Showing posts with label World War I. Show all posts
Showing posts with label World War I. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

MAIL CALL: Tunnels at Vimy

Hello

My great-uncle, Thomas Laidlaw Mather, fought for Canada at Vimy Ridge, and later died at Paeschendale. There is a tombstone for him at Tyne Cot Cemetary at Ypres. He wrote his name on the wall of the "Goodman" tunnel at Vimy, and this graffiti was featured on the History Channel's special about Vimy Ridge a few years ago. I understand this tunnel has since been closed.



My husband & I will be touring Belgium next month, so I have researched the story of my great-uncle. I will include the story which I submitted to the 4CMR website and some pictures I have.

If you come across any evidence of my uncle being in the tunnels you are researching, I would be thrilled to see pictures of it.

Thank-you
Lynn W.
Waterloo, Ont





NOTE: Mrs. W. refers to this post about the carvings made by Canadian soldiers of the First World War as they slept, ate and waited in a cave in northern France - S.L.



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Tom Mather's grafitti in the Goodman Subway, Vimy Tunnels


Thomas Laidlaw Mather, born September 9th, 1897, was the youngest child born to John and Mary Ann (Laidlaw) Mather, who owned a farm at Priceville, Ontario, Canada. His father, John, died in 1901 from injuries after being kicked by a horse. Tom’s brother, William, 14 years his senior, ran the farm so Tom could remain in school.

Tom enlisted with the 147th Grey Owen Sound Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Forces, on November 30th, 1915. The 147th trained in Grey County until the spring of 1916, when they moved to Camp Niagara. The Battalion relocated to the newly opened Camp Borden, in July 1916, to continue their training. They then moved to the Maritimes in the fall and boarded the RMS Olympic, which was the Titanic’s sister ship and was being used to transport troops to Europe. They arrived in England on November 20th, 1916, and proceeded to Shoreham-by-the-Sea, Sussex, for further training.







Between February and June of 1917, some 350 men of the 147th BN were transferred to the 4th CMR. Tom joined them in the field with the bulk of the 147th on March 7th, 1917, and served with 'A' Company during the assault on Vimy Ridge in April 1917.

There, in the underground tunnel system, he wrote his name on the wall of the "Goodman Subway". A clip of Tom’s graffiti was shown on a television special entitled "Vimy Ridge: From Heaven to Hell", which first aired on the History Channel in Canada, the US and Europe in 2007. This subway system has been explored and documented by the Durand Group but unfortunately was closed to the public due to safety considerations in 2008.

October 26th, 1917, was the first day of the "Second Battle of Passchendaele", and Tom served on the right flank which was being held up by heavy machine gun fire from a German pill box. It is interesting to note that during this same battle, one of Tom’s comrades from the 147th, 19-year-old Private Thomas Holmes from Owen Sound, Ontario, became Canada’s youngest recipient of the Victoria Cross for single handedly and repeatedly rushing a German pill box and destroying it by throwing bombs into it.

Most sadly, Private Thomas Laidlaw Mather, aged just 20, lost his life on the opening day of the battle.




Tom’s mother received a letter stating that her son was missing in action, and later received the Memorial Cross and Plaque. The Mather family was troubled that they never fully knew what had happened to Tom, until a chance meeting in the 1960’s with a person who was previously unknown to them, but was a relative of the wife of Tom‘s nephew. This man was Elmer Stevens, who by coincidence had served with Tom in Passchendaele. He informed Tom’s brother, William, that he had seen Tom shortly before a shell exploded in the area where Tom had been positioned, after which Tom never reappeared. The Mather family was extremely grateful for this information.

There is now a headstone for Tom at the Tyne Cot Cemetery, Zonnebeke, near Ypres (Ieper), Belgium. His name is also recorded on the Mather family tombstone in Priceville, Ont., as well as on the Priceville Cenotaph erected in October 1921 in memory of the local men who had lost their lives in WW1.

The Mather family is appreciative of the work of the Durand Group, who researched the Vimy tunnels, and especially to Ian of www.4cmr.com for his work at maintaining the 4th Canadian Mounted Rifles web-site.

Biography credit to the nephew and great-niece of Thomas Mather.




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Friday, June 3, 2011

UNDERGROUND CARVINGS MEMORIALIZE CANADIAN SOLDIERS

Canadians have found a unique way to honor their veterans of the First World War.

