1919: STATEMENT AS TO DISABILITY.

When last we checked in on Pte. George Ramsay Acland Mills, S/440048, of the Army Service Corps, he had just completed work to gain his certificate in shorthand and typing on 18 December 1918, just five weeks after the signatures had dried on the Armistice that ceased hostilities on the Western Front.

George must have had it in his mind to return home to his new address in London. While in the service, his parents and sisters had moved from 38 Onslow Gardens in Kensington to the home of George's maternal grandfather, Sir George Dalhousie Ramsay, at 7 Manson Place, Queen's Gate, S.W. The aging Ramsay was 90 years old at the time, and had served as Director of Clothing at the Army Clothing Depôt, 1863-1893, in whose service he was named to the Civil Division, Third Class, of the Most Honorable Order of the Bath in 1882.

Sir George's wife, Eleanor Juliat Chartris Crawford Ramsay, Pte. George's grandmother, had passed away on 15 March 1918, a death which likely precipitated Sir George's daughter, Edith, and son-in-law, Rev. Barton R. V. Mills, and/or their children moving in with Ramsay.

Am I the only one who finds it remarkable that a completely unsuccessful and unsuitable army clerk like George Mills was given another chance to redeem himself, this time in the Army Service Corps—a corps affiliated with the Army Clothing Depôt, in which Sir George [right] had made a name for himself, in part for having begun the use of a twilled cloth called khaki under his stewardship?

Ramsay was ninety at the time, yes, but might he still have had some strings to pull down in the war department on behalf of his struggling grandson and namesake? That is, if, indeed, George had let anyone in the the family know of his difficulties!

Either way, we have no reason to believe that George did not begin work as a clerk somewhere in the Army Service Corps almost immediately after the completion of his training. With the Army Pay Corps already having commandeered the lion's share of the able clerks at the time, and with the APC probably then needing even more as soldiers began to demobilise, it's hard to imagine Mills didn't end up sitting in front of a typewriter somewhere, at a desk, typing something for someone.

Demobilization must have involved the Army Service Corps, keeping track of soldiers' issued items. Here's an excerpt from an on-line description of some of those duties written by Terry Reeves at the Great War Forum:

"Men were allowed to keep their uniform, with the exception of those discharged from hospital. Those arriving from overseas with steel helmets were allowed to retain them. Great coats could be kept, but £1-00p was deducted from the man's pay. He was issued with a great coat voucher however. If, within a specified period of time he handed it in at his local railway station, he would be reimbursed on the production of the voucher.

A Dispersal Certificate recorded personal and military information and also the state of his equipment. If he lost any of it after this point, the value would be deducted from his outstanding pay."

Mills may not have been involved in that sort of accounting and paperwork exactly, but when experienced clerks began doing those new tasks, it seems likely that their more routine chores would have fallen to him—the new fellow.

Mills hardly had a chance to warm his chair in the ASC, however, when he was called for demobilization and discharge as well. Reeves continues:

"Men were sent to special dispersal units for demobilization. Whilst there, they were issued with all the necessary documentation after which they would be sent on leave. For most men, demobilization automatically took place at the end of the leave period."

Not quite so for one George Ramsay Acland Mills, however. Here's a typed document from his file [left] that is dated 30 January 1919, some six weeks after completion of his own coursework in shorthand and typing, indicating he had finally had been selected for demobilization, but it didn't go through immediately. It reads: "O.C. Clerks Boy.   Please note that S/440048 Pte George Mills (group 43) who has been held up can now be spared for demobilization." It is signed by the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the Reserve Supply Personnel Depot of the Army Service Corps. The location given is "12, Eversfield Place, Hastings."

No reason is given for Mills having been held back prior to 30 January, but this document does seem to release him at that point.

But, wait! Not so fast….

Yet another document, this one a handwritten memorandum [right] penned by Capt. C. Washington of the Royal Army Medical Corps, medical officer in charge, R.A.S.C., at 26 Eversfield Place. It was sent to the "OC. Clerks boy" at "Warrior Square," and it reads: "3 February 1919    S/440048    P/E    G.R. Mills.    Herewith documents of above named man returned as he is undergoing treatment. Please cause him to report then(?) with documents on completion of treatment."

It was 3 February and Mills was held up yet again! This time it definitely appears to have been for medical reasons.

George finally did end up being demobilized, however, a process that seems to have started sometime in advance of 30 January 1919. On George's Army Form Z. 22., STATEMENT AS TO DISABILITY., he claimed he had not been disabled during his time spent serving under the Colours for the duration of the war. It was signed by the commanding officer of the RSPD, ASC, and clearly dated 31 January 1919.

Mills had been sent to make that "statement as to disability" the day after receiving the typewritten card above. Something must not have clicked, however, so scratch that: He was delayed again.

We can see on Army Form Z. 22. [pictured below, left] that Mills was finally given his demobilization physical in Hastings on 17 February 1919 by our old friend, Dr. H. R. Mansell, C.M.P. We can see that on the typewritten card mentioned above someone has scrawled "Action   18 — 2 — 19." George was finally on the move!

What had delayed Mills for well over two weeks, perhaps more than three, during which time he must have been simply itching to return to London and his family?

There is some ghost writing on side one of Army Form Z. 22. [click the form, left, to enlarge it] that can, in fact, be clearly be read on this sheet, not in the cells of the tables that have been left blank unilaterally, but in the marginal areas. To the left, we see the words "under treatment" written in script next to George's particulars (name, rank, serial number, etc.). It's hard to tell if it is written in pencil, or if it is the result of some misplaced carbon paper.

Above those same particulars, we again see written in a ghostly but clearly readable script—either in pencil or carbon—the words "Dobies Itch."

Dobie's Itch didn't jump right out at me immediately, first because I had no idea what it was. Based on a quick googling, I discovered that's because we in the United States today usually refer to it as "Jock Itch" (or the more vulgar "Crotch Rot"), while UK websites now call the same thing Dobie's Itch. Secondly, it never occurred to me that a soldier could be held up for nigh upon three weeks for that sort of seemingly insignificant treatment. Looking over literature from the era, however, it seems "Dobies Itch" may have been used then as another term for "ringworm."

Frighteningly, regarding Ringworm, Wikipedia states: "Dermatophytosis has been prevalent since before 1906, at which time ringworm was treated with compounds of mercury or sometimes sulfur or iodine. Hairy areas of skin were considered too difficult to treat, so the scalp was treated with x-rays and followed up with antiparasitic medication."

