After the Armistice

In commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the signing of the Armistice for the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front between the Allies of World War I and Germany, we have a post written by one of our Archivists, Helena Hilton, that reflects on the lasting effects that the war was to have on families. This blog looks at  how the Waifs and Strays Society sought to assist the families of former soldiers scarred by the effects of war.

No doubt they’ll soon get well; the shock and strain
Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.
Of course they’re ‘longing to go out again,’—
These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk.
They’ll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed
Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,—
Their dreams that drip with murder; and they’ll be proud
Of glorious war that shatter’d all their pride…
Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;
Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.

Siegfried Sassoon, “Survivors”

Most of us are familiar with the films of victims of shell shock, those men with staring eyes and uneven gaits, who drop to the ground terrified by the slightest sound. At this 100th anniversary of the 1918 Armistice, there is a lot of focus on how the fighting came to an end, but for these men, in a sense, the war would never end: it went on and on in their shattered psyches, maybe all their lives. And the injuries of these terribly damaged men did not affect them alone: though we hear less about the families to whom the soldiers returned, and who had to deal with the consequences of their injuries, their lives too might be completely devastated, with consequences that would reach down the generations.

Field dressing station, 1917 (Wellcome Trust)

The case files of The Children’s Society illustrate vividly the lives and struggles of ‘ordinary’ people whose narratives have not always been part of “official” histories of this country preoccupied with Empire and industrial dominance. In them we find the story of one particular family for whom the end of the First World War in November 1918 was not a time for rejoicing and a signal to start rebuilding a family life, but for whom the war and its effects remained an ever-present, dominating reality.

In 1918 the Fair family were living in Halstead, Essex having recently moved there from Woolwich in south London. Henry (Harry) Fair, a career soldier, had come home from the War, but he was a different man to the one who had gone out to fight for his country. He was profoundly psychologically injured, and his family life had been devastated. His injuries were so severe that he had been medically discharged from the army in 1915 and was left incapable of working or even looking after himself, let alone his wife and three children.

A soldier suffering from shell shock

It was in November 1918 that the local curate, Revd Chamberlain, contacted The Waifs and Strays Society (as The Children’s Society was known in those days.) Harry’s wife, Alice, had just died and the vicar’s report on the family’s circumstances gave an insight into the dreadful conditions in which they had been living. The home was extraordinarily “dirty and miserable” and Alice had died “practically from starvation as her husband suffering severely from shell shock has an enormous appetite and there was only 24 shillings coming in weekly”. The military authorities had been negligent in organising the pension and Harry was shortly due to appear before a medical board for the 17th time in the hope that they might at last reach a decision. The local doctor feared that Harry might kill his children if they were left with him and so a local woman agreed to look after them temporarily and money was collected to buy them clothes. Harry himself was admitted to a home for soldiers in South Kensington, his desperate state apparently recognised at last. The children were destitute and their situation was “notorious all over the town”. Revd Chamberlain wanted the Society to take Harry’s two little boys, Charles and James, born in 1912 and 1915. Their elder sister, Kathleen, was found a home locally with a couple considering adoption.

In early December the Case Committee of the Waifs and Strays Society agreed to accept Charles and James as War Cases: the fact that the Society had formulated a particular procedure for children whose needs resulted from the War is, of course, a measure of its impact The little boys were taken into St Elizabeth’s Receiving Home in Clapham on 30 December 1918, and the following month they were placed with a foster mother in Rackheath, Norfolk. This illustrates the Society’s procedures in two ways: younger children were boarded out rather than placed in a larger Home in order to provide them with a mother figure and a family environment, and siblings were kept together where possible to maintain family links and to lessen the profound impact of coming into care and leaving the family home. On admission Charles and James were both suffering from rickets, a condition leading to softening of the bones and usually arising from poor nutrition, unsurprising given the conditions in which they had been living.

