Blackpool and the Fylde During WW1

By Colin Reed

Blackpool was a Royal Army Medical Corps centre during WW1, with 10,000 RAMC personnel in the town. When war broke out on August 4th 1914 the holiday season in the popular holiday resort was in full swing...and then the soldiers began arriving. First the regional regiments to train on the wide beaches and stay in the plentiful accommodation available. Then the munition workers and then the medics and along with the growing numbers of injured soldiers came the Belgian refugees. In 1917 the fresh faced young US medics of the base hospitals, straight out of university, made Blackpool their home for their education in the state of modern warfare before moving out to repair the damage to mind and body on the slaughter fields. It was a place where the War was reflected in both the weaknesses and strengths within the diversity of the human spirit of the generation that was thrown into it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colin Reed
• Release date: Jul 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463422175

Colin Reed

From Blackpool Uk. Am beyond 65yrs old now. Not had a career, but have had plenty of different jobs at different social levels. I enjoyed being an archaeologist and my self-employment in building work, as well as a short spell as a toymaker. Educated at state school, private religious boarding school and also on the streets of Europe. Married to Barbara, we have two sons, and three grandchildren.

Book preview

Blackpool and the Fylde During WW1

By

Colin Reed

Published by Colin Reed at Smashwords 2018

Copyright 2018 Colin Reed

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Contents

Forward

The Origins of Blackpool’s Role in WW1

The Military Community

Medical Work in Practice

The Military Convalescent Hospital

The Hospital Blues

Motor Ambulances and Ambulance Trains

Spectacles

The Convalescent Centre

The Dismantling of the Hospital and the Camp

The Other Hospitals

The Civilian Community

Anti-War Protests

Belgian Refugees

Sport and Entertainment

The Loos and Arras Trenches

The Americans Arrive

Fylde Tank Week

The Victory Parade

The Blackpool VC’s

The Victory Ball

Demobilisation

The Aftermath

Peace Celebrations and Strikes

The Cenotaph

Sources and Web Links

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Forward

By 1914 Blackpool, situated on the west coast of the United Kingdom, had long since achieved the status of being one of the nation’s most popular holiday resorts, especially for the industrial areas of the North. Though it was far from both the land fighting of WW1, and far enough away from the new aerial threat of the Zeppelins, it was always sensitive to the threat of invasion from the sea. Off the coast, submarine attacks were evident and crews, passengers, cargoes and vessels were lost as the shipping lanes were route 1 across the Atlantic. Here, in the Irish Sea, the requisitioned and armed fishing fleet of the port of Fleetwood offered search, rescue and naval engagement, as well as bringing in tons of vital food.

There was also an international flavour about the town during the war period, it being home to twenty thousand soldiers in training, with the occasional Canadian and antipodean voices among them. It was the town that was the first to systematically accommodate the Belgian refugees from the overcrowding of London and also the first town to welcome the US base hospitals in 1917. Being the headquarters of the Royal Army Medical Corps, there was an emphasis on medicine, made evident not only by the large tented camp at Squires Gate, but also by the hundreds of convalescent soldiers in their distinctive blue uniforms, resident in one of the largest military, convalescent hospitals in the UK, and it was why the US medical personnel were accommodated for the duration of the war after their arrival on European soil, in order to learn of the experience of medicine in the deadly, destructive and highly mechanised nature of the ‘modern’ style of warfare.

Blackpool was a much smaller town in 1914 than it is today, extending northwards from Squires Gate only as far as the Gynn, at which point its topography changes, and extending inland to the neighbouring parishes of Marton and Poulton and, to the south, St Annes. Today, having subsequently absorbed some of its neighbouring parishes, it is by far the largest of the towns on the Fylde Coast which look out onto the Irish Sea.

Though WW1 was the cause of the untimely death of millions it is, nevertheless, the reason why I am alive today, since it created the criteria for my birth, and that of countless other folk of the following generations. Like any other war expensive in human life, WW1 provided for the creation of a whole new set of people than would have otherwise have existed had the war not taken place.

It was the experience of my grandparents and their generation and this compilation of information is a tribute to that generation, whether they be from Blackpool or anywhere else.

