“’It is quite impossible to understand,’ I commented afterwards, ‘how we can be such strong individualists, so insistent on the rights and claims of every human soul, and yet at the same time countenance (and if we are English, even take quite calmly) this wholesale murder, which if it were applied to animals or birds or indeed anything except men would fill us with a sickness and repulsion greater than we could endure.” –Vera Brittain, Testament of Youth, 175

While reading through selections of Vera Brittain's Testament of Youth, I was particularly struck by her frequent references to The Times. In the hope of gaining more context for what kinds of things Brittain must have been reading, I did some research in The Times archives.

Although it has proven more difficult than I expected to find a lot of the exact clippings she mentions, I did unearth several really interesting pieces. First, I looked into the "History of the War" that Brittain recalls reading with her brother, Edward (175—the quoted passage above recounts her reaction to reading this History’s estimate of European war casualties: already 5 million dead and 7 million wounded around the first anniversary of the War). Apparently, The Times printed a running series of stories, innovations, and illustrations of the war as it developed, then sold it in weekly installments (and quarterly special-bound issues). Although I wasn't able to dig up the actual "History" itself, I did locate a good example of the kinds of promotions they printed from the June 28th, 1915 issue (right after Brittain started her nursing service); recall the truce she mentions on 167.

The way that the newspaper managed to capitalize on nearly every aspect of the War raises a lot of complicated questions about the ethics of keeping the public “informed”—perhaps not unlike today’s ever-scrolling news marquee or constantly updating Yahoo headlines. I can recall, for example, buying a special issue of Time Magazine or something after the death of Saddam Hussein, thinking at thirteen that it would be a precious commodity some day. Is a balance of preservation and discretion preferable, or even possible? I can’t help but wonder about the deep psychological effects of such incessant reminders of the War’s total pervasiveness, and Brittain’s poignant comments certainly give readers a valuable perspective in this regard.

To get a better glimpse of everyday news at the time, the June 17, 1915 issue—the day she took exams at Oxford (160) in preparation to “[round] off a phase of life” (163) and become a nurse—is worth perusing.

For example, in addition to updating a daily list of various births, marriages, and deaths (life can still proceed as normal in wartime), near the bottom of a column listing those who were "Killed in Action" or "Died of Wounds" is an ad for Hospital Nurses (see left).

Much more interesting to me, though, is page 4 of this particular "Late War Edition"—because, next to four long, tiny-print columns detailing the "Roll of Honour" of casualties and war deaths (including 102 officers and 2,107 men) run three seemingly harmless advertisements. The first is for a tonic called Wincarnis, which—among other things—promises that "New health—glorious, vigorous health—is yours to command" if you use their product. The ad makes a point to underline "new" seven times throughout the various claims it makes about this "life-giving" tonic, insisting that it "creates new strength--and at the same time new vitality—and at the same time new blood—and at the same time new nerve force." If that doesn't make me want to try it, I don't know what will. (See "Wincarnis" for full ad)

Next is a simple, albeit effective, "maxim":

The final ad in this oddly juxtaposed column is, in my opinion, the most unusual. After Cockle's Pills draws in readers with the headline, "You are pleasanter than others think...but so are they," six little paragraphs quickly explain that "merely 'resolving' to be pleasant...will not do"; instead, anyone hoping to be "alive to the joy of living" must "go to the root of the 'gloom-poisons' and wastes that are accumulating in your blood-stream" and "giv[e] your liver the gentle, strengthening help of Cockle's Pills" (see "Cockle's Pills" for full ad).

With all that talk of blood and cheerfulness in the face of seemingly endless death, I'd be feeling pretty disillusioned by the world around me too, and would probably feel the same “anxiety to ‘do something’” (154) that plagued Brittain and her friends in the early days of war.