobilizing the troops on the Western Front was a long and tedious process.  (Notes: The "ever beneficent hut" probably means one of those run by the Y.M.C.A.  Woodbines were a brand of cigarette (smoked by my Grandad).  Hephzibah was, I think, John Penoyre's housekeeper, though I doubt if that was really her name - she is often mentioned in his letters. Sir Edward Ward, the Director General of Voluntary Organisations, has also been frequently mentioned in previous posts.)

Sir,—You cannot hope more than I do that this will be my last letter to you. The fact is I spent Sunday checking officers’ receipts for games recently sent them for their men, and their letters are such that I really have no choice left me but to beg for more.  With the sweater letters of the 1914 pneumonia epoch and the field-glass letters after Neuve Chapelle in my mind, it is curious to have to admit that these requests are quite as compelling.

It seems the days are miserably wet, the evenings are desperately long, many of the men are miles away from the ever beneficent hut, and there are limits, both linguistic and convivial, to the charms of the estaminet nearby.  “So we hang about, smoke interminable woodbines, and read old, old newspapers, till one of these splendid consignments comes to help us through many a weary evening,” and much more to the same effect.

If your readers care to know what games are most in demand here is the list: — Cards, dominoes, darts, draughts, halma, lotto, and ping pong. You will see that we are conservative.  Yet taste has changed in one particular, thank goodness.  I was never yet asked to amass Noah arks—which I read were in great demand in the Crimea of all places.  We also badly want more cigar boxes for packing games: those that hold 25 or 100: we have enough of the size holding 50.

The address for sending everything is that given below.  My quarters have had to be cleared of both comforts and games since the armistice—when Hephzibah, ever in the mode, presented an ultimatum.

Yours faithfully,

JOHN PENOYRE.

Depôt of Sir Edward Ward, D.G.V.O.,

45, Horseferry-road, S.W.1.

That is, you might say, the last post.

Games for the Soldiers

From The Times, November 6th 1918. 

THE MEN'S GAMES.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

Sir,—Can you find room for a line, less irrelevant than it seems for these tremendous times?  The men may soon have more time for games during the coming winter abroad, and I write to ask for any good outdoor or indoor game that can still be spared to be sent to Sir Edward Ward, D.G.V.O., 45, Horseferry-road, S.W.1.  One from every house will be enough.  A post-card sent to me at 8, King’s Bench-walk will produce a list of desiderata.

Yours faithfully, 

JOHN PENOYRE.

8, King’s Bench-walk, Inner Temple, E.C.4. 

[I like the throwaway line 'one from every house will be enough' - a previous request for games from John Penoyre had received a poor response and he had had to write a follow-up letter saying that every household has at least one game - 'the game I am asking for now'.  He was very good at wording his demands in a witty and charming, but still very forceful, way. ] 

Games And Sweaters for the Men

From The Times, 13th August 1918.

GAMES AND SWEATERS.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

Sir,—I  could make a good job out of a bad jumble if your readers would kindly look out for me all their old cigar boxes.  It is a question of issuing the men’s indoor games, puzzles, and what not for the coming long evenings in base camps and elsewhere without expense, in a practical and comfortable fashion to last the winter through.  I could do with 2,500 boxes at the moment—and, of course, if they arrive full of games or bursting with cheques, tant mieux.  Boxes are best, but bags will serve at a pinch, so perhaps ladies will let me have any remnants of the treasure bags they are all making for Lady Smith-Dorrien, in the form of strongly sewn little bags 6in. by 5in. or under.  My Hepzibah, critical of mind and recondite of speech, avers that “bags don’t cut to waste.”  She further sends her duty and thinks that many more ladies might ask for the sweater and other patterns after the “to-do of having them done in print and all.”  I confess I thought the issue astonishing, but from what I hear of the coming need, I agree.

Will your readers kindly address the boxes, &c., to Sir Edward Ward, D.G.V.O., 45, Horseferry-road, and applications for any knitting patterns to me here as below?

Yours faithfully, 

JOHN PENOYRE.

8, King’s Bench-walk, Inner Temple, E.C.4. 

[I think that 'Hepzibah' was John Penoyre's housekeeper, or something like that. There are several posts in this blog about Lady Smith-Dorrien's appeal for cloth bags to hold the papers and other belongings of wounded soldiers.]

Games For The Men

From The Times, May 11th 1918. 

