Bonzo's War (4 page)

The Society, very practically, had had discreet pre-war discussions with German counterparts, where an animals-in-air-raids-protection organization, the Luftschutz-Veterinärdienst, had existed since 1934. Its primary manual,
Luftschutz der Tiere
, drafted by Generaloberveterinär Professor Dr Claus Eduard Richters, concerned farm animals more than pets but expressed views with which British pet lovers would sympathize. ‘In the animal we see not only something useful and valued,' wrote the military vet, ‘but also a creature with feelings of its own, a helpful, loyal comrade, for whose welfare we feel just as responsible as for that of our fellow human beings.'

Non-Germans and their animals meanwhile were being evicted from their Czech homelands under the terms agreed at Munich, the Society could report. But the state of chaos in the capital, Prague, meant they had received no reply from their Czech counterpart on the fate of the Sudetenland pets. ‘Appawsment' had abandoned them to their fate (it did not say that).

The National Canine Defence League reported the British dog lovers' view:

The last few days of September, when it seemed that nothing but a miracle could save our country from being plunged into the most devastating conflict of all time, will long remain in our memories. Here at the League's headquarters, when the war clouds were at their blackest, one bright ray illumined the gloom, and that was the realisation that British dog-lovers were more concerned for their canine friends' safety than their own.

How true. The veteran anti-vivisectionist Louise Lind-af-Hageby, stalwart of the Animal Defence Society, universal ‘peace' and animal activist since the 1900s, recorded: ‘During the war-crisis of September, 1938, the Council of the Society had considered ways and means of helping in the event of cities being bombed. The possibility of large kennels in country districts and of utilising the Society's two motor caravans had been discussed. The Council feared that large numbers of dogs and cats would be destroyed if evacuation became necessary.'

Her co-activist and neighbour, Nina, Duchess of Hamilton, who sheltered two urban foxes, ‘Vicky' and ‘Patrick', in her St John's Wood mansion, magnanimously declared the splendid Hamilton country estate at Ferne in Wiltshire to be a safe haven. As she wrote later:

During the September crisis Mrs Freeman sent six cats. When the crisis was over they were returned to her from Ferne Sanctuary and she wrote as follows: ‘my six pets arrived here on Friday evening from Ferne, all of them in very beautiful condition and, incidentally in the highest spirits. They have benefitted in a remarkable way from the care and surroundings they have been privileged to enjoy, I should like to express my deepest gratitude'.

So the crisis turned out alright for some posh cats. In fact Ferne would be opening its doors to plenty more animals before too long, posh and not so posh. Mrs Freeman's cats would be back.

It was a general fear of poison gas that gave the Munich panic its particular edge. And there were real fears in Government that Germany might use animal diseases, especially anthrax, as a weapon.

As the National Canine Defence League found:

All through the week of throbbing tension that preceded the Munich Conference, the League's telephones had scarcely an idle moment. Where can I get a gas mask for my dog? What do you advise me to do with my dog in the event of air raids? Where can I find accommodation for my dog in the country?

The RSPCA could report ‘another enquirer caused something of a diversion by asking whether she could be supplied a gas mask for bees. The enquirer was animated by genuine concern.'

Cat World
magazine reported on 1 October: ‘We have had numerous letters and telephone calls from anxious readers asking for information regarding the safety of their
cats should this country be subject to air raids and poison gas attacks. The RSPCA suggests sending your pets away to friends, finding refuge in a gas-proof room, but it is not possible to obtain gas masks for cats.'

The Cats Protection League was no less anxious. As its journal,
The Cat
, had reported earlier in the summer: ‘One of our members asks what are the air raid precautions we suggest for cats and adds: “I should hate to have them killed unnecessarily”.'

Just so. The League had asked the Whitehall authorities what plans were being made for felines and evidently did not get much of a reply.
The Cat's
editor reported: ‘Until we know for certain what would be the special arrangements we must NOT depend on being able to take our cats to Public Air Raid Shelters. One of the cold facts is that human beings will be considered first.'

