Van Der Kiste - Plymouth: A City at War 1914-45

Frontispiece : There are several war memorials in Plymouth: the largest is on Plymouth Hoe and commemorates the Royal Naval dead of the two world wars. (By kind permission of Matilda Richards)

CONTENTS

My greatest thanks are due to Derek Tait, who generously allowed me full use of his excellent collection of local history illustrations relating to Plymouth during the wars, as well as cheerfully aiding my research by answering a number of questions on related topics during the course of my research and writing. Steve Johnson of www.cyberheritage.co.uk has also generously permitted the use of several illustrations for the purpose. Chris Robinson has been extremely helpful with various queries and, as ever, Brian Moseleys online Encyclopedia of Plymouth History has been a never-ending source of information and facts. Without them it is doubtful whether this book would ever have been written; it is certainly much the better for their assistance.

I am also grateful to Matilda Richards, at The History Press, who originally suggested the project; and to my wife Kim, who read through the draft, for their unfailing help and support throughout; to Ruth Boyes for her work editing the text; to the staff at Plymouth and West Devon Record Office, for allowing access to and permission to quote archive material; and to the staff at Plymouth Library Services, Drake Circus, for their regular and unfailing assistance with access to relevant materials in print and on microfilm.

THE FIRST
WORLD WAR

To some of those who lived in Plymouth, the call to arms on 4 August 1914 might have come like a bolt from the blue. However, for most of the military and naval authorities, as well as many politicians, it was the unhappy but inevitable outcome of several factors. Foremost among these was the evermore tangled network of primarily defensive treaties between one European nation and another, instability in south-east Europe, particularly the Balkan region, and above all the Anglo-German naval and arms race. By the beginning of the year, the mood was growing throughout the south-west region of England, as well as the country at large, that it would be more a case of when war should break out, rather than if. As summer wore on, it became increasingly inevitable.

There had been ominous portents for some time. In July 1904, one month after King Edward VII had visited Berlin and had been freely shown around the German navy, the German battle fleet had been invited on a three-day visit to Plymouth. Diplomatic niceties required a reciprocal event and, on 10 July, the people of the three towns of Plymouth, Devonport and Stonehouse came in their thousands to the Hoe and the seafront to watch a procession of German warships arriving in the Sound. They were witnesses to an event without precedent, for this was the largest and most powerful foreign naval force that had ever paid a friendly visit to a British port. Both sides were agreeable enough to each other on the surface as the guests were entertained with fitting receptions and banquets, but some observers were uneasy. After the German fleet had returned home, journalists and newspaper editors expressed grave concerns about such fraternisation. In parliament questions were asked: was the Admiralty aware that German naval officers had been seen taking photographs of the fortifications and dockyard, and if so, did anybody propose to take any action? Naturally nothing could be done, but it was a salutary warning that in future it would be as well to err on the side of caution when welcoming military or naval representatives of foreign powers.

Only a year earlier, the writer and aspiring Member of Parliament Erskine Childers had published The Riddle of the Sands , a very widely-read and influential novel which predicted an invasion by Germany on an ill-prepared Britain. In 1912 Childers was adopted as a prospective Liberal candidate for Devonport, although he resigned his candidacy shortly afterwards and never fought an election. He was executed for treason in 1922, during the Irish civil war.

By this time, Plymouth was taking important action to ensure that in the event of hostilities the south-west would be as well prepared as anywhere else in Britain. The three contiguous towns of Plymouth, Devonport and Stonehouse had expanded steadily throughout the nineteenth century, and a strong body of opinion maintained that they should unite as one. Plymouth authorities and ratepayers overwhelmingly favoured such a move, while the majority of those in Devonport relished their independence and were determined to retain it, and the much smaller Stonehouse seemed undecided. At an enquiry which opened in January 1914 at Plymouth Guildhall, an application was made by Plymouth Corporation for a provisional order for the amalgamation of the county boroughs of Plymouth and Devonport, and the urban district of East Stonehouse. The Corporation spokesmen stated that in all respects but their government they were as one. J.H. Ellis, the Town Clerk, and Major-General A.P. Penton, Commander of the South Western Coast Defences, both supported the application. The latter, who had been asked by the War Office to put forward the military point of view, said that in peacetime organisation of the three towns into three district bodies was of little importance, but in wartime it would be a different matter. In the event of an order for mobilisation, the fortress commander would have to deal with three different authorities instead of one. Given the ever-increasing German threat to European stability and the possibility that Britain might very soon be at war, this measure could not be postponed much longer.

A bill confirming the order was passed by a Select Committee of the House of Commons on 15 July. Throughout that same month, the defences at Plymouth Sound were rigorously tested, with searchlights at night illuminating ships at anchor. No vessel was allowed to enter by night or day without a permit, and those which attempted to do so were met with a hail of gunfire from the batteries. Mariners were forbidden to enter or leave harbour during night or in fog, and were ordered to keep well clear of ships belonging to the Royal Navy.

Although the German Empire began mobilisation on 30 July and France followed two days later, it was by no means inevitable that Great Britain would be drawn into the fray. Many people who did not expect war and they could be readily forgiven were caught unawares in the escalating timetable. One Plymouth woman, who had probably been unaware of the rapidly deteriorating situation or was perhaps reluctant to believe that the worst could happen, had gone on holiday to Paris and was advised to return as swiftly as possible. Caught up in the turmoil, she fought her way through the panic-stricken crowds that thronged the streets of the French capital to the railway station and, by sheer good fortune, managed to secure herself a place on the last available train to Calais. She then endured a four-hour journey in great discomfort before reaching the port and an equally fraught crossing to Dover before she was able to get back home.

Like a number of his colleagues in the military and naval authorities, Major Penton considered that forewarned was forearmed. For a few days he had appealed for gaps to be filled in the local territorial forces. Able-bodied men, encouraged by their employers, patriotically went to the recruiting stations, ready to do their duty for king and country and enlist. Civilians watched with curiosity if not increasing alarm as soldiers marched to the barracks in readiness, and men of the Royal Naval Reserve, many of them fishermen, reported for duty at the Exchange in Woolster Street. On 2 August, although it was a Sunday, streets in the town centre of Plymouth were full, and it was impossible to pass outside the newspaper offices, where telegrams advising of the latest in the international situation were placed on display within minutes of arrival. Sentries were posted at Government property and other strategically important buildings. Monday, 3 August was a Bank Holiday, but on the whole people were not in a holiday mood and few travelled any distance from home. Less people went on railway and steamboat excursions than usual, and some were cancelled through lack of demand. At the theatres, attendances were likewise considerably down. Crowds in the street stood anxiously waiting for news, while the sight of men in uniform became increasingly frequent, and the territorials were on standby if needed.