The war is the reason why Blackpool is the town of my birth. I know its geography and its present day status well but, for a century ago, I have relied on the memories, photographs, diaries and experiences of my relatives and, further afield, the eclectic experiences and memories of others, as written down, and generally available online, and for some of who Blackpool was a temporary home during that period. I trust I have acknowledged all these and, by doing so, have given them all the respect their experience and their time spent on this earth, as well as those that cherish their memories, deserves.

The Origins of Blackpool’s Role in WW1

The reputation of Blackpool as a holiday town needed little introduction at the outbreak of War in August 1914. This nationally renowned ‘watering place’, referred to as a ‘Paris by the Sea’ with its ‘Coney Island’ Pleasure Beach, eulogised and noted for its piers (the Victoria Pier -south Pier - which was purported to be the finest marine structure in Europe), the seemingly endless list of ‘magic pleasure domes’ that were its offering of shows, theatres and picture houses, its range of hotels from luxurious to basic, and its miles of beach and cliff walks, altogether provided that great medicine called laughter for the tens of thousands of hard working manual workers who had been flocking to the seaside from their factories in Lancashire, the North West of England and Yorkshire for the decades since the early Victorian arrival of the direct railway line.

And, even before that, the more ‘refined’ classes had stayed at the seafront hotels, ridden or ‘taken the air’ while strolling the long miles of foreshore of sand, sand hills, fields and lanes, and that gift of a former climate change, measured in a geological timescale being created by the retreat of the Ice Age glaciers, of the boulder-clay cliffs to the north of the town. Or they merely stepped out of their sea-front hotels and into a carriage to travel the short mile to the north, to indulge in the entertainment on offer at ‘a flourishing public house and dancing saloon, rejoicing in the name of Uncle Tom’s Cabin near Blackpool.’ And this iconic establishment, in the days before the natural fury of the sea invaded the land, taking a good part of it for its own, including much of the Cabin, (to be subsequently rebuilt a little further inland) was, in the latter part of the 19th century, owned by absentee landlords, John Ainsworth the Liberal MP, and his brother. The son of John Ainsworth, also named John Ainsworth, was to die, killed in action, in the early part of the War, the 13th October 1914.

Laughter, as much as possible, should continue during wartime, and there was no shame in it since the ‘wells of laughter’ which the town provided, were a welcome distraction from the horrors of the war, and had close connections with that ‘sacred fountain of tears’ at either end of the spectrum of the human emotions of ecstasy and despair.

Blackpool was also, as a small town of plus 50,000 inhabitants, no stranger to military exercises. Its inland fields and littoral stretches of sand and sand hills at Squires Gate, had previously been used by the militia and volunteers, where they made their camp in Fox’s Field and Layton Howes farm south of the railway bridge, and there entertained the gathered crowds of spectators with parades and mock battles. These were spectacles that would approach the reality of true battle with the noise and the firing (of blank) cartridges and the breaking and reforming of the columns. In 1894 in one of these annual camps in exercise, the bridge by the camp was taken by the cyclist corps who also ‘stormed the sand hills in a warlike manner’ when the ‘indefatigable ambulance men’ of the Bearer Division, (when some poor old chap, wanting to shy off sick, was consequently strapped to a stretcher and used as a dummy), played their important part, presaging of what was to come to the town from 1914 with the deployment of RAMC training.

These annual camps could present a spectacle to rival anything that the commercial areas of Blackpool could come up with, but on this occasion in 1894 the town wasn’t left alone by these ‘wheelmen and redcoats’, and their sojourn into the town for a farewell binge caused heavy heads for some of them on the journey home, and the local paper to complain of the ‘rowdyism’ of some sections of the contingent. As military uniform, redcoats were not replaced by the khaki until 1902, so after that date there might have been a ‘khaki’ invasion of the town, rather than a redcoat one after the visit of the Commander in Chief, and of Boer War renown, Lord Roberts to the town in 1903. Though there was no specific law in place at the time for being ‘drunk in charge of a bicycle’ the ‘wheelmen’ would have left their bicycles at camp to walk the 45 minutes or so into the town, possibly along the sea-front promenade past the sand hills and the rabbit warrens of Starr Hills, where the starr grass which had given the dunes their name was protected along the coast from those who would illegally harvest it, often under cover of darkness to make baskets and brooms to supplement their meagre incomes. Or the route would possibly, travel a little more inland, away from the starr grass which gave the dunes their stability thus protecting them and the fields inland from being devoured by the eager hunger of the sea, and the men would walk along the rough roads past fields and farms and an occasional exclusive residence, to immerse themselves, once arriving, in the activities and entertainments provided by the busy holiday town now in full season, the ‘Brighton of the North’ for those with more southerly connections.

