Part 6 (2/2)

On 7 August, the War Minister, Lord Kitchener, began a ma.s.sive recruitment campaign where he tried to persuade male civilians between the ages of 19 and 30 to join up. Keen to defend their country from the fearsome Hun and ignorant of the horrors that war could inflict, many young men complied with Kitchener's request and by mid-August, an average of 33,000 men were joining the army every day. This initial flurry of enthusiasm was encouraged further when, at the end of August, the age limit was raised to 35 and by mid-September, half a million men had volunteered.

The casual labourers and market workers that resided in Duval Street and its surrounds were extremely keen to sign up as it offered them an opportunity to do something far more constructive with their lives than their current employment could ever offer them. However, at first many were thwarted in their attempts to join the army, which had certain regulations regarding who could enlist. All new recruits had to be at least 5'6” tall with a chest measurement no less than 35 inches. Many of the poor Spitalfields dwellers had been raised on a very bad diet and consequently were undernourished and small in stature. However, they received a second chance when, in 1915, volunteers began to reduce so the army relaxed its regulations to allow men over 5'3” to sign up.

The age limit was also raised to 40 and by July 1915, the army decided to create what were colloquially known as 'Bantam Battalions', which consisted of men measuring between 5' and 5'3” in height. Many men from Spitalfields and the surrounding areas joined battalions of the City of London Royal Fusiliers. Local boy Arthur Harding later remembered seeing inebriated new recruits gathering at Columbia Road Market before marching off to Waterloo Station bound for training camps in Aldershot. Many of these men were destined never to return.

Although Spitalfields became caught up in the fervent patriotism that was universally prevalent during 1914 and the early months of 1915, there were many men who did not rush to join the queue at the recruitment office. These men had many reasons for not joining their friends and colleagues. Some were fearful of fighting, others objected to war in principle. Most thought it irresponsible to leave their families as they were often the sole wage-earner whose job it was to care not only for their young families, but also for elderly and sick parents. This reluctance by a large proportion of eligible men to join up was country-wide and so the Government hatched an elaborate plan to change these men's views.

The War Propaganda Bureau was set up and amongst other tasks, was a.s.signed the job of persuading more civilian men to join the army. The Propaganda Bureau responded with a highly sophisticated PR campaign that centred on the promotion of fervent patriotism combined with dissemination of terrible stories citing the horrific barbarism of the German army. Popular writers of the time were invited to produce pamphlets that were distributed around the streets. This resulted in the production of persuasive tracts from eminent authors such as Rudyard Kipling, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Arnold Bennett. A highly effective poster campaign was also launched and large businesses were encouraged to set up their own recruitment drives. The Manchester Guardian newspaper for example offered the following privileges to employees who decided to sign up: Four week's wages from date of leaving.

Re-engagement on discharge from service guaranteed.

Half pay during absence on duty for married men from the date when full pay ceases, to be paid to the wife.

Special arrangements for single men who have relatives entirely dependent on them.

Most of the recruitment drives organised by the Propaganda Bureau were successful but some of their schemes were heavily criticised. One such scheme was the creation of the Order of the White Feather. This organisation was set up in August 1914 by Admiral Charles Fitzgerald who believed that he could shame men into signing up. Young, attractive girls were encouraged to patrol the streets and hand out white feathers (signifying cowardice) to any man who looked the right age to fight. The main problem with the concept of the Order of the White Feather was that the young girls had no idea of their victims' backgrounds. Many men that were given white feathers had previously failed the army physical. Many others had resisted joining because of personal tragedy, for example the death of a wife or child. The delivery of the white feather simply added to their misery by making them feel guilty.

Of course, these recruitment drives and PR campaigns cost money and with a hugely increased number of new soldiers to pay, the Government coffers soon began to look decidedly depleted. In a bid to significantly increase their funds, the Treasury introduced the War Loan scheme, a savings plan designed to prop up the economy for the duration of the war. Local businesses, unions, friendly societies, clubs and even private individuals were encouraged to invest money in the scheme. Following a national appeal, the Costermongers' and Street Sellers' Union, whose headquarters were in Spitalfields, generously invested virtually all its funds 800 in the fund. However, not all Spitalfields workers were quite as keen to help the war effort. Some time later, Joseph Goldberg, Joseph Coen and Abraham Applebrook were summoned before a judge accused of selling potatoes at a rate above the fixed price. It is not clear whether the three men were members of the union.