Indeed, on p. 735 of the 12 December 1918 edition of the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal (vol. 179) an article regarding x-rays, "Ten Years' Experience with Ringworm in Public Elementary Schools," states: "[T]his offers a convenient mode of epilation, which is necessary to get at the mycelium and spores... but the drawback is the time required, about two months; and, besides, there is the temporary baldness, and, theoretically, the fear of damage to the brain cells. It is also a somewhat costly method."

In the 1918 text Medicine and Surgery, H. H. Hazen, M.D., wrote an chapter entitled "Dermatology and the War." On page 145, he states: "Acne is objectionable chiefly because it is so unsightly I have already published my observations of x-ray treatment of the disease, and further observations have served to show that it is the quickest and surest means of cure, and permanent cure.

Ringworm of the groins has been common in men who have served in Gallipoli and Egypt. The British dermatologists report many such cases among the officers, and it is only fair to assume that the privates have suffered just as frequently."

It's hard to tell if that last sentence was intended to be a pun or not, but we must realize that, while "Dobie's Itch" may have been amusingly vulgar for the men to laugh about (then and today), the treatments 100 years ago were no laughing matter from the perspective of medicine nowadays. (I'm reluctant to use the term "modern medicine," for these horrible treatments were exactly that in 1918.) In fact, we recently read of the above Dr. Mansell's malpractice difficulties regarding his well-meaning use of x-rays simply to diagnose a broken leg!

Here's one last snippet, from a textbook called Diseases of the Skin by Richard Lightburn Sutton, published in 1919—presumably with treatments up to the 1918 standards that would have been applied to George Mills.

The section on treatment of ringworm begins on page 975, and the photographic illustrations are an absolute nightmare—b&w medical illustrations meet Heironymus Bosch [examples are pictured, left, and above, right]. Laboring under the assumption that the modern-day connotation of "Dobie's Itch" (sometimes Dhobi's Itch) as having something to do with the "crotch" might mean that George's treatment, circa 1918, focused in that specific area of his body, this may best describe his treatment. Let’s hope so.

The text reads: "In ringworm of the crotch and axillae [Sutton's emphasis], it is often necessary to apply soothing remedies, as Anderson's antipruritic powder, calamine lotion, and similar preparations first, and antiseptics later. Of the latter, an aqueous solution of sodium hyposulphate (10 to 15 per cent) is one of the best, although carbolized solutions of resorcin (2 to 10 per cent) and mild parasiticidal ointments (ammoniated mercury, suplhur, and salicylic acid) sometimes act well… Even after the disease is apparently eradicated, it is usually advisable to emply a non-irritating parasticide, as an ointment containing ammoniated mercury (2 to 5 per cent) or an aqueous solution of sodium hyposulphide, for a period of several weeks to guard against relapses."

If that wasn't the treatment he received—and that would have been the better choice looking at it from 2011, although why wouldn't they have thought back then that a combination of ammonia and mercury could do a body good?—then my heart goes out to Mills. If he underwent x-ray therapy, something we know was available to Dr. Mansell, it must have been horrific and might easily explain his inability to have children later in life.

Still, repeatedly swabbing ammoniated mercury on any part of his body, particularly this private's privates, couldn't have been particularly healthy or pleasant. While I'm sure his bunk mates snickered aloud at his itchy irritation, the entire affliction and course of treatment must have tormented Mills.

On 19 February 1919, Mills finally was demobilised by the Dispersal Unit at the Crystal Palace on Sydenham Hill (by automobile today about 17 miles south of his grandfather's home in Queen's Gate), perhaps with a parasiticidal ointment secreted on his person. He had been given his Army Form Z. 11. to take with him on his "leave," at the end of which he would become a civilian again.

George was home at last.

Is this story over? Not quite.

There would have to be one last strange episode in this saga of George Mills, Rifleman, Lance Corporal, Fatigue Man, Private, Student, and Clerk, and it would be almost a punch line to a running joke. But we'll look at that paperwork next time…

Post # 200: How to Navigate WIGM

This is the 200th post here at Who Is George Mills? I've been at this for a year now—so long that, when I started, I didn't know if George Mills was dead or alive. Had I known the answer last March 7th, you would be reading "Who Was George Mills?" instead!

Websites in a blog-format like this one can be notoriously difficult to navigate and use. I have tried to do a few things to make it easier, though:

• First, on the sidebar at the right, you'll find a Google-powered search engine that will specifically find words, years, or phrases found solely within this website. For example, in my last post I mentioned George's brother, Arthur Hobart Mills, spent part of the war in Palestine. Entering "palestine" will enable you to access every post containing that word (including this one).

• Below that you'll find a "Tag Cloud," in which the most popular 'threads' are contained [albeit in tiny print]. Recently we had been examining the lives of George Mills and his sisters, Agnes and Violet, as croquet players. Clicking "croquet" in the tag cloud will allow you to browse the thread in which all items are about the particular topic: Croquet.

• Farther below, you'll find access to my Blog Archive of posts from the past year. These are ordered sequentially from the most recent, dating back through the twelve months, regardless of topic. It may be the least efficient way to navigate these 200 posts, but there it is!

• Finally, near the bottom of the sidebar you'll find a list of the 10 posts that simply have drawn the most "traffic"—the most Popular Posts, if you will, for whatever reason.

Hopefully, these "gadgets" will allow you to navigate through this large amount of material with and use it with at least some semblance of ease!

I know that the 10,700-some "hits" this website has received over its first year isn't all that many. Sites like Amazon or ESPN probably get over 10,000 hits per second. Still, thanks to everyone who has been so kind and generous and who have made asking the question, "Who Is George Mills?" so interesting, rewarding, and enlightening for me!

1918: TRADE PROFICIENCY and a CERTIFICATE.

At this point, our trip through the WWI file of Pte. George Mills is nearly at an end. Reviewing some key dates, we know Mills joined the British Army on 15 January 1916 and was added to the Army Reserve on the 16th.

His service actually reckoned from 11 July 1916 when he was posted to the Rifle Brigade at the Rifle Depot in Winchester [pictured, left; a place Mills must have liked, aesthetically]. On 30 January 1917, Mills was appointed an unpaid Lance Corporal. Things, one assumes, must have been going well..

On 11 April 1917, exactly 8 months to the day after his posting, Mills was transferred to the Army Pay Corps at Buckland near Dover. The transfer is marked "on probation." Five days later, George, once again became a Rifleman (Private) and was officially transferred to the APC, dated 16 April 1917. What it meant to be "on probation" is not recorded.

