Bonzo's War

by Clare Campbell

  It was recognized that pain must be felt by everyone. How could huntsmen have their sport and parrot lovers and urban pigeon fanciers be denied theirs? ‘I emphasise the political importance when all imports of bird seed have been stopped and there will soon be no seed for caged birds in private ownership,’ one official told the Minister.

  Class resentment was raised in Parliament, when racing pigeons, ‘the sole source of the working man’s recreation’ cannot be fed, while the rich man could keep his racehorses happy. As well as pigeons, the working man liked race meetings. Fox hunts however were a different matter.

  Munitions worker Mrs Elsie Barnes wrote to the new Food Minister, Lord Woolton, on 21 January from Meriden, Coventry: ‘Why is the hunt allowed to trample down a field of turnips and beans? Food for the plebeian people and don’t farm animals need food too?

  ‘Communism is the answer,’ she insisted. ‘It is certainly steadily growing in our factory, thanks to the hunting set and their kind.’

  If hunting pink was a red rag in Coventry, the continuation of horse and greyhound racing outraged others even more, especially poultry keepers. Dogs generally annoyed a correspondent of Farmers Weekly concerned with sheep worrying. ‘There are far too many dogs hanging round villages,’ he wrote in January. They had to hang around somewhere.

  But back in the city, Bonzo and Oo-Oo still had no official ration. All the Ministry of Food had come up with was a statement: ‘Dogs and cats must subsist on the limited supplies available eked out by inedible offal, horsemeat and the like.’ Ugh!

  But then the Food Minister confused things greatly by saying blithely at a press conference on 18 February 1941: ‘I think I am right, that if a kindly disposed person, instead of eating their meat ration gives it to a favourite dog, that is not illegal.’ His civil servants fumed. Angry memos flew. The Waste of Food Order of the previous summer had not been tested by prosecutions, it was noted. But it could be. What about ‘food not fit for human consumption that could be given to livestock but which instead goes to seagulls, city pigeons etc?’ one asked. That should be regulated for. There must be more rigour all round.

  Dogs were the problem. Not seagulls or ducks, nor racehorses even. The canine population was estimated at three million licensed and half a million more outlaws. They consumed 5 oz per day of biscuits and 3 oz of protein. How to get rid of them? Raising the dog licence perhaps, as had been suggested before, or reducing the grace period for strays on police hands. That was not nearly strong enough.

  The Canine Defence League was in poor shape to do much defending. That February a Mass-Observation interviewer found their Victoria Station House headquarters down to a staff of two men and a secretary, doing what they could. The rest had left to go into the services. The clinics were busy but ‘it’s mostly cats …’

  ‘An increasing number of the public regard dogs as unnecessary,’ said the canine defenders, ‘because of the food question. That’s what’s uppermost in the mind of the dog owners and we’re in constant touch with Government departments.’

  Running away was no escape, especially for a London dog. The police were very keen on clearing the streets and pretty soon the van from Battersea would arrive at the station to collect the overnight strays (north London dogs went to the ODFL home at Willesden). Destruction at Battersea had peaked in 1940, with 17,347 dogs destroyed under police contract. The 1941 figure would be 11,446.

  It was all too much for Edward Healey Tutt, the Home’s secretary, who was found ‘living in the paraffin shed’ on the site, eating out of tins and was invalided out. The work continued. On 28 May his deputy appealed for deferment of call-up for military service of Herbert Alexander Collet, the home’s ‘expert electrocutionist’. ‘We should find it extremely difficult to replace him … and Mr. Tutt is recuperating in Norfolk,’ she told Scotland Yard.

  Cats were also being measured up for the chop. ‘There appear to be no statistics on the number of cats in the country. It may be assumed however that it is greater than the number of dogs, 7–8 million,’ so said Mr T. C. Williams of the Ministry of Food in a report on ‘non-essential animals’ made on 21 March.

  He had calculated that if consumption per cat was 3 oz protein material per day, it meant an annual consumption of 215,000 tons. Each cat might additionally drink 1 oz of milk a day, making 18 million gallons of milk a year. ‘The figure is probably on the low side,’ he added. But would the destruction done by rodents eating foodstuffs in the absence of ‘a cat equilibrium’ as he put it, ‘really be more costly than the existing cost of maintaining the cats?’ He conceded that the experience of cats on protective work in warehouses, factories, etc. showed that, ‘they are worthy of their keep’. But lazy lap-cats had better watch out.