The army recruitment drives also had their detractors. In August 1917, Myer Gritzhandler Smerna, a 27-year-old warehouseman from Spitalfields, was arrested with two a.s.sociates for using 'insulting words and behaviour'. The Times reported that, 'The evidence of two constables was that the men formed part of a crowd of 150 outside the Aliens' Registration Office in Commercial Street at 10 o'clock on Tuesday night.' Mr Smerna's friend cried '**** the army, I am not going to join' and Smerna concurred loudly and enthusiastically. The crowd didn't take too kindly to the men's outburst and in the words of The Times reporter, 'became very hostile towards the prisoners. The Police had considerable trouble getting them to the station.' Smerna and his a.s.sociate were subsequently bound over to keep the peace, the judge sagely noting that they could have found themselves in a very dangerous situation had the police not intervened.

Following the ma.s.sive recruitment drives of 1914 and 1915, London's demographic changed considerably. A vast number of men aged between 19 and 40 vanished from the streets. In some areas, the entire male population vanished. Consequently, businesses that relied on these men suffered considerably and none more so than the common lodging houses.

The average age of a male common lodging house resident in Spitalfields before 1915 had been 35. By 1916, the lodging houses had been emptied of virtually all their labouring clientele and were left with older men and women. The landlords tightened their belts and hoped that the war would soon be over.

In Spitalfields, the landlords were not the only people to be affected by the sudden disappearance of the younger men. The prost.i.tutes also found their trade was severely affected. They had no choice but to lower their prices and find trade where they could. Now with much more time on their hands, they sat and drowned their sorrows in the pubs alongside the lodging-house deputies, the old men and the wives and girlfriends of men away at the front.

As pubs increasingly became a place of refuge for those affected by the sudden disappearance of all the younger men, the Government became concerned at the level of alcohol consumed by the remaining proletariat. Work at munitions factories (which were essential to the war effort) was being constantly disrupted as the beleaguered workers turned up either drunk or severely hung over.

The amount of alcohol consumed by women was of particular concern: A survey of four London pubs revealed that in one hour on a Sat.u.r.day night, alcohol was consumed by 1,483 men and 1,946 women. Keen to resolve this growing problem, the Government announced in October 1915 several measures they believed would reduce alcohol consumption: A 'No Treating' Order meant that pub visitors could only buy drinks for themselves. Taxes on alcohol were raised significantly and pub opening times were reduced to 12pm 2.30pm then 6.30pm 9.30pm. Previously, pubs had been allowed to open from 5am until 12.30am.

These new measures had a huge effect. In 1914, Britain consumed 89 million gallons of alcohol. By 1918, this figure had fallen to 37 million. The number of people arrested for being drunk and disorderly also decreased dramatically. While this was good news for the Government and the local police force, it spelt more bad news for the lodging-house landlords, many of whom (such as Gehringer and c.o.o.ney) owned pubs and relied on drunkenness and alcoholism to fill their beds each night.

Although Londoners' drinking habits were forcibly changed during World War 1, the food they ate remained much the same despite the German navy's attempts to starve Britain into submission. By 1916, German U-Boats were patrolling the seas and destroying about 300,000 tons of s.h.i.+pping per month. In response, Britain became much more self-sufficient and for a while this worked very well indeed although potatoes, sugar and meat proved hard to obtain. This was the one piece of good news for men such as Jack McCarthy who subsidised their losses in the lodging houses by hiking up the prices of the food and household essentials they sold in their shops. They also made a point of being publicly pessimistic about how long Britain could cope with having so much imported food destroyed by the Germans, thus creating panic buying.

Panic buying was not just a feature of London's poorer streets. By the end of 1917, most civilians were genuinely fearful that Britain would soon run out of food. Their panic buying created a food shortage in itself and so in January 1918, the Ministry of Food introduced rationing on sugar and meat.

By this stage, many of the poorer families who had relied on their young husbands and brothers for an income were becoming desperate. As thousands of men died in b.l.o.o.d.y battles fought across French fields, thousands of families back in Britain lost their only source of income for good. Others received their once healthy menfolk back home having been discharged through injuries, some of which were horrific. For poor families, this was worse than receiving the dreaded telegram that informed them of a death as they now had to care for another person, who was often severely disabled.

Many thousands of Londoners suffered terrible injuries from bullets and sh.e.l.ls during their time at the front. However a significant number of servicemen also endured the effects of a deadly new weapon that came in the form of gas. One man who witnessed the horrors of a gas attack was Jack McCarthy's only son, who had been doing his bit for the war effort by entertaining the troops in France.

In April 1915, the German army stationed at Ypres began firing chlorine gas cylinders at French troops. At first the soldiers noticed yellowy-green clouds of smoke coming across the battlefield. Next they noticed a curious smell that seemed reminiscent of pineapples mixed with pepper. Seconds later, they experienced severe chest pains and a burning sensation in their throats. Once the gas had invaded their respiratory systems, it quickly attacked their lungs and the men slowly asphyxiated. Chlorine gas was used numerous times by the German Army and despite frantic efforts to save the victims, doctors could not find any successful treatment. By the end of the war, nearly 2,000 British soldiers had died from the effects of chlorine gas and over 160,000 had been injured by it.

