Once the Military Service Act come into force in 1916, men aged 18-41 had to apply to a Military Tribunal if they believed that they had a reason not to be drafted. The majority had health, work or family reasons, but 2% were Conscientious Objectors (COs): men who objected to military service because they objected to war.
Around 16,000 men were recorded as conscientious objectors: some were ordered to do âwork of national importanceâ (e.g. farming), some were given non-combatant duties, but 6,000 were forced into the army. Many then refused orders and were imprisoned, as were those who refused both military and alternative service.
The Grace Unforfeit
Conscientious Objector Alan McDougall edited The Whisperer in Winchester Prison. Prisoners wrote poems, articles, comments or cartoons on sheets of toilet paper and passed them surreptitiously to McDougall, who bound them together with a piece of mailbag as a cover, and sent the single copy into circulation, passed hidden up sleeves from one inmate to another. In this âballadeâ poem, he describes daily life in prison, while deriding the failure of the authorities to take from him the thing he treasured most, âthe grace unforfeit of a living soulâ.
âThree planks, the blankets, soap, a fork
and spoon â Knife?
God forbid his fair young life should be
Thus in his keeping: but, a special boon
We lend him one to cut the bread for tea;
Boot polish, tooth paste, towel, and brushes three â
These and four walls: yea, these shall be the whole
Of his possession.â
But they left to me
The grace unforfeit of a living soul.
I must confess my neighbourâs endless tune
Gets on my nerves,
âThe Red Flagâ though it be:
I sometimes wish heâd spend the afternoon In peaceful dozing till, at ten past three,
The voice and vision of the âR.M.P.â
Calls us to quit this rather dismal hole
And take a walk â to cherish tenderly
The grace unforfeit of a living soul.
Iâm rather glad it will be bedtime soon:
The days pass rather uneventfully.
They say âtis Whitsun Monday, 12th of June:
It might as well be Christmas.
Still, perhaps we Will move tomorrow nearer to the goal:
Wandsworth, or wherever it may be â
The grace unforfeit of a living soul.
Architect artless, whosoeâer you be,
That planned this guard-room, choose another role.
You must confess you failed, in leaving me
The grace unforfeit of a living soul.
Conscientious Objectors (After a Military Tribunal)
Irish poet Eva Gore-Booth was a lifelong campaigner for social change and organiser of women workers, and the younger sister of Irish republican Constance Markiewicz. In this short poem, Eva expresses her disgust at the Military Tribunal, where the âsix ignorant men and blindâ (the Tribunal panel) accuse and vilify the Conscientious Objectors.
For the Hidden One in every heart,
Lost star of the worldâs night,
Fire that burns in the soul of art,
The Light within the light.
For the gentleness of Buddhaâs dream
And Christâs rejected truth,
The treasure under the worldâs stream
Pearl of pity and ruth.
Before six ignorant men and blind,
Reckless they rent aside
The Veil of Isis in the mind âŠ
Men say they shirked and lied.
The COâs wife
Like Eva Gore-Boothâs poem, Monica Ewerâs âThe COâs Wifeâ also records the contempt dished out to COs by Tribunals. Like Alan McDougallâs verse, this describes conditions of life.
Ewer â whose husband Norman did farm work as a CO âurges her husband not to give up his principled stand but to âsee it throughâ. Monica joined the Communist Party after the war, and became the Daily Heraldâs drama and film critic.
Swilling teas in sewing bees,
Knittinâ socks,
âGive a contribution, please,
To my box.â
You can half forget the smart,
Rollinâ lint with all your heart,
Feel that you can take your part In landing
âKaiserâ in the cart,
Knittinâ socks.
But a parson and a mayor turned him down,
Lord, what cod!
With a colonel and a baker from the town,
Off to quod.
For the chairman, with a sneer,
Asked if he âaffected beer,â
Said, âWe want no conscience here;
What ails you is simply fear!â
Oh, my God! Making shirts, you neednât mourn,
Neednât mope; And you donât seem so forlorn,
You can hope
We can only sit and think.
Hear âem: âHas your man a kink?
Or perhaps heâs took to drink?â
While they shoves him into clink, Pickinâ rope.
We can only promise you,
Donât get blue, That thereâs one thing we will do,
Straight and true;
Though we seem so helpless, quite,
Yet we wonât give up the fight,
But weâll keep your faith alight,
And weâll teach your kiddies right,
So, see it through.