During the Great War the military authorities faced a bewildering task – that of turning civilians into fighting men in just a few months. When it was realised that the conflict would last beyond Christmas 1914, the demand for recruits became acute. New methods of enrolment were required to encourage thousands of men – who would otherwise not have joined the army, navy and air force – to sign up for the duration of the conflict, and learn to be effective personnel. As Joanna Bourke has asserted, ‘in all these training programmes, the fundamental process was the same: individuals had to be broken down and rebuilt into efficient fighting men.’1 This chapter examines the training process in the navy and airforce to understand how effectively it prepared men for conflict.
The Royal Flying Corps and Royal Navy fulfilled quite diverse purposes in the war, and consequently offered different training programmes. The RFC’s system taught men to fly. Instruction in service and the development of professional culture were left to develop ‘naturally’ and unofficially amongst squadrons at the front. In this sense, the Flying Corps’s training system can be described as pragmatic because it prepared men to understand their technology and enabled them to master it effectively. Pilots were taught how to do their duty through practical instruction in the use of their craft, and could enter service fully cognizant with the work they were expected to do. Training centres provided pilots with the skills they required to perform their role, be it photography, wireless or skilled use of aircraft.
In contrast, the Royal Navy taught sailors the prestige of their service. Focusing on discipline, order and hierarchy, the navy inculcated the history and purpose of the service. Recruits were being trained for a long career in which it was hoped they would emulate the great heroes of the service and attain climactic victories. Consequently, this training programme was different of the RFC’s because it supplied more than the technical knowledge of shipping; it taught a way of life. Pilots were recruited to perform a specific role just for the duration of the conflict. Yet for the purposes of the First World War, naval training can be described as ‘defensive’ because it did not encourage men to initiate hostile action when the opportunity arose, but instead to rely on the traditions of strategy, hierarchy and command that had served their predecessors so well. This chapter compares the practical and immediate training programme of the Royal Flying Corps with the more theoretical grooming of men for a life in the navy, and discusses how effectively they prepared men for conflict.
The Royal Flying Corps training programme had two main purposes – teaching men to fly and creating loyalty. The programme was divided into three sections: creation of military identity, theories of flight and weaponry, and flight training. Prior to this, as a condition of entry, men had to earn a Royal Aero Club Certificate, funded at their own expense, from one of the numerous civilian flying schools. ‘To join the Royal Flying Corps officers would first have to have the consent of the military authorities,’ historian Geoffrey Norris explained, and ‘be medically fit, and then obtain a Royal Aero Club certificate. The cost of this, some £75, would have to be borne by the officer, who would be refunded if he passed and was accepted into the RFC.’2 Consequently, only those who could afford the initial outlay of £75 would have a chance to enter the newest military service.
The civilian flying schools based at Hendon soon became Britain’s most important aviation centre. ‘Before the war,’ historian Peter Hart enthused, ‘Hendon was the home of a dramatic series of aerial flying displays that provided entertainment for huge crowds. It was the absolute cutting edge of modern science; yet wildly unpredictable and dangerous to boot.’3 Leonard Rochford, awaiting his nineteenth birthday in order to join the Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS), travelled to Hendon to obtain his certificate or ‘ticket’. Rochard had a choice of five civilian schools – the Grahame-White, Beatty, Ruffy-Baumann, Hall and London & Provincial:
After visiting them all and reading their brochures I eventually decided on the London & Provincial, although their fee was £100 whereas the other schools charged £75. I think I preferred it because it was the only one that did not use dual control, its methods being to put the pupil into the machine alone and get him into the air by stages, giving him verbal instructions on the ground at each stage.4
Rochford’s class included approximately a dozen other men, a combination of civilians, army officers and RFC aspirants. ‘I never had any dual control work before I took my licence, which I succeeded in obtaining about three weeks after I started,’ L. A. Strange boasted in his 1933 memoir, ‘this was about the average time it took in those days.’ To gain a Royal Aero Club Certificate, Strange had to ‘learn thoroughly (by instinct rather than any experience based on vision) what should be the machine’s altitude in regard to the ground when taxying {sic}, how to get the tail up to the correct height to gain flying speed in the shortest possible distance and how to take off.’5 Within three weeks of first stepping into an aeroplane, a pupil would be qualified to fly and could join the Royal Flying Corps for military instruction.
Men clamoured to enlist in the Royal Flying Corps, eager to ally themselves with Britain’s newest military service. When war began in 1914, the RFC had existed for only two years and training was undertaken at the Central Flying School (CFS) at Netheravon, but this would soon be inadequate for the numbers demanding instruction, as the War Office noted in 1922:
From the beginning of war applications for commissions in the Royal Flying Corps were very numerous, and there was in May, 1915, a waiting list of 500. Instruction, during the first six months of the war, was hampered by the paucity of experienced pilots available at home to act as instructors, and by the shortage of serviceable aeroplanes ... . In August, 1914, the Central Flying School provided accommodation for 20 military pupils, and was our only source of supply.6
With limited means, the programme was designed to quickly create identity and loyalty in the newly recruited civilians who could be moved rapidly through the stages of training and ultimately shipped to France.
The first stage of RFC training was instruction in military bearing and attitude. To create an effective fighting force, the RFC needed to encourage trainees to think and act like pilots, putting their military duties above personal fears. The process of ‘rebuilding’ the trainee thus began from the first moments of his entering the Royal Flying Corps. With three weeks of civilian flight training, the officer-pilot was first sent to a Cadet Training School for basic theoretical training. ‘We soon settled down to the task in hand,’ Australian farmer’s son, F. C. Penny wrote, which first meant ‘attempting to digest that prodigious volume known as Military Law, which contains every conceivable subject that an officer must know. Correct words of command in drill. Practical demonstrations in that we were expected to take charge of small and large numbers of troops in different formations.’ Officers were taught elements of command immediately to encourage a feeling of responsibility for their men from the beginning, to learn how to manage a platoon or squadron, and to form a bond of trust with their charges whose lives they would direct.