Following the 'success' of chlorine gas attacks, the German Army looked for an even deadlier gas to unleash on the Allies. They found it in mustard gas and in September 1917, they launched their first attack with this devastating weapon. Mustard gas was the most lethal chemical weapon used in World War 1. It was very difficult to detect as it had no odour and took 12 hours to take effect. However, it was devastating for those who breathed it in. Soldiers exposed to mustard gas experienced blistering skin and very sore eyes. Soon after, they were violently sick. As the effects of the gas took hold, they experienced internal and external bleeding followed by the slow stripping of the mucus membrane from the bronchial tubes. Death could take up to five weeks and the soldier's decline was slow and utterly agonising. Many had to be strapped to their beds to stop them thras.h.i.+ng about and their horrific death throes proved highly distressing for the medical staff caring for them, many of whom were young girls.

As the war raged on, those left in Britain began to despair of ever seeing an end to the conflict. London had been surrounded by a ring of barrage balloons in mid-1918, which effectively halted any aerial a.s.saults from German Gothas because it was very difficult to fly the planes over the top. However, the people were becoming increasingly dispirited. Hardly any families escaped the despair of receiving a telegram telling them that a loved one had been killed. Many others were trying to cope with caring for their husbands and sons crippled from war and unable to work. Life had been tough before 1914. The outbreak of war had made it almost unbearable. As usual, those who suffered the most were the very poor. They tried to remain upbeat for their boys still at the front, but for many it was difficult, especially when they received word from the soldiers who themselves were becoming very dispirited. Charles Young, who served in France, told an interviewer in 1984: 'One day I was in the trench and we'd been under attack for days. Well, two blokes with me shot themselves on purpose to try and get sent home and out of the war. One said to me ”Chas, I am going home to my wife and kids. I'll be some use to them as a cripple, but none at all dead! I am starving here and they are at home, so we may as well starve together.” With that, he fired a shot through his boot. When the medics got his boot off, two of his toes and a lot of his foot had gone. But injuring oneself to get out of it was quite common'.

While self-inflicted injuries were not unusual, some men took an even greater risk that of desertion. Deserting the Army during World War 1 was dangerous to the point of being foolhardy. Firstly, most men were in a foreign land where they did not speak the language, know the geography or understand the culture. Secondly, they not only had to escape from their army, but also from the enemy. Finally, if they got caught, they would most likely be court-martialled and shot. Despite these risks, some men did run away and a few actually managed to get away for good, although the fact that they had left their mates in the trenches must have severely played on their conscience for many years afterwards. In total, 304 British soldiers were caught and, after a court martial, were executed by firing squad.

Henry Morris, a bookmaker's clerk from Spitalfields, had a lucky escape from the death penalty. At some time during the course of the war, Morris had deserted and found his way back to London where he probably would never have been discovered had it not been for his failure to resist his criminal tendencies. Late in 1918, Morris attempted to steal a pocket book from Walter Stacey while riding on an omnibus down Kingsway in Holborn. Unfortunately for him, he was caught red-handed and promptly arrested. Had Morris been arrested one year previously, it is highly likely he would have faced the firing squad. However he was extraordinarily lucky and despite being found guilty, was only sentenced to three months hard labour.

Desertion was not the only offence punishable by death. As the war became more h.e.l.lish, officers became less tolerant of their subordinates. Seventeen men were shot for cowardice, four for disobedience and two were executed for falling asleep at their posts. Some men escaped the death penalty only to suffer Field Punishment Number One, a terrifying ordeal whereby the offender was tied to a post or tree for up to two hours a day, sometimes for months on end. Often, the post to which they were tied was within range of enemy fire.

Horror stories from the battlefield made their way back to Britain and by the early months of 1918, soldiers and civilians alike were desperate to find an end to the conflict. Little did they know that a new horror was on the horizon that would do more damage to civilians than the Germans and their allies could ever have hoped to achieve.

In spring 1918, large numbers of soldiers serving in France started to suffer from headaches, sore throats and high fever. This virus was extremely infectious but only lasted about three days. Doctors decided the soldiers had flu and the illness became known throughout the trenches in France as Spanish Flu (although it probably originated in the US).

For a few months, this new strain of influenza did not make much of an impact on the battlefield. However, as summer approached, the symptoms suddenly got a lot worse and victims began to develop pneumonia, septicaemia and heliotrope cyanosis; a condition where the face turns blue. Nearly all the men that developed heliotrope cyanosis died within a few days.