Mills lasted just two days shy of 17 full months in the APC when he was "permanently and compulsorily transferred" out of the Pay Corps, which at the time was starved for able bodies to work, on 9 September 1918. We also know that was seen as someone who would not "ever make corporal," as was written in a review on his 16 April 1918 APC anniversary, and was then noted in writing as being "not much use" on 15 June 1918.

The Army Form W 5010 he carried with him to the O.C. Eastern Command Transfer Centre at Prees Heath [parade grounds pictured, right] designated him as a "clerk found unsuitable ," but also recommended that suitable duty for George would be "clerical work." Apparently just not clerical work at the incredibly busy Army Pay Corps!

The date of dispatch to his new assignment, "A.S.C. Supply List, Prees Heath, Salop," was 11 September 1918: The Army Service Corps.

Let's go to the paperwork to find out what happened next to a man who after a year and a half was found so utterly unsuitable as a clerk that he was permanently transferred out—obviously using a very special logic—to find work elsewhere as a… uh… clerk, seemingly the only military task suitable for him.

What does one do if one cannot find work, or doesn't like one's current employment? Education! Training! We'll find that's exactly what the army must have had planned for young George Mills, Private, failed clerk, and fatigue man.

There are two documents in his file that let us know exactly what Mills did immediately after posting to Shropshire on11 September 1918. They are obviously carbon copies of originals that probably went with him to his next assignment. [I have enhanced/darkened these images in PhotoShop, but there are still tricky parts for one to decipher.]

The first document is a stencil duplicate [I think we called them "mimeographs" when teachers gave them to us when I was a kid], probably on card stock given its relatively small dimensions and good condition. The stock would explain why some information was inked in advance—pressure through an upper layer of card stock wouldn't have worked very well with carbon paper. However, only the easy-to-read original, probably carried in a soldier's own hand to his new assignment, was likely to have mattered much in the grand scheme of army offices, circa 1918.

The first document is entitled "TRADE PROFICIENCY. CLERK." It announces that Mills had been trained at the military base [pictured, left] S.C.T.C. Fovant, at the village in the south of Wiltshire. Fovant is noteworthy because of the large-scale regimental badges that were carved by soldiers in a nearby chalk hillside, many of which have been restored today.

This item [pictured, below right; click to enlarge] reads "12892. I certify that Mills Pte. G.R. has been tested and proves himself a ………………….. clerk." The carbon handwriting in the blank is barely legible, but it appears that it may possibly be the word "first." I wouldn't wager much on that, however, and think it is far more likely to be "fair," beginning with what looks like a script "f." [It is unclear why that particular word, however, wouldn't have been capitalized as are the rest.] The "12892" is George's old APC serial number.

The next lines read: "Knowledge of Shorthand ………………..," and in the blank is written what appears to be "Theory only," and "Knowledge of Typewriting …………………," in which quite clearly is written "Fair."

We saw a bit of similar information last time, while looking at Army Form B 278 (List of Transfer Documents). Someone going through George's file had jotted the notation "G/ Theory/Fair" on that document. We see "Theory" and "Fair" in the preceding paragraph, those words having appeared in the second two blanks of the proficiency card. Is the capital "G" from yesterday a clue to decoding the word in the first blank today? Does it actually read "proves himself to be a Good clerk," with the partial carbon impression of a stylized looping of the cursive "G" merely resembling an "f"?

The date is also somewhat illegible, but it seems to read "Prees Heath, 13/…/18." Prees Heath is stenciled, as is the 18. It's interesting because Prees Heath is 180 – 200 miles from Fovant—not exactly just around the corner. George's excursions from Dover to Salop to Fovant and back certainly had him riding the rails in late 1918!

Mills had been taking typewriting and shorthand classes after arriving at the Transfer Centre. My wife, Janet, assures me that he would have needed shorthand fully if he was going to be a secretary. The fact that he was only accomplished in 'shorthand theory' meant that he could read and write it, while being unable to take actual high speed dictation. My hunch is that this training would have qualified him to transcribe shorthand notes in a typewritten form, as well as serving in all other ways as a clerk typist.

On the card the word "Accept" is written in ink and initialed. Mills has also been dealt a new serial number, also penned here as: "S/440,048."

Moving on to the second document, it is entitled simply: "CERTIFICATE." [pictured, left]. It reads: "Rank Pte. No. 440048 Name Mills, G.R. Of the Reserve Supply Personnel Depot has passed this Depot Course, and has proved himself a Very Fair Shorthand Typist. Date 18/12/18." It is signed by the Shorthand – Typewriting Instructor and the captain in charge of the School of Instruction.

Mills, we find, just before Christmas of 1918, finally had skills with which to compete with the male, and probably especially female clerks, that were populating army offices on the home front in England.

His success in gaining "Very Fair" competency at those typing and shorthand skills must have been somewhat bittersweet: On 11 November 1918, the armistice had been signed between the Allies and Germany at Compiègne, France, leading to the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front.

Although some fighting would continue on Germany's Eastern Front and parts of the Ottoman Empire—George's brother, Arthur, was in Palestine, you'll recall—it must have begun to look like his clerical schooling had been for naught. George, it appeared, would be going home soon.

But if you thought it would be that easy, you just haven't been following this story very closely. There would be a delay, of course. And in a rather elegant plot twist during a time marked by a deadly influenza epidemic, it would turn out to be health related—and not in a way that would make for polite dinner conversation.

Stay tuned for more. And don't worry: We'll get George home eventually…

1917 - 1919: Table III and Army Form B 278 (but no AFW 3068)

Tucked away in the WWI file of Pte. George Ramsay Acland Mills, we find yet another medical document, in this case referred to as a table. This item is burdened with the cumbersome title: Table III.—Boards; Courts of Inquiry, Vaccination, Inoculations, etc.; Examinations for Field or Foreign Service, Extension, Re-engagement, or Prolongation of Service; Issues of Surgical Appliances; Particulars of Dental Treatment, etc.

There are few entries, the first obviously by a clerk. It reads: "7 – 9 – 17     T.M.B.     No. 9 E.C.     Classified BIII.   Unlikely to become fit, not to appear before 1 – 3 – 18."

The next entry is stamped "6 APR 1918     No. 9     TRAVELLING MEDICAL BOARD EASTERN COMMAND ."

The series of handwritten entries show the location as "Prees Heath" in Shropshire, and read: "21 9/18     TAB/1," "28 9/18     Vacc.," and "5 10/18     LAB 2." It appears they are dates: 9 September, 18 September, and 5 October in 1918.

