Eglantyne Jebb, The Woman Who Saved the Children, by Clare Mulley

Ninety-five years ago this month, in May 1919, a remarkable woman called Eglantyne Jebb, and her sister, Dorothy Buxton, changed the world.

Many years ago, I worked as a rather struggling corporate fundraiser at Save the Children. One day I came across a line written by Eglantyne, the charity’s founder, when she was also finding it hard work to raise funds. ‘The world is not ungenerous’ Eglantyne wrote, ‘but unimaginative and very busy’. That struck a chord with me, and I became rather intrigued about this woman, who spoke with such immediacy but who is so little known today.

Eglantyne Jebb at her Save the Children desk, c.1921

In 2001 I went on maternity leave to have my first child - thereby showing far less dedication to the cause than Eglantyne, who never had children of her own and worked tirelessly for the charity until she died. As I had two weeks before my due date, I decided to spend a some time finding out a bit more about Eglantyne.

Looking through the papers in Save the Children's archive, then in the charity’s basement, I came across the leaflet below. Although entitled ‘A Staving Baby’, the photograph actually shows a little girl from Austria who is two-and-a-half year old. Her disproportionately large head, compared to her body, is the result of malnutrition.

Eglantyne's leaflet, 1919

In the top right hand corner you can just see Eglantyne’s scribbled word ‘suppressed!’ The exclamation mark shows her personal indignation at the policy of the British Liberal government to continue the economic blockade to Europe after the First World War as a means of pushing through the harsh peace terms of the Treaty of Versailles. Eglantyne believed that the British public was unaware of the terrible human cost of this policy and set out to change things.

In the spring of 1919 she was handing out these leaflets in London's Trafalgar Square, a traditional site for public protest. One account even has her chalking up the pavements with her messages ‘Fight the Famine’ and ‘End the Blockade’, in suffragette style. Eventually, the government had her arrested.

When her case same to court that May, Eglantyne knew that legally she did not have a leg to stand on as her leaflets had not been cleared by the government censors under the Defence of the Realm Act, which was still in place. Nevertheless she insisted on conducting her own defence and, focusing on the moral case, she gave the court reporters plenty to pad out their stories with.

The Crown Prosecutor is the only person in this story with a name to rival Eglantyne’s. He was called Sir Archibald Bodkin, and he did not spare Eglantyne in his condemnation. She was found guilty and fined £5. ‘This’, she wrote to her mother, ‘is the equivalent of victory’, because she could have been fined £5 for every leaflet she had distributed, over 800, or even been given a custodial sentence.

Furthermore, after the session had officially closed, but before the court had been cleared, Sir Archibald came over and pressed a £5 note, the sum of her fine, into Eglantyne’s hands. Technically she had been found guilty, but clearly in the Crown Prosecutor’s eyes Eglantyne had won the moral case. This would be the first donation towards a new fund that Eglantyne and her sister Dorothy now vowed to set up – the ‘Save the Children Fund’.

Daily Herald, 16 May 1919

As you can see from the photo above, of the front page of The Daily Herald, the British newspapers gave the story prominent coverage. Eglantyne was also featured in The Times, The Mail, The Mirror and The Guardian.

But Eglantyne knew that, pleasing though this coverage was, publicity alone would not feed the starving children of Europe. Determined to capitalize on the publicity, she and Dorothy decided to hold a public meeting and see if they could win further support for the cause. Being ambitious women, they booked the biggest venue they could find: the Royal Albert Hall. Reports tell us that in the event, there were not enough seats in the hall for the numbers of people who arrived.

Crowds queuing to hear Eglantyne Jebb and Dorothy Buxton
talking at the Royal Albert Hall, 19 May 1919

However, to their horror, Eglantyne and Dorothy soon realized that many of the audience had arrived with rotten fruit and vegetables to throw at the ‘traitor’ sisters who wanted to give succour to 'the enemy'. At first Eglantyne nervously mumbled her words, but her voice rose with her passion, until she called out; ‘Surely it is impossible for us, as normal human beings, to watch children starve to death without making an effort to save them’. The crowd in the hall were shocked. Then, in the silence, a collection was spontaneously taken up.

