The Great War takes its toll

May, 1918 saw a brief pause in the German Spring Offensive, occasioning a comparative lull in fighting on the Western Front after the desperate battles of late March and April. Although the Germans had made significant — and sometimes frightening — gains, they had not landed anything like a decisive blow against the Allies.

For Islanders, there must have been further relief as it became increasingly apparent by early May that the Canadian Corps had been spared the worst of the Spring Offensive thus far, although Canadian units did render critical assistance to British forces in several areas. Names of Island casualties continued to appear regularly in The Guardian, but the numbers reported through May reflected the steady grind of trench warfare’s attrition — perhaps a handful of killed and wounded each week — rather than the dreadful surge seen after major battles.

Even so, every story of a young life ended or scarred carried an untold weight of suffering and grief, a burden that fell especially heavily on some Island households. In an era when it was commonplace for married couples to bear and raise large numbers of children, there was a greater likelihood that war might claim multiple members of a single family. On May 17, for example, The Guardian carried news that Ewen Campbell of Albany had received word that his son Ross, only 18 had been killed in France on May 7. Ross’ brother, Doug, it was reported, had “made the supreme sacrifice last August,” while another brother had been killed in a railway accident shortly before that. Such news would have made for bleak reading anywhere, but perhaps nowhere moreso than in the home of A.J. Bambrick, of Bristol, Lot 4: The Guardian of May 22 introduced a letter from one of the Bambrick brothers noting that the Bambricks had “six sons in khaki,” with three fighting in France, one a prisoner in Germany, one enlisted in the US Army, and one — for a small mercy — medically discharged.

Apart from worry for loved ones directly in harm’s way, the war placed other pressures on Island families, especially those who made their living — as most still did — from farming, and who had traditionally counted on able-bodied sons and daughter as their most reliable source of agricultural labour. As noted previously in this column, Island farmers had been constantly exhorted to increase food production practically since the war’s outbreak, and these calls were growing increasingly strident. The war also demanded military recruits, however, especially now that conscription was in force: exemptions had originally been granted for many farmers’ sons and other agricultural labourers, but in the alarm of the first weeks of the Spring Offensive, the Dominion Government decreed that all able-bodied men aged 20 to 22, inclusive, were to be called up, regardless of previous exemptions. Island Conservatives, including Premier Arsenault, had positioned themselves as staunch supporters of conscription, but the Premier, nevertheless, wrote the minister of militia to register concern at the possible impact that abandoning exemptions would have on food production. The minister’s reply, printed on the front page of The Guardian on May 9 was tactful, but firm: “Undoubtedly there will be some cases of hardship, but the present need for men is urgent and must be met.”

The Guardian, for its part, pronounced confidence that the apparently competing demands of its two most beloved wartime causes — food production and military enlistment — could somehow be reconciled. Having recently endorsed the “Soldiers of the Soil” effort to enlist teenaged boys for farm labour, The Guardian editor now drew readers’ attention, in a May 7 column, entitled “Women Farmers”, to the claim that in Britain, “the seeding and harvesting of this year’s crop has been left largely to the women.” The column continued: “… in this province of ours, we are raising a hue and cry about the men being called from the farms for military service. … But we must not forget … we are fighting for our very lives. Under these circumstances… whatever help our women can give on the farms will be cheerfully given ….” Unfortunately, any progressive implication reflected in the column’s general confidence in women’s abilities was undercut by a nakedly chauvinist suggestion that women would work in the fields, “even if it means … sunburn and freckles.” There was generations-worth of evidence to hand that Island farmwomen were unconcerned with such trifles.