9 September 1918, as we know, is the date on which Mills was compulsorily transferred out of the Army Pay Corps.

Those entries are bracketed to the right, accompanied by the notation "BIII" and stamped with a floral asterisk, then signed below by a captain with an indistinguishable surname. It is all accompanied by a carefully penned word [pictured, right] that appears for the life of me to be "faithness," with a flourish preceding the initial "f." It could also read, I suppose: "NO faithness," if that is not a flourish.

(If anyone has any idea as to the meaning of that word, or if I haven't identified it correctly, I would welcome your assistance!)

Finally, dated "Hastings 17 – 2 – 19," the last entry reads: "Found fit for Cat. BIII & free (from) infect(ion)." It is signed by "H. R. Mansell, C.M.P.," likely at the Hastings Military Hospital, which existed from January 1917 to June 1919.

Arriving with George at Prees Heath on 9 September would have been yet another bit of paperwork, Army Form B. 278. This form, entitled LIST OF TRANSFER DOCUMENTS, would have catalogued all other documents that the OC Eastern Command Transfer Centre would have expected to receive along with the warm body of Mills.

Checked off [left; click to enlarge] were the following forms: AFW 5010, Field Conduct Sheet (Army Form B, 122), AFW 3068, Company Conduct Sheet, Medical History Sheet, Active Service Casualty (Army Form B 103), and the Regimental Conduct Sheet.

We've actually examined all of these forms at this point except one: Army Form W 3068, which was added in handwriting to the above form. This form is simply not in Mills file. Army Form B 122, however, has been copied (front and back) twice within the file. It is unclear if AFW 3068 was missed during that duplication error, or if 3068 was simply misplaced and lost.

Doing some research, mention of AFW 3068 was found in an on-line obituary for a British soldier named Frank Bourne, a driver for the Army Service Corps' 800th Horse Transport Company, who died of influenza on 5 October 1918. Here's an excerpt:

"He joined the Army Service Corps and became T/4/143126. After enlisting Frank's war was at home as he wasn't posted for nearly a year. On the 29th February 1916 he was transferred from the Essex Regt depot at Warley and went to Woolwich. Army Form 3068 shows that he left with two pairs of boots, one cap, two drawers, 2 jackets, one pair of puttees, two pairs of trousers, one cardigan, and one drab greatcoat, but was not issued with a cap badge or razor."

It would probably not be of great interest to anyone except a git like me, but I'd have liked a look at that form—although why I'd need to know he had a pair of puttees or a cardigan tucked away, I don't know!

The only other notation on this List of Transfer Documents are the following items, written in script, and stacked one atop the other: "G/ Theory/ Fair." It doesn't seem to be located in a particular place as much as it appears to have been a quickly dashed notation in an empty space.

I have a hunch what that note regards, but I'll save that for another time. After all, George has just arrived in Prees Heath, and we have more discover regarding his transfer to the Army Service Corps.

Incidentally, Dr. H. R. Hansell was apparently a civilian doctor who did the final medical examination on George Mills in Hastings upon demobilization and George's release from service.

One can read a bit about Hansell on-line at Google Books by entering the search phrase "Dr. H. R. Hansell," including the particulars a malpractice suit for the misuse of Röntgen rays in diagnosing a woman's fractured thigh and her subsequent radiation burns. (35 minutes under an x-ray machine might have been a bit excessive, but all agreed that was normal.) He also was an accomplished soloist, having belted out "masterly renditions" of Non è Ver and Queen of the Earth at a "lengthy and well-varies musical programme" at the Queen's Hotel in Hastings on 10 February 1910 (at least according to The Dickensian).

Isn't the internet an amazing invention for those of us who love trivial and virtually pointless information? Imagine how wealthy I might be if I put this kind of research effort into, say, investing in the stock market!

Anyway, for more about George Mills and his brief stay in Shropshire before demobilisation in 1919, stay tuned…

1916 - 1919: Table II.—Only for Admissions to Hospital or to the Sick List in the case of Warrant Officers treated in quarters.

After recently delving into the medical history of George Mills, 1916 – 1919, I realize it may call into question his overall health. Was he ever quite ill during his stay in the service, and did sickness in any way hinder the performance of his duties?

Given the deadly worldwide outbreak of influenza during that time, was it possible that his military career was curtailed due to the Spanish flu?

While I can't say that, on a day to day basis, Mills never suffered from the sniffles or a twisted ankle, I can say that anything of that ilk must not have amounted to much.

One glance at a document called Table II.—Only for Admissions to Hospital or to the Sick List in the case of Warrant Officers treated in quarters. [right; click to enlarge] allows us to see: Nothing. 32 rows and 7 columns of empty cells.

It's possible that Mills was considered some things that had a negative connotation during his time beneath the Colours, but "sickly" was very likely not one of them!

The eventual demobilisation of George Mills in 1919 would be delayed several days because he was "under treatment," and we'll soon see for what. For now, however, suffice it to say that Mills was never hospitalized and his experience during the First World War seems to have been characterized by youthful good health.

1916: MEDICAL HISTORY.

It's a cool, crisp, clear morning here in Florida's horse country. The coffee is hot and strong, though, and it's time to dig into something I've been putting off for a while now. This, however, is where it "fits."

In our last post, we took a look at the situation in which George Mills found himself while serving the Army Pay Corps. Mills was born with some advantages—his father, Rev. Barton R. V. Mills, M.A. Oxon, had inherited a great deal of money upon the death of George's grandfather—and had received an education, as we've seen at Parkfield School in Haywards Heath and Harrow. The senior Mills served as an assistant chaplain in the Chapel Royal, had helped conduct the services for the late Queen Victoria, was a member at the Athenæum, and was a published author and respected biblical scholar.

The 1911 census has the Mills family living in London in a 20-room abode with seven servants and a governess for George's sister, Violet, at their 12 Cranleigh Gardens, S.W., home during the count. Rev. Mills, listed as a "Clergyman, Church of England," had sent his son, George, to Harrow at the time. George attended Harrow from 1910 – 1912, and lived for at least some of his time there in an arts & drama-oriented house called The Grove.

His breeding must have made Mills a polite, fairly intelligent boy, as evidenced by his proclivity for writing later in life, and he must have been a keen observer of people. None of those skills would have proven particularly useful when he landed in the Rifle Brigade, though, in 1916.