RFC officers were simultaneously reminded of their own place in the hierarchy and the loyalty they, in turn, would owe to their commanders. ‘For drill and discipline’, Penny continued, ‘we had a S/gt Major Sunshine, one time champion heavyweight boxer ... a real martinet and a stickler for discipline in every way, even to making sure that on the first bugle call we were promptly out of bed for P/T and drilling sessions.’7 The training in military instruction would last approximately two months, ending with an oral and written examination in military law and command abilities. It was expected that trainees would understand the role they had volunteered for, and be able to demonstrate comprehension of their military responsibilities in combat. Penny duly passed this examination, as did about 90 per cent of candidates, and could progress to the next stage of theoretical instruction.
For stage two of the training process, learning the theory of flight and weaponry, Penny was sent to the aeronautical school at Oxford for a two-month course. Here he studied the science of flight, the workings of engines and machine-gunning. Building on the knowledge gained in stage one, of command structure and mutual responsibility, men were further induced to develop their military identity through a variety of methods in their daily study and leisure time. To aid his induction into the Flying Corps and to encourage the feeling of being a pilot, Penny was first issued with a uniform and recorded that ‘most of us were so optimistic about qualifying that from a well-known military tailor in Oxford we ordered new uniforms, Sam Browne belts and one star for our shoulder’.8 Pupils had to purchase their own kit, which required a monetary investment in their own training and reiterated their dedication to becoming an airman. In some cases, however, having already funded the flying certificate, the family would need to assist with the costs. ‘I have received my flying tunic from Folkestone and told them to send the bill to you but they have omitted to put a pair of RFC badges on it so do not be charged for them,’ trainee Dudley McKergow instructed his family.9 Costumes were an important aspect of military training, embodying both a sense of achievement in the elite status of the Royal Flying Corps, and recognition of loyalty to those also wearing the uniform.
The introduction of appropriate dress at this stage was well placed; in stage one men had been given general instruction in military behaviour, but it was in stage two that the real business of flying was taught. Issuing uniforms at this point in the training process emphasized the combatants’ attachment to the RFC. Thus, as men were becoming familiar with their role in the service, they were also encouraged to feel pride in wearing the uniform. It was important for the RFC trainers to increase the recruits’ commitment and feelings of loyalty to those they would fight alongside.
Issuing uniforms was the quickest and most visual method to promote commonality amongst recruits but this was reinforced by a number of group activities. Sports particularly were used to create a group mentality in leisure periods that would be valuable for the ample non-combat time on the Western Front. Penny, being stationed at an Oxford college, was delighted to see the rowing teams from his window. ‘We were privileged to be given the use of their boats for recreation and made up an eight from our own college and spent many enjoyable hours in this way,’ he reminisced.10 A Central Flying School training manual from this period recommended instructors focus on the health of their pupils and should
keep your own liver and that of your pupils in order. Do so by exercise, if your pupils are slack, give them drill, and see it is carried out vigorously. Encourage and play all games conducive to health. If you keep fit, work hard and play hard, you will produce good pilots, which is the raison d’etre of your existence.11
Sports were a useful physical contrast to the theoretical courses in machinery which men studied in their second stage of training, giving them both a reason to form links with one another and an outlet for their energies ahead of the practical flying training to come. This phase was an intense period of learning as Dudley McKergow wrote, explaining that ‘to learn 7 different engines, 2 machine guns and a thousand other things is rather a tall order, in 9 weeks. However most fellows manage to pass.’12 With so much to cover, it was important for the Central Flying School to maintain the enthusiasm of its recruits and enforce their loyalty, hence the introduction of uniforms and games to create the valuable pride in the service. Having invested so much of their time and energy, men were eager to achieve the required standards in order to pass to the third and illustrious stage of training – flying.
The last stage of a pilot’s training finally involved learning to fly aeroplanes. Flying Corps recruits were keen to get into the air as this had enticed them to enrol. Although previous stages had been concerned primarily with the creation of military identity and giving men a basic grounding in the business of flight, this stage was almost entirely practical, teaching them how to handle the aeroplane. This was the most important test of the individual’s potential ability in combat. The Central Flying School Training Manual from 1916 is one of the most crucial sources for understanding what was expected from trainee pilots. Teaching flying, the CFS advised, should be taken slowly by instructors to ensure competence. ‘When a pupil joins, the type of machine he is to learn to fly should be explained to him by his instructor,’ the CFS explained, and within seven days
He should be ordered to make an accurate sketch of the machine, showing every wire &c ... . He should be flown several times round the Aerodrome to show him the use and effect of the various controls ... . Having done this, he should be allowed to take charge separately of the control lever and rudder, and then finally, a combination of both.13
Within a few weeks of practice, pilots would qualify for their wings. This stage would also consolidate the formative military identity that had been forged during the early courses. The aeroplane would be the pupil’s weapon and protection, and, as the Central Flying School suggested, pupils were encouraged to familiarize themselves with every aspect of the machinery that would, in battle, become an extension of themselves. At this stage, trainees would also come into contact with more senior servicemen, either as instructors or awaiting overseas postings, who initiated the new pilots into the professional culture of the Royal Flying Corps. This would begin to give the novice pilot some understanding of life on the front lines. As a result, Penny found his first experience of flight was ambushed by a seasoned pilot keen to amuse himself at a new recruit’s expense:
Before leaving the ground he said he would take me up for ½ hour just to let me get the feel of the air. It was {a} rather ‘hair-raising’ experience, for he performed all the aerobatics that the machine was capable of (not the sort of thing a good instructor should do with a new pupil). My reaction after landing was – perhaps I would have lived longer had I remained in the AIF. I discovered later that he was not an instructor but just a good pilot who wanted to try out a new machine!