Within ten days Eglantyne, Dorothy and the fledgling Save the Children Fund had invested in a herd of dairy cows to provide a sustainable source of nutrition to the children of Vienna. Thousands of lives were saved, and that was just the start…

The Woman Who Saved the Children,
A biography of Eglantyne Jebb by Clare Mulley

I am proud, and very grateful, to have worked, even just for a few years, at Save the Children, an organisation which is still doing such wonderful work to save the lives, and improve the life chances of millions of children all over the world. If anyone would like a copy of my biography of the extraordinary and inspirational Eglantyne Jebb, which won the Daily Mail Biographers Club prize, you might like to know that all author royalties go to Save the Children.

Clare Mulley www.claremulley.com

Protecting our Children by Marie-Louise Jensen

I had a different post in mind for today, but want instead to respond to Katherine Langrish and Barbara Mitchelhill's posts a few days ago about bleakness and violence in children's books. It's a subject I have strong feelings about.

What I have always loved about children's books, is the comparative safety and comfort they offer. Terrible things can happen, there can be danger, unhappiness and darkness. But you know for sure that things will somehow end up all right. Perhaps not for all the characters, and perhaps not a completely happy ending. But there will be light and comfort and a resolution of some kind. This is no longer the case.

I know real life isn't like this. None better. Perhaps that's why I crave this in fiction. Young people are going to be exposed to reality sooner or later - some will be confronted with loss and pain very young indeed. It's not about pretending the world is all wonderful when it isn't. It's not about lying to children to protect them. It's about fiction finding hope even in these bleak situations. When it doesn't, I wonder what the point of it is? What kind of message are we asking children to take away with them?

It bothers me that there seems to be a fashion and atmosphere of pushing at boundaries and taboos in children's fiction - to see just how grim writers can get away with being and still being published. And the shock factor is often endorsed with prize listings, which raises these books above more positive ones as though they are more imprtant and meaningful.

But are they? Is it not a greater message to a young person to help them find the positive or seek towards resolutions than to sink into a pit of despair? I believe that it is. Especially when you consider that British children are so often ranked as 'the unhappiest in Europe' or have 'the lowest self-esteem in the developed world' etc etc in the surveys the media loves so much.

The trend is only reflecting the one in adult fiction/television of course - there it is also towards the more violent and shocking too. I notice it because I rarely see television (I don't have it) and on the occasions I do, I'm horrified by the graphic nature of the modern crime series. They weren't like that years ago. They didn't show horrifically mutilated bodies or linger on scenes of agony and terror in death.

And as we expose ourselves more, there's also a culture against protecting children. If you choose to enforce film certificates in your home, you are far more likely to be laughed to scorn by friends and acquaintances than praised for obeying the law or protecting your children. The implication is there's something wrong with you.

I have learned over the past few years that books I would hesitate to give to children because of the appalling images they've left in my own mind, sometimes don't bother children nearly as much as they bother me. A child living a secure childhood may enjoy vicariously experiencing grim scenarios, abuse, neglect and even death. It doesn't upset them as much as an adult who's been through it in real life and has a fuller knowledge of the distress involved, or who reads the book as a parent, imagining his or her own child in the situations.
Nonetheless, the trend concerns me. Childhood is short, it's unspeakably precious and it never comes back. The security you get as a child stays with you throughout your adult years. A child who is protected and happy, who feels secure, is less likely to suffer from depression, anxiety and low self-esteem as an adult.

You have the rest of your life to see the bleakness, the misery and the lack of hope - if that is your lot in life, or if that is where you choose to focus. Because it is partly a choice. Sometimes life can throw dreadful things at you. But it can be how you deal with them. And that's what fiction can offer us above all.

For example: you can look at a scene in the park and choose to admire the beautiful autumn colours, the rich green grass or the children playing happily on the swings. Or you can spend your time in the park focusing on the dead squirrel under one of the trees and dwell at length on much it must have suffered before it died. Is that deeper or more meaningful than the beauty? I don't think that it is. Let's make sure we don't forget to teach children to see and value the beauty.