Once the children were in its care the Society set about finding out if they were eligible to receive a pension arising from their father’s war service. It was in January 1919 that Revd Edward Rudolf, the Founder and Secretary of the Waifs and Strays Society, was informed by the Pension authorities that an allowance had been made in respect of Harry’s children while he was undergoing treatment. Harry spent some time at a variety of hospitals and clinics specialising in the treatment of shell shock victims but unfortunately his health remained very poor. It seems that he was keen to maintain links with his children as he was able to visit Rackheath and stay at the foster home for a few days in the summer of 1920. Not long afterwards a representative of the Society visited Harry at the Special Hospital, Church Lane, Tooting, another neurological hospital used by the Ministry of Pensions for ex-servicemen suffering from shell shock: “The man has been 3 months an inmate, it was pitiful to see the poor fellow. Judging from his present appearance I should say that it is hardly ever likely that he will recover sufficiently to earn his livelihood. I did not ask the man his complaint, but should say he was suffering from paralysis and shock”.

In April 1921 Charles and James moved to a new foster mother in Dorset. They settled well in their new home and the supervisor who made sure all was well with the placement, reported that they were “dear little boys”. She asked how Harry was getting on and if there was an address for Kathleen: “I think Charles worries at not hearing”. The Society provided the most up to date information they had in the hope that contact could be made. Throughout the rest of 1921 and 1922 the reports of the foster home were good and Charles and James enjoyed a settled life. However, in early April 1923 their foster mother had to give the Society authorities the news that Harry Fair had died on 1 April at Netherne Mental Hospital, Coulsdon, where he had been an inmate since 18 November 1922. Harry was 38 when he died and the cause of his death was given as pulmonary tuberculosis. Harry was buried by the Ministry of Pensions at Reigate Cemetery, Surrey on 7 April 1923.

The children’s files contain a great deal of correspondence with the Pensions authorities concerning the allowances to which they were entitled following their father’s death. In March 1924 the Society decided to transfer the boys to the Hatton Home, Wellingborough: this was a centre where children whose fathers had been killed, or died, as a result of the War were supported by a special fund which had been raised for them in South Africa. In June that year a major conflict erupted between the Society and the Ministry of Pensions. The Ministry informed the Society that Harry Fair’s death could not “be certified to have been wholly due to the nature or condition of the pensioned disability as resulting directly from war service”, and that Charles and James were therefore not eligible for a pension. The Society authorities were incensed by this decision: they of course wanted the best for the children and in addition their funds at this time were extremely stretched, the War having swelled greatly the numbers of children for which they had to care. They, and Harry Fair’s children, needed all the help they could get; but the pensions authorities were known to be extremely stingy and difficult to deal with.

The Waifs and Strays Society appealed against the decision and spent a considerable time amassing evidence for their case and consulting legal experts. The paperwork submitted for the appeal, which was heard in December 1924, went into detail about Harry’s military service and his medical treatment. He had joined the Army in August 1897 and served until August 1909: his foreign service included spells in India, South Africa and Egypt. He joined up again at the outbreak of the First World War and was in France by October 1914. Harry was first diagnosed with neurasthenia in January 1915 and he spent 16 days in hospital. (There is much debate about the terms used to denote psychological trauma arising from war service. The Army discouraged the use of “shell shock”, and “neurasthenia” – actually meaning a mechanical weakness of the nerves – seems to have been employed as a catch-all description for war neuroses and for the result of prolonged anxiety and shock.) It. In the spring Harry was ill again with the same complaint and “shock”, and from May to July was in hospital, but his condition did not improve and on 5 July 1915 he was recommended for discharge from the Army as permanently unfit. It was noted that he “seemed nervous and was inclined to keep moving restlessly about. He talked in his sleep a good deal and walked with a very staggering gait, with the aid of a stick”.

Urgent medical attention was recommended in February 1918 by a “medical referee”, presumably giving evidence to the Pensions Board: “This man’s condition demands immediate attention. He must be removed from his present home and surroundings and appropriate treatment given. I recommend the London Hospital, as under the care of Dr Henry Head every effort will be made to restore him if possible. He is totally incapacitated and will remain so for many months probably.” It has not been recorded whether or not Harry was treated in hospital at this time; there is no indication on the evidence sheet that he was.