Once Penny recovered from the surprise, he noted that he was ‘allotted another instructor who continued my training and I began to enjoy flying’.14 Such rituals were considered an acceptable part of the initiation of men into the service culture of the Royal Flying Corps. Trainee John Ross endured a less savoury prank at an inconvenient moment:
The lavatories were the worst contraption I have ever seen ... . For its use one had to sit on the horizontal pole ... the overseas posting men used this toilet too and some ... {of} the big heavy ones, would sit on the pole ... . At a given moment these heavy men would bounce the pole up and down as they sat down on it, with the result that the small boys with their feet off the ground lost their balance and fell backwards into the trench behind and below and became immersed in rich, messy, stinking manure.15
These rituals were an introduction to life in the RFC and contributed to their identity with the military life. Although the new recruits were at the lowest point in the hierarchy, both militarily and in terms of combat experience (always an important aspect of the RFC structure), students were taught to respect the experience and knowledge of their seniors. Penny was certainly impressed by the skills of his ‘instructor’ during his first flight, who demonstrated actions he would hope to emulate when eventually in combat.
Yet these rituals also had another important function and acted as a badge of acceptance into the Royal Flying Corps by making the ‘victim’ a part of the elite body of pilots. Crucially, like sports, these practices created bonds of loyalty between men who would one day fight together. Teaching airmen how to handle themselves in combat was essential, but for the many hours between flights, they would coexist within a squadron structure, bond with their fellows and distract their thoughts from the tasks of war. These processes, therefore, were an introduction to the life to come.16
During the three stages of training, the RFC was responsible for equipping men with the means to fight and creating a cultural arena in which they could feel and act like servicemen. To graduate from the Central Flying School entailed a final flying examination in which the entrant ‘first had to fly solo in five figures of eight, this involving right and left-hands turns, and finally stop on landing within fifty yards of a given mark’, W. T. Blake recorded in his 1918 memoir. ‘He then has to ascend and repeat the performance; and finally, rising a third time to the height of over 350 feet, he must switch off his engine and to make a volplane or glide to earth,’ Blake noted.17 The total flying time required to pass in the first two years of war was approximately 15 hours. Trainee Mckergow also passed out of Hendon successfully, but not before enjoying an inspiring trip with a famed pioneer just before his final examination: ‘I took my ticket in record time’, he boasted to his mother in May 1917, taking ‘the final 5 figures of eight in 6 minutes, the second lot in 7 and the vol-plane in 4 minutes, making 17 minutes for the whole thing ... . I had the honour of going up with the great Claude Grahame-White himself last Thursday and he taught me quite a lot’.18 Licence thus obtained, the successful pilot would be posted to a Service Squadron where he could fly current service planes rather than the outdated ones used for training. From here, he would be seconded to an active squadron and sent to France to put his education into practice.
The rapidity of the process meant that training had to provide men with everything they needed to perform as effective servicemen. Being able to fly aeroplanes was only one part of their life in combat. Therefore, the creation of military identity was a consistent aspect of the instruction of trainee pilots during the First World War, and was achieved during their training by a variety of subtle methods. The trainees were not overtly forced to form links to one other, but with the encouragement of sports and recreational activities, running alongside their formal training, these bonds were left to develop naturally amongst the trainees. It was an overwhelming task to turn a civilian into an effective fighting man in approximately six weeks and the question that remains is how effective was the Royal Flying Corps in training pilots to fight in the Great War?
Effectiveness of the RFC Training Programme
The theory of Royal Flying Corps training, as outlined above, aimed to create a reasonable system that would provide recruits with the practical skills required to fly, and encourage commonality within the squadron. In the first months of the war, the infant RFC found it difficult to process the large number of recruits who required training. All effective men and machines had crossed the Channel with the BEF in August 1914, and this left training centres poorly resourced. ‘There were no trained instructors and our flying instructors were detailed to teach us subjects about which they knew little or nothing,’ Commander William Fry complained in his 1974 memoir, ‘so we did not gain much knowledge about navigation and other topics. Our one idea was that we were there to learn to fly and that the rest could come later.’19 The problem of adequate instruction was a continuing one for the RFC, as McKergow noted as late as 1917. ‘My instructor is useless,’ he complained to his mother, ‘I have just been up with him for fifteen minutes and he will not let you have control at all ... . I learnt more in 12 minutes with another fellow than I have in an hour and ¾ with my present instructor. It {sic} absolutely waste of time.’20 The problem of instruction was due to the confusing use of civilian trainers from the pre-existing training centres, and of weary pilots recovering after service on the front line.
Whilst civilians could teach a man to fly, they could not inculcate military values. In a letter to his mother in the spring of 1917, McKergow explained that he was learning to fly at the Graeme-White school where ‘all the instructors are civilians. They take you extraordinarily steady at it and they have not had any body killed here yet, so that is more cheering.’21 To qualify for an Aero Club Certificate a pilot needed only to achieve five hours of flying, whereas the military standard in April 1917 was 17.5 hours, rising to an average of 48.5 hours per pilot by September 1917.22 Civilian tutors, hired by necessity, were unable to provide the detailed instruction required and lacked the experience to advise on war flying.
Although veteran pilots could speak with authority on combat conditions, they also provided inconsistent instruction. Unfortunately for trainees, the RFC used serving pilots not to capitalize on their greater knowledge and experience of combat flying, but to ensure the continuing value of the veteran-trainer as an efficient fighter. William Fry, himself an instructor in 1917, explained that being seconded to training duties was relatively uninteresting. Veteran-instructors only wanted to return to their squadron as quickly as possible and continue their real war work. ‘There was not {a} set procedure for instruction: assistant instructors like myself were allotted a number of pupils and left to teach them in our own way,’ he revealed, but as a professional fighter, ‘the daily routine of instructing and the stricter discipline of a home station soon began to pall and after a month or so several of us put in applications to return to France.’23 The limitations of teaching were frustrating to experienced servicemen used to the conditions of combat and the company of the men with whom they shared strong loyalties.
