Executed at Dawn (12 page)

Fiennes feels that Guilford at the time supported the use of the death penalty in wartime but that it was an experience that haunted him for the rest of his life.

The Reverend R.H.J. Steuart was a Roman Catholic chaplain to a battalion of the Highland Light Infantry in the 15th Scottish Division (1916–18) and, from January 1918, in the 35th (Bantam) Division. He was detailed to attend the execution of Corporal C. Lewis, 12th Highland Light Infantry, which was carried out on 11 March 1916, and also that of Private Hector Dalande of the 8th Seaforth Highlanders. Dalande had been found guilty of desertion and was executed on 9 March 1918.

Steuart describes finding a distraught Dalande in his cell and goes on to relate details of the execution. A blindfold was placed over his eyes, his hands were tied behind his back, and a small piece of lint was pinned over his heart by the medical officer. As for Steuart: ‘I kept my hand upon his arm as we walked, and I can vouch for it that he never faltered nor trembled.'

Despite recalling the distinct ‘thrill of repugnance' where attending an execution was concerned, Steuart did not argue against the use of the death penalty.

Father Benedict Williamson, a Roman Catholic padre in the 47th Division, attended the execution of Private Patrick Murphy of the 47th Battalion, Machine Gun Corps, which took place on 12 September 1918, for the offence of desertion. Williamson (2005) wrote of the distress felt by all those involved because ‘there is an immense difference between seeing a number of men slain in battle and seeing one shot with all the cold deliberation that follows in such a case as this.'

Williamson had spent some time praying with Murphy and hearing his confession. This was another occasion when the chaplain concerned was to be impressed by the fortitude of the condemned man, though seemingly without opposing the sentence imposed, as Williamson made the following observations: ‘I spent some time encouraging him for the fiery ordeal he would soon pass through. The scene almost carried one back to the days of the martyrs, the boy was so wonderfully calm and resigned.'

Williamson walked with Murphy to the place of execution and in the final moments prayed with him. Murphy's final words were, ‘Goodbye Father.'

The Church has always seemed able to turn a human tragedy into something positive, and Williamson felt able to attribute Murphy's bravery at the end to the Catholic religion, saying, ‘I have never in the course of my experience assisted at a death more consoling or one in which I felt more absolute assurance of the state of the soul going forth to God.'

Murphy had been barely 20 when he had enlisted in August 1914 and yet there is no discernible recognition, or concern, in Williamson's words about a young life being terminated under such circumstances.

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As previously mentioned, the role of an army chaplain was, above all, to raise the men's morale and to foster discipline, so it could be argued that military executions represented something of a failure on the part of the Church. However, this does not appear to have been a problem, as the Church in the early years of the twentieth century supported the death penalty in both the military and the civilian worlds.

The churches based this support on Genesis (9.6), which states, ‘Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed.' But where military executions were concerned, this surely could only be an argument in favour of the fifteen executions for murder. The vast majority of executions were for offences that had no civilian equivalent and, furthermore, were not sins against God.

Faced with an execution, the role of the army chaplain was to help the condemned man prepare to ensure that he ‘died a good death', whatever that might mean. Given that the amount of time between the promulgation of sentence and the carrying out of the sentence was sometimes just a matter of hours, the army chaplain did not have long to achieve this objective; however, many did help the men concerned, providing practical help in addition to the religious side of their role.

There is, though, a paradox here, as the army chaplain was the condemned man's only friendly face, and yet the man behind that face would have wholeheartedly supported the death penalty, and was someone who was a commissioned officer, and therefore part of the military establishment, which meant that they were never truly on the side of the condemned man. In addition, there is no recorded evidence that an army chaplain ever condemned the death penalty, not even in those moments following an execution when emotions would have been heightened.

In terms of the notes passed to Guilford, the army chaplains did fulfil that role and, from the evidence gathered above, they can be seen, in many cases, to have gone further in support of the condemned man. The Church, and its army chaplains, would have been in a position to argue against the death penalty and exert pressure for change, but it never did because at that time it supported the death penalty, although perhaps for wrong-headed reasons.

