WAACS: RUMOURS AND REALITIES
When I spoke at H.Q. of the depression I found in all the landscape
around and of its peculiar morbid quality, nearly everyone assured me
that I should find the country round E----, whither I was going, far
more depressing. "There is nothing but sand dunes and huts, miles of
huts, hospitals and camps and so on...." It did not sound very
delightful.
But to differing vision, differing effects, and personally, I loved
E----; terrible as cities of huts generally are, here they seemed to me
to have lost much of their terror. I loved the long rippling lines of
dunes, the decoration of hundreds of tall pines that came partly against
the sandy pallor, partly against the vivid steely blue of the river
beyond, I loved the bare woods we passed all along the road, the trees
still not perceptibly misted with buds but giving, with their myriads of
fine massed twigs, an effect of clouded wine-colour. And was there ever
such a countryside for magpies? Superstition dies before their numbers,
helpless to count them, so far are they beyond the range of sorrow,
mirth, marriage and birth, at any one glance. Everywhere through those
winey woods there went up the fanlike flutter of black-and-white, the only
positive notes in all the delicate universe, compact of pearly skies, dim
purples of earth, and pale irradiation of the sun.
[Illustration: H. M. THE QUEEN INSPECTING A "VAD" DOMESTIC STAFF]
[Illustration: A V. A. D. MOTOR CONVOY]
[Illustration: WAAC GARDENERS AT WORK IN THE CEMETERY]
[Illustration: WREATHS FROM MOTHERS OF THE FALLEN]
On the roads there was the usual medley of the races of the world, added
to as we neared E---- by Canadian nurses in streaming white veils and
uniforms of brilliant blue, and also--for surely the most delightful of
created blessings may rank as a race of the world--by the glossy golden
war-dogs, who also have their training camp near here, and take their
walks abroad, waving their plumy tails and jumping up on their masters,
like any leisured dog at home.
But--to my sorrow--I was not sent to look at war-dogs, and so had to
pass by and leave the wagging plumes behind. I had several ends in view
at E----; I had to see the large Waac camp there, its outflung
ramifications, and the work that the Waacs did in the men's camps; and I
had to see the V.A.D. Motor Convoy, at which I was to spend a night.
Incidentally, I had high hopes of getting permission to go out in an
ambulance with the latter, though it is against the most sacred Army
Orders for anyone not in uniform to be seen upon an ambulance. Here I
may say that the permission was granted by a powerful individual known
as the D.D.M.S., though he mentioned that being shot at dawn was the
least painful thing that ought to happen to me for doing it.
I was going first to the Waac headquarters, to see the Area Controller,
who corresponds to an Area Commandant in the V.A.D.'s and whose rank
approximates to that of a Major. She is supreme in her area and only the
Chief Controller of the Waacs is above her. Below her are her Unit
Administrators, who are in charge of units and approximate to captains,
and have their Deputy and Assistant Administrators whom for convenience'
sake we can classify as lieutenants and second lieutenants.
This is the place to say frankly that I had heard--as had we all--"the
rumors" that were flying round about the Women's Army. They "weren't a
success," ... "it had been found to be unworkable ..." and, as reason, a
more specific charge. Need I say what that specific charge was? What is
it that always jumps to the mind of the average materialist? The most
innocent thing in the world--in itself--and the cause of most of the
scandal since the dawn of civilisation. A Baby.
There is a certain type of mind which always jumps to babies, apparently
looking on them as the Churchmen of the Middle Ages looked on women--as
the crowning touch of evil in an evil world. If you remember, there was
great agitation in certain quarters at the beginning of the war, over
"War-Babies." They were going to inundate the country, they were going
to be a very serious proposition indeed. The Irish question,
Conscription, Conscientious Objectors, were going to be as nothing to
the matter of the War-Babies. It is perhaps from some points of view a
pity that the War-Babies didn't materialize, but that of course is
another question altogether. "Passons oultre," as the great Master of
delicate--and indelicate--situations used to say.
The point as regards the Women's Army is that the whole of the agitation
against it is a libel, and one which decent people should be ashamed to
circulate even as supposititious. Quite apart from the evidence of my
own ears and eyes, at various camps I was supplied with the official
statistics for the Women's Army from March of 1917 to February of 1918.
And of these women who "have not been a success," as the mischievous
gossip has had it, how many do you think have proved failures out of six
thousand? In the time mentioned fourteen have been sent home for
incompetence, without any slur on their characters; twenty-three for
lack of discipline, mostly in the early days when the girls did not
realise what being in the Army meant and thought if they wanted to go to
any particular place there was no reason why they shouldn't; and fifteen
who were already _enceinte_ before leaving England and which even the
most censorious can hardly lay to the charge of the B.E.F. And of all
that six thousand what percentage do you suppose has had to be sent back
for what is euphemistically known, I believe, as "getting into trouble,"
since landing in France? No percentage at all, if I may express myself
thus unmathematically, but exactly five cases. Five, out of six
thousand. Compare that with the morality of any village in England, or
anywhere else in the world, and then say, if you dare to be so obviously
dishonest, that there is any reason why the Women's Army should be
aspersed.
