1916 - Background to the scheme

By the summer of 1916, after the experience of nearly two years of industrialised fighting, 'enthusiasm',  for the war diminished. A widespread change of mood occurred in which a spirit of patient endurance became an important element. The theme of a perceived change in the nature of the war was one which was shared by many contemporary writers and observers.

Edmund Blunden's ominous comments on the introduction of steel shrapnel helmets for use by his unit, 11th (1st Southdown) Battalion, Royal Sussex Regiment, just prior to its involvement in the Somme offensive indicate, in typically restrained and oblique language, how the scale and fundamental character of the war was changing:

"Steel helmets now became the rule; their ugly useful discomfort supplanting our friendly soft caps...The dethronement of the soft cap clearly symbolized the change that was coming over the war, the induration from a personal crusade into a vast machine of violence." (Undertones of War', London Cobden Sanderson, 1928, p74)

Blunden's intimations of disquiet proved well founded. Posterity has come to regard the Somme offensive, and especially its calamitous opening day, as symbolic of the wastefulness and 'futility' of British First World War combat experience. Recorded photographically, the appalling conditions in which much of the later winter fighting took place have become seminal images of the aberrant nature of Western Front trench warfare. The grotesque contrast between effort expended, in terms of casualties, and effective achievement, territorial gains, has made the campaign highly contentious. Conceived, in part, as an attempt to distract German attention from the French at Verdun, the British effort on the Somme resulted in losses in manpower on a scale unimaginable in the optimistic days of August 1914. The disquieting image of a gruesome leering skeleton, personification of Death, vigorously pumping the lifeblood of Europe's manhood into a scorched and ruined earth, used by Walther Eberbach in his satirical medallion 'Verdun die Weltblutpumpe' was as relevant to British military experience in Picardy in the summer of 1916 as it was to the ordeals of the massive conscript armies of France and Germany.

The British failure to breach the German lines of 1 July inevitably led to a strategy of attrition. A vital aspect of the change in the nature of the war was, from the British perspective, the pledging of an alliance by the deliberate trading of losses. Despite the sanguine official claims made on behalf of the Somme offensive its real achievement from a civilian perspective was to near universalise the experience of mourning for households and communities throughout Britain and the Empire.

The Memorial Scheme

If the year 1916 was a turning point in the British soldier's and civilian's perception of the war (and much evidence may be cited to support such a claim) it was perhaps appropriate that in October, when the fighting on the Somme had reached the slogging matches of the Transloy Ridges and Ancre Heights, a Government Committee should have been set up by Secretary of State for War, David Lloyd George to consider what form of memorial should be made available to the next of kin of those who died 'on active service'. Although weighted with tragic overtones the memorial scheme manifested the existence of a grim spirit of optimism. For the belief that at some future date the British government would have the means and will to put such a massive commemorative scheme into effect, despite that summer's terrible disappointments on land and sea, implied an intractable faith in ultimate victory.

The scheme was first made public in The Times for Tuesday 7 November 1916. Under the headline 'Memento for the Fallen. State Gift for Relatives' the committee's nature and function were precisely defined:

'A General Committee, representative of both Houses of Parliament and of the Government Departments most concerned has been appointed to consider the question of a memorial to be distributed to the relatives of soldiers and sailors who fall in the war...'

The Committee comprised two peers, six Members of Parliament, two of whom held military rank, and representatives for the Dominions, the India Office, the Colonial Office and the Admiralty.7 Sir Reginald Brade, Secretary of the War Office and Army Council, was appointed Chairman and Mr W Hutchinson, also of the War Office, was made Secretary. Additionally a specialist sub-committee was subsequently set up to assist the General Committee on the more arcane points of artistic and technical detail. The sub-committee included the Directors of the National Gallery and the Victoria and Albert Museum, Sir Cecil Harcourt-Smith and Sir Charles Holmes, and the Keeper (since 1912) of the Department of Coins and Medals at the British Museum, George Francis Hill.

On 7 November 1916, The Times informed its readers, the decision had been made that the cost of the memorial was to be borne by the State. The precise form it was to take was a matter for much longer consideration though the initially accepted idea was that it should be '...a small metal plate recording the man's name and services.'