Veteran-instructors were therefore eager to pass the time as quickly as possible before they returned to proper fighting. To the detriment of their pupils, they often gave the minimum effort required. Geoffrey Wall, a veteran-instructor at Netharavon, explained his daily routine in a letter to his father in July 1917:
Here the Powers that Are make a fetish of ‘time’. As long as you are putting in more hours than the other squadron, all is well, so I oblige them, and at the same time earn immense popularity among the pupils by going behind the nearest hill and sitting down for half an hour or so. If any too inquisitive aeroplane comes along, I am always discovered looking for an oily plug or a choked jet. Most of the instructors do this more or less.24
In three years of war, the RFC failed to develop a system of consistent instruction and could not guarantee the quality of graduate pilots. Those charged with their training were civilians, with little military knowledge, or experienced airmen more concerned with their own war progress than the effectiveness of their pupils. Understandably, veteran-instructors would prefer to be killed in action than at the hands of an inept student. This inconsistent training meant that new pilots assigned to duties at the front were in some cases a liability to their squadrons.25
Ineffective servicemen were a costly problem for the Royal Flying Corps. With the shortage of men and limited machines, the air service could not afford to lose either. Accidents resulting in damage to machines were common amongst trainee and newly-qualified pilots, which stretched resources even further. Some local ladies rescued Philip Brereton Townsend when his plane caught a tree and smashed during a flight in Britain:
Concussed and still in my cockpit I must have passed out for a minute or two, recovering to hear a voice saying ‘Are you alright?’ Regaining my senses I realised that two ladies were alongside the wreckage and in no-time they helped me out, led me to their nearby home – a beautiful farmhouse – where I rested for about two hours after having been given a tot of brandy. By this time it was about noon and Mrs Bate and her two daughters kindly gave me a light luncheon ... . Round about 18.00 hours the breakdown vehicle with the salvage crew arrived at the farm but unable to complete the salvage that day the crew was accommodated in the barn, sleeping in the hay. I was gracefully given a nice bedroom.26
Such generosity was far less likely on the Western Front where accidents were rather more costly. Here the risk of fatalities were much higher, historian Jay Winter explained, with approximately one Royal Flying Corps officer in six being killed during the war, compared to one in seven in the army and one in 20 in the navy.27
The dangers faced by pilots were immense, but their training programme was not detailed enough nor entirely adequate for some airmen to protect themselves in flight. Various accidents were reported in France, including those by Lieutenant Walter Porkess, one of the unluckiest pilots 12th Squadron had ever received. In his first eight days of service he crashed twice:
18th June 1916 – First flight for practice landings crashed on high banking aerodrome smashed tail + 2 longarons.
20th June 1916 – Second Flight caught tree on take off after over judgement on first landing. Engine choked flying speed was not fully obtained. Information from C/O Major Hallahan that I would have to return to England for further instruction.
On 26 June, Porkess was returned to Britain for more training, but this was not the last of his misfortunes. Returning to France in August 1916 to join 10th Squadron, Porkess crashed three more times:
3rd August 1916 – First trip over lines, 10,000 BE26 2610. Made dud landing & twisted fuselage and instructed to do more landings.
22nd September 1916 – Had been up for 3½ hours doing registration with 31st Div Centre and on returning to aerodrome just about 500 yards outside of aerodrome tried to open engine – but it would not pick up. So had to land in a ploughed field just outside. Zoomed over ditch and pancaked in plough, bent axle and plane skies.
23rd September 1916 – Just leaving aerodrome for registration over lines and was only 30ft up when engine cut right out. Tried to land in ploughed field straight in front bounded by road and 2 ditches. Only sufficient speed to get over first ditch and road and so wheels caught on bank of 2nd ditch & pitched machine on its nose and broke the propeller undercarriage & left bottom wing was also smashed ... . Machine (2610) was rebuilt.28
These accidents were a reflection of the inherent problems of the RFC’s training programme. With a minimum number of flying hours required before men were qualified to join a service squadron and a lack of dedicated instruction, the quality of pilots produced and their preparedness for war was questionable. With only the most basic flying knowledge, men had to learn from their squadrons who bore the brunt of accidents and mistakes in the first few months.
Senior officers of the Royal Flying Corps were aware of and responsive to these problems. Major Robert Smith Barry was charged with reforming the training programme. Official Historian H. A. Jones felt that procedure in ‘the Royal Flying Corps was severely handicapped by the War Office policy, which was based on the assumption that the war would probably be of short duration.’ Consequently, there was little initial investment in the future of the air service, and ad hoc amenities meant they had to rely on civilian instructors and their facilities to help them train the influx of new pilots.
The problem of inconsistent instruction was one that the Air Ministry could not address during the Great War, but several attempts were made to improve the quality of pilots in the middle years of the conflict. Major Robert Smith Barry learned to fly in 1911, before the Royal Flying Corps was formed, and volunteered for service in 1914. His war record against Zeppelins and in command of 60th Squadron earned him rapid promotion, and in 1917 he returned to England to establish a new training school at Gosport. ‘A large part of Smith Barry’s training philosophy was the necessity to teach every pilot not how to avoid dangerous situations,’ historian Peter Hart argued, ‘but how to get out of them with assurance and to build up the self-confidence they would need to throw the aircraft about the sky if they were in extremis.’29 The teaching at Gosport combined aerial practice with a theoretical base taught in the classroom, which gave trainees more confidence in the air. Civilian instructors shied away from allowing pupils too much control of the aircraft, as McKergow complained, but under Smith Barry’s Gosport regime, students were encouraged to learn by experience and to tackle dangerous manoeuvres and situations in the controlled training environment.30 They could then replicate these actions in combat.
