Secrets of the bloodbath
ONCE, when working for a Far Eastern TV company, I had to return to the office very late to fetch something. I was shocked to discover all my colleagues still there, computers off, having an urgent discussion.
“We try to re-educate ourselves,” their spokesman said solemnly. “To learn from our mistakes and see what we can do better.”
This creditably earnest approach to work might be alien to us Brits, but there other cultures where it runs strong. THE SOMME 1916: FROM BOTH SIDES OF THE WIRE (BBC2) continued its straight-from-the-trenches analysis of the slaughter, digging up more surprises than expected.
Military archaeologist Peter Barton (clad in an Indiana Jones-style ensemble of big hats and natty scarves) goes deeper than any other popular historian, viewing the conflict from above, below, and most importantly, all angles.
Germany might have lost the Great War but when victory involved such massive losses of life all-round, that’s a debatable term. What became obvious from last night’s programme is that both sides approached the campaign in a different spirit. Germany’s attitude was defensive, trying to keep things at bay whilst concentrating on gains in the East.
That called for an adaptable, flexible attitude to military strategy and it was stamped through every one of the Kaiser’s men like the writing on a stick of rock. Everyone was encouraged to write reports after every engagement, listing what could have been done better.
Individuals were encouraged to come up with solutions and tricks, and they did, not least by hiding in shell holes under dirty tarpaulins to confuse the spotter planes of the Royal Flying Corps.
This attitude contrasted strongly with that of our General Haig, a cavalry man itching to send his horsemen charging in as if it was 1815. When he got his way, the losses (as Barton’s access to secret German papers revealed) were far greater than the British public was allowed to know. Things also differed, depressingly so, in the treatment of prisoners of war.
The phrase: “we have ways of making you talk” is generally delivered in a Prussian accent but it was the British who issued veiled threats (on a printed card) before interrogating prisoners. The Germans, sensibly, worked out that people talked more freely when relaxed. Fascinating stuff, a refresh, rather than a rewrite of an oft-told story, and, being based so strongly on the letters of ordinary Tommies and Fritzes, rich in human detail.
I like Dave Myers’ repointing-reglazing-historical-travelogue THE HAIRY BUILDER (BBC2) for the same reasons. Last night he was in the North-East, restoring the famous Roker Lighthouse.
There’s a catch with lighthouses, of course. Everything’s circular, a nightmare for furniture, let alone wooden panelling. In spite of these difficulties, it was obvious that the builders had intended it to be a thing of beauty. Few might have gone inside, except the keepers and their families, but there were brass banisters, panelled walls, even the lamp room had decorative tiling.
It was a case of nothing but the finest for Sunderland, a booming coal port at the time of construction. That attitude was alive and well amongst the fishermen Dave met on the pier.
One canny lad filleted a mackerel, dipped it in soy, lime juice and jalapeno peppers and handed it to Dave. Sunderland sushi.