Daniel Brain

Each of these extracts suggests a great deal about the nature of the First World War. Interestingly, none were published between 1914-1918, and similarly none directly depict the nature of combat on the Western Front. This immediately confirms the members of society that felt the impact of the war were by no means limited to the soldiers who saw action on the front line -- these extracts depict wives, family, even friends who experienced loss during the war. Whether fictional or autobiographical, each demonstrates a different chilling aspect to the years of conflict.

Extract C, from The Accrington Pals by Peter Whelan, depicts a recruiting office; a scene which at the time might have been associated with bravery and patriotism, but with a modern perspective has strong connotations of death, when the fates of many of the soldiers is considered, lured into volunteering for the sake of patriotism and duty. The lack of value placed on the lives of the soldiers is immediately exemplified: May, who enters the office to ask about her cousin, who has been recently recruited, is asked to wait while the officer “finishes the remaining whiskers”. His curious hierarchy of priorities perhaps suggest that the full, terrible nature of the war is yet to be realised – either way, he is initially presented as indifferent and perhaps even naïve, despite his obvious intellectual charisma.

May petitions the officer to free her cousin from his obligation to the army. His responses seem archetypal of one succinct in “imbuing men with the spirit of duty and service”, as he himself claims – his replies are presented by Whelan as designed but calculated: for example when he tells May that her cousin is old enough to make such decisions for himself, he does so without disagreeing with her, or siding against her: “Some would call him a man at that age,” he states neutrally yet authoritatively, emphasising that the decision is already definite. When she persists, he attempts to direct the conversation elsewhere: upon her exclamation that her cousin has “thrown his future away,” the officer throws her off guard, turning the conversation about: “And you keep a green grocery stall on the corner of Waterloo Street.”

Throughout the exchange, the recruiting officer is presented in a rather sinister manner; he describes himself as having an “understanding” with May, and uses language that would perhaps otherwise be effective in persuading potential soldiers that going to war is an honourable endeavour. His smiling dishonesty extends so far as to promise his personal “disposal” towards the boy's well-being, an impossible feat for a man “on the point of retirement”. May also notices the strange nature of the officer, explicitly suggested in the penultimate stage direction: “Something about him makes her unsure of herself”.

May's insistence that her cousin did not choose to sign up of his own accord – or at least, that he was influenced so much as to make the decision invalid – is a subtle suggestion of the underhand techniques used to persuade young men to volunteer. “He let others talk him into this,” she claims -- “he's very easily swayed”. She hints at the embellished positive image given to the idea of going to war, the pressure to serve one's country from the media and those in power – even the propaganda. The propaganda used during the First World War was depicted bitterly in Wilfred Owen's poem Dulce et Decorum Est; he describes the horrors of war alongside the reason many decided to volunteer: “The old lie”, 'It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country'. May herself seems uncharacteristic of a woman taken in by propaganda; her desire to prevent a willing soldier from going to war might itself have been viewed as unpatriotic.

This exchange is strongly reminiscent of a similar scene in Theresa Breslin's Remembrance. A boy is turned away by the recruiting officers for being unable to prove his age – but before the reader is allowed to take comfort in the supposed integrity of the officers, one of them casually states: “If it'd been in the city, we might have got away with it”.

Extract D, from Helen Thomas' memoir, World Without End, portrays the tragedy of war in a far more indirect, but conversely a far more potent way than the previous source. Specifically, this extract deals with the potential loss of life, and its impact on families – simply by portraying a family in relative turmoil as the husband prepares to embark towards the front line.

The home is initially presented as somewhat tense: “I knew David's agony and he knew mine,” the author describes – neither wishes to lose the other, a fact which is particularly potent for Helen, whose husband would be unlikely to ever return from the front. They engage in meaningless disputes in order to avoid the real problem; “It won't be the first time I've broken a promise to you, will it? Nor the last,” he states – adding “perhaps” as an afterthought, touching upon the impending potential separation. Interestingly, the author uses pseudonyms for her and her husband in the text: this perhaps allows her to approach the topic more closely, avoiding some of the emotional weight of the months likely spent fearing for her husband's safety, ultimately in vain.

This passage is similar to the last in that the consequences of war are seldom mentioned, the topic almost appearing to be taboo; however in this extract, there is no rebellion against the fate of the soldier – no petition to stop him from leaving. Indeed it almost seems that this couple have quietly accepted the fate of the husband, despite its uncertainty: he continually references the added responsibility Helen will face after he has gone: “If I'm not back in time you'd better get someone to help you with the digging,” he states almost casually, suggesting perhaps that he will not be returning, while attempting to reassure his wife.