GAMES FOR THE MEN.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.
Sir,—Now that all your readers know what D.G.V.O. stands for, may I ask again for one of his activities entrusted to me—games for the men?  To my last letter the girls' schools answered munificently, the boys’ decently, while my old and trusted friend the general public was a surprisingly bad third.  My fault entirely: the public never fails the armies, but I forgot to remind it that every house has one game outdoor or indoor, left—the game I am asking for now.  The fact is these things are a bother to pack.  I know, having got off 5,000 this week.  Still, it can be done, and who cares for trouble to-day?
Yours faithfully,
JOHN PENOYRE.
Address for sending, D.G.V.O.'s depôt, 45, Horseferry-road, S.W.I.

[The previous letter from John Penoyre, which evidently had not received a good response, was published at the beginning of March, here.   The D.G.V.O., for those who don't know, was teh Directory General Of Voluntary Organisations, Sir Edward Ward.]

Games For The Men

From The Times, March 6th 1918.

GAMES FOR THE MEN.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES

.

Sir,—May I, of your kindness, have another word with my knitters who by the end of this letter will all be turned into something else?  First, to many inquirers, we want all comforts up till April, when a short holiday may be taken—but the needles must on no account be locked up for the summer. Of this more later.

Then I am asked to enlist all friends of sweaters in the following plan.  The Director-General's depôts at Havre, Basra, and elsewhere when doling out the knitted comforts are constantly asked for things of which we never have anything like enough—notably games.  It is these I am now charged to ask all readers with a kindly feeling for the Army to supply.  I can well believe that in the psychology of war, with the infinite patience entailed on all ranks, amusement cannot be called a side issue.  Probably every house in England has a game to spare for the bother of looking it out and sending it.  I don't mean my old friend the pack with 51 cards in it, nor yet Aunt Emily's most ingeniously invented parlour bobo (I hope I have the name rightly, but the MS. instructions are thrice crossed).  Further, racquets are best sent complete with strings, and balls should be of the round shape with some life in them.  Above are indications of what we don't want; here is a preliminary list of what we do:—Everything used for bowls, boxing, cards, chess, cricket, draughts, football, golf, halma, "house," and similar games, hockey, quoits, and tennis.  Also the kit needed, especially shoes and shorts.  Any addition, dictated by good sense and good feeling rather than spring cleaning, can be made to this list.  Extra netting for tennis courts, etc., will be very useful.  I am afraid some of these things are not so easy to post as sweaters, but they can be handed in at any of the local depôts of the Director-General of Voluntary Organizations throughout the country, where this is more convenient than sending them to the Central Pool, at 45, Horseferry-road, S.W.1.

I must recur to sweaters for a moment.  I am most grateful not only on behalf of the men for the quantity sent me (46,405 sweaters and 66,122 other comforts up to date), but also for the glimpses with which I have been honoured into thousands upon thousands of homes willing to give nothing but their best, and having no feeling beyond pride and gratitude for those they serve.

Yours faithfully,
JOHN PENOYRE.
Games to Sir E, Ward, D.G.V.O., 45, Horseferry-road. S.W.1.  Correspondence, marked Games, to John Penoyre, 8, King's Bench Walk, Temple, E.C.4.

Comforts For 1917-18

From The Times, 25th September 1917.

COMFORTS FOR 1917-18.

KNITTERS AND THEIR WORK.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

Sir,—I am very grateful for 10,999 good comforts for the troops sent me in answer to my letter on summer knitting.  I am not perturbed by Hephzibah's apt yet chastening dictum, “much cry and little wool.”  Every post tells me that only a proportion of the things knitted from my patterns comes my way.  The housemaid’s brother-in-law and the laundryman's nephew upset my figures, but the Army is served just as well by these and other deserving warriors being supplied direct.  Friends of this industry may like to know that the total amount of comforts received to date is 83,337, of which just about half are sweaters.

Now, Sir, may I save the Post Office, the public, the paper interest, and myself much wasted energy by answering here a few daily breakfast-table conundrums: —

“Why doesn’t the Government supply the things if they are really needed?”  Now, old subscriber, our men form the best equipped armies ever put into the field in the course of history, but that is not to say that it is for the Government to dress them up like White Knights to meet every possible emergency.  The extras (the comforts, that is) are to be supplied as wanted by you, and it is to be your pride to do this ungrudgingly as it is mine to stick on the stamps—while I think of it I might have a few more of these sent me now.   When you come to think of it, the technical use of the word “comfort” is an addition to the vocabulary of the war, and it is instinctively a good one—though it sounds oddly when applied to mouth organs.  The fact is the human mind is so constituted that in times of very special stress and trouble the little extra personal comforts to which one is attached bulk very large indeed.  I know of one distinguished explorer who always wears light gloves in the primeval forest, and I remember that for three months on the Upper Amazon I had a clean handkerchief every day.  (It was the same handkerchief though.)  There is then this intimate personal side to comforts, there is further the “very grateful sense of being remembered at home even by those who never saw us” (there. Sir, I have put it in just as you wrote to me), and there is the larger issue that a good comfort has often saved a good man's life.

