White Feathers and Cowardice

White feathers symbolize cowardice.

Self-righteous, patriotic women and suffragettes in England during World War I handed them out to men not in uniform.

Their reasoning?

They must be cowards if they did not enlist to fight in the British Expeditionary Force (BEF).

Were they right?

Or were they wrong?

How could anyone know?

Why did men enlist in the BEF during World War I?

In A Poppy in Remembrance, reporter-in-training Claire asked.

“Jim straightened papers and cleared his throat. “To protect their families and homeland.”

Nigel stared at his typewriter, his face a mask, his voice without inflection.

“A man enlists because he has no choice. His nation demands it of him; his father suggests he’s unworthy if he does not; and strangers bedevil him for cowardice. A man volunteers for a hundred reasons; few of them good.”

Claire removed her glasses. “Are you enlisting?”

“You can’t escape the army when you’re twenty-three years old and your country is at war. You can only hope your intelligence lands you in a safe spot. How about you, Jim?”

Many men felt pressured to join the BEF.

After the first month, when rigidly controlled casualty numbers began to filter through, many doubted the wisdom of fighting.

But society was against them.

Where did the white feathers come in?

According to Wikipedia, the notion of cowardice and white feathers harkens back to cockfighting.

“It’s a belief that a cockerel sporting a white feather in its tail is likely to be a poor fighter.

Pure-breed gamecocks do not show white feathers, so its presence indicates that the cockerel is an inferior cross-breed.”

That may be why women handing out white feathers tended to be from the upper classes of British society.

At its core is shame.

A British Admiral during WWI even created his “Order of the White Feather,” and many women flocked to hand them out.

Of course, they sometimes made mistakes handing them out.

Who deserved white feathers?

“Two women marched toward them with zeal in their eyes.

“My good man, you’re not in uniform,” the taller one declared in a haughty voice. She wore a sweeping hat decorated with spring flowers.

He paused and his face went expressionless.

The shorter woman spoke in a cultivated accent. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You need this.” She handed him a white feather.

“What are you doing?” Claire shouted. “You don’t know anything about him.”

Flower Hat sniffed. “Young men should be in uniform. He’s a disgrace to manhood.”

But how should a man respond?

It depended on his reason.

A woman sitting behind Private Ernest Atkins on a tram handed him one.

On leave from the Western Front, Atkins slapped her across the face with his pay book.

“Certainly I’ll take your feather back to the boys at Passchendaele. I’m in civvies because people think my uniform might be lousy, but if I had it on I wouldn’t be half as lousy as you.” 

Another man dressed in civilian clothes was on his way to an elegant affair in his honor where he would be presented with the Victoria Cross for bravery while fighting at Gallipoli.

But perhaps there is some room for sympathy?

I concluded the above scene from A Poppy in Remembrance with a different reaction:

“I’m sorry.”

He tucked the feather into his pocket. “I’m getting quite a collection. This is number five.”

“I apologize for them,” Claire said, “I didn’t—”

“God examines the attitude of our hearts,” he said. “It’s helpful to keep that in mind when we want to judge. I know your heart.” He watched the women badger another man near Twining’s.

“He knows theirs too. Perhaps their loved ones are serving in the army, and this is how they deal with their fears.”

Shame

Shame is never a good way to motivate anyone.

It can also be presumptuous and cruel.

Stories have been written about how, instead of encouraging enlistment, a white feather provoked suicide.

World War I killed nearly a million BEF soldiers over four years of fighting.

White feathers did not help anyone.