Armed Forces Bill

I am grateful to be allowed to address the House on this subject. I declare a number of interests. First, I am both a historian and a politician. About 30 years ago, when I was writing some books on the first world war I was lucky enough to interview several hundred first world war veterans. I followed closely the work of Julian Putkowski; many years ago, he and I sat in the Imperial War Museum scrabbling away together. He continued as a postgraduate researcher for many years and produced a series of books. Secondly, in 1998 I spoke from the Opposition Front Bench in response to the then Minister of State for the armed forces when we held the first parliamentary debate. After looking at the cases of the first world war soldiers who had been executed, he decided that all he could do was to issue a statement of regret. Finally, in January, I introduced a short debate in Westminster Hall on the subject, to which the right hon. Member for Islwyn (Mr. Touhig) replied. Almost every Member in the Chamber is wearing a poppy, and the debate about the executed soldiers has much to do with our national consciousness of the first world war—our guilt and our emotions. That war produced one of the highest numbers of casualties suffered by the British Army and the imperial armies. Our European neighbours had of course been only too conscious of such casualties; we had been fortunate enough never to have suffered to such a degree before. From a British perspective, the first world war has somehow been seen as not such a good war as the second world war, which was demonstrably between good and evil. The public’s interpretation of the first world war does not stem only from folk memories of their fathers and grandfathers. In many ways, the hon. Member for Thurrock (Andrew Mackinlay) is correct; it is history, but near history rather than far. Both my grandfathers served in the first world war. Both were wounded, but they survived. Certainly, 30 years ago, it was possible to speak to many such veterans. As much as anything else, it all comes down to the fact that the first world war is seen through the prism of the film ““Oh! What a Lovely War””, and of ““Blackadder Goes Forth””, which features the caricature figures of General Melchett, Baldrick and others. In its last, most evocative scene, the whole cast, except General Melchett, go out into no man’s land, and the scene is then freeze-framed. There is a powerful emotional element to the subject. It always struck me, when I talked to the highly professional members of the Army historical branch—I give them great credit for the work that they have done over many years—that the problem is that the record is incomplete, as Ministers know. As the hon. Member for Thurrock says, access to the files was limited for most people, so it is inevitable that there were conspiracy theories about that. The record is incomplete not because it has been weeded, but because of the nature of the war and the nature of some of the field courts martial. Some of the files on individual cases are quite thick, running to 20, 30 or 40 sheets of paper. On Private Farr, there are some half a dozen sheets. I have concluded that it would be incredibly difficult to ensure a judicial review, in which judges consider each case in turn, although I know that the hon. Member for Thurrock and others were keen on that idea. Such a system would, ultimately, be unfair. I suspect that the judges would clear some people, but that in other cases they would say, ““I’m afraid that under the rules that existed at the time, which carried the death penalty, some people probably should have been executed.”” However, there would have been a great tranche of cases in the middle, on which they would have said, ““I’m sorry, but there’s insufficient evidence; if we could call witnesses, we could decide.”” I reluctantly decided that, however logical the suggestion, that was not the way to go about the matter. I declare an interest: I have always believed, and still do, that the situation should be left as it is. I can understand why we politicians might want to take a view on past events; after all, the Prime Minister, very soon after taking office, issued a statement of regret about the Irish potato famine. To me, as a historian, that seemed a somewhat simplistic interpretation of what happened, but the Prime Minister had every right to do what he did, although I would have thought it best to leave the matter alone. I have sympathy for the families, and particularly for people who remember what went on, but although we have spent so much time and emotion on the subject—the hon. Member for Thurrock might say, ““And so we should””—we tend to forget, marginalise or take for granted the actions of hundreds of thousands of men. Most of those who fought in the first world war were civilians, and not all of them were young—many were in their 30s and 40s; after all, incredibly, the overwhelming majority of soldiers who served in the first world war were volunteers. However, I shall not go down a discursive route and discuss the history of the amazing ““pals”” battalions, made up of volunteers. A significant proportion of soldiers were pre-war regulars, but after 1917 large numbers were, of course, conscripts, so not all soldiers were fresh-faced youths. We should remember that most of them, at different periods in their service, were terrified. When I have talked to veterans of the first and second world wars and of Iraq, and to soldiers in Afghanistan, I have found that they were motivated by many things. Because they are British, they are embarrassed to say that they are fighting for Queen and country, but they will frequently talk about their regiment. Usually, however—and there are hon. Members present who have experience of this—they were motivated by small-group loyalty, which basically comes down to a soldier’s sense of being part of a team. Soldiers rarely work as individuals; they are a team, and that is how they survive. They survive because they are part of a team in a mortar section, running a heavy machine gun, or in an armoured fighting vehicle. In normal, civilian life, those team members might not get on well together, but as soldiers they work, live and die together, and if one of them decides to leg it, not only do they let the others down, but somebody else has to take over their duties. When I interviewed veterans of the first world war, I found that many were disgusted and horrified that soldiers had been executed by the authorities, but among others, I found a quiet anger that the well-known company shirker always managed to skive off at a difficult moment, which meant that somebody had to take his place on patrol and put their life at risk. That is a very fine balance, and I can only make the following plea: we have spent a great deal of time—obviously, public opinion is that it is important that we should—bearing in mind what happened to the men who were executed. Some of them did not deserve to be executed, some were traditional regimental bad hats, and some were frequent offenders; all were judged and executed under a law in operation at the time. We should also bear in mind the great mass of men who were frightened and frequently tempted to run away, but who, for many reasons, did not do so. I remember editing a book 20-odd years ago called ““The War the Infantry Knew””, which was largely written by a man called Captain J. C. Dunn. He was not a regular soldier; he had served in the yeomanry in the first world war, and won the distinguished conduct medal, then went back to being a doctor. He volunteered in 1915, when he was in his 40s, and served for nearly two years with the 2nd Battalion the Royal Welch Fusiliers. He won the distinguished service order and the military cross and bar. His DSO was the result of a failed Victoria cross application, and he had had both Siegfried Sassoon and Robert Graves as patients. His diaries document his eventual breakdown; he later found that he could no longer trust himself not to duck when a shell came overhead. His main worry and concern was about showing fear in front of others. He recognised that the way to deal with what they call shell shock was to try to rest soldiers as much as possible. He had a hard-nosed view of desertion. He was one of only two regimental medical officers to give evidence to what was called the shell shock committee. The written evidence that he produced, which is in the Royal Welch Fusiliers museum, is the only evidence submitted to that committee that is still extant, as the evidence was weeded at some stage. I was fascinated by the fact that that man, who was in many ways very sensitive, and who was greatly admired by Robert Graves and Siegfried Sassoon, firmly believed that the execution of men convicted of desertion was necessary, not only ““pour encourager les autres””, but because those people had let down their friends, and that was the most important element. The only option other than leaving well alone or judicial review is a blanket pardon. I do not agree with taking that course, but I understand why the Minister has done so. I use my words carefully: it is a political decision—I do not mean a party-political decision—such as that made by the New Zealand and Canadian Governments. I have no intention of voting against the Lords amendment, as it represents the will of the other place, but I must say that I do not think that it will bring closure, other than in a parliamentary sense. Debate on the subject will continue. On Remembrance Sunday, at least, we should all remember not only those men who were killed, but those who, like our grandfathers, survived, and did things that most of us would find incredibly difficult to endure.