After the announcement of 7 November 1916 the Committee's deliberations disappeared for many months from public view. It was not until August 1917, in the midst of the Third Battle of Ypres, that the memorial 'plate' project resurfaced in the General Committee's decision that the commemoration should now take the form of bronze plaque. The announcement was reported in The Times for Monday 13 August 1917 and the public competition for appropriate designs described in extravagant detail:

The Government are offering prizes, amounting in all to not less than £500 (in proportions to be subsequently decided) for a limited number of the most successful models for a small memorial plaque in bronze to be given to the next of kin of those members of His Majesty's naval and military forces who have fallen in the war. The plaque must have an area of as near as possible 18 square inches. It may be a circle of 4¾ inches in diameter, or a square of 4¼ inches, or a rectangle of 5 inches by 3 to 3½ inches, and it should be so produced by casting from a mould, which should be finished with precision. All designs submitted must be actual models in relief in wax or plaster of the size indicated. No models on a larger scale will be considered, and no competitor may submit more than two models. The design should comprehend a subject and a brief inscription. It is suggested that some symbolical figure subject should be chosen but the following inscription has been decided upon: 'HE DIED FOR FREEDOM AND HONOUR' and this must form part of the design.

There followed instruction relating to the need to leave space for the deceased's name and the reminder 'that the design should be essentially simple and easily intelligible'. The final paragraphs informed readers that all competitors 'must be British born subjects' and that the model 'should be packed in a small box and delivered to the National Gallery not later that 1 November'. In an effort to avoid all forms of discrimination the designers were requested not to sign their works; instead they were to be marked on the back with a motto or pseudonym 'which should also be written on a sealed envelope containing the competitor's name and address'. The prize-winning models would become the property of the Government and arrangements were to be made for the artist's signature or initials to appear on the finished plaque.

The Competition

The competition aroused enormous interest, especially from overseas entrants and, for the sake of fairness, the Committee extended the closing date for submissions to 31 December 1917. An announcement to this effect appeared in the 10 September issue of The Times. The following month, on Thursday 18 October, the same paper printed a reference to the good progress of the scheme and repeated the information that the closing date had been extended to the end of the year. The article also added that:

"In addition to the plaque, a scroll with a suitable inscription will be given. This is being designed at the present moment and it is hoped that it will be possible to put printing in hand in less than a fortnight."

This last sentence expressed a hope indicative of a powerful optimism. The stated timescale was not fulfilled; the production of the scroll was to be beset with technical and textual problems.

By the revised closing date over 800 entries had been received from all over the Empire, from the Western Front, the Balkan and Middle Eastern theatres of war and from many artists based at home in Britain.

Assisted by its specialist 'artistic' sub-committee, the ninth meeting of the General Committee arrived at a decision on 24 January 1918. Approval for the winning design was subsequently obtained from the Admiralty, War Office and the King. At the same time the design of the memorial scroll and its text were being considered in detail. The minds of the contemporary literary world were ransacked in an effort to obtain a satisfactory elegiac formula. According to the late Miss Rose Coombs, former Librarian at the Imperial War Museum, the solution came via the good offices of Sir Vincent Baddeley, the Admiralty representative on the General Committee, who sought permission to consult the Provost of King's College, Cambridge, Dr Montague Rhodes James. Sir Vincent remembered that he was supplied with a draft wording by return of post.

The results of the competition were officially announced in The Times for Wednesday 20 March 1918, the day before the beginning of the German 'Kaiserschlacht' offensive on the Western Front.

The first prize of £250, for two model designs, was awarded to 'Pyramus' - Edward Carter Preston of the Sandon Studios Society, Liverpool. The second prize of £100 went to 'Moolie' - Charles Wheeler (sculptor and medallist) of Chelsea. Third prizes of £50 each went to 'Sculpengro' - William McMillan (who later contributed designs for the British War Medal and Victory Medal), 'Weary' - Sapper G D MacDougald and 'Zero' - Miss H F Whiteside.

Another nineteen competitors were considered 'worthy of an honourable mention'. As a postscript competitors were requested to reclaim their models from the National Gallery.

The prize-winning design - a description

Edward Carter Preston's prize-winning design (the Imperial War Museum holds an original model in plaster, catalogue reference MEDP/3) comprises the figure of Britannia, classically robed and helmeted, standing facing right, holding a modest laurel wreath crown in her extended left hand and supporting a trident by her right side with her right arm and hand. In the foreground a male lion stands facing right; the animal was originally described as 'striding forward in a menacing attitude' which may explain its unusually low profile.

