Interest in militaria often overlooks plaques

Press, 24 June 1978, Page 10

Interest in militaria often overlooks plaques

A little bit of military history is being preserved in Christchurch in a private, and so far unpublicised, campaign by a keen collector of militaria. The collector is Cyril Atkinson. an Irishman who emigrated to New Zealand about 20 years ago, and who retired recently after many years as secretary of the Canterbury Druids Association. Mr Atkinson now has a retirement job as the secretary of the New Zealand Antique Arms Association, though his interests ' lie not in firearms (he had a fine collection in Ireland, but because of New Zea-, land's stringent regulations at the time, he sold the lot before leaving) but in militaria — such as badges. His present campaign is an unusual one, because it is aimed not at the trappings of the military, but at the human spirit behind them. ■ It began in a curious way with a browse in a junk shop, and the purchase of a badly discoloured bronze plaque, about 12 cm in diameter. 1 The owner of the shop did ' not know what, it was, but Mr Atkinson did, because I he had seen such objects |i “at home,” in Ireland. It was one of more than ' a million such plaques, i issued after World War I i to the next-of-kin of the I victims of the conflict.

“The dealer’s ignorance puzzled me,” Mr Atkinson said. “During the next few months I made numerous inquiries of people of various ages and walks of life, asking if they had ever seen a similar plaque, or knew its origin. The answer was always in the negative. “1 found this most sad and distressing,” he said. The plaques were made, between 1918 and 1920, but their genesis was in 1916. when the British Government set up a committee to decide what sort of memento should be provided as a memorial to the war dead. The committee settled

on a bronze plaque, and held an open competition for a design. In March, 1918, a Liverpool artist, E. Carter Preston, was declared the winner. Another 19 entries were highly commended, and for some time the 20 designs were on display in the Victoria and Albert Museum, in London. Production began in a

By

DERRICK ROONEY

factory in Acton in 1918, and later, in perhaps the ultimate gesture of peace, the Woolwich Arsenal and other munition factories were switched from the production of arms and ammunition to production of the plaques. The reverse of the plaques is blank, presumably because they were intended to be framed or otherwise mounted. The obverse shows Britannia flourishing the victor's laurel wreath, while the British lion standsbefore her. Underneath, and sep-

arated from the main design, is another cheer-ful-looking British lion — this one devouring a German eagle. Around the rim is the inscription: “He died for freedom and honour,” and in a box on the right-hand side is the name of the dead serviceman; no rank — the official view was that all men must be

shown to be equal in death. The artist’s initials appear just in front of the lion’s forepaw; and alongside the left hind paw is the factory batch number. Whether a female version (with a “she” instead of a “he” in the inscription) was issued to relatives of nurses, female auxiliaries, and other women who died in the service of the forces is not known; all those in Mr Atkinson’s possession were for men only.

He has gathered together about 50, but there must be, he says, many more in the country. Many, he fears, have been dumped along with other unwanted properties from estates. "Most of those killed in World War I were young, unmarried men,” he said. “The plaques would have, gone to their parents, who by now are long dead. “When the parents died the plaques would have meant little to their descendants. There is a world of difference between being able to say: ‘This- is a memorial to my father’; and saying: ‘This man was my uncle'. “May people who have these plaques in their possession now do not even know what they are. This was brought home to me recently, when I was visiting Balclutha. In a. house there a plaque was hanging on a wall; the owner had put it there because he liked the look of it, but he had no idea of its meaning. “Fortunately, I was able

to tell him, so now he not only still has it on display, but knows why: it is a little bit of history that now has a meaning.”

It was 'in junk shops that Mr Atkinson acquired most of the plaques in his collection. But on one point he .is adamant: no high monetary value should be put on the plaques.

“Creation of a commercial demand for them would result ,in a worsening of the situation, because the plaques would become a new. ‘currency’ which would only add to the degradation of those we should wish ’ to honour,” he said.

Was it not rather ghoulish to be making a collection of mementos to the dead? Mot at all, said Mr Atkinson

He was not “making a collection” of them like stamps but simply seeking to restore >o a place of honour a lasting reminder of the vicf’ms of one of the saddest and grimmest conflicts in history.