Christopher Priest - The Separation

Needless to say, in the same atmosphere of war preparations it took an act of special courage for those with anti-war sentiments to present themselves for the hearings.

In 1940 a central register of conscientious objectors (COs) was created and maintained by the authorities. A man could register as a CO on one or more of the following loosely defined grounds: The first was that he objected to being registered for military service; the second that he objected to undergoing military training; the third that he objected to performing combatant duties. There was no onus on him to prove his pacifist credentials. For example, the objector did not have to belong to a recognized religion or church, nor did he have to show a past commitment to pacifism, nor did he have to come from any particular political affiliation. The rules were left deliberately vague, allowing each applicant to present his own case in the way he thought best. At the same time, it encouraged the tribunals to judge each man and his case on merit.

J. L. Sawyer appeared at the first hearing I monitored on behalf of the Red Cross in Macclesfield, although it was not the first Local Tribunal that I had monitored.

Sawyer was a young man of striking appearance: he was tall, muscular and powerful-looking, with a comfortable stance and what appeared to be a calm, self-confident manner. His name meant nothing to me when I was given a list of attenders, although when I later found out that he was an Olympic medallist it came as no surprise.

The courtroom being used for the hearings was a small but imposing room, panelled in oak, with a high bench and a deep well, the clerk’s desk being placed at a level somewhere between the two. There were no windows, only skylights. The lighting was dim, in accordance with wartime practices. For anyone walking into the room for the first time, even as an observer, the overall impression was intimidating.

Sawyer’s application was heard halfway through the morning session. The tribunal had already turned down half a dozen applicants and give only conditional registration to two others. The members of the tribunal, a businessman, a local councillor and a vicar, struck me as constitutionally intolerant towards pacifists and suspicious of the motives for being one, determined to give each of the applicants as difficult a time as possible. I was taking extensive notes because I considered the Society would interest itself in the appeals, should any be lodged.

Before Sawyer was called, the clerk handed up to each member of the tribunal a typewritten copy of his statement. They scanned it briefly, before saying that they were ready.

Sawyer entered, glanced around the courtroom with evident nervousness, then took up the position he was directed to, standing in the cramped space of the back row of seats in the well of the court.

Asked to identify himself, Sawyer said, ‘Joseph Leonard Sawyer, aged twenty-three, of Cliffe End, Rainow, Cheshire.’

‘The members of the tribunal have read your statement, Mr Sawyer,’ the clerk said. ‘You do not have to take an oath unless you wish to. Do you wish to?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Is there anything you want to add to what you have written in your statement?’

‘Yes, sir. There is.’

‘Is it going to be relevant, Mr Sawyer?’ said the chairman of the tribunal, a man I knew to be Patrick Matheson, the owner of a large insurance brokerage in Manchester.

‘I believe so, sir,’ Sawyer replied, facing the bench squarely.

‘All right, but keep it brief. We’ve a lot to get through this morning.’

Sawyer glanced at the public gallery where I was sitting to take my notes, together with three other members of the general public, then at the press bench, where a reporter from the local newspaper was paying close attention to everything that happened.

As this is for the public record, sir,’ Sawyer said, ‘I will need to go over some of the material you have read in my statement, so that the rest of what I have to say will make sense to other people.’

‘Very well, but be quick.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Sawyer shifted position, trying to ease his muscular legs within the narrow confines of where he had been made to stand. ‘I have been a pacifist since 1936, when I travelled to Germany on behalf of my country and competed in the Olympic Games. Before then, I was too young to take much notice of world affairs, having been at school, then at university - ’

‘Which university was that, Mr Sawyer?’ Mrs Agnes Kilcannon asked.

‘Brasenose College, Oxford, ma’am.’

‘Thank you. Carry on.’

‘While I was staying in Berlin I came into contact with Chancellor Hitler and other members of the Nazi ruling party. I also saw at first hand the effects of their ruthless control over the country. My father was a conscientious objector during the last war, and what I saw made me remember what he always said, that the Treaty of Versailles was merely stoking the fires of future troubles. I saw much that alarmed me. Germany was controlled by the police and army, also by groups of armed militia who did not seem answerable to the authorities. Newspapers had been closed. Certain minority groups, like the Jews, were unable to work and were being constantly harassed by officials. Many shops owned by Jews had been burned. My friends in Berlin, with whom I was staying, were formerly a well-placed family, the man a doctor, his wife a translator, but because of the Nazis they were virtually unable to work. There were extensive laws which affected their most basic rights and freedoms. As well as that, I was shown convincing evidence that the Nazis were secretly expanding their army and had created a modern air force, in breach of the Treaty.’

‘If I may say so, Mr Sawyer, it is for reasons like these that most young men have taken up arms to fight Hitler.”

‘I know, sir, but I’m trying to show you that I’m aware of the danger Germany presents.’ Sawyer paused to look down at his own copy of his statement, which he was holding. I could see the page trembling. He cleared his throat and went on, referring to the statement but speaking from the heart. ‘I am personally convinced that war is wrong, no matter how good the cause. I am also convinced that although a war can be fought for what is believed to be an honourable reason, such as with the intention of forming a peaceful society, the war itself, by causing so much death and destruction, defeats its own object. Human suffering, pain, misery, separation and bereavement are inevitable when wars are fought. Violence, when opposed by other violence, creates a set of circumstances in which more violence will inevitably follow. Revenge, retribution and reprisal become predominant in people’s minds. They seek to hurt others because they themselves have been hurt. I know that views like mine are unpopular in wartime, sir, but they are sincerely held and openly expressed. I am applying for complete exemption under the Act and request you to register me unconditionally as a conscientious objector.’

After a short silence the chairman said, ‘Thank you, Mr Sawyer.’

The three tribunal members briefly consulted in whispers. The only woman on the bench, Mrs Kilcannon - later to be Lady Kilcannon but at that time the deputy chairwoman of Macclesfield Town Council - spoke up.

‘Do you have any evidence to show us that you have not trumped up your beliefs in the last few weeks, merely to avoid military service?’

Strictly speaking, Sawyer was not obliged to answer such a question, but he faced her steadfastly.

‘I do wish to avoid military service, but I have been working actively for peace since 1936. As soon as I returned from Germany I set up home with my wife and took a job as an adviser working with homeless refugee families in Manchester. I joined the Peace Pledge Union and committed myself to housing and prison reform. I began to work more closely with Canon Sheppard of the PPU and was appointed a national organizer. I was on the paid staff until the outbreak of war. I am still an unpaid member of the PPU National Council.’