In July 1918 the Board found that Harry was still suffering from neurasthenia. He “states he cannot control his legs and arms. Has a difficulty in getting out his words. His limbs and body are in a continual state of spasmodic movements.” In June 1921 Harry was in a Ministry of Pensions Hospital and his condition was worsening. He was “mentally deteriorating” and further treatment was thought necessary. A later, but undated, report by a neurologist stated that Harry was not likely to improve by treatment. He had “gross hysterical symptoms with progressive mental deterioration” and was sent to Netherne Mental Hospital on 18 November 1922.

The Society claimed that the Ministry of Pensions had recognised Harry Fair’s disability ever since his sons had been in its care. They had granted pension allowances in respect of the children’s maintenance (however these had fallen far short of the actual cost of their upkeep) and had organised the burial arrangements after Harry’s death. The trump card was a letter dated 23 July 1924 that the Society had received from the Medical Superintendent of Netherne Hospital. “I beg to say that the above-named patient was admitted on November 18th 1922 and died on April 1st 1923 from Pulmonary Tuberculosis. He was made a Service patient by the Ministry of Pensions as his mental disability was thought to be due to his Army Service. I have no doubt that the disease from which he died was due more or less directly to the debilitated state in which his service in the Army left him”. The term “service patient” is significant: it had been introduced in August 1916, the aim being to avoid the stigma of these men being regarded as paupers. They were to be considered as private patients, wear a distinctive uniform and enjoy the privileges appropriate to such patients and their maintenance became the responsibility of the Ministry of Pensions. Here was clear evidence that the Ministry had seen Harry’s disability and deterioration as a direct consequence of his war service.

Letter from Medical Superintendent of Netherne Mental Hospital, 1924

The final decision of the Ministry of Pensions was favourable: “It is recognised that death was connected with service; a pension has therefore been awarded”.

So, now that their financial position was more secure, what became of the children?

Charles did well at school and in 1927 was apprenticed to an engineering firm as he had requested. The Society continued to help with his maintenance as he only received a nominal wage: he also received a certain amount of help from the South African Fund, and the Ministry of Pensions extended his pension for a little while, until they decided in August 1928 that he was receiving “in excess of what constitutes nominal wages”. Another charitable fund connected to the Society gave him a grant and with this and continued support from the Society Charles was able to complete his apprenticeship. He received glowing reports from the Manager of the Engineering Firm and from the Superintendent of the Society’s Hostel where he was living. Once his apprenticeship was finished in 1932 he settled well into work and continued to keep in touch with people he knew in the Society. The Hostel Superintendent was able to pass on to the Secretary of the Society news of his continued success at work and his forthcoming marriage in October 1936. Everyone was very happy to hear how well things had gone for Charles and wished him well for the future.

Evidence submitted to Pensions Appeal Tribunal

Life was not so easy for James. He was suffering badly from rickets on entering the Society’s care and although his legs became much straighter after receiving proper care his thighs remained bowed. He was also “tiny for his age, with a neck set almost in his shoulders”. As well as his physical problems James’s “mental development was poor” and in 1926 it was recommended that he be sent to a special school for what were at that time called “backward children”. James had been born in 1915, at a time when his father was very ill and his mother presumably severely undernourished. Home life during his earliest years was wretched and the family had very little money for food. These were the days before the Welfare State, when there was much less in the way of a safety net for families in crisis and it was much easier to go under: it seems likely that his traumatic start contributed towards his disabilities.

James was frequently examined and various medications, such as thyroid treatment were tried. His file contains considerable correspondence as there was much debate about what might be best for him. In November 1927 he was sent to St Boniface Home, Sampford Peverell, Devon on a six-month trial. He grew stronger, but unfortunately his mental development did not improve and was in fact considered to be “growing worse”. After an examination by the Devon County Council Medical Department in September 1928 he was declared to be “ineducable”: at his time the belief was that children with learning disabilities were impossible to educate, and it was not until the 1971 Education Act that it was officially recognised that “no child is ineducable”. Recommendation was made that he be admitted to a Home for the mentally disabled: The Waifs and Strays Society had no provision for children with learning disabilities and as Devon County Council refused to take any responsibility for him, in May 1929 James was placed with the Tiverton Poor Law Union. The plan was to shortly transfer him to a “Mental Home near Exeter”.