And the humane and kindly columnist for
The Cat
, Mr Albert Steward, was right, of course. He could also report meanwhile that there was no practical way to protect cats from gas attack. ‘Those of us who have seen the sufferings of homeless cats on the continent would not hesitate to make the decision that would make their cats safe from the horrors of war,' he wrote. ‘Kill them' was what he meant.

What on earth to do? Many pet lovers decided to say goodbye. As the National Canine Defence League reported at the end of that dismal year: ‘One feature of the crisis which should be placed on record is that many dogs were brought to the NCDL clinics to be put to sleep. Our clinic superintendents declined to destroy these healthy animals, advising the owners to wait and see. Dozens of dogs were thus reprieved, and are still enjoying life to-day.'

Six weeks after Munich came a brutal new twist. The ‘Kristallnacht' pogrom in German and Austrian cities set a new flood of Jewish refugees to flight. Some of them had
pets. Frau Weingarten of Vienna had her cats' quarantine fees paid by the Cats Protection League after a national newspaper appeal. Our Dumb Friends' League also knew what to do. ‘The League felt that this country, which prides itself on its love for animals, could not lower its prestige in the eyes of so many foreigners by deliberately killing their pets,' it reported. ‘Not only was it a national, but an international duty to save them.' And so, with much anti-foreigner grumbling from the sidelines, their quarantine kennels were opened to asylum-seeking dogs.

The Dogs Bulletin
reported: ‘As one penniless refugee from Vienna said to the NCDL, as her St Bernard dog was accommodated gratis, “I shall always be indebted to you”.' But there were more warnings that refugee dogs, and those left behind by evacuees, might fall prey to vivisectors.

Pets faced danger everywhere.

The ‘Peace in Our Time' jubilation after Munich did not last long for the last Republican strongholds in Spain, Barcelona, then Madrid, were on the brink of falling. The plight of refugees trudging with their animals across the Pyrenees from Catalonia into France in February 1939 excited the RSPCA enough for them to send the veteran colonial vet, Colonel Robert John Stordy, to Perpignan on the border to see what could be done. He found the French Army had already ‘commandeered healthy horses and mules and arranged for the humane destruction' of the rest. There was little more to do but come home.

Colonel Stordy had already drafted a memorandum for fellow vets and the Scottish SPCA on ‘animals in a national emergency'. He had suggested in January that the ‘experience of Spain' and its bombed cities showed that high explosive and incendiary attack was more likely than gas – although owners of cats and dogs should practise wearing masks so ‘their pets would become used to the ghoulish appearance of their owners' and recognize their muffled voices. ‘Should hostilities eventuate, there is no doubt that the abandoned dog and cat will stand in the greatest need of concerted action to put an end to their suffering,' he wrote.

He even covered school pets, ‘such as rabbits, guinea pigs, etc., housed on school premises for the primary training of children in the care of, and kindliness to animals, [which] will have to remain in the charge of the care-takers of their respective institutions'.

Crufts Dog Show for 1939 meanwhile, held at the Agricultural Hall, Islington, on two chilly February days, attracted ‘thousands of dogs'. Among the many highlights were large contingents of Pekingese, Wire Haired Fox Terriers (the super-fashionable dog, like my aunt's poor doomed Paddy, of the time), Welsh Corgis and Chow Chows.

‘Ivor of Dunkerque', the Wire Haired Dachshund exhibited by Air Vice-Marshal Sir Charles Lambe (famed as the ‘first Englishman to own a German Wolf Hound') proved a champion. The Zoological Society of London exhibited a Husky. Tibetan Mastiffs and Basenjis from the Belgian Congo provided an exotic touch.

There was a whiff of decadence as war clouds gathered beyond the judging ring. The
Daily Mail
's Patrick Murphy witnessed ‘dogs dressed in Angora wool jumpers with Magyar sleeves' as well as ‘quite sizeable dogs wearing trousers'.

Best in Show was Mr H. S. Lloyd's Cocker Spaniel ‘Exquisite Model of Ware' for the second year running. More would be heard of Mr Lloyd when the nation's pets faced a sterner test than even the judges' bench at Crufts.