What was Mills like physically at the time? Would he have some advantage in that regard? Fortunately, we have Army Form B. 178., George's MEDICAL HISTORY, to examine.

Mills was examined at the Town Hall in Kensington in January of 1916. He stood 5 feet 10 inches tall—above average for the time—and weighed 131 lbs. His chest, as we've seen on another document, was 30 inches at rest and 33 when expanded, making him somewhat slight.

His "Physical Development" is described as merely "fair."

The record notes he'd been vaccinated in his infancy and had four resulting marks on his left arm.

His vision in each eye was a perfect 6/6. [Is it possible this was the reason he was originally assigned to the Rifle Brigade, which had been originally formed to provide sharpshooters?]

Now, this is where the form gets interesting. It is signed by two gentlemen, and if I am reading the signatures correctly, they were probably Drs. Waley and Draper. Well, presumably they were physicians. The handwriting of both is attendant in section "(b), Slight defects, but not enough to cause rejection."

It appears Draper examined Mills first and recorded the examination particulars mentioned above as well as the following in section (b): "Varicose veins both lips. Impediment in speech."

Mills then seems to have been passed on to Waley, who amended Draper's observations about George's varicose veins with "rather severe" and adding "left thigh." He also observed, "Some slight deformity both elbow joints."

Varicose veins, at the time at least, seemingly were not uncommon among military recruits. While statistics from the British army of the era are not readily available on-line, the book Army Anthropology: Based on Observations Made on Draft Recruits 1917-1918, released by the United States Surgeon-General's Office, recorded data from millions of WWI recruits.

The average American recruit (among the first million taken at the time) stood 5' 7 ½" tall and weighed approximately 141 ½ pounds. Their study of varicose veins sufferers among those recruits concluded that the affliction was most likely to occur in northern Europeans. They also note: "It appears at once that the population with varicose veins is characterized by great stature. There is a marked deficiency of men below modal stature and a marked excess of men above… enforcing the conclusion that men with varicose veins are those afflicted primarily because of their tall stature."

Mills, at 5' 10", would have been of "tall stature," at least in the American army. What is odd is that Mills, standing in the 1957 Devonshire Park group croquet photograph, does not appear to be unusually tall among the men on that upper riser. In fact, he appears to be of average size, at least among many of the era's croquet-playing British males.

The report also concludes that varicose veins are more common among men with greater girth, something that was clearly not the case with the slightly built Mills.

A 1919 Bulletin (Issue 11) from the U.S. Surgeon-General's Office describes recruitment guidelines regarding varicose veins at the time of George's enlistment in this way:



We can't see George's thigh, circa 1916, but I suppose we can assume, since it wasn't his lower leg that was affected, there also must not have been evidence of edema or ulceration for, despite the 'severity' of his varices, he was accepted.

Regarding George's lips, it seems that the varicose veins there must have been either hemangiomas or venous lakes. Neither of these contemporary terms seems particularly suitable: We see no evidence of hemangiomas in that same Devonshire Park photograph in which George, completely clean shaven, seems entirely unafflicted.

In fact 80-90% of all hemangiomas are resolved by natural involution by the age of nine, and most are found on female babies. Mills, however, was over 19 years of age and distinctly male when his were observed and recorded.

Venous lakes, then, may seem more likely as they occur in males in 95% of all cases, and have only been reported in adults. However, they are most common among men over 50 years of age. The average age of presentation of venous lakes is 65. The term "venous lake" is a relatively new one, though, having been first described as such in 1956. That means, for our purposes here, we'll have to look back in time a bit!

In a 1918 medical text, Surgery and Diseases of the Mouth and Jaws: A Practical Treatise on the Surgery and Diseases of the Mouth and Allied Structures, by Dr. Vilray Papin Blair, the author describes "venous and capillary angiomata."

In a section on page 539 called "Tumors of the Blood Vessels," the author writes: "Capillary nevi [lesions], similar to those seen on the skin, composed of a mass of dilated capillaries, occur on the tongue, cheeks, and lips… [Upon] the lip they may be continuous with a wine spot [hemangioma] upon the face. They are of a bluish color, darker than their surroundings, and at the periphery an interlacing of small vessels is visible. They may be single or multiple or may converge into the venous cavernous form of angioma."

Dr. Blair writes of those angiomata: "Parts of the lips, cheeks, and floor of the mouth and face may be converted into a soft, compressible tumor of a bluish color on its mucous surface and slightly more reddish on the external."

His suggestion for treatment: "As a general proposition, all angiomata should be destroyed or removed." I'll pass over some graphically disturbing methods of destroying some angiomata and continue as he relates: "[There] are three lines of treatment that may come within the domain of good surgical practice: (A) the ligation of vessels; (B) the destruction of the mass by acupuncture; and (C) the excision of the mass, either by dissecting it out or by cutting through the surrounding healthy tissue."

After much more graphic description of ligatures and excision, the author concludes his discussion with the sentence: "Small, and even large, nevi have been destroyed by the electric needle."

Are these angiomata what actually afflicted George's mouth? It certainly may have been the more specific diagnosis at the time, but we'll probably never know. It does seem extremely likely, however, that George Mills must have undergone treatment for those "varicose veins" upon his lips after the war, probably before his lavish wedding in 1925.

Regarding the "slight deformity" of his elbow joints, apparently the most common deformity would be either cubitus valgus [a turning in at the elbow of the 'carrying angle' of the arms] or cubitus varus [the opposite condition, turning out].

In a 1916 text from the Harvard Medical Library, Surgery: Its Principles and Practice, edited by William Williams Keen, M.D., the two deformities above are described thusly:



One cannot know if Mills was afflicted with either condition of the elbows, and whether it may have been the result of an injury or by possibly having contracted "rickets." Still, it was presumably so slight that it wasn't noted by the first examining physician.

Lastly, we find Mills had an "impediment in speech." That's of some contemporary interest as the film, The King's Speech, recently made away with a treasure trove of Academy Awards for its depiction of George VI's struggle with his speech impediment.

In an article in the Quarterly Journal of Public Speaking, vol. 3, 1917, "Correction of Speech defects in a Public School System" by Pauline B. Camp describes studies of 89,077 St. Louis, Missouri, school children and 4,862 Madison, Wisconsin, pupils discovered rates of speech impediments at 2.7% and 5.69% of those populations, respectively. The discrepancy was caused by the fact that the St. Louis study was done via written questionnaire, making the Wisconsin results apparently more reliable.

The impediment categories suggested in the studies were stutters, lispers, and those with 'miscellaneous defects.'