A long-forgotten subterranean memorial to Canadian soldiers who fought in the First World War will soon see the light of day, thanks to the efforts of a London, Ontario based group.

The unusual memorial was made by the soldiers themselves as they slept, ate and waited in a cave in northern France. They were eventually called to fight at nearby Vimy Ridge, in what would become one of the greatest victories in Canadian military history.

The cave, which is accessible through a small hole in a farmer's field, has been sealed off and largely forgotten since the 1917 battle. British experts reopened the cave five years ago, working to preserve carvings made by soldiers along the cave walls.


Part of an ancient chalk quarry, the cave is a labyrinth of corridors and open spaces that were once lined with hundreds of bunk beds. While recovering from wounds, soldiers carved into the wall.


Alec Ambler, a young stone mason, signed his work and went on to survive the war. Many others weren't so lucky.

A soldier names Elroy Lacey drew animals he remembered from his farm in Dunwich, Ontario. He was later killed in the fighting. Another carver, Grant Phelps, was a railway worker from St. Thomas, Ontario. He was hit by shrapnel in the opening moments of the Vimy Ridge battle and succumbed to his wounds hours later.

Eventually the fighting ended and the cave was abandoned. But there is also some graffiti in the cave dating to 1940, as Belgian refugees hid from the fighting in the next world war.

Now a Canadian group called the Canadigm Team has joined them to document and to make exact replicas of hundreds of pieces of graffiti, which they plan to show across the country.

"This is unique," said retired General Rick Hillier, the honorary chair of the Vimy Foundation. "It's part of our legacy, part of our history."

The etchings by long-dead soldiers are slowly deteriorating, so restorers have been working to document subterranean pre-battle, First World War-era hideouts in France. Soldiers' stories are being researched in preparation for the centenary of Canada's victory at Vimy Ridge.

Canadigm's inaugural exhibit, titled The Souterrain Impressions, will open in the fall of 2013 and will tour across Canada for the next four years, leading up to the 100th anniversary of the battle.


- CTV News








Today's Bird HERE


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Tuesday, April 26, 2011

ANZAC DAY

Anzac Cove, during the height of operations in Turkey, 1915.


Anzac Day commemorates the members of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) who fought at Gallipoli in Turkey during World War I. This is a national day of remembrance in Australia and New Zealand; nowadays Anzac Day honours all those who died and served in military operations for their countries.

This day is especially honoured here on Blog STORMBRINGER.




Friday, April 8, 2011

PISTOL, CALIBER .45, M1911

Just picked up the new gun today . . . 100 year anniversary of the Government Model 1911 so I lashed out and liberated that Remington M1911 from Ye Olde Neighborhood Gunne Shoppe . . . then I picked up a couple of boxes of .45 ammo - just regular jacketed ball; I don't know yet how this thing feeds and I haven't polished the feedramp. So I loaded up the two mags that came with the pistol. Mister Gunshop Owner is looking at me with this nervous smile as I slap a mag in. "If you're going to carry around a gun," I shrugged, "it doesn't make any sense to carry it unloaded."

Next stop the ShoePhone store, because I've been trying to download Google maps onto my Dingleberry for the better part of a fortnight. We struggled with it but no dice and the thing kept buzzing and driving me nuts because TigerLily was calling me "Stormy where you at? Why you no come home? Oh, I know - it's payday . . . you at that new gunshop you been telling me 'bout? Stormy you buy new gun?"

Why yes, as a matter of fact I did - two in fact because I just laid down some $ on a Lee-Enfield SMLE.

"WHY YOU NEED 'NOTHER GUN?"

. . . Uh, for killing Communists? . . .

"YOU ALREADY HAVE TOO MANY GUN. WHY YOU WASTE MONEY??? MEE-OWW! HISSS!!! SPIT!!!"


Can't never have too many guns . . .


Meanwhile me and the CellPhone shop guy are trying to load the map app onto the shoephone; this is getting me so pissed off I'm about to draw down and unload on the goddamn thing right then and there - worlds first case of phone rage - I can just see the headlines on the Drudge Report:


ENRAGED ROGUE GREEN BERET SHOOTS SMARTPHONE EXECUTION-STYLE

"Evil-Spawn-of-Satan-Devil-Woman spoke to me through that thing - I had to kill it, in the name of all that is good, decent & Holy . . ."



That's my story and I'm sticking to it . . . SEAN LINNANE SENDS



Monday, March 7, 2011

SERIOUSLY THOUGH . . .


