Gas Mask Bag

The canvas satchels that men carried in my youth were visible everywhere. They were entirely a male thing; girls didn’t have them at all. Cyclists wearing capes and bicycle clips would carry them with a flask and a bike-pump sticking out, teachers would carry books, Teddy-boys would have Brylcreem, flick-knives and the Melody Maker in them and almost every donkey-jacketed working man or student radical carried his lunch box (often an OXO tin) in one. Boys bags would contain cigarette cards, jacks, catapults, ammo, Dinky Toys and comics. Your bag could hold your football boots and kit on sports days, or your swimming gear for a visit to the lido.

But the perfect use for a gas mask bag was for fishing. You could get bait, reel, tackle and even some lunch in there. If you caught a couple of trout, they would go in the front pocket.

They were so ubiquitous that we hardly noticed them: they were just cheap gas-mask bags. Despite spending our childhoods in bomb-sites and having air-raid shelters in our gardens, post-war babies had no memories of wartime horrors. The bags were just useful; not at all sinister.

The khaki colour was perfect. It wasn’t frivolous; it looked sensible and a bit sporty, like a safari bag. Lately they have become a cult item. Indiana Jones carried one in all four movies. There are countless bags on sale today with many refinements such as leather straps and trims, extra pockets and zips. Some are made for carrying computers and some for hunting and shooting. Ladies in Barbour coats carry them with pride. I own two of these modern bags myself; one for fly-fishing and one for my cameras and notebooks. It’s as plain as the nose on your face that these modern bags all owe their origins to the humble gas mask bag.

My fishing bag was probably a Mark 7, made in India. In the tie-dye, psychedelic “Summer of Love” I coloured it a deep red and painted a yellow sunburst over the dark stains made by years of wormy hands. I then used it to carry my collection of flutes, whistles and harmonicas around Bristol where I was a student. It smelled of joss-sticks and, just slightly, of Mother Earth. I wonder where it is now.

When you remember that the bags were designed for a very specific purpose, it’s amazing how perfectly things fitted into them. The main compartment was usually divided into two equal sections, side by side. Your flask could go in one and your lunch in the other, or your tin of worms and your reel.

If you think about it, the bags were so universal that it’s possible that we automatically chose containers that would fit, or even that manufactures designed flasks and sandwich boxes specifically to suit the bags.

I have written to the Imperial War Museum to see If I can find out more about the origins of the gas mask bag. I suspect that all the later models are just refinements of the original bag which was made in World War 1 when gas was extensively used in the trenches. But who designed that bag?