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Imagine a world in which clothing wasn't superabundant – cheap, disposable, indestructible – but perishable, threadbare and chronically scarce. Eighty years ago, when World War II ended, a textile famine loomed. What would everyone wear as uniforms were discarded and soldiers returned home, Nazi camps were liberated, and millions of uprooted people struggled to subsist? In this richly textured history, Carruthers unpicks a familiar wartime motto, 'Make Do and Mend', to reveal how central fabric was to postwar Britain. Clothes and footwear supplied a currency with which some were rewarded, while others went without. Making Do moves from Britain's demob centres to liberated Belsen – from razed German cities to refugee camps and troopships – to uncover intimate ties between Britons and others bound together in new patterns of mutual need. Filled with original research and personal stories, Making Do illuminates how lives were refashioned after the most devastating war in human history.
The demob suit remains an icon of late 1940s fashion, in museums and popular culture. On demobilization, British servicemen received a new wardrobe gratis. It comprised a suit or jacket and trousers, plus a raincoat, shirts, collars, shoes and hat – the ‘full monty’. Why did the British government reward men for their military service in this way? Since the other victorious Allies did not treat their veterans so generously in sartorial terms, British ex-servicemen’s material entitlement requires discussion. This chapter analyses the inter-departmental tussle in Whitehall over veterans’ clothing. Debate centred not only on what, and how much, clothing ex-servicemen would receive, but also on which items of military kit they’d have to ‘surrender’. The chapter explores veterans’ complex feelings about demobilization and the role clothing played in the transition to civvy street. It also scrutinizes the claim that demob suits were a democratizing device. Not only were some garments better than others, but also the decision to reward servicemen with a whole new wardrobe left servicewomen empty-handed, bar coupons and cash. Other women who’d performed vital war work went unrewarded.
The history of postwar clothing can be understood only with prior reference to wartime conditions. The reorientation of civilian industries (including textiles and garment manufacture) towards military production, severance of prewar shipping routes and supply lines and redirection of millions of workers into uniform all contributed to a chronic shortage of garments and footwear available for civilian purchase. Civilian scarcity existed alongside, and largely because of, a surfeit of military apparel. Clothes rationing and campaigns to ‘make do and mend’ were introduced both in Britain and in Nazi Germany. Wartime planners in Britain and the newly formed United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA), set up in 1943, anticipated that the end of hostilities would leave millions of people in areas hitherto occupied by Axis forces in dire need of fundamental human necessities. Along with shelter, food and medicine, humanity in extremis would need clothing and footwear. ‘Postwar’ efforts to recirculate secondhand garments, manufacture civilian apparel and repurpose military surplus all began before fighting ceased, forcing us to rethink conventional periodization of when, and how definitively, World War II ended. Victory’s texture was extremely uneven.
Making Do unpicks the devastating impact of World War II by focusing on fabric. As the war ended, a ‘textile famine’ loomed. Carruthers argues that material stuff – garments and footwear, as well as blankets and bedding – was critical to how Britons refashioned relationships within Britain and with allies and former enemies. Clothing lay at the heart of an interlocking series of postwar entitlement struggles. Clothes rationing, introduced in 1941, lasted until 1949. With clothing and shoes chronically scarce, policymakers, military commanders and humanitarians had to adjudicate whose needs to prioritize as uniforms were discarded in Britain and abroad. Service personnel, prisoners of war, former inhabitants of Axis camps all required ‘civilianized’ clothing as they reconstructed postwar lives. Making Do foregrounds mobility as central to the history of postwar adjustment, as millions of people and garments changed places and shapes. Military surplus found myriad new uses with people continuing to ‘make do and mend’. Carruthers offers an intimate portrait of everyday life in postwar Britain – and in transient spaces inhabited by veterans, relief workers, displaced persons and ‘GI brides’ – as they attempted to reconstruct new relationships in an age of persistent austerity shadowed by catastrophe.
Making Do unpicks the devastating impact of World War II by focusing on fabric. As the war ended, a ‘textile famine’ loomed. Carruthers argues that material stuff – garments and footwear, as well as blankets and bedding – was critical to how Britons refashioned relationships within Britain and with allies and former enemies. Clothing lay at the heart of an interlocking series of postwar entitlement struggles. Clothes rationing, introduced in 1941, lasted until 1949. With clothing and shoes chronically scarce, policymakers, military commanders and humanitarians had to adjudicate whose needs to prioritize as uniforms were discarded in Britain and abroad. Service personnel, prisoners of war, former inhabitants of Axis camps all required ‘civilianized’ clothing as they reconstructed postwar lives. Making Do foregrounds mobility as central to the history of postwar adjustment, as millions of people and garments changed places and shapes. Military surplus found myriad new uses with people continuing to ‘make do and mend’. Carruthers offers an intimate portrait of everyday life in postwar Britain – and in transient spaces inhabited by veterans, relief workers, displaced persons and ‘GI brides’ – as they attempted to reconstruct new relationships in an age of persistent austerity shadowed by catastrophe.
Building on a comprehensive conscription system established ahead of the French Wars, the Habsburg Monarchy could raise armies almost as large as those available to Revolutionary and Napoleonic France. But fielding a large force was not enough to win. Among the more prominent factors undermining Austria’s military capacity was the collective ethos of her officers, whose meagre pay, low social standing, and limited promotion opportunities bred indifference to military professionalism. While reform efforts by the talented Archduke Charles substantially improved the fighting effectiveness of the Habsburg troops, the Archduke never enjoyed the full trust of the emperor. Against Charles’ advice, in 1805 the army was pushed unprepared into war, resulting in a crushing defeat. In spite of far better military performance in 1809, the Monarchy’s attempt to take on the Napoleonic Empire single-handedly led to another costly failure. Forced to scale down its army in the Peace of Schönbrunn, Austria covertly retained much of its veteran manpower. In 1812, while nominally a French ally, further arrangements were set for a rapid expansion and training of her forces. When the Habsburgs have re-joined the war against Napoleon, the size and quality of the Austrian contingent tipped the balance in favour of the Allied Coalition ensuring Napoleon’s final defeat.
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