I think I found the 1911 that's right for me.

It was raining today of course, and I just finished having the butchers work on me in the ER - another story, I'll get to it - when the rain decided to really come down so I ducked into this conveniently located gun shop that I never noticed before. Just like me their operation is new around here - they just moved from about an hour down the road - what better opportunity to get to know my neighbors?

And there she was - the only 1911 in the place so of course I had to check her out.

The Remington 1911 R1 is shipped in a custom carry case with two seven-round magazines and a barrel bushing wrench.


What can I say? It's a Remington, a well-tuned machine, right out of the box; clean, deep metallic clicks as you work the hammer. I had to have a look at what they've got on the inside so I asked permisso to break her down - shopkeeper gave me the nod - and that's when I found out that the damage my cute adorable little Jack Russell Terrorist did to my left paw on Friday night seriously affects my ability to break down a 1911 - and worse still, my ability to put one back together again.


Bone Crushing Jaws with Poison Fangs:

NEVER get between a Jack Russell and the object of her focus, ESPECIALLY when she's got a German Shepard backing down.


What followed was a comedy of errors as we struggled to get her back together again - that's where that barrel bushing wrench really comes in handy - and after all the trouble I'd put the owner through I told him that the way I was going to work it was that if I come back in a week and she's still there, then that gun is meant to be my gun and I'll pick her up.


The first Remington 1911 in 91 years and well worth the wait.

In 1917, the U.S. Ordnance Department issued an order to Remington-UMC to manufacture 500,000 1911s for our fighting men in the armed services.


The John M. Browning designed M1911 .45 caliber pistol was selected as the official sidearm of America’s Armed Forces on 29 March 1911. It was the standard-issue sidearm from 1911 to 1985 and is still used by some U.S. forces to this day.


The first Remington-UMC produced 1911 pistols were delivered in August of 1918. On 11 November 1918, the Armistice ending WWI was signed and the contract from the Ordnance Department with Remington-UMC was suspended. In all, Remington-UMC produced 21,677 1911s.


The Remington-branded 1911 R1 is an A1 variant of the 1911 with modern upgrades.


Like the original 1911, the 1911 R1 has a flat mainspring housing, short trigger and double diamond grips. Modern enhancements on the 1911 R1 include a flared and lowered ejection port; beveled magazine well; loaded chamber indicator; high profile dovetailed single-dot front and two-dot rear sights; extended tang on the grip safety to help prevent hammer "bite"; a crisp 3.5 – 5 pound trigger pull; and a match grade stainless steel barrel and barrel bushing. It also has the Series 80-style firing pin block safety.


A Commander-style hammer is lighter, provides a faster firing cycle for the gun and it is less likely to snag on clothing when drawn from concealment.


The only custom work I expect to apply are to polish the throat and the feed ramp, a ramp rear-sight and a rounded front sight - not because I believe in zeroed sights for pistols but for smoother draw - a commander-style hammer, and perhaps a scalloped front strap.


Checkering is done to improve the grip, feel and style of the gun - generally a matter of preference.


To hell with waiting a week - I think I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon and drop a C-note down on her, 'coz I know this post is going to create a run on the market.


This IS the year of the 1911, after all . . .





Monday Mystery Bird HERE




But . . . but . . . what about cute little lovable ME???

That's my dog Tiny; the Jack Russell who can drive a truck . . .

. . . SEAN LINNANE SENDS.



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Saturday, December 25, 2010

THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE, 1914

World War I had been raging for only four months; already proving to be one of the bloodiest wars in history. Soldiers on both sides were trapped in trenches, exposed to the cold and wet winter weather, covered in mud, and extremely careful of sniper shots. Machines guns had proven their worth in war, bringing new meaning to the word "slaughter."



In a place where bloodshed was nearly commonplace and mud and the enemy were fought with equal vigor, something surprising occurred on the front for Christmas in 1914. The men who lay shivering in the trenches embraced the Christmas spirit. In one of the truest acts of goodwill toward men, soldiers from both sides in the southern portion of the Ypres Salient set aside their weapons and hatred, if only temporarily, and met in No Man's Land.


Digging In

Though the Germans had made a strong offensive into France, French, Belgian, and British forces were able to halt them. However, since they were not able to push the Germans out of France, there was a stalemate and both sides dug into the earth creating a large network of trenches.