Fundamental reforms included increasing the practise time before a pilot could qualify, which by December 1916 was between 20 and 28 hours. Biographer Andrew Boyle showed how Smith Barry introduced a stricter set of tests intended to demonstrate the variety of skills the pilot would require when in combat:
They revolutionised the existing hit-or-miss system of tuition ... . With the object of applying first principles in the air and inculcating them by trial and error until they became second nature, he threw existing rules out of the window and taught his pupils ‘every possible manoeuvre including flying etc,’ by dual control. Original, unconventional but practicable, the Smith Barry technique grew into a uniform system which spread from Britain to other countries.31
The stages of training placed a stronger emphasis on the theoretical basis of flight and practising the reactions of the aeroplane in a variety of warlike situations. Vitally, instruction became more practical and relevant to the tasks pilots would perform. The effectiveness of the Royal Flying Corps training programme can be measured by these changes; not only did senior officers recognize that their original efforts were inadequate to meet the demands of their work, but they based the changes on their direct experience of combat.
The RFC was slow to develop and lacked the resources to do so immediately, but can be said to have been ‘proactive’ in the development of the training programme. Responding to the need for change, the senior officers of the RFC combined both their experience of war and the changing role of airmen to develop a suitable, progressive training programme. The RFC did not just teach civilians how to fly, but taught them how to be pilots, with all the skills and knowledge necessary to act effectively in combat.
Unlike the RFC, the Royal Navy was perceived as a career for life, where men were taught not just the practical attributes of shipping but given a set of values by which to conduct their lives. Above all it was training in character. Boys as young as 12 years old were taken from their families and taught the value of discipline and pride in service that would make them successful seamen. Like the Flying Corps, the navy had a three-stage training programme for their young recruits. First, boys were sent to Osborne House on the Isle of Wight for two years, followed by a further two years at Dartmouth Naval College, then finally a six-month placement on the training ships Cornwall and Cumberland. At the start of the conflict, the navy did not need extra recruits because its structure meant they could quickly be ready for war. Therefore, the majority of men in the service had been trained using the traditional system. Unlike its aerial counterpart, the naval programme openly acknowledged its wider purpose as a tool to create gentlemen officers – fighting men with the refinements of society. ‘What is the ultimate object of naval education and training?’ Sir H.W. Richmond asked, and if ‘it is to produce a fighting sea officer ... . He must be a seaman, having all those arts which are summed up in that word ... at his finger’s ends.’ The true purpose of naval education was the man it created and learning how to manage a crew and sail effectively was merely a fraction of the ideal type. ‘He has to learn the real meaning of discipline and subordination, what it is, why it is needed, how it is developed and how grossly it may be misused by bad officers,’ Richmond asserted:
It is insufficient to imbue him with pride in past achievements of the Navy, if he is not taught at the same time that it rests with him to repeat those achievements, and this can only be done by a life of self-abnegation, industry and devotion equal to that of the great men of the past. He should know that to read and know about Nelson, to wear his portrait on his cabin wall is the shabbiest insult to the hero’s memory if no effort is made to master and apply the lessons which the careers of Nelson and his like furnish.32
In this view, the training of naval officers was designed to inspire the next generation of national heroes; every man was a potential Nelson in the making. This attitude filtered through the training programme, encouraging discipline and duty in recruits at all three stages of their induction into the service. Like the Central Flying School Manual for the RFC, Richmond’s book was a blueprint for naval training, demonstrating the many characteristics the perfect naval officer was required to incarnate.
During the first stage of naval training, 12- and 13-year-old boys were introduced to the discipline they would require to be successful officers. The creation of a solid naval identity was vital to maintaining discipline in the boys. Given their youth compared to recruits in other services, it was necessary to teach them to subordinate their personal needs to the larger good. Young cadet Victor Hayward quickly found that any illusions he harboured were shattered. ‘I got a rude awakening and the excitement of the day was very much on the wane,’ he complained, ‘I was really frightened. Wham! The officialdom of the Navy clamped down on us with an iron hand. Harsh, barking orders ... . It seemed like a fantastic nightmare.’ There was no respite for Hayward who then found that the ‘next morning at the crack of dawn, I was rudely awakened by the raucous voice of some huge petty officer “calling the hands”... my day had started with a vengeance.’33 The routine was intended to be tough, as Richmond stated, teaching the boys the ‘real meaning of discipline and subordination’.34 Recruits were woken at 5:30 a.m. to wash with 16 others in cold water from the mess-tubs. At 6 a.m., ship cleaning began, much to the chagrin of Hayward:
We used to have to line up two deep in bare feet, with our trousers rolled up well passed {sic} the knees. We would collect two sandstone blocks, one for each hand ... and kneel in two ranks ... we would slowly advance, rubbing the square stone blocks on the wet decks to clean away the previous day’s dirt. We would take about an hour to complete the ‘upper floor’... . Lastly with the aid of rope swabs, the deck would be dried. This job caused many of my classmates, including myself, to get an attack of housemaid’s knee; the cap of our limbs were swollen like great billiard balls.35
Captains were concerned with appearance and believed that cleanliness meant efficiency. The constant cleaning taught the boys the value of order, and suggested they should take pride in the physical appearance of the ship.
