‘If I had a conscience, I would not drink tea’: How having a brew was used to undermine conscientious objectors

Black, with a drop of milk, or classic builder’s in a mug with two sugars; however you like your brew most of us would agree that tea is a cornerstone of British culture, but a new exhibition shows that for conscientious objectors of the First World War, admitting to tea drinking was seen as a sign of hypocrisy and cowardice.

By March 1916, the British Government was desperately short of soldiers. Conscription was introduced and all able-bodied men between 18 and 41 were ordered to fight in the Great War. The only exemptions were awarded to men who had a job essential to the war effort, the sole carers of dependents or those who could prove a ‘conscientious objection’.

To be exempted from the fighting, conscientious objectors had the task of publicly proving to an often hostile tribunal that it was conscience and not cowardice that spurred their refusal to fight.

Not many conscientious objectors would have anticipated having to defend their consumption of the nation’s favourite drink during that process, but papers featured in a new exhibition at St John’s College, University of Cambridge, reveal that tribunals asked questions about tea-drinking habits in an attempt to undermine and ridicule applicants.

100 years ago, Francis P White was a 23 year-old undergraduate at St John’s College and a conscientious objector on religious grounds. He kept a diary and tucked press clippings from the local papers into its pages. The articles he collected reported on the tribunals of Conscientious objectors from across the Cambridge Colleges. One, from the Cambridge Weekly News, 1916, reports on his own hearing along with those of three other students from St John’s.

All four men had already been granted exemption from combative service, but the military was appealing against the decision on the grounds that they were not ‘bona fide conscientious objectors’. Bizarrely, the crux of the argument seems to have rested on whether or not they drank tea. As a taxed good, consuming tea was seen as a contribution to the war effort, which, for the tribunal, equated to ‘providing money for someone else to fight’. When the appellants queried how it was possible to live without paying these taxes, they were told that there was always water – ‘nature’s drink’.

During his tribunal, Francis was asked if he had attended meetings for a society of conscientious objectors at St John’s College, he denied any knowledge of such things, leaving his interrogators stumped as to ‘how it is they all come from St John’s?’. However, hidden between the pages of his diary, Francis kept his invitations to secret meetings to ‘consider procedure before the tribunals’, which were held in the rooms of Fellow of the College, Ebenezer Cunningham. 

Years later, when he came to write his memoirs at the age of 90, the only thing that Ebenezer, who was also a conscientious objector on religious grounds, could remember about his own tribunal was a baffling question about tea: “the Chairman asked me, ‘do you drink tea?’. I said I did, to which he replied ‘Well, if I had a conscience, I would not drink tea.’ I did not quite understand his objection.”

The diaries of Francis and Ebenezer are just two of the fascinating items going on display for the exhibition, which is part of the Cambridge Festival of Ideas. Through letters, diaries, pamphlets and photographs, the display explores the powerful role that members of the College have played in challenging accepted norms and agitating for political change.

In the case of many of the torch-bearers in momentous political movements featured in the exhibition, they began to formulate their ideas and political identities while students at St John’s, something that is unsurprising given that universities are often a hotbed for discussion and debate.

Thomas Clarkson first became aware of the evils of the slave trade when he was set the question “is it right to make slaves of others against their will?” for a Latin essay. After investigating the trade, Clarkson was gripped by its horrors and injustice and one of the greatest radical movements of human history was launched. Clarkson was to team up with another graduate of the College and Member of Parliament, William Wilberforce, and their combined efforts helped to bring about the Abolition Bill in 1807. 

Highlights of the display include Clarkson’s personal signed copy of the parliamentary act for the abolition of the slave trade along with the diary he kept during the evidence-gathering and building of grassroots support that would lead him to ride some 35,000 miles on horseback. 

For many of those who engaged in political conflicts, their actions had dangerous consequences as they found themselves on trial for treason or, like Clarkson, the targets of murderous plots. The man instrumental in the foundation of the College, Bishop John Fisher, lost his head for standing in the way of Henry VIII’s divorce, but 1530 copy of his treatise on the ‘King’s Great Matter’ is displayed in the exhibition thanks to Fisher’s ally, the Spanish Ambassador, Eustance Chapuys, who ensured the survival of the original manuscript by smuggling it out of the country.

A shock to the system: St John’s and movements for political change is open on Saturday 29 October from 10am to 4pm in the Old Library at St John’s College. Entry is free.