The Polish Connection 23

 March 1917

We have had such a scare. Scarlet fever has been diagnosed in many of the children from the local schools so they are all closed for a month. There does not seem to be a problem as yet in Manchester Girls' High School. I am keeping a very close eye on Beth at the moment and
won’t let her play with her usual friends from school, just in case they are infectious.

Onthe 8th of March the Russian peasants rose up against the royal family and a revolution is taking place. On the 15th, Czar Nicholas II abdicated for himself and his son. The Manchester Guardian is
such a good paper. I feel confident that the news they provide is true. I have copied out bits of their story.

Revolution breaks out in Russia Friday March 16, 1917

A revolution has broken out in Russia. The Tsar has been compelled to abdicate, and his brother the Grand Duke Michael succeeds him as Regent.

Since Monday no word had come from Russia, and silence had fallen upon what was manifestly a serious situation. Last Thursday or Friday the streets of Petrograd were filled with workmen and soldiers fraternizing. There was some rioting; trams and newspapers had closed down. Communication had been cut off between Petrograd and Moscow, where what was called the “food crisis” was reported to be even more acute. Through the mist of censorship it was evident that at the
least a general strike was in progress in the old and the new capitals of Russia.

It is apparent that the initiative in the revolutionary movement came from the working classes. They acted by means of a general strike, but on this occasion their position was secured because they had the army with them. The army was not quite unanimous, which explains the days of fighting. But it has been known for some time that its loyalty to the old order had been badly shaken. The Russian army of today is not an apt instrument for tyranny.

The outbreak of revolution will come as no surprise to those who have followed Russian affairs. From the beginning of the war, the Russian bureaucracy has conducted affairs with the mixture of incompetence and illiberality, and to incompetence and reaction have been added treachery.

The manpower of Russia has never been allowed to tell against Germany with full force. A country abounding with food has been afflicted with starvation. Every relic of persecution has been retained; no concession has been made to the demands of the nation for freedom.

Rebecca came home from school the other day very worried about being given the assignment of writing a poem about the war. She said she hadn’t any idea of how to start. So I suggested that she look at other poems about the war. We found a few of the ones written by Wilfred Owen. My favourite is Dulce Et Decorum Est. I asked Rebecca if she understood what the Latin words meant, and she
said, “Yes, of course. It means that it is a glorious thing to die for your country” in a very aggrieved teenage voice. But she felt the poem was a bit awful and gruesome, which of course I had to
agree with, but I’m sure he was telling it like it really is.

Rebecca is more worried than ever now. She considers the quality of Owen’s poems so great that she feels she will never be able to write anything worthwhile. So I suggested she take an item from the newspaper about the war, and underline the key words and phrases and then try to build some sort of poetic structure around them. So again calling on the Manchester Guardian for our inspiration, here is a story they published recently.

British welcome in Baghdad

City plundered by Turks, Edmund Candler, Friday March 16, 1917 Guardian Unlimited

Our vanguard entered Baghdad soon after nine o'clock this morning. The city is approached by an unmetalled road between palm groves and orange gardens.

Crowds of Baghdadis came out to meet us: Persians, Krabe, Jew, Armenians, Chaldeans and Christians of diverse sects and races. They lined the streets, balconies and roofs, hurrahing and clapping their hands. Groups of schoolchildren danced in front of us, shouting and cheering, and the women of the city turned out in their holiday dresses.

The people of the city have been robbed to supply the Turkish army for the last two years. The oppression was becoming unendurable, and during the last week it degenerated into brigandage. I am told that the mere mention of the British was punishable, and the people were afraid to talk freely about the war.

It appears that the enemy abandoned all hope of saving the city when we affected the crossing of the Tigris on February 23. After that date, the Turkish government requisitioned private merchandise wholesale, and dispatched it by train to Samara. Thirty or forty thousand pounds worth of stuff is believed to have been officially looted, including five thousand sacks of flour.

The German Consul left weeks ago, and the Austrian two days since. The bridge of boats, the Turkish army clothing factory and Messrs Lynch's offices were blown up or otherwise destroyed last night, and the railway station, the Civil Hospital and most British property except the Residency, which had been used as a Turkish hospital, were either gutted or damaged.

As soon as the gendarmery left at two o'clock this morning, Kurds and others began looting. As we entered from the east this morning, they were rifling, and among the first citizens we met were merchants who had run out to crave our protection.

Regiments were detailed to police, the bazaar, and houses and pickets and patrols were allotted, but there was much that it was too late to save. Many shops had been gutted, and the valuables had all been cleared. The rabble was found busily engaged in dismantling the interiors, tearing down bits of wood and iron and carrying off bedsteads. They had even looted the seats from the public gardens.

Our entry was very easy and unofficial, and it was clear that the joy of the people was genuine. No functionaries came out to meet us. There was still fear of reprisals. Our own attitude was characteristic. There was no display, or attempt at creating an impression.

The troops entered, dusty and unshaven, after several days hard fighting. Fighting between the 7th and 10th had been heavy, and extraordinary gallantry was shown in crossing the Diala river.

Here is what she came up with, although I dare say she will alter it a bit before school tomorrow:

Baghdad we entered so soon after nine,

Driving our way past the palms.

Crowds of the people were cheering just fine,

Badly they needed our alms.

The Turkish abandoned the city you see

But first they destroyed and they looted.

Now we control it, soon it will be

The Iraqis will find they are suited.

On the 28th March, the House of Commons voted 341 to 62 that women over the age of 30 who are householders, the wives of householders, occupiers of property with an annual rent of £5 or graduates of British universities can vote. MPs rejected the idea of granting the vote to women on the same terms as men. But as I am over 30 and occupy a property, I am going to be voting for the first time in the next election. I am very pleased, but feel it took a very long time coming.

Another local man has died in the war. This time it was someone we did know slightly, Sapper Edward Yarwood, who was 34, in the Royal Engineers 9thdivision. His wife, Amelia, I met at my church, so that is how I got to know them. They live at 3 Goyt Bank, Castle Brow, Marple Bridge. Edward was born in Ludworth but he is buried at Faubourg D’ Amiens Cemetery.

Another tragic death, but this time nothing to do with the war. Cecil Nurse who went to Mellor School died from eating poison fungus. Rebecca knew her of course, although she was younger. What a tragedy but understandable, as we have been told to supplement our diets and eat mushrooms. She obviously picked a poison one by mistake. The government must make the difference clear between what is edible and what is not. Perhaps she was a victim of the war after all.