Though the threat of invasion was always popularly envisaged as coming from the sea, and in the visit of Lord Roberts, the sand hills spanning St Annes and Blackpool were where the ‘enemy’ had once more successfully positioned themselves after disembarking, the well-attended air pageants of 1909 and 1910, displayed from the financially struggling racecourse at Squires Gate to the south of the town, and a little inland from the annual camp, had entered the imagination and had placed there the possibility of the new threat from the air.

In the beginning, in the ‘developed’ countries it was the military who had, displayed the most interest - and money - in the Wright Brothers’ first successful heavier than air machines that could take to the air under their own power. Despite that fact however in Britain, at the start of the War there were only forty machines available but, by the early part of the War, after investment in machines and pilot training, large fleets of British aeroplanes could bomb enemy positions deep within Belgium.

During the Blackpool aviation meeting of August 1910, one of the early celebrated flyers, Graham White, in a Farman biplane, demonstrated the usefulness of aircraft in wartime. In a speculative scenario, a British force at Squires Gate was under threat from an enemy landing from the sea. The main headquarters was stationed at Lytham Hall, and Graham White in his aircraft showed that he could fly above the enemy and, with a photographer aboard, take the information back to the headquarters as well as returning with a written reply. It was a round journey of about eight miles from Squires Gate and it took about eleven minutes in all. The message he took read, ‘Enemy has landed from the sea. Have fallen back on Squires Gate. Can probably hold out for four hours. Reinforcements absolutely necessary. This report may be verified by aeroplane messenger. Glad to receive reply stating when I may hope to be reinforced.’

The old soldiers looking on were impressed with this new technology which might be utilised in the event of hostilities. They probably thought, ‘I wish we’d had these in Africa.’ Little did they know how soon they would be used in such large quantities.

Indeed, later on in the war, that popular ‘watering place’ of Blackpool was advertised as the place to go if relaxation and entertainment were required, for it lay ‘far away from the noise and the dangers of the Zeppelin’, as the language of the promotional pages of contemporary, regional newspapers was used to lure the holidaymaker.

Today however, there are no sand hills in Blackpool due to the long established and highly successful construction of coastal defences, but occasionally a bit of one spills over from the border of the municipal township of St Annes, which was where much of the volunteer encampments had been. But there is always plenty of sand and space when the tide is out and this was put to good use as a large open space for military training.

The fact that Blackpool provided great open spaces which had been, and could further be used, for military exercises was not the only factor which increased the town’s profile in the War. Combined with this available space was the wealth of accommodation to billet a large amount of military personnel, and a natural part of that was the workplace skills of the town’s inhabitants who were well used to running those establishments. This most popular ‘watering place’, which we now call a ‘holiday resort’, of Blackpool, was well suited to cope with the influx of large numbers of people. Apart from the regular, seasonal holidaymakers, much of this influx from early August 1914 was military, especially in the winter, and they were largely, but not always, welcomed by the hotel owners, or the ‘company house keepers’. Though the eventual billeting of soldiers both increased and guaranteed the winter takings, it did clash with the more advantageous summer profitability of higher rents. In the beginning though, when the rival town of Southport, further to the south and closer to the metropolis of Liverpool, was filling with soldiers before Blackpool, any initial scepticism or fear among the hoteliers and the town’s leaders concerning potential profit was dispelled when they considered they might be losing out on a lucrative slice of the action.

But it was an unjustified fear for the ‘company houses’ with basic board and the landlady’s fare of utility bed, multi-occupancy rooms, good but basic food, and shared facilities for the ordinary soldier, and the top hotels with their spas and swimming pools, tennis courts and billiard rooms for the officers. The Imperial Hydropathic Hotel in Claremont Park, North Shore boasted 350 rooms, a magnificent lounge, King Louis XV1 dining room, separate tables and Turkish, Russian and sea-water baths. The Hotel Metropole, with the recently constructed esplanade around it which would be the eventual home to the cenotaph, a tribute to those whose aspirations in life had been denied them by an early death in the fighting, was advertised as ‘one of the most luxurious and comfortable hotels in the world.’

