in the First World War, luck played a large part in how such men were treated – was that soldier really ill, putting it on, or was he in fact a deserter? If he was unlucky and was viewed as a deserter, then he would be tried accordingly and would face the possibility of a death sentence. Others, after a short time out of the line, recovered sufficiently to be able to return, while others required hospitalisation – and it is here that class again rears its head as more officers were treated for shell shock than the other ranks.
An ex-sergeant of the 13th Middlesex Regiment, who had been in charge of a firing squad, wrote to Thurtle about a particular incident that he had experienced. On this occasion the firing squad was made up of ten men who had been selected from what he described as a few details left out of the line: they ‘were nervous wrecks themselves’, which leaves it open to conjecture as to whether their physical and mental condition was such that they were fit enough to undertake such a detail in the first place. The ex-sergeant wrote, ‘two of them had not the nerve to fire. Of course they were tried (by court martial) but they were found to be medically unfit – their nerves had gone …’
Private James Crozier of the 9th Royal Irish Rifles was just 16 years of age when he was executed on 27 February 1916. With feelings against this execution running high among his comrades, the APM and the military police had a very real fear that the firing squad would disobey the order to shoot. In his book A Brass Hat in No Man’s Land , Brigadier-General Crozier (no relation) wrote about this particular execution and seemed to take some pride in the arrangements made for the shooting of a young man – a young man whom he had, in fact, recruited himself, and had assured the boy’s distraught mother that he would personally keep an eye on her son. Where the feelings of the men were concerned, his attitude was more or less one of ‘so what, they would just have to get on with it’:
There are some hooks on the post; we always do things thoroughly in the rifles. He is hooked on like dead meat in a butcher’s shop. His eyes are bandaged … A volley rings out – a nervous volley it is true, yet a volley. Before the fatal shots are fired I had called the whole battalion to attention. There is a pause, I wait. I see the medical officer examining the victim. He makes a sign, the subaltern strides forward, a single shot rings out. Life is now extinct … We march back to breakfast while the men of a certain company pay the last tribute at the graveside of an unfortunate comrade. This is war.
Given that James had been known to Crozier (Putkowski and Sykes, 1996), this makes for quite difficult reading, but Crozier in his book never admits to having this more personal knowledge of James. Indeed, Crozier refers to the unfortunate private as Crocker, a name that does not appear in Putkowski and Sykes’ list of the men executed in the First World War, which is included in their book as Appendix 2. Was Crozier being genuinely or deliberately forgetful in his book? It is difficult to believe that he had really forgotten James’ surname. Was he still looking out for James’ interest by seeking to protect his mother? This is possible given that he was perhaps laying a false trail and, in his own words, he had said that he did not want the family told, and so ordered the inclusion of Crozier/Crocker in the list of those killed in action. This would have enabled Mrs Crozier to receive any allowances due, but unfortunately this subterfuge did not ultimately work and she received nothing.
Brigadier-General Frank Crozier. This volatile Irish officer had a remarkable career. After the war he was made commandant of the Auxiliary Division, a paramilitary unit of the Royal Irish Constabulary at the height of the Troubles, and resigned in highly controversial circumstances. After being declared bankrupt for a second time,
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