Don't give them money

Laurence Cadbury had held a senior position in the Friends Ambulance Unit since shortly after the outbreak of war. At the beginning of 1916, he wrote home from the front, concerned that his mother was giving money to charitable appeals that he believed would not be effective. This is an abridged version of his letter.

As was normal at the time, Laurence uses the word ‘car’ to mean any motorised vehicle, including an ambulance. Many of the place names were deleted by the censor.

Dear Mother,

With regard to that Belgian ambulance business: as I am running about a good deal and I miss my mail frequently and did not get your pamphlet until after your second letter, I sincerely hope you have not subscribed. I think I have expressed myself on the matter before, so trust that this was the case.

The Belgian army have all the cars they want and more than they really need. The French army have about 100 men to every car. I should think the Belgians must have about 1 to every 20 – and the way you see them joy-riding!

As far as cars are concerned, therefore, I am quite convinced that money can be put to better use than to be given for cars for them – better to keep it and spend it after the war. As far as medical equipment goes, I also have pretty conclusive evidence that they have ample. Du Page's great hospital at XXX has the most lavish equipment conceivable; but, as he is a political wire-puller and not popular at all with the army people, who hate using it and don't if they can possibly escape doing so, it is to a large extent wasted.

After months of a soft west wind, we have at last had a change – not at all a welcome one – to an east wind. Your prayers are now invited, as the parsons say, for a return of the wind to the west. An east wind means anxiety about cars freezing and bursting something, and as there are about 400 cylinders, 100 radiators, and rather fewer water pumps, where this is liable to happen, one does not enjoy that dreamless sleep that a healthy individual has a right to, when one knows the mercury in the thermometer, that is fixed outside the Car Office, is trying to take cover from the cold in the bulb, and one wonders how many careless fellows have forgotten to loose out their water.

An east wind also means the possibility of a gas attack, and we have to check over our respirators, to be prepared. Further, it is only when it is blowing that the XXX can be shelled.

After the war, therefore, in view of future scraps on the “Western Front”, I think a place should be found in the Book of Common Prayer, after those for Fine Weather, Rain, etc, for a Prayer for a Westerly Wind.

We have added to the completeness of the Unit lately by instituting an itinerant dentist. He travels round between the stations with a patent collapsible chair and his drilling machine. At XXX he operates in the minute room of my billet, into which he can just squeeze. With the patient shivering in the chair, his mouth gagged open, while he works a mechanical mouth draining machine, the drill buzzing, and a pungent smell of chemical in the air, the dental surgery behind the lines is complete. To get still nearer the real thing, we not only see that there is an illustrated paper lying on the bed, but further that it is as near “ante-bellum” days as possible.

Your affectionate son,

Laurence

Laurence was in a better position than his mother to see the effects of charitable appeals related to the war. It is easy to donate money without thinking much about it, but it is also easy to be cynical about all appeals and give nothing at all. How do we ensure that our contributions make a difference?

Copyright: This is an edited extract of a letter from Laurence Cadbury to his parents, stored at the Cadbury Research Library in the University of Birmingham. Used by kind permission of the Cadbury family. 
Image: Henry Dearden of the Friends War Victims Relief Committee wearing a makeshift gas mask in France. © 2016 The Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) in Britain.