At the outbreak of the First World War, Britain arranged a mass internment operation for citizens of the enemy states living or travelling in its territories. These individuals were known as enemy aliens and they were detained on the grounds of protecting the nation from a potential internal security risk. Many, however, had been long-term residents in Britain and had laid the foundations of their lives here.
By 1915, over 30,000 men of military age had been interned in camps across the British Isles and most were not released until 1919. Women, children and elderly enemy aliens were not interned but were either repatriated or remained living in Britain and were treated as pariahs by the rest of society.
The experiences of these individuals, however, have been somewhat overlooked in British public memory and war commemorations. A recent episode of A House Through Time explored the topic and many individuals who posted comments on Twitter in response to it expressed regret that they were unaware of the suffering of enemy aliens. Many also stated they were disappointed that the stories had not featured more highly in the First World War Centenary commemorations.
These comments made me remember a conversation I had as a child with my Nan when she showed me a memoir that was written by my great-great grandfather, Paul Meier, whilst he was interned at Alexandra Palace for being an enemy alien. I asked my Nan what he had done wrong, to which she replied, ‘Nothing’. To my child’s brain this made no sense. Naively, I thought, how could someone be imprisoned if they had not committed a crime?
Of course, I can now situate my great-great grandfather’s experience within the political climate of the time, but my childhood observation that my ancestor was treated unfairly is exactly why I believe there have been so few conversations about enemy aliens in public discourse. Britain has always liked to think of itself as an upholder of justice but its imprisonment of innocent civilians during the First World War undermines this prevailing narrative.
From the outbreak of war, the British state endeavoured to convince the British public that the war was a righteous fight against barbarianism, and by extension, propaganda began to depict German people as aggressors who were the very antithesis of British values. Anti-immigrant attitudes had been growing in the country since the late 19th century, and now much of this, encouraged by the overt messages in state-sanctioned propaganda, came to the forefront of British public life. As reports of German atrocities circulated, some actual and some fabricated, ordinary Britons became increasingly suspicious of and hostile towards Germans, Austrians and other enemy aliens living in their communities. Under these circumstances, a mass panic ensued, in which many people feared that numerous spies were operating in Britain to sabotage the war effort.
There were indeed spies in the country, and it is important to remember that this was wartime and emotions were heightened, particularly for those who had loved ones fighting overseas. The panic, however, spiralled out of control and led to the press and the public pressuring the government into dealing with the perceived ‘German threat’.
Prior to the war, a vibrant German community existed in Britain, particularly in London where they were the second largest migrant group. Many of these individuals considered themselves very much integrated into British society. This included my great-great grandfather who emigrated to Britain from Bavaria in the early 1900s and married an English woman, Emily Myall, in 1905. Prior to the war, they lived in Croydon with their two daughters where Paul worked as a watchmaker.
For individuals like Paul and Emily, however, the outbreak of the war led to the unravelling of the very foundations on which they had built their lives. The Aliens Restriction Act was passed on 5 August 1914 and required ‘enemy aliens’ over the age of 16 to register their details with the police. Four further acts were passed that month, which together were called the Aliens Restriction Order. Combined they restricted enemy aliens from travelling more than five miles from their home, from living in prohibited zones, from forming social clubs, and gave the Home Office the power to deport individuals. Enemy aliens considered by the government to be particularly dangerous to national security were immediately interned at makeshift camps across Britain, and these amounted to 10,500 by 23 September 1914.
The treatment of enemy aliens with contempt had been sanctioned by the government, and for those still at liberty, hostility towards them increased dramatically in public life. They were dismissed from their jobs, made to feel unwelcome in public spaces (some shops had signs discouraging the custom of Germans), and they became the targets of violent retaliation attacks by family members who had lost loved ones. Waves of anti-German riots also became commonplace, whereby the homes and businesses of Germans were ransacked.
The Anti-German League (later renamed The British Empire Union) was established in 1915 with the explicit aim of eradicating German and Austrian influence from the country, and in adverts posted in national and regional newspapers across Britain, they called for support to help ‘wind up all enemy businesses’, ‘intern all enemy aliens’ and make ‘Britain for the British’.
For citizens of the enemy nations living in Britain, especially those who had not naturalised, it was a terrifying time and matters worsened following the sinking of the passenger cruise liner, the Lusitania, by a German U-boat on 7 May 1915. Anti-German riots immediately intensified, first beginning in Liverpool and Manchester before spreading to London and the rest of Britain. The extract below describes the mob that descended on East London to target German homes and businesses:
Some Germans were pursued into their homes by the mob and pitched through the windows into the street, others were ducked in troughs, and others had their clothing stripped off their backs…Terrified Germans who were found hiding under beds, were thrown out into the street, beds and all. (Guardian, 13 May 1915).
