bleeding to death, probably with the odd broken bone, and is therefore, only marginally preferable to stoning.’
The firing squad itself was in many ways recognised by the officers and the APM as the weakest part of the execution process, and often there were a number of bungled executions. There was always the possibility that members of the firing squad – whether from nerves, sympathy for the condemned or just poor marksmanship – would miss their target, with the unpleasant implication that the officer in charge would then have to finish the job off with a single revolver shot to the condemned man’s head or heart. An example of this was the execution of Private Joseph Byers, of whom more will be mentioned later, which was witnessed by Margueritte Six, the daughter of the farmer on whose land it took place near Locre. The firing squad had already executed one man, Private Andrew Evans, but its first volley of the second execution was fired over Private Byers’ head. Whatever the firing squad’s motivation, a further volley was required. Piet Chielens, the curator of the Flanders Fields Museum in Ypres, attributed the firing squad’s action to an unwillingness to shoot at Private Byers (Linklater, 1998).
It would have been surprising if the traumatic experience did not lead to members of the firing squad, and indeed the others present, suffering psychological stress, affecting their own ability to function afterwards. If the number of men who took part in a firing squad was small compared to the overall numbers serving, then it logically follows that very few, if any, commanding officers and other senior officers involved in confirming death sentences would themselves have witnessed such an event prior to the start of, and during, the First World War. As a result, they were asking soldiers and more junior officers to take part in something of which they themselves had had no first-hand experience, so therefore could not fully comprehend the effect that such involvement would have on a man’s mental well-being. Perhaps this is not too surprising given that shell shock was not recognised until 1916 onwards.
Shell shock was believed to be the result of a physical impact on the brain caused by a shell landing nearby, although it could be generically used for a range of traumatic conditions. Men could be under enemy barrages for long periods of time and they would react in a number of ways. Lord Moran, who had served as a medical officer on the Western Front and was later to act as Sir Winston Churchill’s personal physician, made the same point:
Courage is will-power, whereof no man has an unlimited stock; and when in war it is used up, he is finished. A man’s courage is his capital and he is always spending. The call on the bank may be only the daily drain of the front line or it may be a sudden draft which threatens to close the account.
Frank Richardson, in his postscript to Babington’s book (2002), also wrote about the idea of a bank balance of courage which needs, from time to time, to be replenished. Each time this is required it will not only take longer to do, but will also not last as long – demonstrating that ‘every soldier, however brave and resolute, has his breaking point’ – and the point at which it all becomes too much would vary from person to person.
Good discipline and training helped many to withstand the mental strain involved without them seeming to reach their breaking point, but this could be undone by tiredness and adverse environmental conditions. Tolerance levels varied; some men, on reaching their breaking point, would go berserk and became a danger to themselves and to others, while others would become incoherent and unable to function in any way, even losing the ability to speak or to move. Others ran away from the source of the problem – although many soldiers were able to withstand the strain and function as normally as the circumstances allowed. As with many things
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