These tasks introduced them to the professional culture of the service, teaching them how they would be expected to live during their career. Simultaneously, they would be reminded of their place in the large hierarchy of the navy, which some could slowly ascend. In addition to learning the professional culture of the navy, recruits would also spend their days in seamanship classes, learning the theoretical and practical aspects of navigation. ‘Under the former heading,’ Sir H. W. Richmond explained, comes instruction in the ‘tides, of magnetism as applied to the compass, of stability ... the rules of the road and the basic principles of the organisation of the ship’s company.’ Practical lessons included the use of instruments, signalling and the mechanical workings of the ship. A professional sailor would become a success only ‘through constant familiarity with responsibility in charge of the decks’, Richmond continued, so that ‘{he} feels at home on the bridge in any circumstances, and instinctively knows what to do and how to do it in all multitudinous situations in which a seaman may find himself’.36 The first stage of training, therefore, was designed to instil discipline and respect for naval hierarchy through the strict routines and physical labour, but also to ensure that naval codes and practices became second nature. Like the RFC, the navy needed to rapidly create identity and loyalty to ensure the recruits became a working part of the service. Yet naval instruction was a much longer process, and after two years at Osborne the young trainees, already grounded in the fundamental principles and routines of naval life, would have moved to Dartmouth.
The training received between the ages of 15 and 17 was consistent with what had come before – physical drill, seamanship and boat work for eight hours every day – but boys could employ their free time more independently. By this stage, boys had been inducted into the navy and felt part of the service. This stage reinforced the loyalties they were developing with their fellow apprentices. At Dartmouth, sports and team games were encouraged to build bonds of loyalty between the trainees and teach them about teamwork, a skill which would be transferred to ship management later in their career. ‘Work over, the cadets were free to land in the extensive playing fields,’ C. L. Kerr noted in his 1939 memoir, and ‘in order to encourage boat management we had, for the asking, the use of quite a flotilla of gigs, skiffs and sailing boats.’37 Like the Royal Flying Corps, sailors were encouraged to participate in team activities as an outlet for their energies and as a useful tool for creating military identity. Through healthy competition, boys were able to measure themselves against one another and ascertain their position in the team structure. The Navy wanted to create effective fighting officers and men competed for promotion in order to reach the few coveted positions at the top of the hierarchy.
In terms of the wider service, the Royal Navy had a prestigious reputation as a successful aggressor. To maintain its place as the elite seafaring service, it also wanted to replicate that aggression in its young officers. The regularity of sporting competitions at Dartmouth aided the introduction of those principles into the education of recruits. Douglas King-Harman wrote often to his mother, detailing his sporting prowess:
26 January 1905 – Last Tuesday we played a hockey match against the cadet-captains, and Drake lost 2 goals to 1. I was playing forward and had a very good game and not a few bruises. I am going in for hockey more than footer this term ... . Our first XI played a match against Eartmann’s yesterday, on their ground, and though they were a much heavier team than ours, we licked them 10 to 0.
19 February 1905 – Yesterday our soccer 1st XI played a match here, and we won easily by 14 goals to nil. Six of the 1st XI are in our term. It was raining hard during the match, but there were crowds of chaps watching it.
28 May 1905 – Yesterday afternoon our dormitory played the other dormitory of our term ... {I} was captain of our second {XI}. We did splendidly in the first XI match ... . In the second match, we were beaten hopelessly by 123 to 169 ... . I stayed on till the last wicket but one, having made only 21 in over an hour’s batting.38
Hockey, football and cricket featured largely in a cadet’s education, as King-Harman’s letters demonstrate, and boys were encouraged to watch, participate and, where possible, to lead teams. ‘The perfect officer,’ Sir H. W. Richmond asserted, ‘must know how to command the respect of his subordinates and must therefore have a high sense of honour and duty. He must have a cultivated judgement and a character which does not shirk from responsibility.’39 Sport offered opportunities for trainees to experience both leadership and competition, and to develop their skills as effective officers.
For the final part of their education, the recruits were sent to training ships and given the chance to practice the many skills they had learned during their four years in the navy. Once again, this aspect of training has parallels with the Royal Flying Corps system, as this would be the recruits’ first encounter with experienced servicemen, keen to induct the new arrivals into the professional culture of the navy at sea, as Frank Layard recalled:
Shortly after our arrival in Indomitable we were ‘christened,’ one by one we had to kneel in front of the Sub with a ship’s biscuit balanced on our heads and singing the christening hymn, ‘Lord of Power and Lord of might at this festival tonight.’ We reached the line ‘Till the hand of grace comes down’ the Sub brought his fist down with a tremendous bang breaking the biscuit and nearly knocking you out in the process.
Layard also recalled another ceremony in which his Commander James Moreton ordered him to perform a ‘capstan drill’. This involved ‘jumping down from the capstan with stiff legs and heavy on our heels. The spine jolting performance was said to be a sure way to make our voices break. It had no effect whatsoever.’ Contact with professional servicemen also introduced recruits to the less savoury practices of men at sea. ‘We were taught all the bawdy gunroom songs and jokes,’ Layard boasted, ‘and we learned to drink, sometimes to excess and to smoke.’40 For Stephen King Hall the introduction to naval vices during his time at Portsmouth was excessive and ‘in the evenings the chief diversions were smashing lamps on Southsea Common, drinking beer with tarts on the pier or causing an uproar at the local musical.’41 Such rites were an accepted part of naval life that typified the frustrations of men confined to ships for much of the year. Life in the navy was quite unlike that experienced by any other military service as hundreds of men were crammed together for weeks or months at a time, usually without being engaged in battle. Men developed distractions from the hard daily routine, which explained their excesses in leisure time. Exposing the trainees to these activities in the final placement showed them the true nature of naval life. Like flying training, it gave them practical preparation for the life to come.