Once the trenches were built, winter rains tried to obliterate them. The rains not only flooded the dug-outs, they turned the trenches into mud holes - a terrible enemy in and of itself.


Mud lay deep in the trenches; they were caked from head to foot, and I have never seen anything like their rifles! Not one would work, and they were just lying about the trenches getting stiff and cold. One fellow had got both feet jammed in the clay, and when told to get up by an officer, had to get on all fours; he then got his hands stuck in too, and was caught like a fly on a flypaper; all he could do was look round and say to his pals, 'For Gawd's sake, shoot me!' I laughed till I cried. But they will shake down, directly they learn that the harder one works in the trenches, the drier and more comfortable one can keep both them and oneself.


The trenches of both sides were only a few hundred feet apart, buffered by a relatively flat area known as "No Man's Land." The stalemate had halted all but a scattered number of small attacks; thus, soldiers on each side spent a large amount of time dealing with the mud, keeping their heads down in order to avoid sniper fire, and watching carefully for any surprise enemy raids on their trench.


Fraternizing

Restless in their trenches, covered in mud, and eating the same rations every day, some soldiers began to wonder about the un-seen enemy, men declared monsters by propagandists.


We hated their guts when they killed any of our friends; then we really did dislike them intensely. But otherwise we joked about them and I think they joked about us. And we thought, well, poor so-and-so's, they're in the same kind of muck as we are.


The uncomfortableness of living in trenches coupled with the closeness of the enemy who lived in similar conditions contributed to a growing "live and let live" policy. Andrew Todd, a telegraphist of the Royal Engineers, wrote of an example in a letter:


Perhaps it will surprise you to learn that the soldiers in both lines of trenches have become very 'pally' with each other. The trenches are only 60 yards apart at one place, and every morning about breakfast time one of the soldiers sticks a board in the air. As soon as this board goes up all firing ceases, and men from either side draw their water and rations. All through the breakfast hour, and so long as this board is up, silence reigns supreme, but whenever the board comes down the first unlucky devil who shows even so much as a hand gets a bullet through it.

Sometimes the two enemies would yell at each other. Some of the German soldiers had worked in Britain before the war and asked about a store or area in England that an English soldier also knew well. Sometimes they would shout rude remarks to each other as a way of entertainment. Singing was also a common way of communication.

During the winter it was not unusual for little groups of men to gather in the front trench, and there hold impromptu concerts, singing patriotic and sentimental songs. The Germans did much the same, and on calm evenings the songs from one line floated to the trenches on the other side, and were there received with applause and sometimes calls for an encore.


Christmas at the Front

On December 7, 1914, Pope Benedict XV suggested a temporary hiatus of the war for the celebration of Christmas. Though Germany readily agreed, the other powers refused.

Even without a cessation of war for Christmas, family and friends of the soldiers wanted to make their loved ones' Christmas special. They sent packages filled with letters, warm clothing, food, cigarettes, and medications. Yet what especially made Christmas at the front seem like Christmas were the troves of small Christmas trees.

On Christmas Eve, many German soldiers put up Christmas trees, decorated with candles, on the parapets of their trenches. Hundreds of Christmas trees lighted the German trenches and although British soldiers could see the lights, it took them a few minutes to figure out what they were from. Could this be a trick? British soldiers were ordered not to fire but to watch them closely. Instead of trickery, the British soldiers heard many of the Germans celebrating.

Time and again during the course of that day, the Eve of Christmas, there were wafted towards us from the trenches opposite the sounds of singing and merry-making, and occasionally the guttural tones of a German were to be heard shouting out lustily, "A happy Christmas to you Englishmen!" Only too glad to show that the sentiments were reciprocated, back would go the response from a thick-set Clydesider, "Same to you, Fritz, but dinna o'er eat yourself wi' they sausages!"

In other areas, the two sides exchanged Christmas carols.


They finished their carol and we thought that we ought to retaliate in some way, so we sang 'The First Noël', and when we finished that they all began clapping; and then they struck up another favourite of theirs, 'O Tannenbaum'. And so it went on. First the Germans would sing one of their carols and then we would sing one of ours, until when we started up 'O Come All Ye Faithful' the Germans immediately joined in singing the same hymn to the Latin words 'Adeste Fidéles'. And I thought, well, this was really a most extraordinary thing - two nations both singing the same carol in the middle of a war.