Such scenes were replicated across the country, but the worst violence took place in London where 257 people were injured. Polices forces were overwhelmed as they struggled to protect the fleeing victims, and consequently, despite enemy aliens themselves being victims of crime, the Government decided it was they who should be detained in order to maintain public order. On the 13 May, Prime Minister Herbert Asquith, announced that all non-naturalised aliens of military age would be interned, and the elderly, women and children would ‘in suitable cases’ be repatriated.
The policy was introduced with immediate effect and by November 1915, the number of civilians interned had reached 32,440. Many long-term residents of Britain found themselves stripped of their freedom and forcibly separated from their families, despite having committed no crime or there being any evidence of them holding allegiances to their birth nation. Individuals who had naturalised were not interned, but worryingly for them, in August 1918, the British Nationality and Status of Aliens Act, gave the Home Secretary new powers to repeal naturalisation certificates.
The devastation that internment and widespread xenophobia caused to the lives of enemy aliens should not be underestimated. There are, for example, more than a few cases of individuals who committed suicide because they could not cope with the fear of internment and the persecution they experienced. The last words of a grocer from Bermondsey, in his 1915 suicide letter, were:
My dear wife and children, the agony you have suffered these two days is breaking my heart. Why don’t Englishmen of military age fight the Germans in the trenches instead of old men and women and rob them of their few sticks (Daily Mirror, 1915).
Moreover, for those who were interned, a long-term decline in mental health was a serious possibility. For many internees, the separation from their families, combined with not knowing for how long they would be interned, led to severe bouts of depression, or what was later termed Barbed Wire Disease. The inability to achieve privacy and, of course, the loss of freedom and identity, also caused great distress.
My own great-great Grandfather, Paul Meier, was transferred from Alexandra Palace to Croydon Union Infirmary on Armistice Day after being certified as ‘insane’ by the Camp’s medical officer. Eleven days later he was moved to Warlingham Park Mental hospital where he remained until he died in 1947.
Importantly, moreover, the wives and children of men interned also suffered greatly as a result of the polices. Women acquired the nationality of their husbands upon marriage, meaning many British women found themselves ostracised by their neighbours and friends for being ‘enemy aliens’ in the only country they had ever known. They had also lost the financial stability that was provided by their husband and, in many cases, their economic assets were seized by the government.
For families left destitute, they were reliant on charities for help, the largest of which was the Friends Emergency and War Victims Relief Committee (part of the Quaker Society of Friends). They assisted women in finding housing and with the costs of visiting their husbands who were interned. Individuals and organisations who tried to help, however, were themselves subject to hostility and were accused of being ‘hun coodlers’.
Internees reported that one of the most disturbing factors of internment was the inability to financially provide for their families or offer moral support through such hardships. Emily Meier, my great-great grandmother, was pregnant with my great-grandfather when her husband was interned in May 1915 and being an orphan, she had no family to turn to as she tried to provide for her two daughters. Ultimately, life must have become unbearable as she struggled to raise her children in a deeply Germanophobic society. She was admitted to the same hospital as her husband in 1922 after insisting that he was being persecuted there.
Both Paul and Emily remained in Warlingham Park Hospital until their deaths. It was the trauma of internment that negatively transformed their lives and left their children without a family and being raised in care. Their story, however, is just one among thousands of enemy aliens whose lives were transformed, to varying degrees and in varying ways, by the British state and the British public’s treatment of enemy aliens both during, and beyond, the First World War.
In the lead up to the 1918 general election many politicians made promises to prevent enemy aliens from remaining in Britain following their release from internment, and the 1919 Aliens Restriction Act did just this, by making the deportation of former enemy aliens mandatory unless a licence to remain was granted. Ultimately, the German population, through forced repatriation, declined in Britain form 57,000 in 1914 to 22,254 in 1919. For those who did remain, the hostility they experienced during the war continued into the inter-war period and The British Empire Union invented a new slogan with which to torment them; ‘Once a German, Always a German’.
The hostility with which the British public treated their German neighbours and the subjection of innocent civilians to imprisonment is something that is uncomfortable for many British people who are accustomed to believing that the nation fought against tyranny in a united and courageous manner. But it is an episode of British history that is a powerful reminder of how easily fear and scaremongering can devastate the lives of individuals, families and communities, and for that reason it needs to be more readily discussed in public representations of the war.
The First World War was a time of immense suffering for many and rightly so, every Armistice day, we remember those killed, disabled or who suffered psychological trauma. There is, however, also space to remember those who were not directly involved in the fighting, but who nonetheless had their lives negatively transformed by the political and social shock waves that the global military conflict unleashed across the world. The suffering of enemy aliens is a part of this, and if we are more honest about this episode of British history, it could help us as a society better understand how destructive ‘othering’ is, especially in times of crisis; a lesson still pertinent today.
The Past Alive Today 