How a post-1918 ‘adoption’ scheme of French towns left its British mark

Visitors to northern France might have wondered why there is a Rue de Birmingham in Albert, a Rue Bristol in Béthune, or a Rue de Bexhill in Bayencourt.

These are nothing to do with town-twinning, which mostly happened after World War Two, but because of an extraordinary post-World War One scheme that is otherwise now largely forgotten.

Most of us have seen pictures of the devastation left behind after the 1918 Armistice, but have you ever wondered how those desolate battlefield areas turned into the peaceful countryside you see now? Cemeteries and memorials remind us of the desperate fighting that churned up those fields, but the landscape is once again tranquil, so it is easy to forget how much of France was once left in ruins.

The statistics are stark: the Armistice left a wasteland 650km long and up to 30km wide; 333 million cubic metres of trenches needed filling; barbed wire covered 375 million square metres of one of the country’s most productive agricultural regions; 293,043 private buildings had been totally destroyed and another half million damaged.

In addition, 2,400km of railway needed restoring, along with stations, bridges and tunnels, and 1,890km of canals and rivers had been put out of use.

Restoration of these devastated regions might have seemed an impossible task, and there are still areas – the zones rouges – that were too hard to reclaim and remain untouched, under pine forests, even today.

The spirit of the French paysan – and his attachment to his terroir – is hard to break, however. Even though the French government warned people to stay away until armaments had been cleared and safe water supplies secured, they risked their lives to return to what remained of their homes.

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Some were provided with temporary shelters, but others survived freezing winters in bombed-out cellars and ditches.

This is what impressed Lilias, Countess Bathurst when she toured the area on a sketching holiday in early 1920. Not many remember her now, but she owned the Morning Post newspaper and press magnate Lord Northcliffe described her as “the most powerful woman in England without exception – other than Royalty”.

She decided something must be done and she used the influence of her newspaper to launch the British League of Help for the Devastated Areas of France in just a few weeks, with the support of heavyweight figures such as Winston Churchill.

The aim of the British League of Help (BLH) was to encourage towns and cities in the UK to adopt, as “godmothers”, towns and villages in France – ideally, in areas where local British soldiers had served and died. It was hoped that Britons would rally round and help fund a water supply, a hospital, new homes, even some livestock… anything to help the French get back on their feet.

The BLH was launched with great enthusiasm at London’s Mansion House on June 30, 1920. Within two years, 75 British towns and cities, as well as Eton College, had adopted 97 French towns and villages. Bizarrely, the village of Lagnicourt (Pas-de-Calais) was adopted by the Ladies' Hairdressers of Great Britain to mark the 70th birthday of Marcel Grateau, inventor of curling tongs and the Marcel wave, who was born there.

Some places did very well out of the arrangement. Albert (Somme) was adopted by Birmingham, which generously provided a hospital building, an old people’s home and a fire engine.

During my research for an MA dissertation, however, it became clear that response to the BLH’s appeals was patchy. Despite an initial promise to get involved, Leeds, for example, ultimately failed to do so – the biggest UK city not to sign up.

Local newspapers gave a clue as to why. One was running a “squandermania” campaign at the time, demonstrating that there is nothing new about austerity. Letters to the editor expressed strong views. One correspondent wrote: “No wonder ex-servicemen are indignant at the idea of adopting other people when, I expect, like myself, their wives cannot get boots, clothes or food for their own little kiddies. Like the men, I say ‘charity begins at home’.”

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This was a common theme. Foreign secretary and former viceroy to India Lord Curzon declared: “I am all against this ‘Adoption’ business on the ground that ‘charity should begin at home’ and that I do not believe the French towns, which are adopted, are in the least grateful for it.” 

Another Yorkshire town that did adopt a French village was textile-producing Halifax. It immediately sent clothing to Metz-en-Couture, in Pas-de-Calais – but not a lot else. A Durham bull and an Ardennes stallion were provided, but the bull, in the care of the mayor, soon died, and the donations dried up.

A visit to Metz-en-Couture mairie last year revealed that this was not because of a lack of generosity on the part of the people of Halifax. Rather, it was, according to the village historian, because the mayor’s wife died during the war, and he had taken up with a younger woman – so he had other things on his mind.

Ultimately, the BLH scheme fizzled out, largely because post-war Britain had problems of its own, but Halifax’s adoption of Metz-en-Couture had an interesting postscript.

In 1921, Metz-en-Couture council voted to rename its main square in honour of Halifax. It never happened, but many years later, the village historian, then the deputy mayor, decided to make good on that promise.

On February 12, 2011, two days short of 90 years after the original vote, with suitable ceremony and in the presence of the mayor of Halifax, the village’s central square was finally renamed: Place d’Halifax.