The author relates: "A child with a speech defect is not only held back in school because of his inability to express himself, but is also poorly adjusted to social and economic conditions when he is through with school." This was apparently true in the United States at the time, and while I am uncertain it was the same in Great Britain, I suspect it might have been. Please let me know.

The author quotes a Dr. Wile, then a member of the New York City Board of Education, as saying: "The more pronounced the effect, the more limited the field of activity… The importance of discouragement, anxiety, family distress, embarrassment, diffidence, and shyness upon the development of high moral character cannot be estimated."

Dr. Wiles goes on to discuss how "moral degeneration" is linked to speech pathology, and the author quotes Dr. James Sonnett Green of the National Teacher's Association: "'Living at the tips of one's nerves' through an impediment of speech tends to develop vicious circles of instability, resulting in an increase in criminals, prostitutes, and general failures."

Clearly, Mills was not a criminal or a prostitute, but this was apparently a relatively prevalent view at the time, at least in the United States. And it isn't a stretch to think that George would have been considered a "failure" during his tenure in the army during the First World War, especially as he was sent packing by the Army Pay Corps. It is extremely easy to visualize how "discouragement, anxiety, family distress, embarrassment, diffidence, and shyness" could combine in a young George to produce a soldier with little ability to make an impact while serving in uniform.

Add in the fact that his half-brother, Arthur Frederick Hobart Mills, had attended Sandhurst and was a decorated war hero, having been wounded as a platoon commander in France and Belgium during 1914. Arthur convalesced while writing at first newspaper and magazine articles about his war experiences, and then two popular books, With My Regiment: From the Aisne to La Bassée [Lippincott: Philadelphia, 1916] and Hospital Days [T. Fisher Unwin: London, 1916], seen right. In 1916, Arthiur also married the Lady Dorothy Walpole, daughter of the Earl of Orford before returning to continue serving the Colours in Palestine and China.

When it came to sibling rivalry, young George was simply unprepared to compete, especially in the armed forces. That certainly must have weighed on him.

We now know the adolescent George Mills who showed up at the Town hall in Kensington for his physical was tall in stature, but slight of build, with slightly deformed elbows, varicose veins on his covered thigh and his very much exposed lips, and with an unidentified speech impediment that very likely gave him tendencies to be shy, anxious, and easily discouraged.

A glance at the literature regarding the era's treatment of speech impediments ranges from letting a child outgrow the condition all the way to hypnosis. George and his family, much like the Royal Family in The King's Speech, must have been overwhelmed in trying to determine what, exactly, was the best course of treatment.

A note at the very top of Army Form B 178 reads: "Now Class C.I (One)," and is signed by a Lt. Ellis and dated 11 July 1916, some six months after George's initial examination. There is also a ghost of a Roman numeral 3 (III) beneath that inscription, as if it had been incompletely erased. Was this a prior classification as BIII? There is also a lighter script nearby, though in ink, that also seems to read: "Class. IV.a." followed by the circled word "No."

Whatever, Mills ended up being accepted into the service, classified as BIII, and assigned to the presumably combat-oriented Rifle Brigade, although there seems to have been some negotiating and/or revision before that was determined.

We now know more about George Mills and his physical condition as he entered the military, although, for example, exactly what affliction impeded his speech remains a mystery—unlike George VI's [dramatized, right]—at least until we can find someone who conversed with him.

We can also now surmise a great deal more about George and how he must have dealt with his military life from 1916 - 1919. It wouldn't be a leap to say that his experience must have left some metaphorical scars on him. We also don't know how much of all of it he shared with his family and how much he internalized in a stiff-upper-lip fashion, the latter of which may have psychologically made things worse.

The combination of his physical condition and his military experience had to color the rest of his life, and in some interesting ways. We'll speculate about that another time—this certainly has been a lot to absorb during one sitting!

More immediately, we recently left Mills as he was permananetly and compulsorily transferred out of the Army Pay Corps in September 1918. For any sort of happy ending to occur for George in terms of the military, he would need training—the acquisition of actual, useful skills.

We'll soon look at what those skills were. Stay tuned…

Sidebar: Women, Technology, War, and the Army Pay Corps

It may be instructive at this point to examine what sort of an operation the Army Pay Corps was during the tenure of George Mills from 11 April 1917, when he transferred into Dover (presumably voluntarily), to his permanent and compulsory transfer out on 9 September 1918.

John Black published a paper entitled War, women and accounting: Female staff in the UK Army Pay Department offices, 1914-1920 in the Accounting History Review, Volume 16, Issue 2, July 2006 , on pages 195 – 218. Its abstract describes the situation in which members of the APC found themselves at the onset of hostilities during the First World War:

"The role of the APD [Army Pay Department] offices was to manage the pay and allowances of soldiers of the British Army, using the 'Dover' system of military finance and accounting which had been introduced in 1905 along with the command structure of the Army Finance Branch. The flexible 'Dover' system coped with the unprecedented increase in bureaucracy as the strength of the army rose from 140,000 in 1914 to over 5 million by 1918."

A valuable 2008 book, Women and Their Money 1700-1950: Essays on Women and Finance, edited by Anne Laurence, Josephine Maltby, and Janette Rutterford, features Black's detailed essay describing the operation of the APD and APC during the First World War, with their emphasis being on the women staffers. At one point, by some estimates, 28,000 women were employed in the department and corps.

One interesting part of the history of army payrolls is that apparently the system previously had been retrenched and reformed, leaving the APD and the APC in a state of temporary abandonment from 1904 to 1910. Black writes: "The onset of total war [in 1914] resulted in the urgent need for industrial as well as military expansion and mobilization… [and] for enormous administrative and clerical support, as the immediate bureaucratic expansion of the financial system of the Army caused a near-meltdown of the existing system."

The need for assistance resulted in women being recruited as unofficial volunteers to help at the Army Pay Office at Woolwich between August and the end of October 1914. The War Office, however, didn't approve and ordered their removal.

Ironically, just one week later, in November 1914, women were officially recruited for work in the War Office Finance Branch, working on "matters involving separation allowances and the disposal of the effects of soldiers who were battle casualties."

Black continues: "From January 1915 the War Office began to officially recruit clerks on a temporary basis for employment in all APD establishments, including the army pay offices… From 1915 onwards, there were increasing numbers of women clerks employed within APD establishments in the UK measured against the decline of male clerks from 1915 to 1920."