And in the Blackpool Improvement Bill put before a Parliamentary Committee in May 1917, the town had a reputation for riches. It could, of course, afford to bring Bispham-with-Norbreck (the parent parish of Blackpool) within its municipal boundaries, by a land acquisition which only needed a Parliamentary decision rather than an invading army.

The success of Blackpool’s existing sea defences was self-evident as ‘only the best would do’, and these were to be continued northwards with the agreement of all concerned.

The land to the south however, was only protected, albeit sufficiently enough, except in the most vicious of weather, by sand hills, and it was here, and to spill across the border into St Annes that a tented camp was set up at Squires Gate, as the townships also became a centre for medical training via the RAMC. This Corps had moved some of its depots up from Aldershot, and to which the US base hospitals would make a first bee-line, immediately on their arrival on British soil in May 1917 to gain first-hand knowledge of the British medical experience of the War.

Blackpool’s role in the War increased when, in the early days, the Army Medical Services, under great pressure from a new intensity of warfare which created unprecedented numbers of casualties, came close to almost complete collapse. The early fighting had soon taken its toll on the British Expeditionary Force, which first went to France in early August 1914, expecting to return home victorious by Christmas. It was during this time that the Medical Services, as of necessity, were overhauled, and Blackpool was chosen as one of only six Convalescent centres to be built around the country. The profile of the town was thus enhanced as a rehabilitation centre with beds for initially 2,500 patients was hastily constructed. Along with out-patients (who were usually officers) there was a host of workers and auxiliary workers, mostly volunteers, filling the town.

It hadn’t taken the town long to acquire a military appearance – about a third of the population were soldiers at one time. But much of the civilian population geared itself to an ancillary military role, and it wasn’t just about men going ‘over the top’ but also about women rallying to the cry of human society and taking the opportunity, denied them in the recent structure of society, of socially rolling themselves over on to the top. It wasn’t just about the men who were injured, maimed, mutilated both physically and psychologically, but it was also about those at home who suffered the pain of loss, whose dreams were shattered and which could never be put back together again. In a purist sense, it was about each individual offering the utmost service of which they were capable, and those that were able to attain this were the ones who had helped to bring an end to the War as much as the soldiers doing the fighting. It was about the medicine, largely focussed on Blackpool via the presence of the RAMC in the town and which, in an attempt to counterbalance the destruction of the human body by repairing it, made great progress in that direction and were in advance of the political decisions of medicine in later years.

During this period, Blackpool, was a population thrown together, its +50,000 residents added to by another 20,000 with the arrival of the military and ancillaries of soldiers and medical facilities. Amidst that there was joy, entertainment, and there was assault, murder, sex and alcohol, careless accidents, suicides, drownings, fights, drunkenness, deprivation, recycling, scrimping and saving. There was sock knitting, cigarette and egg collections, and other comforts collected for the soldiers at the various fronts or prison camps. Trades Union Congresses, miners’ congresses, religious meetings on the sands, anti-war protests, objections via conscience, moral boosting celebrity visits, and Lloyd George’s receipt of the Freedom of the Borough in 1918 from a politically sympathetic mayor, coloured the town’s experience. There were devastating losses to families, and there were heroic females exemplified, but less remembered and celebrated than that icon of their kind, Edith Cavell. There were mutilated young men whose patriotic soldiery had left them blind, limbless, psychologically shattered, debilitated, and there was the true heroism of the volunteers who, akin with every town in Britain, broke their backs for the war effort and were as much a feature of the War as were the battles that have left their name upon it.

To the background of the Christian societies bravely upholding a standard morality, and being in the forefront of the wellbeing of the physically and spiritually injured, at home or in the war zones, there was also, underneath this, the natural proclivity of the human being to find solace from the horrors and the inevitability of death, which was waiting close by, with an immersion into sexuality, whether it be lined upon a darkened beach, the sand hills, under the piers, in a farmers field or, at a greater expense, in a ‘disorderly house’. Soldiers, and female workers who had taken over the work of the men who had gone to war, now with more money and status than they could ever have dreamed of just a year or so earlier, were thrown together in a fever of attraction in a new age where such licentiousness could be excused, if life was going to be so necessarily cut short and expire at an unnaturally young age.

The Military Community

At 9.45am on the 20th November 1914 in the township of St Helen’s, Lancashire, Captain Dick led the local detachment of the 3rd West Lancashire