Training did not end when the newly-qualified sailor left the training ships but continued informally throughout his career. The training of sailors was grounded in a clear theory of educated gentlemen, expounded by Richmond, and there was a strong idea of the type of man they wished to produce. ‘Commissioned rank was traditionally the expression of confirmation of social status,’ argued historian Martin Petter, whereby ‘the fact that one was an officer made it possible to assume one was also a gentleman.’42 The four-and-a-half year training programme was substantial by comparison with the three months offered by the Royal Flying Corps. During that time, the navy took children from the age of 12 and turned them into men steeped in the theory and history of their service, and fully cognizant of the intricate aspects of command. The most talented officers would continue their education and development. ‘This high part of an officer’s training must be a never ceasing process throughout his life,’ Richmond affirmed, and ‘it is he alone who can teach himself ... . The education of an officer begins when he enters the Navy. It does not end till he retires.’ As Richmond rightly asserts, ‘it is only by practical work that any one becomes anything more than an amateur in any profession.’43 Training in the Royal Navy was designed to create a career officer, a man who would devote his life to his service, live by its rules, conduct himself in an orderly fashion and continue his instruction throughout his working life, for the glory and honour of the Royal Navy.
Effectiveness of the Naval Training Programme
The naval training programme was a very long, intense experience that conditioned naval officers before they reached adulthood. The teaching was rooted in the traditions of the service and with the belief that these methods had created the great heroes of the past. In the early twentieth century, however, the nature of warfare was changing for all three services. New weapons and technologies challenged the established order but, unlike the RFC, the naval training programme failed to reflect the changing conflict environment. Men were encouraged to use known strategic plans in battle and to look to senior officers for inspiration. This created a number of problems during the Great War which were recognised by official historian Arthur Marder:
The number of officers of flag rank who failed in some respect during the war was high ... there was no system of weeding out unfit Admirals ... . There was an extreme reluctance to remove men who had failed, whether from consideration of friendship, the natural distaste for sacking or transferring such an officer, or the fear that this would hurt fleet morale ... . Another obstacle to getting the best qualified officer into a particular job was the prejudice in the Navy generally and certainly at the Admiralty against independent thought ... . Officers who expressed independent or unorthodox opinions were viewed with suspicion by Authority ... . Indeed, intellect itself was suspect, and ‘character’ and gallantry were valued far above it ... . One of the curses of the service with deep roots was ‘senior officer veneration’: that is blind obedience to, and blind confidence in, a superior ... . The young men learned to treat everything said by their superior officers as the gospel truth.44
The naval training programme taught sailors the value of hierarchy and to obey all orders from above them. In practice this meant, as Marder showed, that initiative was quashed and men were expected to wait for orders before they could proceed.
The centralization of power, contained within the Admiralty, prevented individual commanders from making tactical decisions in battle and caused loss of momentum. Most famously at the Battle of Jutland in 1916, the failure of officers to pursue the German ships meant the battle petered out and no decisive victory was possible.45 Criticism can therefore be levelled at the navy for failing to respond to the changing climate of the twentieth century and acting ‘defensively’ in the production of traditional officers. By retaining its determined link with the past and teaching men to emulate the methods used by great heroes a hundred years before, the Royal Navy was blind to the technological challenges a new century had brought. The Navy’s defensive role in the First World War was therefore based on its defensive training policy.
Whilst the fuller naval training programme provided a deep understanding of the Royal Navy and was suitable to instil discipline in its child-recruits, it offered little practical instruction in twentieth-century warfare. Although sailors were able to fulfil their role in the war, the navy, arguably, did not instigate hostile action or force Germany to fight openly. This ‘defensive’ reaction to war was the responsibility of the training programme that taught men to respect and await orders from their superiors and not to deviate from the commands given through the hierarchy.
For men to act effectively in combat, they had to undergo a relevant training programme that prepared them for the roles they would assume in service. The fundamental purpose of instruction for all personnel was the creation of a military or naval identity, to encourage the pride and dedication that would give men the motivation to perform in battle. In the air service, men were taught the practical skills necessary to perform on the Western Front. They needed to know how to use their weapons and how to repair them. The aeroplane was an important weapon and pilots were taught its offensive and intelligence-gathering functions. The Central Flying School, for all its failings, provided a training programme that reflected the work of the active pilot and prepared men for their postings to France. Whilst resources were stretched, it was a challenge to provide consistent instruction. The senior officers of the RFC sought to improve the quality of graduates throughout the war with a number of reforms, including increasing flying hours and improving the theoretical basis of training.
With the practical flying knowledge to perform as pilots having been obtained, the production of military identity was encouraged informally, through sports and other group activities. The military importance of physical ability was a key concern after the Boer War where it was felt that the nation’s manhood was under threat and Britain risked being unable to perform effectively in a future war. However, nineteenth-century public schools had long associated sport with military behaviour, where, according to historian Colin Veicht, they taught ‘loyalty, consideration and selflessness ... . Organization of the games by the boys themselves encouraged responsibility and fostered their ability to lead by example and to obey with gentlemanly deference.’46 Games, it was felt, taught boys to subordinate their own will to that of the group, and developed the leadership skills necessary to encourage men into battle.
The often-quoted poet Henry Newbolt also reflected this link in his nineteenth-century verses, including the famous Vitaï Lampada, which was used as propaganda in the Great War. Written in 1897, Newbolt used a cricket match to suggest that this was the place a soldier learned notions of military duty and especially the skill of endurance:
This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the school is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind -
‘Play up! Play up! And play the game!’47
Newbolt suggested that the training men received on the cricket pitch would be something they could call upon throughout their lives, and especially in their military careers. This was the value of sport as training, because it meant that ‘none that hears it dare forget’ and that boys would ‘with a joyful mind’ approach combat, knowing it was their duty to ‘Play up! Play Up! And play the game!’. Newbolt used this technique in a number of his poems, weaving notions of future war with amateur games of football and cricket played in schools.