  Meanwhile the Cats Protection League had chosen its time well in launching the ‘Tailwavers Appeal’ to aid ‘homeless and evacuee cats’ – with half the funds raised supposedly going to pay for a ‘Cats of Britain’ presentation Spitfire for the RAF. They had better hurry up. The Spitfire Mk V, dubbed ‘The Dogfighter’, sponsored by the Kennel Club and announced in Our Dogs magazine the year before, was about to go into squadron service.

  Cat lovers sensed danger. ‘It seems possible that an attempt may be made to introduce a rationing scheme for household animals,’ noted The Cat in February. ‘Knowledge of the prevailing ignorance about cats rouses a fear that this will be unjust to them.’ The danger was that the ‘cats-can-fend-for-themselves’ superstition would gain ground – especially that farm cats expected to catch mice could live on a saucer of milk day (which was now illegal anyway). ‘We appeal to all our readers to be prepared to avert a possible danger to cats,’ implored the editor.

  Mr Williams’s Ministry of Food non-essential-animal survey could also report that there were ten to twelve circuses in the country, only three of which had thus far made applications for rations. That represented twenty horses per circus consuming 200 tons of food per annum in total. Lions etc. were presumably being fed on ‘unrationed roughages and meat’.

  Circus and animal variety acts toured wartime Britain uninterrupted. Vic Duncan’s ‘Royal Scotch Collies’ who had performed pre-war on the lawn of Buckingham Palace continued their amusing routines. ‘Jim Della’s Dogs’ performed their canine antics up and down the country. ‘Watson’s Fox Terriers (Everybody’s Favourite)’ were about to appear in Mother Goose at Bournemouth when their trainer, Johnny Watson, died aged 99 on Christmas Eve. Such acts had been a staple of BBC Television, to the anguish of the animal welfarists, before it shut down. Who would have thought dancing dogs could be popular?

  Some animal welfare ultras had been on their case for decades, such as the ‘Performing and Captive Animal Defence League’ run by the extraordinary Captain Edmund McMichael, who was always in trouble for pulling down posters or generally protesting. In June 1940 the Captain had petitioned King George VI that both circus cruelty be addressed and he, personally, should convey a peace proposal to Adolf Hitler. ‘As nations allow animals to be treated so must they expect retribution,’ he suggested. His peace mission did not get off the ground.

  The Home Office got involved when a Mrs Stella Lief of Raynes Park complained to her MP about a variety performance she had seen featuring four cats revolving on a ‘Blackpool-style’ wheel with a Pomeranian dog standing on its paws. The cats ‘clearly indicated fear,’ she said. The act, the ‘Royals’ Famous Cats and Dogs’, was tracked down on tour in Norfolk. Its somewhat elderly brother and sister proprietor, Rose and Harold Crick, were found to be registered under the 1925 Performing Animals Act. Having seen the ‘turn’, a police officer reported the animals clean and fit and there was no evidence of cruelty. The performing cats and dogs danced on, untroubled by do-gooders or enemy action.

  Our Dumb Friends’ League grew animated when Chapman’s Circus (featuring ‘Jan Doksansky’s famous menagerie of lions, polar bears and Himalayan black bears’) got into financial difficulty in March 1940. The League’s report recorded,
the ‘animals, dingoes, monkeys and penguins were bought up to stop them falling into bad hands. Some were so ferocious that it was the kindest thing to put them to sleep after giving them a good meal.’

  By March 1941 the approaching animal-food crisis was all over the papers. Drastic cuts in pig and poultry rations were predicted. The main blame, for now, was being aimed not at dogs but ‘useless’ racehorses. It was getting visceral. ‘Unless this war comes to an early conclusion, their conversion into sausages is likely to prove their only real contribution to this country,’ an Oxfordshire poultry farmer told The Times. ‘One racehorse consumes the same as 125 hens a day.’

  The number of racehorses had been reduced to one fifth of pre-war, it was pointed out in return. ‘Millions of people derive pleasure from racing and they would prefer a minimum number of race meetings to half an egg each year.’ The hen vs. horse controversy would rage through the spring. No politician could yet find the will to ban horse racing outright and turn studs of thoroughbreds into pet food, although the public mood could change.