What we see here is that the Army Pay Corps, overwhelmed at the opening of hostilities and in need of clerical help, likely took advantage of as many BIII classified soldiers as possible. George Mills was probably a somewhat hot commodity, even in 1917, coming over from the Rifle Brigade where he'd served as an unpaid Lance Corporal. Even if Mills had left that brigade due to any sort of deficiency, physical or otherwise, we can see that an extra pair of hands would have been considered a boon to the suddenly burgeoning and understaffed APC.

Black also explains: "The loose-leaf ledger system was introduced into the army pay offices during 1915, some moths after the official recruitment of women clerks… [It] possibly accelerated the numbers of women clerks needed to operate the 'mechanical' function successfully. The number of women clerks recruited by July 1915 numbered only 479… Six months later in January 1916 the number had risen to 4,556 and by July 1916 had risen to 9,304."

The author also points out that expansion of the army's pay services spiraled because the "notion that the war begun in 1914 would be a short one, over by Christmas, had evaporated in November 1914," and the services suddenly needed to rethink what was necessary to meet such increased and prolonged demand. New technologies were introduced to pay offices that wouldn't find their way into other sections of the military until after the war.

Not only had loose-leaf mechanics replaced leather-bound ledgers, but stencil duplicators were also in common use, as well as "Qwerty" keyboard typewriters. Evidence of the use of all of these modernisms can easily be found in the WWI records of George Mills. The author also asserts that there is ample evidence the "Burroughs adding machines and other labour-saving devices were also being used at this time."

Black goes on to suggest that there was a "shallow learning curve" associated with the daily APC routine, and that "women and girls whose previous employment may have been as machine operatives and other unskilled factory work took on the role as compiler clerks within the army pay offices very quickly."

The payroll office in Nottingham in 1916 did research that "tends to demonstrate that the transfer of mechanical skills from blue collar to white blouse was quick and effective both in training and performance."

Not everyone was in agreement, however. A contemporary document, the Griffiths Committee Report, related the fact that up to 70% of clerical work in offices was being done by female labour, "much of it an inferior and inexperienced type… The majority of the remainder being men unfit for combatant service and many of them hardly fit for strenuous office work."

While this report certainly knocks the women working for the APC, it is certainly not the least bit flattering to the men in those offices, either. George Mills was likely not alone in being seen as a relatively useless cog in a increasingly complex paperwork-generating machine that was desperately in need of skilled assistance. In 1916, for example, the Army Pay Office dealt with "660,000 accounts, while 25,000 postal communications postal communication are received each day," many of which required follow up investigations. That overwhelming workload would have steadily increased as the war dragged on into 1917 and 1918.

One must keep in mind that Black has pointed out that the APD and APC were at the vanguard ushering in office technologies that most would have found uncommon at the time, especially in the UK. He offers the following quote: "In the United States [at the time] office mechanisation was driven in large part by an ideology of systematic management; this ideology did not make it to Britain until after World War 1."

Finding enough capable workers to operate in fast-paced, increasingly modern offices full of the latest technology—yes, even the clacking typewriter was still 'modern technology' at that time—must have been a yeoman task. A man like George Mills, schooled at Harrow and sequestered in the The Grove, a house "strong in Art and Drama, and increasingly in Music, with a longer reputation for sporting prowess," was unlikely by education or by breeding—George was great-grandson of the Aclands of Killerton, grandson of rich and powerful Arthur Mills, MP, and son of well-to-do cleric and biblical scholar, the Rev. Barton R. V. Mills—to have had even the most remote clerical skills to allow him to keep pace with his distinctly plebeian office mates.

The patience shown by harried superiors is unlikely to have been much, and his situation must constantly have been tenuous at best. I will offer this olive branch of understanding to Mills regarding reverse-sexism that must have bitten him often at the time: Officers watching civilian women of that "inferior and inexperienced type" outperforming him, with his 30-inch chest and upper-crust upbringing, on a daily basis for an entire year must have, indeed, made him seem, by comparison, like one of the biggest failures in khaki.

And there were certainly enough women around to outshine him continually. In March 1917, a month before George Mills transferred into the APC, its overall military manpower was 7,693. That was augmented by 959 male civil clerks and a whopping 11,920 female civil clerks.

In August 1918, just before Mills was unceremoniously shown the door, the totals stood at 11,761 APC military staff, 997 male civil clerks, and a stunning 17,532 female civil clerks in the employ of the Pay Corps.

Between August 1918 and December 1918, the staff of the APC ballooned from that 11,761 figure above to 18,184—an influx of 6,423 actual soldiers in just four months—to reach its high water mark of wartime military staff.

However, at least one soldier was being transferred in the opposite direction, and involuntarily at that: Pte. G. R. Mills, APC 12892.

In a branch of the military so obviously starved for labour, it must have been quite an indictment of Rifleman George Mills to have been described, as we've seen, as a "fatigue man" who wouldn't "ever make corporal" and was simply "not much use."

To have been summarily and permanently sent on his merry way must have been a crushing blow to young and sensitive George, whose Uncle Dudley Mills was a highly respected captain in the Royal Engineers, and whose elder half-brother, Arthur Frederick Hobart Mills, was a recent war hero who had been wounded in France and awarded the 1914 Star, the British War Medal, and the Inter-Allied Victory Medal [left].

This is not to imply that George's family would have been ashamed of him in any way. Still, he would have to have been utterly oblivious or the owner of a certifiably bullet-proof self-esteem not to have felt injured to some degree by the way circumstances had played out for him.

George Mills—Army Form W5010 in hand and on his way to the O.C. Transfer Centre in September of 1918—would need to reinvent himself, both as a soldier in what was left of the Great War and as a potential member of the workforce when peace finally arrived.

How much of the responsibility he must have borne himself, perhaps out of laziness or even an initial feeling of disrespected privilege, is open to conjecture. It seems clear, though, that the slight, polite, and possibly even timid (at least by comparison with other recruits) Mills was quite unprepared in a great many ways for his military duties.

Next time we'll examine in more depth some of the medical reasons Mills had been classified physically as a BIII, including some issues that certainly couldn't have helped matters at all.

1916 – 1919: Army Forms B 120, 121, and 122

We are taking a break from our examination of the retirement years of George Mills, much of which was spent with his sisters, Agnes and Violet, at Grey Friars in Budleigh Salterton, as well as on croquet lawns all around south and central England.

Today, we'll stay with our look into the military files of George during the First World War, from 1916 – 1919. Last time, we found that the youthful Mills was having difficulty making any sort of lasting mark in the service, having been compulsorily transferred out of the Army Pay Corps while serving as a 'fatigue man.'

