Now It Can Be Told comprises of Philip Gibbs recollections regarding the First World War, in which he served as an officially commissioned war reporter. Titled in reference to the relieving of censorship laws following the conclusion of World War One in 1918, this book is noticeably different from the censored or dumbed-down accounts published under Gibbs' byline in popular newspapers as the conflict wore on. In this book, the full scale of the horror wrought in Europe is told unflinchingly with the aim of showing the depravity of conflict and the destruction that results. Early in the war, Gibbs' frank and accurate accounts of the carnage of modern warfare unnerved the British government, who were concerned his accounts would demoralize citizens and turn them against the war effort. Gibbs was ordered home; on refusing to cease reporting, he was arrested and forcibly brought back to Britain.

In the midst of the First World War concern arose as to the virtues of pursuing intoxication at a time of national emergency. As the military front was supposedly let down by drinkers and shirkers at home, attention quickly turned to British drinking practices. Britain, it seemed, was under the duress of a widespread addiction to boozing. When prohibition was deemed too extreme to contemplate, and nationalisation too impractical, the government created an organisation known as the Central Control Board (CCB). This body soon set about reforming the drinking habits of a nation. Loved by a few, but disliked by most, this group was responsible for the most radical and unique experiment in alcohol control ever conducted in Britain. The story of the CCB, how and why it was formed, its history and its legacy upon the British war effort are told within Pubs and Patriots: The Drink Crisis in Britain during World War One.

Memory, Narrative and the Great War provides a detailed examination of the varied and complex war writings of a relatively marginal figure, Patrick MacGill, within a general framework of our current pre-occupation with blood, mud and suffering. In particular, it seeks to explain how his interpretation of war shifted from the heroic wartime autobiographical trilogy, with its emphasis on 'the romance of the rifleman' to the pessimistic and guilt-ridden interpretations in his post-war novel, Fear!, and play, Suspense. Through an exploration of the way in which war-time experiences were remembered (and re-remembered) and retold in strikingly different narratives, and using insights from cognitive psychology, it is argued that there is no contradiction between these two seemingly opposing views. Instead it is argued that, given the present orientation and problem-solving nature of both memory and narrative, the different interpretations are both 'true' in the sense that they throw light on the ongoing way in which MacGill came to terms with his experiences of war. This in turn has implications for broader interpretations of the Great War, which has increasingly be seen in terms of futile suffering, not least because of the eloquent testimony of ex-Great War soldiers, reflecting on their experiences many years after the event. Without suggesting that such testimony is invalid, it is argued that this is one view but not the only view of the war. Rather wartime memory and narrative is more akin to an ever-changing kaleidoscope, in which pieces of memory take on different (but equally valid) shapes as they are shaken with the passing of time.