On the other side of town, the Dumb Friends' League's kennels at Shooters Hill, Blackheath, run by Colonel and Mrs W. M. Burden, were home to an increasing number of refugee dogs – such as ‘Barbara' who featured in the 1939 report, the pet of two Jewish children, Elizabeth and George Mayer. They had written this heart-rending plea:

We two children have got a permit to emigrate to England. But we can't come because we must leave our dog ‘Barbara' alone. It was a present to us for our birthdays two years ago. At that time Barbara the dog was only two weeks old. We have brought her up and she has been accustomed to us in such a way that she would fret if we would leave her.

But also we are not able to live without her. We know that Barbara must be quarantined for the first half of the year but we have not sufficient money to pay for her keep. We are very poor refugee children and we love Barbara, who would die if we abandoned her. Therefore we ask you if you would keep her for six months free of charge or if you have a good friend who would pay the expenses. We can show the papers that the ancestors of the dog were born in Scotland.

The League was proud to announce it was meeting the costs of boarding Barbara, as well as ‘all these foreign dogs' in their statutory six-month quarantine.

The Canine Defence League could not have done more to extend the paw of friendship. It dramatically reported the success of its Quarantine Fund for Refugee Dogs appeal. ‘As a result of the help thus given, the future of the pitiful canine outcasts from Central Europe, for whose care the League has so far assumed responsibility, is now assured,' it was reported in
The Dogs Bulletin
. It really was terribly moving:

Many of these refugee dogs' masters and mistresses arrive in this country with little else but the clothes they wear and it speaks volumes for their affection for their canine friends that in some instances they have denied themselves necessaries in order to ensure that their dogs
should breathe the free air of England. Seldom have we of the League derived more pleasure from aiding downcast dog-lovers than we have in extending a helping hand to these victims of racial and religious persecution.

There were also feline refugees from Nazism.
The Cat
, a little later in the drama, highlighted the case of ‘Mischi' – ‘a really lovely striped tabby with large intelligent eyes and long, graceful lines. She has a large vocabulary in two languages, one of them Czechoslovakian, although she is an “England” cat, and instantly replies to certain words of interest, such as “meat”, etc.'

Mischi, now living in Slough, was pregnant. Her owner was looking for a good home for ‘a son of this beautiful and intelligent cat'. Give him to me!

As the German Army marched into the capital of Mischi's homeland, Prague, on 16 March, the national mood darkened. Sir John Anderson, who had entered the Cabinet as Lord Privy Seal in October 1938, intensified defensive preparations. Maybe this time the nation's pets would get some proper consideration.

Animal lovers could reflect meanwhile that as Europe was rushing towards the precipice, at the nation's helm was someone who understood the natural world. The Prime Minister, it was noted, was a keen birdwatcher. ‘His morning bird walk in St James's Park accompanied by his wife must be of considerable value in providing physical and mental refreshment before facing the day's duties with the Cabinet,' reported
Animals and Zoo Magazine
.

Under the attention-grabbing headline ‘Neville Chamberlain Moth Hunter', the magazine recorded the PM finding a wood leopard moth in ‘the venerable garden of Number 10'.

‘It is certainly no small encouragement to natural history
in these difficult times that the Prime Minister has found time to collect moths as well as to watch birds and fish,' said its correspondent.

But after Prague, war really did seem inevitable. In early April, Whitehall officials met to discuss what to do with domestic pets in case of war – but not yet the larger animals. ‘Cattle and sheep present little problem in the Metropolitan Police area,' it was noted at a meeting of the provisional committee set up to examine what was now being called an ‘ARP for Animals Service'. The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Sir Philip Game, got directly involved.

Just what it was supposed to do would depend on whether the Government ordered ‘the compulsory slaughter of all animals not of economic value' according to an internal discussion paper (the proposal is marked ‘suggest delete' in the margin). That meant the mass destruction of pets.

The British Bee-Keepers Association meanwhile complained that no one in authority was considering the position of bees, should war break out. The evacuation of hives from the suburbs of larger cities should be considered, ‘because in an air raid, a badly disrupted apiary could increase panic and hinder rescue,' it was noted in the journal
Bee Craft
. That was not to be the last word on bees.