“Will you please let me know to whom these things go?  Do you distribute them yourself?”  I did once.  I look back to the bad days of wet camps, blue uniforms, pneumonia, mud, and flurry, when one rushed about giving first-aid, so to speak, to the comfortless, of any old thing, and I still treasure the letters and receipts of the winter 1914.  Those days seem a long way off now and, so far as comforts are concerned, the Government seems to have beaten our friends over the way at their own pet game of organization.  Besides the time-honoured regimental associations, a central “pool of comforts” has been created for the vast army of “nobody’s children” —labour companies, machine-gun units, trench mortar batteries, whose numbers form the most astonishing feature of the armies of to-day.  From this pool every commanding officer is authorized to draw exactly what he wants for his men from the base depots on all the fronts.  The mechanism is there to perfection, but it is for us to see that it is kept working top speed, full measure, pressed down and flowing over.

“I like to knit what is most useful; what comforts are most needed?”  Madam, to-day, September 25, 1917, we want every single hall-marked comfort we can get.  Special needs may emerge later in the year, but what is wanted now is a vast store of gloves, helmets, mittens, mufflers, socks, and sweaters for the commanding officers to draw on according to their need.  So for the present you really have your choice.

“I should be glad to help; but where can I get wool at a reasonable price?”  Well, the wool is a difficulty; perhaps it may help if I say that recognized associations obtain wool at the Government price from any of the D.G.V.O.'s depots throughout the country, on the understanding that it is returned in the form of knitted comforts for the central pool.  In case of difficulty I could probably give some small measure of help in the matter.

I generally have some one class of helpers to thank, but to-day I must ask in one sentence all schoolboys, maids, centenarians, nuns, and leading stokers, who have recently abetted me, to believe that the men are very grateful.

What is wanted, then, is a continuous supply of comforts to be sent throughout the winter, either to the D.G.V.O.’s depots throughout the country or to the London depot at 45, Horseferry-road, S.W.1.  I will gladly acknowledge any addressed to me there.  I should add that easily knitted printed patterns are on hand here at 8, King’s Bench Walk, Inner Temple, E.C.4, for any ladies who like to write for them.  In particular there are some entertaining addenda to the literature of the sock.

Yours faithfully.
JOHN PENOYRE.
8, King’s Bench Walk, Inner Temple, E.C.4

Sweaters In Summer

From The Times, April 5th 1917

SWEATERS IN SUMMER. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. 

Sir, — Not less than 1,000 letters lave reached me lately asking what comforts the writers shall knit for the men during the summer.  Will you give me room to answer?

Well, I have been asked by authority to give your readers a clear lead as to what is wanted, and I know I ask a hard-thing in doing it.  It seems that last year, we over-estimated the interval between the last cold night of spring and the first chills of autumn, and under-estimated the time required to get the things across the world in these days.  What is wanted is a vast store of warm comforts by—don't be startled—the end of July.  I am told that heavy knitting throughout the summer is contrary to custom and comfort.  Well, if so, we must dispense with both.  We can't compete with the men in those things whose daily story is our grief and pride abroad, but we can do what we don't want to do, and stick out a long, dull, un-timely job at home.

I think so gravely of what I have written above that I had almost forgotten to say how grateful I am for the continued kindness shown this venture during the past winter.  I was obliged to ask your readers for 10,000 sweaters in a month, and they came; and 10,000 mufflers to accompany them, and there they were.  The total number of sweaters received here to date is 38,106, and of supplementary comforts 34,223.  I feel especially grateful to the men in hospital who have been mindful of their brothers in the field, to the kind maids in many households who have given lavishly of their perhaps not too lavish spare time, and to two venerable ladies, pioneers of all good effort for soldier and sailor, who have found time and inclination to help this venture of to-day on behalf of the men they have served for half a century.

