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Authors: Michael Winter
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Newfoundland.
Cluny Macpherson had been a doctor with the Grenfell Mission in Labrador when war broke out. He was the eldest son of a St John’s businessman—Campbell Macpherson. Campbell and his brother owned, with William Job, the Royal Stores in St John’s, which were built after the Great Fire of 1892. This was the world Cluny was born into—hearty conversation, the desire to study, an appetite for work. He had a brother, Harold, five years younger, who, among other things, saved the Newfoundland dog as a breed—Harold Macpherson’s house is near the grounds of Memorial University, nestled in trees. I once bought a bicycle from an elderly man outside this house—a bicycle I still have. The Macphersons were fixtures at Methodist picnics; they were confident, with no room for doubt and laziness, just belting out talent and having the guts to create good in the world. That’s what growing up proud with a strong moneyed family in a capital city of a great little nation can do for you.
The Royal Stores owned Riverside Woolen Mills, which operated in Makinsons out of Conception Bay—a community I’ve passed many a time. It was Riverside whichmade the Newfoundland Regiment’s uniforms with wool from local sheep. When we bought our little summer house, we found a pink blanket on a bed that was made by Riverside. Its logo: the Newfoundland dog.
GAS MASK
Before the war, Cluny Macpherson worked with Labrador doctors like Wilfred Grenfell and Harry Paddon and Arthur Wakefield. After the war started, Macpherson was picked by George Nasmith, the Acting Medical Officer of Health for Toronto, to help in France with the development of the gas mask. A German prisoner had been found carrying a pad of cotton waste done up in some veiling, similar to the mask worn by surgeons and nurses in the operating room. The cotton was impregnated with a solution of sodium hyposulphite and washing soda. The Germans were trying to race for the Channel ports by using gas. The shell with gas would explode and the contents would enter the eye and make the eye wet. These were called lachrymatory shells. The word “lachrymatory” used to be associated with glass vessels that were filled with tears and bottled. The Greeks had these jars a thousand years before Christ. And then these canisters of chemicals were volleyed into the British trenches—gas that caused tears.
The scientists who were brought together to make the mask were called the gasoliers. Macpherson was sent to London for two large cylinders of chlorine. This trip allowed him to conceive of a superior pattern to the German model, where you survived the gas by not moving. You had to hold the contraption in place.
Macpherson bought a couple of yards of Viyella and some mica in London and took them back to Saint-Omer in France. Viyella is a blend of wool and cotton; the name comes from the road where the mill was built, Via Gellia (the road builder, Phillip Gell, claimed Roman descent). Macpherson knew a soldier could breathe through Viyella because he’d used it to cover the heads of patients being transported in winter from Labrador.
The team tried out the German masks in a French field, and two of the scientists had to be taken to hospital. Macpherson cut out his pattern in paper and asked the matron to sew it up for him using the Viyella and a mica window. The next day Colonel Harvey tried on the mask and stood in the chamber for five minutes. Colonel O’Grady tried it, too. The director general of medical services, Arthur Sloggett, declared it was so comfortable a soldier could fight in it.
Cluny Macpherson was shipped back to London and headed up a team to produce the helmet. Tanners complained that the gasoliers’ use of hypo, which was alsoneeded in the tanning process, meant no leather for the army. Mica cracked, so it was replaced with photographic film. The film was flammable, but less so if treated with an alkaline solution. Then Macpherson went to a lecture where a
Cluny Macpherson had been a doctor with the Grenfell Mission in Labrador when war broke out. He was the eldest son of a St John’s businessman—Campbell Macpherson. Campbell and his brother owned, with William Job, the Royal Stores in St John’s, which were built after the Great Fire of 1892. This was the world Cluny was born into—hearty conversation, the desire to study, an appetite for work. He had a brother, Harold, five years younger, who, among other things, saved the Newfoundland dog as a breed—Harold Macpherson’s house is near the grounds of Memorial University, nestled in trees. I once bought a bicycle from an elderly man outside this house—a bicycle I still have. The Macphersons were fixtures at Methodist picnics; they were confident, with no room for doubt and laziness, just belting out talent and having the guts to create good in the world. That’s what growing up proud with a strong moneyed family in a capital city of a great little nation can do for you.
The Royal Stores owned Riverside Woolen Mills, which operated in Makinsons out of Conception Bay—a community I’ve passed many a time. It was Riverside whichmade the Newfoundland Regiment’s uniforms with wool from local sheep. When we bought our little summer house, we found a pink blanket on a bed that was made by Riverside. Its logo: the Newfoundland dog.
GAS MASK
Before the war, Cluny Macpherson worked with Labrador doctors like Wilfred Grenfell and Harry Paddon and Arthur Wakefield. After the war started, Macpherson was picked by George Nasmith, the Acting Medical Officer of Health for Toronto, to help in France with the development of the gas mask. A German prisoner had been found carrying a pad of cotton waste done up in some veiling, similar to the mask worn by surgeons and nurses in the operating room. The cotton was impregnated with a solution of sodium hyposulphite and washing soda. The Germans were trying to race for the Channel ports by using gas. The shell with gas would explode and the contents would enter the eye and make the eye wet. These were called lachrymatory shells. The word “lachrymatory” used to be associated with glass vessels that were filled with tears and bottled. The Greeks had these jars a thousand years before Christ. And then these canisters of chemicals were volleyed into the British trenches—gas that caused tears.
The scientists who were brought together to make the mask were called the gasoliers. Macpherson was sent to London for two large cylinders of chlorine. This trip allowed him to conceive of a superior pattern to the German model, where you survived the gas by not moving. You had to hold the contraption in place.
Macpherson bought a couple of yards of Viyella and some mica in London and took them back to Saint-Omer in France. Viyella is a blend of wool and cotton; the name comes from the road where the mill was built, Via Gellia (the road builder, Phillip Gell, claimed Roman descent). Macpherson knew a soldier could breathe through Viyella because he’d used it to cover the heads of patients being transported in winter from Labrador.
The team tried out the German masks in a French field, and two of the scientists had to be taken to hospital. Macpherson cut out his pattern in paper and asked the matron to sew it up for him using the Viyella and a mica window. The next day Colonel Harvey tried on the mask and stood in the chamber for five minutes. Colonel O’Grady tried it, too. The director general of medical services, Arthur Sloggett, declared it was so comfortable a soldier could fight in it.
Cluny Macpherson was shipped back to London and headed up a team to produce the helmet. Tanners complained that the gasoliers’ use of hypo, which was alsoneeded in the tanning process, meant no leather for the army. Mica cracked, so it was replaced with photographic film. The film was flammable, but less so if treated with an alkaline solution. Then Macpherson went to a lecture where a
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