Notions of fair play had more than just a military purpose. Historian J. A Mangan felt that games engendered ‘less a moral ideal than a practical need. In the middle of the nineteenth century it served the most basic social functions – social cohesion ... . On and off the playing field.’48 In life as well as in combat, games taught civic responsibility and encouraged men to associate themselves with the idea of the state. ‘Team sports looked like a solution because, to win,’ Michael C. C Adams agreed, ‘the individual had to subordinate himself to the group ... . If civic character was the aim, then they were as good if not better than scholarship.’49 The educational value of team sports is still reported as having a beneficial effect on behaviour.50 With continued belief in the association of sport and behaviour, it is understandable that both the RFC and eventually the Royal Navy encouraged it within their training programmes.
The value of physical health to the RFC was fundamental during the war because pilots’ motivation was seen as a combination of mind and body. ‘Physical fitness was the gospel of the RAF; it was the first quality,’ Official Historian Edgar Middleton explained, because the strain of flying had a significant effect on the body and the nerves. ‘Head, heart and lungs had to be flawless in this incessant struggle, when the merest slip meant sudden and awful death,’ he continued.51 To ensure men held their nerve in the air, they needed to be at the peak of their fitness, hence the emphasis on youth in recruitment. Yet they also had to believe in their affiliation to the service. Sport and games, as shown above, were synonymous with the hierarchy and group loyalty of military life and were therefore necessary to help men perform in combat. Through these competitions, they learnt loyalty, teamwork and rivalry, but more importantly they learnt to control these responses and direct them into their flight work.
By contrast, the Royal Navy had a more inconsistent association with sport. Although team games were an essential part of the training system, some members of the Admiralty feared that the physical development encouraged by sport threatened the ruminative qualities required by good officers to consider strategy and planning. A report of the Osborne and Dartmouth Committee in May 1905 felt that in ‘regard to sports, My Lords desire that they should not take a position of exaggerated importance in the minds of the cadets.’52 More important to the navy was that the officer should be an educated gentleman, one versed in the strategy of war and its intellectual application. A report from 1913 on public school recruits emphasized the need to ‘teach the junior officer the principles of the art of the war as soon as he has finished the school part of his education and the professional training in material ... before reaching the rank of Lieutenant.’53 Whilst sport had some role to play in the development of the naval character, most of the training would come from the ship.
The experience of war would alter that greater emphasis on intellectual pursuits and a Conference on Physical Training in the navy was held in 1919. ‘Experience gained during the war has shewn {sic} that the Physical Education of the nation at large is of the utmost importance’, the minutes reported, because the ‘hostilities only’ men who had less physical training had not been entirely prepared for the navy. This ‘demonstrated clearly that something more than mere Drill was necessary in order to produce the right type of disciplined man’, the conference concluded. Consequently, it was recommended that sailors form ‘The Navy Sports and Games Board’ to ‘encourage Recreational Clubs to be run by the men with every encouragement for Officers to join. These Clubs should be instituted in all Fleets, Stations and Ports.’ The Board would promote all athletic activities including boxing, wrestling, fencing, cricket, football, aquatics and boat pulling.54 Ultimately, the role of sport in forming and supporting military identity was recognized by both the RFC and Royal Navy. These activities, therefore, had three purposes; first, they gave trainees the physical strength to undertake their role and perform at the height of their fitness. Secondly, games created a theoretical basis for men to learn the nature of discipline, hierarchy and group identity, which they would transfer to their squadron or ship. Finally, as Newbolt acutely observed, it offered men a reserve to call upon during combat, and to be able to ‘play the game’ as bravely as they had on the cricket and football pitches of England.
Ultimately, the Royal Flying Corps was most ‘offensive’ in the development of its training programme. It recognised the inherent flaws in its original systems, and made repeated attempts to improve the quality of graduates. The system was responsive to the staggering technological advances made by the air services during the conflict, including developments in weaponry, reconnaissance materials and tactical flying, all of which training pragmatically covered. Pilots had to learn a great deal at the front from the experienced airmen in their squadron. Although practice could not replicate battle conditions entirely, the military identity and motivation of pilots was more closely associated with their squadron. Fundamentally, therefore, the Royal Flying Corps was able to turn civilians into effective members of the service in a matter of weeks. The training programme was effective because it created group loyalties and taught the practical skills combatants required to be pilots.
The effectiveness of the Royal Navy’s training programme is somewhat more complex than that of it’s aerial counterpart. The period of instruction was also far longer than any other military body, by the end of which it was hoped that the traditions and purpose of the service would have been ingrained in the men. Due to the navy’s less active role in the First World War, the training system proved adequate. Men were not tested in battle but did not rebel at the long periods of inactivity. The navy remained unengaged by the German High Seas Fleet and consequently, recognition of and response to the new demands of twentieth-century conflict within the training programme was almost entirely lacking. If Germany had possessed the means to pursue the submarine and similar aggressive technologies, the conflict could have been extremely challenging for the Royal Navy.
Resistant to change and sceptical of development, the Admiralty dismissed the submarine and the aeroplane as toys for the rich, rather than crucial developments in twentieth-century weaponry.55 This blindness to the changing face of modern warfare had an impact on their training programme, which remained traditional and stiflingly hierarchical. In training therefore, commanders were not given the means to act offensively in battle, even when the opportunity presented itself, and orders continued to be centralized. Achievement was compared with the heroes of a hundred years before, as an alternative to perceiving what changes the future would bring and adapting methods accordingly. Unlike the RFC, the navy was less responsive to the developments in weaponry. Both programmes prepared men for their role in the Great War and gave them the various skills they would need to perform, the navy by default because it did not inspire action. Despite their differences, most of the pilots and sailors of the First World War continued to fight and maintained their motivation throughout the conflict. The true test of the training programmes was how effectively servicemen performed on active service and the next chapter examines the combat experience.