The Christmas Truce

This fraternization on Christmas Eve and again on Christmas was in no way officially sanctified nor organized. Yet, in numerous separate instances down the front line, German soldiers began yelling over to their enemy, "Tommy, you come over and see us!" Still cautious, the British soldiers would rally back, "No, you come here!"

In some parts of the line, representatives of each side would meet in the middle, in No Man's Land.




We shook hands, wished each other a Merry Xmas, and were soon conversing as if we had known each other for years. We were in front of their wire entanglements and surrounded by Germans - Fritz and I in the centre talking, and Fritz occasionally translating to his friends what I was saying. We stood inside the circle like streetcorner orators.

Soon most of our company ('A' Company), hearing that I and some others had gone out, followed us . . . What a sight - little groups of Germans and British extending almost the length of our front! Out of the darkness we could hear laughter and see lighted matches, a German lighting a Scotchman's cigarette and vice versa, exchanging cigarettes and souvenirs. Where they couldn't talk the language they were making themselves understood by signs, and everyone seemed to be getting on nicely. Here we were laughing and chatting to men whom only a few hours before we were trying to kill!



Some of those who went out to meet the enemy in the middle of No Man's Land on Christmas Eve or on Christmas Day negotiated a truce: we won't fire if you won't fire. Some ended the truce at midnight on Christmas night, some extended it until New Year's Day.

One reason Christmas truces were negotiated was in order to bury the dead, many of whom had been there for several months. Along with the revelry that celebrated Christmas was the sad and somber job of burying their fallen comrades. On Christmas day, British and German soldiers appeared on No Man's Land and sorted through the bodies. In just a few rare instances, joint services were held for both the British and German dead.

Yet many soldiers enjoyed meeting the un-seen enemy and were surprised to discover that they were more alike than he had thought. They talked, shared pictures, exchanged items such as buttons for food stuffs. An extreme example of the fraternization was a soccer game played in the middle of No Man's Land between the Bedfordshire Regiment and the Germans. A member of the Bedfordshire Regiment produced a ball and the large group of soldiers played until the ball was deflated when it hit a barbed wire entanglement.




This strange and unofficial truce lasted for several days, much to the dismay of the commanding officers. This amazing showing of Christmas cheer was never again repeated and as World War I progressed, the story of Christmas 1914 at the front became something of a legend.


Thursday, November 11, 2010

Armistice Day - Remembrance Day - Veterans Day



On this day in 1918, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month . . . the guns fell silent on the War to End All Wars . . .





Veterans Day was originally known as Armistice Day; the original intent of Armistice Day was to honor the Dead.


In the British Commonwealth, November 11th is known as Remembrance Day. Poppies are displayed to honor to the Dead of all wars.


The Field of Remembrance in front of Westminster Cathedral, London.


The poppies represent the blooms across some of the worst battlefields of Flanders in World War I, their brilliant red color is an appropriate symbol for the blood spilt . . .




In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.









This Armistice Day, STORMBRINGER honors Benjamin Floyd Leavell, World War II veteran of the Grey & Simcoe Foresters and First Hussars Tank Corps (CANADA).


Ben Leavell was a hero in Normandy; on 25 July 1944 he was severely wounded by a German machinegun while trying to rescue his crew from the burning hulk of their tank - his story has been told many times in the newspapers of his native Province of Ontario, and also here in STORMBRINGER.


Canadian forces going ashore in Normandy, June 1944


Ben passed away peacefully this past summer, July 27th, 2010, in his 92nd year; sixty-six years almost to the day of when he was wounded in France. He was survived by his wife Florence (nee Burgess) of 62 years, children Alice, Robert, Helen and Susie; grandchildren Melanie, Miranda, Allison, Ainsley, Lincoln; and six great-grandsons.








STORMBRINGER also honors Sgt. Phillip G. Crittenden, RAAF, KIA 20 October 1941; shot down over Charleroi, Belgium while piloting the lead plane in the first British Bomber Command mission of the war that was led by the Royal Australian Air Force.

The crew of Crittenden's plane, Wellington bomber #FU-D,
just before take off. There was only one survivor.




Sergeant Crittenden was twenty years old at the time of his death.




To Veterans everywhere: Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for the Freedom we enjoy.

And to the Honored Dead -


We will never forget you.



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Tuesday, September 21, 2010

WORLD WAR I: LIFE IN THE TRENCHES

Discovered after 90 years: Diary complete with amazing paintings and drawings that bring to life the horror faced by Tommies in the WWI trenches



A fresh insight into life in the trenches in World War One has been discovered in a series of amazing sketches and drawings found in a soldier's diary hidden away for 90 years.