Of course, soldiers carrying the influenza bug returned to Britain and in May 1918, the virus appeared in Glasgow. It soon spread south and in the next few months, it killed more people than the cholera epidemic of 1849. The poorer areas of the country were particularly affected by the flu epidemic and Spitalfields was no exception. Panic spread among an already exhausted population as the Government took preventative measures in an attempt to halt the virus. Streets were sprayed with chemicals designed to kill the bug and people began wearing masks outside. Some factories waived their no-smoking rules as they thought that tobacco smoke might kill the virus. The newspapers offered bizarre advice on how to avoid catching it. On 3 November 1918, the News of the World told its readers: 'Wash inside nose with soap and water each night and morning; force yourself to sneeze night and morning, then breathe deeply; do not wear a m.u.f.fler; take sharp walks regularly and walk home from work; eat plenty of porridge.'

Unsurprisingly, the newspaper's advice had no effect on the spread of the disease and 228,000 people throughout the UK died.

As Britain was in the grip of the flu epidemic, some hopeful news arrived via Woodrow Wilson, the President of the United States. On 4 October, the German government appealed to Wilson for a ceasefire. In response, Wilson produced the 'Fourteen Points Peace Plan', which set out the conditions under which the Allies would accept a surrender from the Central Powers (namely Germany, Austro-Hungary, Bulgaria and Turkey). An agreement was finally reached on 11 November 1918 and all territories occupied by the Central Powers were abandoned.

News of the war's end was received in London with huge relief. Crowds danced in the streets and families eagerly awaited the return of their boys. However, the servicemen would return to a very different place to the one they had left. London had changed forever. In some streets, one whole generation of men had been wiped out by war. In others, soldiers returned to find their wives and children dead from the flu epidemic. Many ex-soldiers found that although they had left the battlefield, the battlefield refused to leave them. They suffered from anxiety attacks, mood swings and nightmares. In total, 908,371 British soldiers were killed or injured during World War 1. Far more bore psychological scars that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

Chapter 26.

The Redevelopment of Spitalfields Market.

Back in Spitalfields, the residents and landlords of Duval Street had known their days were numbered ever since the LCC saw the benefits of widening the roads around Spitalfields Market. World War 1 brought a temporary halt to any development works but it didn't stop council inspectors from slapping condemned notices on the derelict cottages in Miller's Court in 1914. As the war progressed, these notices became largely ignored as no one from the council was around to enforce them. However, as Britain began to recover after the end of the war in 1918, the redevelopment of the market streets resumed.

Just before Christmas 1921, notices concerning the redevelopment of Spitalfields Market were sent to all owners, lessees and occupiers of properties in Duval Street. As part of the redevelopment programme, the Corporation of London proposed that Duval Street be widened so lorries and carts could have better access. In order to do this, the whole of the north side of the street (including Miller's Court) would be demolished and Little Paternoster Row (a narrow alley leading to Brushfield Street) would, in the words of the Corporation, be 'stopped up'. Time pa.s.sed by as the Corporation of London and the LCC discussed how best to approach the proposed redevelopment. As meeting after meeting was arranged, the common lodging houses and furnished rooms in Duval Street continued to attract the same cla.s.s of people they always had. This did not escape the notice of the council officials who were keen not to make the same mistakes as their predecessors. They wanted to change the ident.i.ty of the area surrounding Spitalfields market for good, not just move the undesirable residents across the road to the south side.

Finally, after much deliberation, the Corporation of London began work on a western extension of the market in 1926. For Jack McCarthy, the writing was on the wall and it was only a matter of time before he would have to vacate the mean, vicious little street in which he had made his fortune, brought up his family and become a truly powerful influence. Despite its dreadful reputation, Duval Street was Jack McCarthy's home and it held as many good memories as bad. In addition to this, McCarthy was now an old man and it was with a heavy heart that, in 1927, he locked the doors of his properties, loaded his belongings into a van and headed for a new home near his son in Clapham, South London.

Since his encounter with mustard gas, Steve McCarthy had experienced chronic problems with his health. His marriage to Marie Kendall had been destroyed through a combination of Steve's liking for members of the fairer s.e.x and several violent a.s.saults on his wife; on more than one occasion, he had threatened to kill her. Consequently, the couple had lived apart on a semi-permanent basis since around 1910. Jack McCarthy's arrival in Clapham meant that father and son could care for one another, which is precisely what they did until Jack's death in 1934.

Virtually as soon as Jack McCarthy had left Duval Street, the demolition crew moved in and the north side of the little street that had gone through so such a long decline finally felt its death throes. The once-proud eighteenth-century silk weavers' houses had their hearts torn out as workmen ripped away the ornate fire surrounds, flagstone floors and slate roofs. The fine oak panelling that lined their rooms was dismantled and carted away. The elegant front doors were removed and the sash windows, some of which contained the original gla.s.s were taken out. The bloodstained walls of Mary Kelly's old room were reduced to rubble as were the walls within which poor Kitty Ronan's body was discovered.

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