These statistics were given to me at the office of the Area Controller,
and later repeated at the Women's Army H.Q. by the Controller in Chief,
but on that first sunny morning amongst the pines and pale golden
sand-dunes it was naturally the human and individual side rather than
any of figures, however startling, that claimed the mind the most. For
one thing, I had the actual organisation and attributes of the Women's
Army to learn. I knew nothing. The actual working knowledge, apart from
impressions and things learnt only by seeing them, that I gathered
during the days I spent at various Waac centres is as follows:
The Women's Army differs from the F.A.N.Y. and the V.A.D. in being a
paid instead of a voluntary body, in being directly under the Army, not
the Red Cross, and in its members being ranked as privates. But it also
differs from the G.S.V.A.D., though that too is paid and its members
rank as privates. The G.S.V.A.D. is far more "mixed"; its members are of
all classes and educations, and are drafted off for work accordingly,
but the bulk of the Waacs are working girls and do manual labour, such
as gardening, cooking, baking, scrubbing, etc., though there are amongst
them girls of a more specialised education who are signallers and
clerks. The officers, of course, are women of education who have
undergone a stiff training and been carefully selected for the posts
they fill. For, as will be seen, nearly everything depends upon the Waac
officers; they have certainly a greater power for good or harm than the
officers in the Regular Army, and never were both the force and danger
of personality more acutely illustrated than in the position of the Waac
leaders.
A Unit Administrator has to know individually every girl in her camp,
though there may be several hundreds. She has to blend with her absolute
authority a maternal interest and supervision. While she has no power to
say whom a girl shall or shall not "walk out" with, she yet makes it her
business to know what choice of men friends the girl makes and to
influence, as far as she can, that choice towards discretion. She must
not nag but must inculcate by subtle methods a realisation of what is
due to the uniform, a sense of the "idea," the "symbol," of it. She
does not actually say to a girl that she is not to walk arm in arm with
a Tommy or pin her collar with her paste brooch, but she conveys to her
that these things are not done in the best uniforms.... And the girl
learns with incredible rapidity. A thing is Not Done--what a potency in
those words; in that attitude of mind! It probably influenced the
earliest savages in the manner of wearing their cowries.
After all, the whole idea of uniform, of distinguishing one caste from
another by bits of different coloured cloth, is based on the instinct
for being superior. Was it not John Selden who said something to the
effect that our rulers have always tried to make themselves as different
from us as possible? Of course they have, and it is exactly the same
thing which the wise Pope Gregory VII had in mind when he definitely
crystallised the measures for celibacy of the priesthood, and it is
exactly the same thing which puts the policeman into a dark blue uniform
and a helmet before he can so much as stop a milkcart. A policeman in
plain clothes is a dethroned monarch. Nothing in the nature of
controlling others was ever done without dressing up. The marvel is that
for so many centuries the principle should have been confined to the
masculine sex, when it has such an obvious appeal to the feminine.
This principle when carried a step further and applied to those
controlled, by giving them also the sensation of being different from
the rest of the world, results in that spirit called _esprit de corps_,
which is really _esprit de l'uniforme_. Towards the rest of the world
the uniformed are proud of being different, amongst themselves proud of
being alike, and the more alike, so to speak, the aliker. It is not a
thing to treat scornfully, for it has the whole of symbolism behind it.
That which makes a man cheerfully die for a piece of bunting which,
prosaically speaking, _is_ only a piece of bunting that happens to be
dyed red, white, and blue, is part of this same spirit. Dull of soul
indeed must he be who can look without a profound emotion on the
tattered "colours" of a regiment, and yet it is only the idea, the
symbol, that makes these things what they are....
And for most of these girls, remember, it is the first time they have
had a symbol held before them.... We of the upper classes are brought up
with many reverences--for our superiors, our elders, for traditions, but
the classes which for want of a better word I must call "lower"--so
please do not cavil at me for doing so or attribute false meanings--are
for the most part brought up to think themselves as good as anyone else,
and their "rights" the chief thing in life; while owing to the
unfortunate curriculum of our Board Schools, which does not insist
nearly enough on history as the fount of the present and of all that is
great and good in the past, they are left without those standards of
impersonal enthusiasms and imaginative daring--which should be the
rightful inheritance of us all.
These girls are now given an abstract idea to live up to, no mere
standard of expediency, but an idea that appeals to the imagination. And
how magnificently they are responding those statistics show, but more
still does the attitude of all the officers and men who have to do with
them. I talked with all ranks on the subject, and never once did I meet
with anything but admiration and enthusiasm. The men are touchingly
grateful to them and value their work and their companionship. For, very
wisely, the girls are encouraged to be friends with the men, are allowed
to walk out with them, to give teas and dances for them in the Y.W.C.A.
huts, and to go to return parties given by the men in the Y.M.C.A. huts.
It is, of course, easy to sneer at the ideal which is held before the
men, of treating these girls as they would their sisters, but the fact
remains that they very beautifully do so.
Another point to be remembered is, that, far from these girls being
exposed to undue temptation, the great majority of them have never been
so well looked after as now. They are mostly girls of a class that knows
few restrictions, who, with the exception of those previously in
domestic service, have always had what they call their "evenings," when
they roamed the streets or went to the cinemas with their "boys."
Now every Waac has to be in by eight, can go nowhere without permission,
is carefully though unostentatiously shepherded, and is provided with
healthy recreation, such as Swedish exercises, Morris dancing, hockey,
and the like. In short, she is now looked after and guarded as young
girls of the educated classes are normally.
And these are the girls, good, honest, hard-working creatures, who have
been maligned in whispers and giggles up and down the country. It is
perhaps needless to say that they are naturally very indignant over it,
that the parents of many write to them agitatedly to demand if it's all
true and to beg them to come back, and that sometimes, when they are
home on leave, instead of their uniforms bringing them the respect and
honour they deserve and which every man overseas accords to them, they
are subjected to insult from people who have nothing better to do than
to betray to the world the pitiable condition of their own nasty minds.