Lieutenant Kenneth Wootton's 120-page journal vividly brings to life the horror of major WWI battles, and even includes detailed ink drawings of tanks and battle movements.

Lt Wootton, who was awarded the MC for conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty, kept a diary from 1915 until 1917, when he was sent home to England after being injured in an explosion.


British Mark IV tanks plowing across No Man's Land

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1311867/Hero-soldier-Kenneth-Woottons-amazing-diary-drawings-WWI-horrors.html?ITO=1490#ixzz0zqC8AS2m

Lt Wootton even describes the Christmas truce between the British and German soldiers in December 1916 - where both sides stopped firing at each other to enjoy a festive dinner.


Christmas 1916: a British 'Tommy' staring out over the trenches without fear of being shot.


Lt Wootton; awarded the Military Cross for conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty.


Read about it here.



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Saturday, December 12, 2009

GENERAL "BLACKJACK" PERSHING



General of the Armies of the United States John Joseph Pershing was the only soldier to be promoted in his own lifetime to the highest rank ever held in the United States Army—General of the Armies

Pershing led the American Expeditionary Force in World War I and was regarded as a mentor by the generation of American generals who led the United States Army in Europe during World War II, including George C. Marshall, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Omar N. Bradley, and George S. Patton.

Prior to World War I, General Pershing served in the Philippines, during the Moro Insurrection. At that time there were a number of terrorist attacks on the United States forces by Muslim extremists.

So General Pershing captured 50 Moro terrorists and had them tied to posts for execution. He then had his men bring in two pigs and slaughter them in front of the now horrified terrorists.

Muslims detest pork because they believe pigs are filthy animals. Some of them simply refuse to eat it, while others wont even touch pigs at all, nor any of their by-products. To them, eating or touching a pig, its meat, its blood, etc, is to be instantly barred from paradise (and those virgins) and be doomed to Hell.

The soldiers then soaked their bullets in the pigs blood, and proceeded to execute 49 of the terrorists by firing squad. The soldiers then dug a big hole, dumped in the terrorists bodies and covered them in pig blood, entrails, etc. They let the 50th man go. And for the next forty-two years, there was not a single Muslim extremist attack anywhere in the world.


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Thursday, October 15, 2009

BIRTH OF A LEGEND

At 5 a.m. Paris time, on this date in 1917, Margaretha Geertruida Zelle — better known to the world as Mata Hari — was awoken at Saint-Lazare Prison to news that it was her last day on earth.




Prior to becoming an espionage legend, Mata Hari presented herself as a Hindu dancer. The truth is she was just a needy adventurer, a pretender with enough intuition and sensitivity to take advantage of the Parisian orientalist fantasies at the beginning of the XX Century.

There, her scanty, exotic costumes were enough; she never was genuine oriental dancer but, avant la lettre, an exotic dancer. Shot by firing squadron on a muddy drill field outside Paris, Margaretha Geertruida Zelle died, but the romantic myth of Mata Hari the femme fatal was born and lives amongst us to this day.


She died as she had lived: self-possessed, mysterious, facing the firing squad eyes open - she refused a blindfold.


She was already pushing 30 when she got into dancing, with a failed marriage behind her and two children. In Paris in the belle epoque, there were assuredly dancers younger, prettier; Margaretha, who here debuted the show name by which history would know here, surpassed them with showmanship.

Her exotic olive-toned looks — there were rumors of Javanese or Jewish blood even in her childhood - combined with her willingness to push boundaries of eroticism made her an instant sensation. Naturally gregarious and unprudish, she segued into the courtesan biz on the side with dashing officers and wealthy industrialists.


Not bad for a thirty-something mother of two. Nowadays they'd call her a MILF.


Sensual postcards and posed photos of Mata Hari were at once her pitch and her product.





14 years after her death, she’d be portrayed by silver screen femme fatale Greta Garbo:





I've always had a hard time figuring out my sympathies here; Mata Hari was a whore who spied on the French . . . for the Germans . . .





. . . yet whether or not she was really a German spy has never been determined — she seems to have been approached, or to have been set up by either French or German intelligence . . .





. . . sort of an anti-hero, I suppose . . . kind of hard to be against her . . .





So the French shot a whore - bravo les grenouilles! If it had been the British who had caught her, they'd have turned her against the Germans.