Part of your kindness is to keep the sudatorium smiling.  The palm for ingenuity is surely borne by the lady who left the germ of a muffler and a ball of wool in a railway waiting room with a message appended asking the next stranded lady to add a few inches to the work—whence a capital muffler arrived here in due season.  But all my sympathy goes out to the self-sacrifice of those male relatives commandeered for the hateful process of trying on.  Listen to this: "My father's head, which is very small and quite bald, seldom comes through the neck."  Oh, Sir, for these too infrequent triumphs my good wishes, and for the dreadful protracted occultations my sincere sympathy and the assurance that we now "pick up 76 round the neck."  But all round there has been a marked improvement in knitting.  My remarks on snakes' nightgowns did produce, per contra, a small crop of elephants' cummerbunds, but the real thing is now normal.

To recur to the one thing of importance.  With a restricted Press, it will. greatly help if ladies will make a point of passing the word along that sweaters, mufflers, helmets, mittens, and socks will be wanted in very large quantities by August 1, and that they should be sent, when the time draws near, either to the Voluntary Organizations Depôts throughout the country, or to the D.G.V.O.’s Depôt at 45, Horseferry-road, S.W., or to me as below.  I have plenty of patterns here if ladies would write for them, but I am afraid all the wool I have left will be wanted for men knitting in hospital.

Yours faithfully,

JOHN PENOYRE. 

8. King’s Bench Walk, Inner Temple, E.C.4.

April 4.

Sweaters

From The Times, 10th November 1916.

SWEATERS.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.

Sir,—Many of your readers ask how their promised 10,000 sweaters are going.  Well, Sir Edward Ward, omniscient and industrious, is packing 7,000 for Mesopotamia, 2,000 are here being classified, the remaining 1,000, and more, judging by the letters, are on their way to me.  So we haven’t done so badly; I admit I hadn't allowed quite enough time for delays, inevitable in these days, but I still wonder what the connexion is between the glory and grandeur of the Somme and the difficulty of procuring needles No. 7 in Slodgecumb-in-the-Mud.  But the main thing is that the promise is kept in the spirit, if not in the sweater, and that the men, our incomparable men, will have this little offering-of ours before the snow.

My correspondents are not less curious, actively and passively, than heretofore.  "Will you please write an explanatory history of the sweater movement to allay suspicions?"  Madam, in the whole story of criminal derangement, did you ever hear tell of a diseased lust for accumulating 800 sweaters a day in a garret in the Temple?  And what is the scientific name for a morbid passion for buying 10,000 half-penny stamps to acknowledge them?  I believe you are still haunted by the spectre of that elderly, alien, female enemy in the Mile End-road„ deriving enormous profits from the sale of your sweaters to her compatriots.

One sweater is, I fear, irretrievably lost.  To a venerable lady whose honoured hands have knitted for the men on every front I wrote. "If you thought well to stitch a card on the sweater giving the age of the knitter (it was something over 90), the happy warrior who wears it will be happier still."  All very decorous and well intentioned. but I spoiled the effect by putting my message into the wrong envelope.  It was not well received—and the Army is a sweater short to-day.

I have done the best I could with the acknowledgments, but there are still 176 unidentified parcels. I give what particulars I can of these in your personal column to-day, but I may say that your advertisement manager is not half so agreeable as yourself; Sir, and this is an expensive process.  So will ladies add the kindness of clear and complete cards to their good sweaters?

I approach the delicate ground of the future of sweaters.  While the London County Council, or it may be the Lord Chancellor himself by this time, are making up their minds what is to be done with my vile body, I am correctly forbidden to make further appeals.  The fact is my application for registration was late—I was turning the fire escape into a sweater chute that afternoon.

*   *   *   *   *   *

The above represents the most eloquent paragraph ever composed on the need of sweaters all the winter through, and the excellence of the printed pattern I have here for distribution.  Shall I awake in Pentonville if I ask your readers to take it as read?  I had almost forgotten—the sudatrix presents her duty, and, to my great relief, your readers' conduct is considered not otherwise than satisfactory.

Yours faithfully,

JOHN PENOYRE.

8, King’s Bench Walk, Inner Temple, E.C., Nov. 9.

[The reference to 'the most eloquent paragraph' puzzled me, but possibly it's the line of asterisks, representing snow.   

The sudatrix is I think his housekeeper - it means 'someone who sweats or causes to sweat' - a pun on sweater, I suppose, and a reference to the fact that in the early days of the war, John Penoyre was collecting sweaters of any colour, and dyeing them khaki, which his letters suggest was done in his flat. By his housekeeper, and not by him, I imagine.]