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Over by Christmas

The hostility had been simmering for years, but World War One reached boiling point in moments. From the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand on 28 June 1914, it took only five weeks for Europe to slide from nervous peace to raging war. Britain, bound by treaty to aid Belgium, declared war against Germany on 4 August, determined but unready. Its professional army was badly equipped and minuscule in comparison to the conscript-heavy standing armies on the continent. It comprised just 450,000 men - including only around 900 trained staff officers - and some 250,000 reservists.

This posed a problem. While many famously expected the war to be 'over by Christmas', Lord Kitchener, the newly appointed Secretary of State for War, was unconvinced. He warned the government that the war would be decided by the last million men that Britain could throw into battle.

With conscription politically unpalatable, Kitchener decided to raise a new army of volunteers. On 6 August, Parliament sanctioned an increase in Army strength of 500,000 men; days later Kitchener issued his first call to arms. This was for 100,000 volunteers, aged between 19 and 30, at least 1.6m (5'3") tall and with a chest size greater than 86cm (34 inches).

The call to arms was augmented by the decision to form the units that became known as Pals Battalions. General Henry Rawlinson initially suggested that men would be more willing to join up if they could serve with people they already knew. Lord Derby was the first to test the idea when he announced in late August that he would try to raise a battalion in Liverpool, comprised solely of local men. Within days, Liverpool had enlisted enough men to form four battalions.

Civic pride

Recruits marching to Waterloo Station headed by a band from Dr Barnardo's Home  © Liverpool's success prompted other towns and cities to follow suit. This was the great secret behind the Pals: civic pride and community spirit prompted cities to compete with each other and attract the greatest possible number of new recruits.

This boosted the already heady scent of patriotism that saw men queuing outside enlisting posts within hours of war being declared, their 'moustached archaic faces / Grinning as if it were all / An August Bank Holiday lark...' (Philip Larkin). The Times reported that it took the recruiting officer at Great Scotland Yard 20 minutes to get through the waiting crowds on 4 August; by 7 August mounted police were necessary to keep control.

In Accrington, recruitment began on 14 September, with 104 men accepted for service in the first three hours. Brothers, cousins, friends and workmates enlisted together and within ten days the Accrington Pals had reached full strength of some 1,000 men. The situation in Sheffield was similar. Doors opened on 10 September and the new battalion reached full strength in only two days, no doubt encouraged by the optimistic placards reading 'To Berlin - via Corn Exchange' where the recruitment was taking place. The Sheffield volunteers, like so many others, were a cross-section of society, including stockbrokers, students, journalists, clerks, teachers and shop assistants.

Battalions such as the Hull Commercials shared an occupation; others, like the Glasgow Tramways Battalion, shared an employer; the Tyneside Irish had a common background. While the name Pals was usually reserved for battalions raised in the North, the same phenomenon was occurring throughout the country. In East Grinstead a sportsman's battalion was raised, including two famous cricketers and the England lightweight boxing champion; London formed a footballers' battalion and there were also units comprised of artists and even public schoolboys.

A break from the grind

Recruitment poster  © The scale of the response was astounding, with around 30,000 men enlisting every day by the end of August. These numbers were too many for the army to handle alone; in the short term, local dignitaries and magistrates acted on behalf of Lord Kitchener and organised, drilled and fed the men until the military machine was ready to take over. By mid-September, 500,000 men had volunteered; another 500,000 had joined them by the end of the year.

Why were so many so keen to join? The year 1914 witnessed a heady rush of patriotic optimism nationwide, fuelled further by tales of (invariably fictitious) German atrocities that led to a common desire to help 'plucky little Belgium'. Most people - on both sides - believed that, even if the war would not be over by Christmas, that it would nonetheless be relatively short. Consequently, army service promised opportunities, excitement and travel denied to most Britons of the time.

Furthermore, for many in the industrial heartlands of the North - as in Scotland, Wales and Ireland - the army promised a break from the grinding poverty of everyday life. Army life meant regular pay (one shilling a day for privates) as well as proper food and clothing, not to mention barracks that would most probably have compared favourably with the living conditions experienced by many at the time. Even with an establishment eager to recruit, many would-be volunteers were rejected on medical grounds, suffering from the cumulative effects of poor diet, medicine and housing.