  George Orwell (Sergeant Eric Blair in the St John’s Wood Platoon of the Home Guard that covered Regent’s Park) wrote:

  ‘C’ of my section of the Home Guard, a poulterer by trade but at present dealing in meat of all kinds, yesterday bought 20 zebras, which are being sold off by the Zoo. Only for dog meat, presumably, not human consumption. It seems rather a waste. There are said to be still 2,000 racehorses in England, each of which will be eating 10–15 lb. of grain a day. i.e. these brutes are devouring every day the equivalent of the bread ration of a division of troops.

  The rumours were swirling. Racehorses, dogs, cats even, would all be eliminated. There must be a statement. ‘Lord Woolton’s promise – your dog is safe for the duration,’ so The Evening News proclaimed on 25 March. ‘Contrary to rumours, the Food Minister denied reports he was to reduce the dog population. “I have not even considered doing so,” he said. “I cannot allow them any food but I have no intention of preventing them getting the food they now receive”.’

  The same edition reported that the local authorities were preventing the feeding of pigeons outside Windsor Castle.

  The war between animal factions could be played out at an emotional level. It suited the Government that way – if something really convulsive did have to be ordered. The German dog destruction propaganda had cleared the way. Let the partisans of pedigree over mongrel, dog vs. pig, racehorse vs. chicken, fight it out. As long as everyone understood just how beastly one had to be to win this war. Meanwhile horse racing and hunting continued at a much-reduced level.

  The crunch ‘Food Consumption by Dogs’ meeting came on 1 April. All the ways and means to reduce it proposed over the past year were reviewed.

  ‘There should be no interference with domestic dogs,’ the Minister decided. And although the Ministry would like other ‘non productive animals’, greyhounds and racehorses, put down, such a move was judged to be ‘hardly practicable’.

  ‘Interfering with the man in the street’s dogs’ would be politically equivalent to ‘muzzling free speech, closing music halls or pubs,’ it would be summarized a little later. The effect on morale of ‘doing away with all pet dogs would have a worse effect than the loss of a military campaign,’ was the legal adviser’s personal view.

  Dogs had been reprieved. It was politics. As the store cupboard emptied Lord Woolton must try to keep everyone happy, even pets.

  The latest ration priorities for livestock were announced in the Commons the next day, 2 April. The primary concern for animal feedstuffs was to maintain the milk supply for humans. Working animals would get just enough to keep them efficient – ‘this applies to working horses, pigeons in the National Pigeon Service and cage birds used for safety work’.

  ‘The quantity of feeding-stuffs for sport or recreation has either been drastically reduced or cut off altogether,’ said Major Gwilym Lloyd George, the Junior Minister.

  ‘Pleasure horses’ would get nothing during the summer months and would have to be kept on a maintenance basis. ‘Fox hounds, beagles and harriers are receiving, from April, rations for one-sixth of the pre-war numbers. The manufacture of dog biscuits has been reduced to one-third of the pre-war quantity. No feeding-stuffs are being made available for cage birds or for pigeons outside the National Pigeon Service,’25 said the Junior Minister.

  There would be further cuts in chickenfeed. ‘Poultry-keepers are advised to cull their flocks rigorously and to send to market any unproductive birds,’ it was reported on 3 April, ‘it seems likely that there will soon be a large supply of boiling fowls on the market and no eggs to be bought.’

  The ‘complete denial of food for budgerigars and canaries’ was raised in the Commons. ‘It seems a small thing, but these pets are greatly prized by their owners, and many have to be put out of existence,’ said the member for Linlithgow, parliamentary champion of cage-bird fanciers.

  The Cat meanwhile sensed a ‘far-reaching motive’ behind it all. It was being whispered that ‘facilities for the humane destruction of pets are to be officially provided’. The imminent compulsory destruction of ‘unnecessary animals’ was another rumour. ‘It is difficult to tell where the official dividing line between the necessary and the unnecessary pet could be drawn,’ said The Cat. A third rumour was that the ‘kill-all-pets section of the community are feverishly seeking ways and means of forcing their views’. That was not just a rumour.