'Menacing' or otherwise, the proportions of the beast, earlier queried by Sir Frederick Ponsonby (on behalf of King George V), deeply upset many including the officials at Bristol's Clifton Zoo.18 Above the lion's head was a blank rectangular panel in which the name of the deceased would 'by an ingenious method of casting' be inserted. To the right of Britannia's head and by the side of her right arm is a small sinuous dolphin, a reference to British sea-power and one that recalls the use of that same animal (in the singular) by Pegram in his prize-winning Jutland medallion.

At the lower right edge is a branch of oakleaves and acorns. The standard text is arranged around the edge of the piece: 'HE+DIED+FOR+FREEDOM+ +AND+HONOUR'. Within the exergue, in symbolic confrontation, a lion pounces on an eagle: a reference to the desired destruction of the Central Powers. Incorporated from Carter Preston's second model entry the exergue's contents had necessitated a personal interview between Sir Charles Holmes and the artist in London in January 1918. The original concern of Sir Charles Henry MP at the last meeting of the General Committee was that the German eagle should not appear too hopelessly humiliated. He argued that the imagery was anticipatory and potentially unhelpful with regard to future, post-war relations - admirable sentiments which were reiterated by Charles Marriott in the April 1918 issue of Land and Water. On the mass-produced plaques made available for distribution E Carter Preston's initials were embossed above the lion's right forepaw and a number (possibly an operative's or Ministry of Munitions factory number) was impressed by the animal's right rear paw.

Mass production

The prize-winning designs were exhibited for a time during the spring and early summer of 1918 at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The large scale production of the plaques was delayed by a whole series of problems relating to the refinement and unsuccessful modification of Carter Preston's winning model. These difficulties formed the basis for extensive correspondence on points of technical detail between G F Hill and the artist through the months of October to December 1918. It is clear that at times both became exasperated by the conflicting demands of standardisation for mass production and the claims for artistic integrity of the original piece.

Production of the plaques began in December 1918 but difficulties continued to beset the project. A disused laundry in Acton (West London), grandly called 'The Memorial Plaque Factory' was the first centre of production. It was managed by an eccentric American engineer and entrepreneur, named Manning Pike, and staffed principally by women. Hill had been impressed by Pike's solution to the problem of incorporating the names of the deceased on the plaque in such a manner as to harmonise with Carter Preston's chosen script. Despite his technical expertise Pike's monopoly was later brusquely terminated by the War Office and work transferred to Woolwich Arsenal and, subsequently, other former munition factories. After the relative excitement of the competition the whole process of mass production was a slow and 'weary business'. At Woolwich the project foundered and Manning Pike was recalled to save the situation. The work was completed but not without the decline in standards of output which Hill had predicted:

Hill originally postulated a total number of '800,000' plaques to be produced; later estimates have put the total figure at some 1,150,000 specimens. The plaques issued commemorated those men and women who died between 4 August 1914 and 10 January 1920, for Home Establishments, Western Europe and the Dominions. The final date for other theatres of war (including Russia) or for those who died subsequently from attributable causes was 30 April 1920.

Plaque named to Nurse Winifred Coates who died of illness in hospital in London on 8 February 1916, aged 26

The Memorial Scrolls

I join with my grateful people in sending you this memorial of a brave life given for others in the Great War. George R.I.

The scrolls started to be manufactured in January 1919 (the original total estimate for scrolls by the Central School was 'about 970,000') and were sent out in seven and a quarter inch long cardboard tubes.

The plaques themselves were dispatched under separate cover in stiff card wrapping enclosed within white envelopes bearing the Royal Arms. Both memorials were accompanied by a letter from King George V which bore his facsimile signature and read as follows:

Postscript: domestic shrines and commercial frames

Inspired possibly by the tradition of the 'street shrine' (localised physical expressions of public grief entirely spontaneous in their origin) it was common for memorial plaques and scrolls, sometimes additionally embellished by the deceased's war medals, to be displayed in thousands of homes after the First World War. In that more deferential and less sophisticated age it was not felt out of place to honour the memory of one who had by definition made the ultimate sacrifice by the establishment of personalised domestic shrines. Commercially made frames, produced by a variety of manufacturers, facilitated such household displays. The frames did not please Hill:

As to the frames, anyone who pleases can put on the market...such things. Of course if we had a proper 'Committee of Taste' such things could not happen

Many plaques were further honoured by regular and vigorous cleaning, an obliterating fate, especially for the impoverished later casts, which Hill had early on gloomily foreseen.

All the poor people will scrub the plaque to keep it bright like soldiers' buttons (doesn't the thought make you shiver?).