As a British correspondent reported, Margaretha Zelle owned her role to the very last:

The first intimation she received that her plea had been denied was when she was led at daybreak from her cell in the Saint-Lazare prison to a waiting automobile and then rushed to the barracks where the firing squad awaited her.

Never once had the iron will of the beautiful woman failed her. Father Arbaux, accompanied by two sisters of charity, Captain Bouchardon, and Maitre Clunet, her lawyer, entered her cell, where she was still sleeping - a calm, untroubled sleep, it was remarked by the turnkeys and trusties.

The sisters gently shook her. She arose and was told that her hour had come.

"May I write two letters?" was all she asked.

Consent was given immediately by Captain Bouchardon, and pen, ink, paper, and envelopes were given to her.

She seated herself at the edge of the bed and wrote the letters with feverish haste. She handed them over to the custody of her lawyer.

Then she drew on her stockings, black, silken, filmy things, grotesque in the circumstances. She placed her high-heeled slippers on her feet and tied the silken ribbons over her insteps.

She arose and took the long black velvet cloak, edged around the bottom with fur and with a huge square fur collar hanging down the back, from a hook over the head of her bed. She placed this cloak over the heavy silk kimono which she had been wearing over her nightdress.

Her wealth of black hair was still coiled about her head in braids. She put on a large, flapping black felt hat with a black silk ribbon and bow. Slowly and indifferently, it seemed, she pulled on a pair of black kid gloves. Then she said calmly:

"I am ready."

The party slowly filed out of her cell to the waiting automobile.

The car sped through the heart of the sleeping city. It was scarcely half-past five in the morning and the sun was not yet fully up.

Clear across Paris the car whirled to the Caserne de Vincennes, the barracks of the old fort which the Germans stormed in 1870.

The troops were already drawn up for the execution. The twelve Zouaves, forming the firing squad, stood in line, their rifles at ease. A subofficer stood behind them, sword drawn.

The automobile stopped, and the party descended, Mata Hari last. The party walked straight to the spot, where a little hummock of earth reared itself seven or eight feet high and afforded a background for such bullets as might miss the human target.

As Father Arbaux spoke with the condemned woman, a French officer approached, carrying a white cloth.

"The blindfold," he whispered to the nuns who stood there and handed it to them.

"Must I wear that?" asked Mata Hari, turning to her lawyer, as her eyes glimpsed the blindfold.

Maitre Clunet turned interrogatively to the French officer.

"If Madame prefers not, it makes no difference," replied the officer, hurriedly turning away.

Mata Hari was not bound and she was not blindfolded. She stood gazing steadfastly at her executioners, when the priest, the nuns, and her lawyer stepped away from her.*

The officer in command of the firing squad, who had been watching his men like a hawk that none might examine his rifle and try to find out whether he was destined to fire the blank cartridge which was in the breech of one rifle, seemed relieved that the business would soon be over.

A sharp, crackling command and the file of twelve men assumed rigid positions at attention. Another command, and their rifles were at their shoulders; each man gazed down his barrel at the breast of the women which was the target.

Inevitably, a story got around that she’d opened her funereal coat to the firing squad, revealing no clothing beneath it - she did not. She did not move a muscle.

The non-commissioned officer in charge had moved to a position where from the corners of their eyes they could see him. His sword was extended in the air.

It dropped. The sun - by this time up - flashed on the burnished blade as it described an arc in falling. Simultaneously the sound of the volley rang out. Flame and a tiny puff of greyish smoke issued from the muzzle of each rifle. Automatically the men dropped their arms.

At the report Mata Hari fell. She did not die as actors and moving picture stars would have us believe that people die when they are shot. She did not throw up her hands nor did she plunge straight forward or straight back.

Instead she seemed to collapse. Slowly, inertly, she settled to her knees, her head up always, and without the slightest change of expression on her face. For the fraction of a second it seemed she tottered there, on her knees, gazing directly at those who had taken her life. Then she fell backward, bending at the waist, with her legs doubled up beneath her. She lay prone, motionless, with her face turned towards the sky.

A non-commissioned officer, who accompanied a lieutenant, drew his revolver from the big, black holster strapped about his waist. Bending over, he placed the muzzle of his revolver almost - but not quite - against the left temple of the spy. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet tore into the brain of the woman.

Margaretha Geertruida Zelle was surely dead . . .


. . . and the Legend of Mata Hari was born.