First World War centenary: How women got stuck in

Jennie's philanthropic instincts mirrored those of millions of older women, many of whom spent the long years of conflict as part of a vast domestic army, working hard on the home front. The story of those doctors, nurses and ambulance staff who worked on the frontline has been well documented and lauded, but in Scotland, beyond the roar of the guns, women who had never so much as baked a scone or polished a spoon volunteered as nurses, cleaners and canteen staff in the hospitals and convalescent homes that sprang up everywhere. Others acted as impromptu entertainers for recuperating patients, or organised concerts, outings and fundraising events to raise money for the cost of hospitals at home, or to pay for beds in troop hospitals, such as Royaumont Abbey, which surgeon Elsie Inglis had set up in Val D'Oise, on the Western Front.

Some, as the first surge of recruitment abated, went on marches to persuade men to enlist; and some have gone down in the annals of ignominy and ignorance for aiding the work of the Order of the White Feather by anonymously posting white feathers to men they believed should be at war, regardless of the fact that a good number of their targets had been exempted for reasons of poor health or occupation. There is no record of how many signed up under such duress. In one instance, in 1915, the fiancee of a Musselburgh man, hearing of another man from the town who had won the DCM, said that the next person to be so distinguished should be her future husband, and handed him a white feather. Coaxed, bullied or shamed into it, he married her, joined up, and was killed two years later in Roeux.

Such inglorious acts aside, the history of the First World War is in part the history of women being recognised for what they could do and how willingly they did it. Woman - The New Discovery was the title of a pamphlet by suffragist Eunice Murray, recording the praise women were winning for their remarkable endeavours while their menfolk were gone.

At the outbreak of war, most suffragettes put politicking behind them and turned to charitable work, helping, for example, to form organisations to offer financial help to the families of servicemen. One such body, established mainly by co-operative societies and trade unions, was the War Emergency Committee, with its team of 14 "Lady Visitors" who would assess the claims of those in need. Between 1914 and 1918 it disbursed over £4,000 pounds to almost 1,800 applicants, £1,000 of which was for food and clothing. The official history of the committee stated that "to those ladies who worked so hard and faithfully during the whole four and a half years we owe a debt we can never repay".

North and south, east and west, women were stepping into men's shoes, keeping farms and fishing and businesses going, or trying to bring up families suddenly bereft of a father, son or brother, and struggling with hardship as well as grief. Much has been written about the indomitable Glasgow women who rebelled against an unjustifiably high rent rise and threats of evictions in the early autumn of 1915, but their spirit typified the mood of the times. Marching with banners that proclaimed "Defence of the Realm: Government must protect our Homes from Germans and landlords or the Public will protect Themselves", they went on rent strike. Their actions swiftly defeated the landlords, and one can see why. This newspaper, then The Glasgow Herald, reported one factor, who had ventured into the area, being "pelted with bags of peasemeal and chased from one of the streets by a number of women, who upbraided him vociferously".

Among the most remarkable efforts of women during the war were those who went into heavy industry. Nowhere in Britain was this more the case than on Clydeside, where munitions factories sprang up in the wake of the "shell scandal" of 1915, when there was not enough ammunition for the army. Women who had formerly been seamstresses, shop assistants, tailors, librarians and domestic servants, now took up posts in iron, brick and cement works, steel mills, foundries, and boiler and chemical works where they made bombs, steel helmets, grenades, and gas cylinders. The weights some jobs required them to carry were eye-watering, far exceeding the usual tasks allocated to women elsewhere in Britain. This has led historian Myra Baillie to speculate that "there were cultural expectations in Scotland that women were sturdy creatures who could and would perform hard physical manual labour". And so it proved.

Nor was this work undertaken merely by the "labouring" classes, as the middle classes and even the gentry rolled up their sleeves. As society belles did their bit, headlines screamed, "Factory Hands Arrive In Motor Cars". Such women, however, were treated far better, allowed tea breaks and perks their supposedly social inferiors did not enjoy. It was no wonder class resentment seethed in some factories. And, as middle-class women were put into management posts, tensions mounted.

Well paid though it was, munitions work was hard and dangerous, and many quickly dropped out. Yet some enjoyed it. In March 1916, Jeanie Riley of the Gallowgate in Glasgow wrote to her husband, Private James Riley, who was stationed in France: "I am still sticking in at my work. I will be an engineer before long ... There are 25 more women coming in on Monday ... and we were told that the amount of work we do in three weeks would have taken the men three years and, Jamie, the men are quite mad at us ... I am up at half past four every morning, so I will have you up at the same time when you come back if God spares you. It will be a right laugh in the mornings when we start narking at each other, you will be flinging me out to work."

Another who relished her new role was the wife of a sergeant in a famous corps of horse. She spoke to a reporter in November 1915 who could not hide his admiration: "She is well endowed with this world's goods and has no need to work, but she says she could not stay at home while her husband is fighting. I ask if she likes the work - in her case it involves a good deal of manual labour - and she replies, 'I simply love it, and nothing would keep me at home ... ' When I ask if she considers she is well paid, the brave soldier's wife replied, 'They make me take about 20s a week' ... "

An observer at another factory noted: "Hitherto you have looked upon dynamite as something to be regarded politely from a safe distance, as if it were a rattlesnake. The girls handle it, however, as coolly as if it were sand on the floor."

Newspapers were filled with pictures of women in overalls and mob caps standing beside their lathes, and the press's fascination with the better-off taking up such posts added to bitterness on the factory floor where most of the work was done by their working-class colleagues.

As the machinery of war turned, so the fingers of knitters and stitchers flew. Particularly famed for their handicraft were the women of Orkney and Shetland, who produced tens of thousands of garments for men at the front and those invalided home, including one-legged trousers and one-armed shirts for amputees. A letter in The Orcadian from the 1/5th Seaforths in 1916 records: "The Orkney boys wish me to express thanks to the Needlework Party. The socks arrived in good time. We had just come out of the trenches with wet feet and I can tell you we were thankful the parcel had arrived."

Shetland women were used to their men being away at sea, and in some ways the war changed little for those who had always had to keep the land and home fires in order.

Nevertheless the vigour of their charitable work was impressive, and as war escalated they worked in shifts to help those whose ships had been torpedoed. As one recalled: "Truly, it was a pitiful sight to see men landed often in the thinnest clothing, the water pouring from them and blue with cold, having often been in open boats for hours in a bitter east wind and rain."

Patriotic acts abounded countrywide, but not all women's fervour was helpful to the war effort. In the early months of the conflict a new contagion was observed, taking hold wherever there were barracks or military outposts. Known as Khaki Fever, it needed to be cured, and quickly. In the town of Elgin, for instance, there was a problem with "swarms of young girls [who] are constantly molesting the soldiers". Schools hastily introduced lessons for senior girls on "hygiene and purity", but it was felt more drastic action was required. With the support of the local constabulary, Women's Patrols were established in areas plagued by young women's excessive enthusiasm for any man in uniform.

In the borders one such patroller, Lady Katharine Scott, used her powers of persuasion to dampen excitement in Hawick. Her former governess recalled: "Night after night, on cold winter evenings, she would start out into the dark lanes and side streets to look for girls who were hiding there with soldiers."

According to Scott's biographer, if her ladyship found soldiers in the company of drunk girls "she would go fearlessly up to the group and, quietly reasoning with the women, persuade them to let the soldier go". How these men reacted to their liberation is not, alas, recorded.