The army medical officer's primary role in conflict was to save the lives of those wounded on the battlefield and to tend to those who were sick. As the notes given to Guilford in 1917 show, however, there could be occasions when the focus was on facilitating the end of life at an execution. Private Walter Williams (Williams, 2013) commented in his memoirs that, with medical staff being overworked because they were dealing with the inevitable battle casualties, he found it remarkable that doctors could be found ‘who were willing to take part in this ghastly charade'.

Despite the growing awareness of shell shock, one medical officer said, ‘I went to the trial determined to give him no help of any sort, for I detest his type … I really hoped he would be shot' (Holden, 1998). This represented a view that if you gave what many, including this medical officer, saw as plain and simple cowardice an acceptable name – such as shell shock – then it would somehow validate the actions of those men who were unwilling to fight and thereby undermine army discipline in the field: a form of absenteeism that would be recognisable today in the civilian sector of society. There were, therefore, medical officers who would willingly have been present at executions because they believed in the death sentence, in line with their military training, the military culture and the standards of the time.

The notes issued to Guilford set out the following aspects associated with the role of a medical officer at an execution:

Arrange with the Assistant Director Medical Services for the presence of a Medical Officer at the execution.

The Medical Officer will provide a three cornered bandage for blindfolding and a small paper disc for fixing over the heart. He will adjust these when requested by the APM.

He will also arrange for a stretcher in case the prisoner is unable to walk.

The Medical Officer will go forward and examine the body. If he considers that life is not extinct he will summon the Officer i/c of the firing party, who will complete the sentence with his revolver.

The Medical Officer will certify death and sign the death certificate which he will hand to the APM.

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Captain M.S. Esler was the medical officer with the 8th Division, 2nd Middlesex Regiment (Brown, 2001), when he was ordered to be present at the execution of Private Frank O'Neill, 1st Sherwood Foresters, on 16 May 1918. On giving him his orders to attend, Esler was told by his commanding officer that: ‘He knew I should hate it as much as he did.'

Esler had to pin a red piece of paper over O'Neill's heart after the condemned man had turned down his offer of half a pint of brandy, on the basis that he had never drunk spirits before and was not about to start then. Esler said that he had seen many men shot, ‘but never one of our own men by our men, and it made me feel very sick, I who thought that I had grown hardened to death'.

Captain L. Gameson spent the war attached to various units in the 15th Division, but by August 1919 he was with the 5th Army Headquarters in Lille when he was ordered to attend the executions of Privates Willie Harris and Abraham Davids of the 1st Cape Coloured Labour Regiment. The two men had been found guilty of murder and were to be executed on 26 August 1919.

Gameson had been chosen by the assistant director of medical services because the APM had complained
‘that the last MO supplied to him fainted during the proceedings. He wants me to provide one who won't. I am therefore detailing you.'

The APM told Gameson when they met that he was to give the two men a heavy dose of morphia but not enough to render them incapable of walking. Gameson had misgivings about what he was being told to do because ‘people vary in their reactions to that drug, both as to the reaction and the time necessary to produce it. I gave each victim a large enough dose to ensure the required result.'

When the two men were calm enough for him he proceeded to the next step which was to pin two envelopes, the targets, to the men's shirts:

Of the many distasteful duties which have inevitably come my way, what followed stayed in my mind as the worst. The men were clothed in thin shirts, tight, close fitting intentionally. I had to percuss out cardiac areas, identify apex-beats, pin envelopes to the shirts. To do this while meeting these men's eyes looking into my eyes was humiliating and shocking. I blindfolded them.

Gameson had been told that he had to stand as near to the two staked men as possible so as to reach them as soon as was possible following the deadly volley and to check for life.

There could also be risks for those in attendance: it was on this occasion that Gameson himself was nearly shot when a sergeant was loading the rifles and one accidentally went off, resulting in the bullet narrowly missing his head.