To many, the army must have seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime and areas dominated by heavy industry and mining provided a disproportionate number of recruits. By the time the initial euphoria had faded, as Christmas passed and casualties rose, military service had become as much a duty as an opportunity for able-bodied men. Recruitment continued throughout 1915, bolstered by immense social and peer pressure that partly replaced the early enthusiasm.

Tragedy on the Somme

Soldiers running across the battlefields of the Somme  © Once they had been formed, most Pals Battalions spent 1914 and 1915 training in Britain. But preparations were under way for a major offensive on the Somme that was intended to relieve the pressure on the French at Verdun, breach German lines and force an early victory. The offensive would take place over about 30km (20 miles) and would be the first major battle for most volunteers.

For many it would also be their last. The first day of the Somme was disastrous. The preceding artillery barrage had failed to destroy the heavily fortified German trenches and, in many cases, had not even cut their barbed wire defences. Military commanders, concerned with maintaining discipline in their new volunteer army, instructed them to walk in formation towards German lines when the attack began.

In the event, the British army walked into a slaughterhouse. The battle on 1 July marked the army's greatest single loss in its history, with 60,000 casualties, of which 20,000 were dead. The Pals Battalions suffered accordingly: of the 720 Accrington Pals who participated, 584 were killed, wounded or missing in the attack. The Leeds Pals lost around 750 of the 900 participants and both the Grimsby Chums and the Sheffield City Battalion lost around half of their men.

After early optimism, news of the scale of the losses broke slowly, often only once letters from surviving officers and comrades reached the families of the dead. Casualty lists only began to reach Grimsby on 10 July and, in many towns and cities, confused rumours bred panic and anger in the affected communities. In the Accrington Observer and Times, initial accounts of success quickly gave way to pages filled with names and photographs of those killed, missing and wounded. Percy Holmes, the brother of a Pal, recalled: 'I remember when the news came through to Accrington that the Pals had been wiped out. I don't think there was a street in Accrington and district that didn't have their blinds drawn, and the bell at Christ Church tolled all the day.' Few homes remained untouched: an epidemic of grief swamped the country.

Two years in the making, ten minutes in the destroying

The Hull Pals marching back from the front line, smiling for the official photographer  © The Pals Battalions survived the Somme in name only. Some, like the Sheffield Pals, were disbanded altogether before the war ended. Others saw their defining characteristics inevitably diluted by the influx of men to replace those who had died. Although by early 1916 around two million men had enlisted voluntarily, enthusiasm diminished as casualties increased, and conscription was introduced in March.

Ultimately, Pals Battalions were an innovation that certainly bolstered the number of volunteers, joining up in a heady atmosphere of naïve, optimistic patriotism. Yet when military strategy was found wanting, the price paid was immense, both by the men and the communities they left behind. With communities decimated and families mourning losses, often of more than one member, the experiment was not repeated.

In 1939 the outbreak of World War Two saw the immediate introduction of conscription, with no need and no attempt to replicate the local character of the Pals Battalions that joined together, served together and died together. As one Pal put it, 'Two years in the making. Ten minutes in the destroying. That was our history.'

Find out more

Books

Hull Pals by David Bilton (Pen and Sword, 1999)

The Trench - the full story of the 1st Hull Pals by David Bilton (Pen and Sword, 2002)

Birmingham Pals by Terry Carter (Pen and Sword, 1996)

Barnsley Pals by John Cooksey (Pen and Sword, 1996)

Liverpool Pals by Graham Maddocks (Pen and Sword, 1996)

Leeds Pals by Laurie Milner (Pen and Sword, 1998)

Accrington Pals by William Turner (Pen and Sword, 1998)

The Accrington Pals: a play by Peter Whelan (Samuel French, 1982)

Links

This site is dedicated to the memory of the 11th (Service) Battalion (Accrington) East Lancashire Regiment, better known as the Accrington Pals.

A short history of the Leeds Pals with information about battles and individual soldiers.

A history of the Grimsby Chums, year by year.

Site for the charity that safeguards the welfare, interests and memory of those who have served in the Armed Forces.

Spartacus' World War One website offers a growing encyclopaedia of entries about the war, as well as links to other websites.

About the author

Bruce Robinson is a professional journalist who graduated with a first class degree in History from Cambridge University, specialising in English Social, Political and Economic History from 1300 to 1600.