  While cat lovers were ‘prepared to go to considerable trouble to provide their little friend with its meals’ The Cat complained at the same time about the exorbitant prices being charged for horsemeat and fish heads – and retailers who refused to sell even unrationed food, if it was thought to be for a cat. Perhaps it was all part of the same, sinister conspiracy against cats.

  23 Named for Lord Gort, the Commander in Chief of the routed BEF. Pets generally were being named after personalities and sometimes places in the news.

  24 The commander of the U-boats, Admiral Karl Dönitz, was said to be an ardent dog lover who, ‘on his return home, his first greeting was always for the family dog, a little Spitz named “Purzel”’.

  25 The voluntary avian corps by which fanciers made their birds available for military use in return for an official ration of corn. Many thousands would be employed.

  Chapter 18

  Pets Under Fire

  Who would champion pets now? Their political fate was not the concern of NARPAC, which in the spring of 1941 was to go through yet another internal spasm. The Ministries of Home Security and Food pulled out their representatives on the Committee without public announcement. The RSPCA and Canine Defence League formally withdrew altogether. A canine defender interviewed by Mass-Observation said: ‘There was this scheme for Animal Guards, I know some of members joined, it never really came to anything.’

  The researchers concluded that NARPAC ‘has evidently been one of those committees at which representatives talked a lot, disagreed a bit, no one did anything in concord but quite a lot separately’. It was a shrewd judgement.

  The health of the Committee’s chief, Colonel Robert Stordy, was failing (he was to die within a year ‘of an illness aggravated by the strains of trying to run the NARPAC’) and he could not stop the infighting, had he ever been capable of doing so. The chairman of the Dogs’ Home, Battersea (which had never co-operated properly), the hugely grand Sir Charles Hardinge, would blame NARPAC’s troubles on the Colonel being so ‘aloof from this wicked world, you might put him down as a mid-Victorian varsity don’. In fact he was a devoted vet who had spent a lifetime aiding animals around the world. Just when they needed practical help more than ever Animal Guards continued to meaninglessly register pets.

  Meanwhile the trial of animals under fire had not relented. The industrial Midlands and latterly Britain’s port cities were continuously attacked from the air through the winter and spring of 1940–41. Liverpool, Bristol, Portsmouth, Plymouth, Southampton, Clydebank, Belfast,
Hull, Cardiff, Newcastle-upon-Tyne and Sunderland had all seen intense pet dramas. The case of Hettie Mary Symons, for example. It was reported:

  In a case heard at a south-west England police court [almost certainly Plymouth] yesterday, it was stated that the defendant defied a constable and risked a time bomb to feed her cat. She asked a War Reserve Constable’s permission to enter a cordoned area to feed her pet. He refused, but took the food to the cat himself. Then he saw Symons in the area. ‘I could not let the cat starve,’ she told the court. She was fined £1.

  From March to April, Plymouth was plastered by bombing. PDSA rescuers were almost overwhelmed. A swan was found saturated in oil from the naval base’s ruptured tanks. The city’s newspaper reported: ‘The rescue squad spent a considerable time in tending the swan, but it did not improve so it was sent to the local headquarters of the unit.’ Here it was ‘treated for a week and given many baths, and also had its legs massaged. When it had regained its strength the swan was taken to quiet waters in Cornwall and released.’

  And further, ‘many cats destroyed had terrible burns on their paws due to running over hot girders and stones’.

  Under the headline ‘Puss Won’t Quit Crater’, a newspaper reported the tragic story of a cat whose family had all been killed – ‘Housewives take him away, only to find he slips back to roam the pile of debris and dig for his dead master, crying as he searches.’ It was heartbreaking:

  ‘Puss’ is black and white, and lives on scraps brought to him by children. ‘He is a lovely cat,’ Mrs. Mary Kitchin said yesterday. ‘But he will not leave the crater where his friends were killed.

  ‘We neighbours have often taken him home and made him comfortable, but he runs back as soon as our backs are turned.’

  ‘Blackie’ was another cat somewhere in the north-east, whose family had all been killed by bombing. Somehow the cat had survived in a cast-iron kitchen range for twenty-five days to be discovered by a demolition squad who heard faint mewing from the wreckage. Too weak to crawl out, ‘she snarled at her rescuers but was eventually tempted out by a saucer of milk’. She had, it was reported, ‘made a splendid recovery in the care of Mrs. Raper, whose husband was in charge of the squad who saved her’.