Gameson could have testified that lightning does indeed strike twice when he was called upon to attend the execution of Private F. Boos, also known as Alberts, of the 1st Cape Coloured Regiment on 15 October 1919, also for the offence of murder. On this occasion the firing squad failed to kill Boos outright and Gameson, examining him, told the sergeant in charge that Boos still lived. The sergeant, almost certainly through a mixture of anxiety and haste, shot Boos through the head before checking that Gameson had moved safely away. The bullet passed straight through Boos' head and fortunately just over Gameson's head. Gameson, lucky to be alive, was able to describe the execution as ‘a messy and disturbing business'.

Guilford's notes were issued in respect of Private Joseph Bateman, and the record of the field general court martial (file WO71/621 held at The National Archives) shows that Private Bateman's death was certified by Captain T. Bourne-Price (RAMC) with the comment that ‘death was instantaneous'
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On another occasion (WO71/556) the medical officer present when Private William Bowerman, of the 1st East Surrey Regiment, was executed for desertion on 24 March 1917, recorded that his ‘death was not instantaneous'.

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The evidence available shows that some army medical officers did not accept shell shock as a battlefield condition and took the view that its recognition would have given cowardice an acceptable name. This, in turn, would have coloured their approach to courts martial and the death sentence. In terms of the notes given to Guilford, the army medical officers appear to have fulfilled the role set down for them.

What also is starting to emerge is the influence of the APM on the conduct of military executions – for example, insisting on an army medical officer who would not faint, seeking the adjustment of the target disc, and requesting that drugs, such as morphia, be administered to the condemned man – and this is something that will now be discussed further.

In the same way that the death penalty in the military can be traced back to the fourteenth century, so too can the post of the provost marshal, who was responsible, according to the Royal Military Police Museum (RMP Museum), ‘for maintaining the peace “12 miles about the Prince's person”, and dealt summarily with all offenders, military and civilian alike'.
The provost marshal held the rank of colonel until 1915 when the rank changed to that of brigadier.

The first mention of the word ‘police' in connection with the military was in a War Office circular published on 13 June 1855 which created the Corps of Military Mounted Police. Certain cavalry regiments were told to provide non-commissioned officers (NCOs) of ‘five or ten years' service, sober habits, intelligent, active and capable of exercising a sound discretion', to be based at Aldershot ‘for the preservation of Good Order in the camp at Aldershot, and for the protection of the inhabitants of the neighbourhood'. (RMP Museum)

The Corps of Military Foot Police was created on 1 August 1882 for service in Egypt and consisted entirely of men who, in civilian life, had served with the Metropolitan Police. The corps' existence was made permanent on 2 July 1885 with an establishment of: ‘1 sergeant-major; 13 sergeants; 17 corporals; and 59 privates. The end of the century saw the Military Police with a strength of just over 300.' (RMP Museum) The two corps would eventually be combined in 1926.

At the outbreak of the First World War, the total military police strength was 508, which quickly increased to 761 with the recall of reservists, many of whom had been policemen in civilian life. By 1918 the corps had over 25,000 men of all ranks (RMP Museum).

It was the crimson red covering of their peaked caps and the black cloth armband with the letters ‘MP' that distinguished the military police from the other troops on the Western Front. As the war progressed they were issued with steel helmets with ‘MP' painted on the front. If the military police were to help maintain discipline then there was the expectation, in turn, that they would be well turned out at all times.

In 1914, the military police operated what were referred to as ‘stragglers' posts', used, for example, during the retreat from Mons, which would return soldiers to their units if they had become separated. In addition, these posts might also detect and arrest those thought to have deserted. On occasions, though, the military police would simply shoot those running away, and it is not known how many were ‘executed' in this way, but it could be in excess of the number officially executed. One military policeman, when questioned about what he had done during the war, replied with conviction, ‘Damn it, I was standing behind the lines shooting them that were running away'.