'Gentlemen, we are at war' - the Great War begins - by Eve Edwards

Winston goes to war

How do wars start?  Usually, far too optimistically.  On 4 August, a hundred years tomorrow as if you needed reminding, when Germany failed to reply satisfactorily to Britain's request that Belgian neutrality be respected, the United Kingdom entered what was to be called the Great War.  Winston Churchill gives a vivid account of the moment:

“It was eleven o’clock at night – twelve by German time – when the ultimatum expired. The windows of the Admiralty were thrown wide open in the warm night air. Under the roof from which Nelson had received his orders were gathered a small group of admirals and captains and a cluster of clerks, pencils in hand, waiting. Along the Mall from the direction of the Palace the sound of an immense concourse singing ‘God save the King’ floated in. On this deep wave there broke the chimes of Big Ben; and, as the first stroke of the hour boomed out, a rustle of movement swept across the room. The war telegram, which meant, “Commence hostilities against Germany”, was flashed to the ships and establishments under the White Ensign all over the world. I walked across the Horse Guards Parade to the Cabinet room and reported to the Prime Minister and the Ministers who were assembled there that the deed was done.”

 His account picks up on the almost holiday atmosphere of the moment.  No one could anticipate the years to follow. It is so much easier to start a war than to end one.

When writing about the war in my two-part series, Dusk and Dawn, I spent a lot of time pondering what it must have felt like to live through it.  The historical novelist is obviously working with hindsight.  You want to shout 'don't do it!' at the governments because you know what is to come.  But the skill is to throw off that problem of too much information and imagine the moment as lived.

Think about 'now' as you read this.  I often picture the present as being like the bow wave forming at the prow of a ship, soon to become the wake at the stern.  No sooner do you see it than it is past.  That's what you have to capture when writing about other times.  Of course, in 1914, it was reasonable to sing songs on the Mall and imagine that this would be glorious.  Problem was the guys on the other side were probably doing the same in Berlin.  Two juggernauts were about to smash into each other, carried along by the same wave of patriotic fervour.

So that's how wars often start.  The news is grim at the moment with a freezing of relations between Russia and the West but perhaps on this day of all days it is worth just thinking about what happens to the people in the path of juggernauts and not rush to raise the tension.

On a cheerier note (!), this is my last posting for a while for the History Girls blog.  I also write as Joss Stirling and Julia Golding and for the moment those names are taking up all my time.  So to Mary, our captain, and the others on the blog, God bless HMS History Girls and all who sail in her.  See you again soon!

Eve

The Elephant in the Room - by Eve Edwards

This blog is coming out on my book birthday - Dawn is dawning, so think of me singing a little round of happy birthday as I sit in my study.

For my entry today I've been pondering the plight of animals in war.  The subject has become a rich seam for authors and film makers.  War Horse is too well known to even mention, but just looking along the shelves of children's fiction you can hardly fail to spot them: Soldier Dog, War Dog, Shadow, A Soldier's friend, The Amazing Story of Adolphus Tips, A Horse called Hero (see Sam Angus' blog on this site about her book), and my children's favourite, I am the Great Horse (a horse in ancient warfare by History Girl, Katherine Roberts).  I could go on.  Half of these are by the wonderful Michael Morpurgo who has really cornered the market in the animal + war story.  I will try to suppress my envy.  Consider it stuffed like the dormouse in my teapot of literary jealousy.

So when I came to write Dawn, the second and final part of my World War I series for teen readers, dogs, horses and cats were all familiar presences but what about elephants?

Research is a wonderful thing - a real treasure hunt for anyone with an imagination that latches onto the unexpected.  It proves time and again that real life is far stranger than fiction. My idea of London during the German bombing campaign did not include pachyderms but I found a by-the-by comment in Neil Hanson's The First Blitz that started my imagination off on a new track.  On one of the very first night raids, a troupe of performing elephants were evacuated from Chelsea Palace to the Embankment.  The animals belonged to Lockhart's circus which enjoyed a long fame since Victorian times, carrying on even though one of the original owner brothers had died in an elephant stampede.  (Can any elephant expert verify if the Wikipedia entry is correct? I would love to know more about the Lockhart brothers.)

Even in a world at war, the (elephant) show must go on. A writer is very unlikely to make up a detail like that as it is so odd, but I couldn't get these peaceful evacuees out of my mind, parading under the arches while the bombs fell around them.  (Apparently they were very well behaved and didn't stampede, unlike the time that did for the unfortunate Lockhart).  Elephants by the Thames.  I wanted to be there with them so my heroine had, of course, to encounter them.  The plot took off in a direction where she would cross paths with the troupe which necessitated a trip to Westminster Bridge and a charge of treason.  From little elephant acorns a whole story plot grew.

But these elephants didn't give up their hold on me.  They became a whisper in the book through letters and idle thoughts, appearing in cloud formations and generally adding a sense of peace and blessing during times of high stress, such as when the hero is in a dog fight - the aerial sort.  When I think back to the book, it is these creatures I see, trunks gently curling around each other as the Thames burns with the reflected light of fires.

Writing this blog entry, I see I have underestimated the presence of elephants on the home front when I did a search for working elephants.  I hope you enjoy as much as me this photograph of an elephant employed in a munitions factory in Sheffield. Yes, Sheffield.  Not somewhere in the empire but in South Yorkshire.  That gives me an idea.  Hands off, please, Mr Morpurgo, I spotted the elephant in the room first...

You can also read part one now which covered the events of 1914-16. No elephants but a chocolate Labrador does make an appearance.