Here the story fades out. The Society had supported the children as much as it could for as long as it could; here the files end. Charles kept in touch with his brother and presumably continued to do so after the time for which we have records. Kathleen, the eldest sister who was adopted, seems to have drifted away: we have no further communication from her, though she may perhaps have re-established contact with her brothers later. So the children enter the 1930s; both parents dead, one boy physically and intellectually damaged by his traumatic start, the eldest sister apparently no longer in contact. The impact of Harry Fair’s service on the Western Front spread widely, back to England and on through the years: like the waves spreading out from a rock thrown into water. As we mark 100 years from the Armistice, we should remember Harry Fair, his family, and the thousands like them for whom the War never really ended at all.

Penny dreadfuls and ‘reading mania’

Is it possible to become ill through reading too much? It’s certainly something that was thought possible in Arthur’s case 114 years ago.

Arthur had been living in Newbury, Berkshire, with his mother and his two younger siblings. His father had died and his mother had run away from an abusive second marriage, leaving her struggling to earn enough money to support the family by herself. We are told that her earnings came from needlework and an occasional lodger.

When Arthur was 14 years old, he was sent to the Workhouse for a fortnight, and from there, in the year 1900, an application was made for Arthur to be taken into the care of The Children’s Society (then known as the Waifs and Strays Society). The reason given for sending Arthur into care is rather unusual. See the application form for yourself:

Application form from case file 7456, stating that Arthur was suffering from 'reading mania', dated 1900

Dear Sir

This boy left school
two years ago & as he was a clever promising boy
some friends helped the mother to apprentice him
to a printer. The work appears to have disagreed
with him, being too confined for his health, he is
a delicate lad & easily led & he has been spending
his master’s time & his own money in buying &
reading a number of penny dreadfuls. By this means
he has quite worried & weakened his brain & he
became so unmanageable three weeks ago that
his mother took him to a doctor, who sent him
to the Workhouse for a fortnight on a cerf certifi
cate as suffering from reading mania. No one can
imagine that there is anything whatever the
matter with the boy’s brain, he answers all questions
most intelligently & as you will see the doctor
who examined him yesterday saw nothing wrong
with him. But he had to be returned home & all
the mischief will begin again unless he is put
under proper control. He ought to have plenty
of fresh air & be carefully controlled & train
ed & I think then he would turn out well.

We are anxious he should be received into
the Hedgerley Farm Home, for which the Guardians
are willing to pay, we have a great opinion of the
training there, as exemplified by a lad from here
who was at Hedgerley for a year & has since done
very well. His mother has been married twice & was oblig
ed to leave her 2nd. husband he became mad & threatened her life &
his own & now she ekes out a spare livelihood for herself & the three
children & she cannot control this big boy of 14

yrs. truly (Miss) Caroline A Talbot ‘Lady Gdns [Guardians]’

I’m sure you’d agree that the main reason given here is a strange one! Nowadays, I doubt anyone would complain that a young person was reading too much. Not only that, but that ‘reading mania’ would be diagnosed by a doctor as a certifiable medical condition seems really quite strange over 100 years later.

An important point to note is that it is not just any books that Arthur was reading but penny dreadfuls. These books were so called because they were cheaply printed and not thought to be very good for the reader. They usually contained sensationalised, escapist stories that were popular with young people like Arthur. The fact that a doctor could diagnose Arthur as suffering from ‘reading mania’ suggests that penny dreadfuls were widespread enough in the early 20th Century to cause general public concern.

If this moral panic at reading sensational stories sounds a little odd to our ears, we could instead try to consider a modern equivalent. Today, for example, there is a lot of concern about video games, particularly violent ones. If a doctor in 2014 certified that a young person was suffering from some sort of mental illness brought on by playing too many violent video games, we wouldn’t necessarily think it was so unusual.

After all this talk of ‘reading mania’, it’s only when we read on to the bottom of the application form that we find what was, most probably, the real reason Arthur needed to be taken into care: his mother was trying to support three children by herself, while earning very little money. If this was the case, then why spend over half the page talking about the penny dreadfuls?