Before we examine what happened to George Mills after his departure from the APC, it may be fair to take a look at some other records in his file. It is distinctly possible that Mills may have been dismissed from the Pay Corps due to misconduct, and that he may have drunk, brawled, or even 'thieved' his way out the proverbial door.

One glance at his conduct record, seen above on Army Forms B. 120., B. 121., and B. 122. [above, left; click to enlarge] are all quite obviously free from any taint. In fact, after having been filled out upon his beginning to serve the Colours, the only amendments occur when he was transferred and subsequently assigned new serial numbers.

These documents clearly show that Mills engaged in no detrimental conduct—there is not even an entry in the blank requiring the date of his "last drunk"—and he received no punishments.

These pristine and extremely wide, open spaces also provide evidence of something else: During his entire tenure during the Great War, Mills never received what Army Form B. 121. refers to in whole as: "Good conduct badges, service pay, or proficiency pay."

Mills certainly has no black marks on his record. In fact, Mills apparently made no mark in any way, positive or negative. No bad conduct. No conduct. Not a single thing.

His transfer out of the Army Pay Corps must simply have been based on competency—or lack thereof—and we do know that officers during his tenure in the APC at Buckland, Dover [right], did not see much potential in a certain Pte. G. R. Mills.

Would things be different when he reached the Army Service Corps?

We'll soon know! Stay tuned…

1918: DISPOSAL OF SOLDIER PASSING THROUGH THE TRANSFER CENTRE.

Late summer, 1918. The turning point in the First World War. The Battle of Amiens opened a string of Allied successes that is now known as the Hundred Day Offensive, a massive attack initially coordinated by Gen. Henry Rawlinson of the British Fourth Army integrating the use of tanks, aeroplanes, and artillery in support of a suddenly highly-mobile infantry and cavalry, ushering military tactics out of the trenches and into a modern age of warfare.

Rawlinson's powerful strike on August 8, 1918, had been cloaked in secrecy, and its aftermath led to the nervous breakdown of German General Erich Ludendorff, the 15 October mustard gassing of a bitter young German soldier named Adolf Hitler, and the signing of the 11 November Armistice.

Rawlinson's desire for secrecy in the days leading up to the Battle of Amiens even manifested itself in this unusual way: The British Army's Army Pay Corps had pasted a message into the latest pay books of their troops ordering them, if captured during the offensive, to give only their name, serial number and rank, the message concluding with the words: "Keep your mouths shut." Word of Rawlinson's new stratagem could not be permitted to leak.

While I am uncertain whether those pasted messages were inserted into pay books in Great Britain or abroad, at more advanced pay headquarters on the continent closer to the front, we do know that in August 1918, George Mills was a serving the war effort as a clerk in the APC back in England.

What exactly his duties may have been at the time is unknown, but carrying the rank of Rifleman, or Private, to the APC may not have endowed him at first with responsibilities far greater than care of those glue pots.

Mills had been transferred out of the Rifle Brigade and into the APC on 16 April 1917. By 9 September 1918—almost a month to the day after what Ludendorff had called the "the black day of the German Army," Mills was unceremoniously and involuntarily transferred out of the Army Pay Corps [above, right; click to enlarge images].

Army Form W5010 is entitled DISPOSAL OF SOLDIER PASSING THROUGH THE TRANSFER CENTRE. Mills is listed with his requisite details: "G. R. Mills, 12892 Pte., APC, BIII, Student," but the telling phrase here seems to be "disposal of soldier."

This form contains the additional information: "How employed in present unit: clerk found unsuitable ."

The next entry says: "Recommendation of OC. Transfer Centre as to duty for which suitable clerical work ."

Mills apparently arrived at the Transfer Centre and had this form stamped on 10 September 1918. The document is also stamped PASSED FIT FOR EMPLOYMENT ON A.F.W. 5010. The next handwritten entry is: "Unit and Corps to which transferred and Station ASC Supply List Prees Heath, Salop ."

After some 17 months on the job in the Army Pay Corps, Mills not only hadn't earned a promotion, but was compulsorily forced out. On 13 April 1918, the Regimental Paymaster in Dover sent a message [at left] to the "Officer 1c." in charge of Mills asking if he might, after a full year in the APC, "specially recommend" George for "promotion to the rank of Lance Corporal with pay @ 2/— per diem from that date." (A raise from what we know was his 1/8 pay rate.)

The next day that form was returned to Dover without ever having been filled out, along with this handwritten note [right]: "R.P./ I do not think he will ever make a corporal. He is a satisfactory fatigue man." The Regimental Paymaster subsequently jotted: "Then we have no right to recommend his promotion."

Another document, this one handwritten in what appears to be pencil on scrap paper, is dated 15 June 1918. Presumably this one is also about George Mills, and it reads:

"Sir/ This man is not in this section now. He is on fatigue with Harbinson the messenger, was one time in Lan…s section. Is not much use I fancy."

The signature of the author of the message and the receiving officer are not legible to me, but can be seen in the image at left.

While I'm not 100% sure what the term 'fatigue man' meant in the British Army circa 1918, it hasn't been a position of honor on the United States military. A WWII veteran, Bill Oneby of Wisconsin was drafted into the army out of high school in 1943 and said in an interview: "I was a fatigue man. It was a sort of holding pattern for some recruits while the military decided where they should serve."

One does get the feeling that despite being 22 years old in 1918 and having received something of a Harrow education, as well as already having served as an unpaid Lance Corporal in the Rifle Brigade (a promotion that certainly did not last), the army still didn't know what exactly to do with George Mills.

It must have been somewhat disheartening for George to realize that after two years in the army, Mills was ostensibly still just the 'fatigue man' sidekick of the company messenger in the APC.

On 27 September 1918, British war correspondent Philip Gibbs wrote of the aftermath of that decisive Battle of Amiens: "On our side the army seems to be buoyed up with the enormous hope of getting on with this business quickly" and that German soldiers on the Western Front "no longer have even a dim hope of victory on this western front. All they hope for now is to defend themselves long enough to gain peace by negotiation."

While the British, Australians, Canadians [pictured, right], French, and Americans pursued the retreating Germans, Mills was being trained for clerical work outside of the APC, where he definitely had not been held in great esteem.

Failed APC clerk George eventually would end up in the Army Service Corps in Prees Heath, Shropshire, and acquire some new skills that would serve him well through the Armistice and well beyond. We'll take a look at all of that sometime soon!