In 1954 when I was doing my National Service I learned about the rigours of army training, the privations of Victorian Barracks and the novelty of being shipped out to Germany by rail and cross channel steamer. I had never left Britain before and had gone straight from a job farming in Warwickshire. I have no doubt that my experience, though better organised perhaps, was very similar to what the volunteers in 1914 suffered.
I say 'suffered' because even though it was all a great adventure it was a totally new, and most of the time, a very uncomfortable experience. In some ways it was worse for me because I hadn't volunteered, I was a conscript, but then I wasn't expecting to be pitched into battle as soon as I left the country. Think of the men who left Barlick in 1914. Many of them had been no further than Burnley or Skipton apart from a trip to Blackpool perhaps during the wakes. The first thing that happened was they lost their civilian identity and became a number, as if this wasn't bad enough they were given strange new clothes and many would go into leather boots for the first time in their lives. During the whole of this process they were being shouted at by superior beings who seemed to have nothing but contempt for them. The old Victorian barracks they were to sleep in were enormous dormitories with open coal fires (once the Army had decided it was cold enough), a large cast iron coal bunker which they found they had to blacklead every day and stone-flagged floors.
Mind you, the beds they had, despite having no sheets, were quite possibly better than what they had at home. They were fed in a large canteen three times a day and spent their time learning drill on the parade ground (even more shouting and humiliation), and once they had gained some sort of order were given a rifle and showed how to use it. In my day we had six weeks training but there wasn't time for this luxury, many volunteers were turned into soldiers in a fortnight and some even less. Believe me, it was a chaotic and confusing situation.
Once over the Channel (and the seasickness!) they found themselves in a strange country where they were welcome but couldn't understand anything that was said to them, everyone seemed to use a foreign language! As they were moved towards the front line things got even more chaotic because many a time the officers in charge of them were just as inexperienced and had very little idea where they were expected to go and what was expected of them. The wonderful thing is that if contemporary reports are to be believed they remained enthusiastic. It wasn't until the realities of modern warfare, death and destruction engulfed them that reality dawned. One wonders how long it took for the initial enthusiasm to wear off. The lucky ones had four years of hell in front of them.
Barrack room at Lichfield, home from home! In 1954 I spent a fortnight in these same rooms, unchanged since they were built, while en route to Berlin.