It’s important, when reading this or any document, not just to take it at face value. Instead we need to consider why the document was being written and if the person writing it had an agenda that they wanted to get across. In this case, the form was an application for Arthur to be taken into the care of the Waifs and Strays Society. However, not all applications were successful; the Waifs and Strays Society only had limited funds and so weren’t able to help every child that came to them. Instead, they used the application forms to decide who needed their help the most. In Arthur’s case, we can almost imagine that Miss Talbot, writing the form, was really emphasising the ‘reading mania’ to play on social fears current at the time, which she thought would help to get Arthur accepted into care.

Whether or not the ‘reading mania’ played a large part when Arthur’s case was considered by the Waifs and Strays Society, we don’t know; but we do know that his application was successful. In February 1900, Arthur was admitted into the Hedgerley Farm Home in Buckinghamshire. This home specialised in farming and the boys living there were trained in agricultural skills. Arthur stayed in the Hedgerley Farm Home for one year, after which he returned to his mother.

Overall, the medical diagnosis of ‘reading mania’ probably says far more about the social fears prevalent at the time than it does about Arthur’s health. What are your views on this? If penny dreadfuls were common today, do you think we’d still be worried about young people reading them?

For another example of the public fears surrounding penny dreadfuls and ‘cheap literature’, see this 1895 newspaper cutting at the British Library website.

Misunderstanding mental health in the early-20th Century

Today, we have a guest post written by one of our project volunteers, Leonora Fane-Saunders.

***

It is sadly apparent that mental health was not well understood in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The prevailing view at the time was one of institutionalisation, and many people with learning disabilities or mental health conditions found themselves sent to asylums and other similar institutions, to live apart from the rest of society. These institutions may have been seen as places of treatment, where people could be given specialised care, but they were also places of segregation.

The records from the Children’s Society [then the Waifs and Strays’ Society] show some of the attitudes and language prevalent at the time. An example of this is a letter recommending that a child be sent to an asylum in 1917. (Click to enlarge.)

Letter from Medical Superintendent of Newport Borough Asylum stating that the child should be admitted to an asylum, 1917

Dear Mrs De Gruchy

I am of opinion that
the little girl Gertie [surname]
from St. Cadocs Home Caerleon
whom I saw today is of
defective intellect – and not
likely to profit from the
training given at St. Cadoc’s
Home.

From the statement
of the Matron of the Home it
appears that the child has a
very deficient moral
sense in the matter of
truthfulness & honesty

and I think her example may
have an evil influence on the
other children in the Home.

Both on this account and
on her own I think she would
be much better placed in
an institution for mentally
deficient children where
the training and discipline
would be more suitable to
her case.

Yours Sincerely
Wm. F. Nelis MD
Med Supt. [Medical Superintendent]

In this letter there is nothing that today would today be considered grounds for institutionalisation and the terms used in this letter would now be considered highly inappropriate. It is possible that the child suffered from a learning disability that in turn led to the poor behaviour in the home.

List of Rules for Correspondents and Visitors to West Ham Mental Hospital, c1920

The asylums had very strict rules that seem akin to those found in a prison. A list of rules governing visitors to inmates at the West Ham Mental Hospital (see above, click to enlarge) show that visiting hours were restricted to two and a half hours per week unless under special circumstances in which case written permission was required. Presents could also only be given to inmates through the Attendant or Nurse in charge of the visiting room. Of the twenty four children who were admitted to an asylum or other such mental health institution from The Society’s care between 1894 and 1920 only two are known to have left the asylum. It is interesting to note that the two that left were different in that they were sent to the asylum for what appears to have been stress cause by over work whilst in service. The others were sent to the asylum for difficulties in learning what the children were being taught in the homes and for poor behaviour.

Although now, with the benefit of hindsight, it is easy to look back with horror at these institutions, it is also easy to forget that the first asylums were set up with humanitarian intentions as places that could care for the mentally ill and potentially cure them. Before then such people were usually hidden away under the care of their relatives. Good intentions were lost amidst the increasing asylum population, inadequate staff, lack of understanding of mental health and the fact that any man and his dog could set up a private asylum. Those who started the first asylum probably looked back in horror at the way the mentally ill were treated one hundred years before, and who’s to say people one hundred years from now might not do the same.

Most asylums were shut down in the late 20th Century and our knowledge and understanding in identifying and treating mental health issues has increased since then. While it can be upsetting to us now to see how people used to be treated 100 years ago, records such as those highlighted here are important. It is through understanding and discussing the past that we can begin to learn from previous mistakes and pave the way for a better future.

Want to find out more?
A previous blog post discussing historical attitudes to disability can be found here:
http://www.hiddenlives.org.uk/blog/2012/05/the-changing-perceptions-of-disability

A brief history of West Ham Mental Hospital can be found here: http://ezitis.myzen.co.uk/goodmayes.html

See the Museum of Disability, the Science Museum and this post from the National Archives for more information about the history of attitudes towards learning disabilities and mental health conditions.

The reality of living with a mental health condition in Victorian London

Today, instead of focussing on a particular child we will be focussing on a particular parent. The case files we hold give the family circumstances of most of the children that came into The Children’s Society’s care and so can go into a lot of detail about the health of the child’s family.

Charlotte came into the care of The Children’s Society (then known as the Waifs and Strays Society) aged 7 in 1895. As with all children that came into The Society’s care, an application form was written for Charlotte detailing why it was thought necessary for her to go into care.

The form states that Charlotte and her family came from Marylebone in London. Her father had been a chimney sweep but had died of bronchitis when Charlotte was around three years old.

The second page of the form, shown below, continues the story.

Part of the application form from case file 4658, detailing the health of the child's mother, 1895

Mrs. [surname] after the birth of a child
went out of her mind for a time & was
sent to an Asylum. On leaving,
the Doctor said she would never
again be fit for work. this hap-
-pened after her husbands death
& was partly brought on by the
shock. The family was very res-
-pectable & well cared for during the
Fathers lifetime. the poor widow
has had 9 children only four now
living.

“Charlotte” is a bright little thing
but has not had food enough
for some time, & is thin, with
the look all hungry children
have. sharing her poor mothers
uncertain fate has given her
an anxious face & way, that
are quite Pitiful

(Miss) Emma E Maingay
Hon. Sec

Elsewhere in the form, we learn that the child’s mother was doing light housework as an occupation and that she and Charlotte had no settled place to live.

This form illustrates quite clearly what could happen to a late-Victorian family if the parent or parents were unable to do much work due to an illness or disability. With few safety nets around, save for the workhouse, parents and their children had to struggle to find enough to eat.

Charlotte’s case was accepted by The Society and she went to live in St Hilda’s Home in Marylebone. A few months afterwards she was transferred to a home that wasn’t operated by The Society, St John’s Convalescent Home in Brighton. At this time The Society had no convalescent homes of its own and so often sent children to St John’s Home if they were unwell and needed extra care.

The reason that Charlotte needed to go to a convalescent home isn’t stated, but it seems likely that she was suffering from malnutrition; in other letters in her file she is described as being ‘delicate’ and like a ‘little white ghost’.

After two years at St John’s Home, Charlotte must have been strong enough to return to one of The Society’s children’s homes, this time the Brighton Home for Girls. Charlotte stayed in Brighton until 1903 when she would have been around 15 years old. At this point, a letter from Charlotte’s sister Louisa was received.

Louisa was about eight years older than Charlotte and was married and living in East Barnet near London. She asked if Charlotte could come to live with her; this was agreed and Charlotte went to her sister a few weeks later.

Within the file, we never find out what had happened to Charlotte’s mother after Charlotte was taken into care, as Louisa doesn’t mention her. We can only hope that she was doing well, although her previous circumstances didn’t bode well.

At this distance, it is very hard to discover what condition Charlotte’s mother was suffering from that had required her to enter an asylum for a period of time. As with a number of diseases, the diagnosis of mental health conditions in the late-19th Century was not as sophisticated as it is today. All we can do is go by what we’re told: Charlotte’s mother’s illness had been brought on by the shock of her husband’s death and perhaps by the birth of a child; it had left her unfit for work; and, according to one doctor, ‘she would never be the same woman again’.

What is clear is that she left the asylum with little assistance, despite finding it difficult to work, which meant that being able to care for herself and for Charlotte was an almost impossible struggle, and perhaps one that she was unable to survive.