Tag: visual sources

Creating an identity through clothing: a Renaissance merchant’s fashion book

For the second year UoP History module, The Hidden Lives of Things, taught by Dr Katy Gibbons and Dr Mary Cannon, for their assessment, students have to produce an ‘object biography’ for a historical artefact. Sadie White chose a sixteen-century German fashion book.

Mathäus Schwartz by Hans Maler, painted in 1526 when Schwarz was 29, Musée du Louvre, Paris

Described as “The First Book of Fashion,” Matthäus Schwarz of Augsburg’s Klaidungsbüchlein or Trachtenbuch or “Book of Clothes” is a fascinating object.[1] This object biography explores Schwarz’s reason for producing this book, entangling ideas of self-reflection linked to the Renaissance, the importance of clothes and the idea of sentimentality. It will explore the book’s lifecycle and how someone’s relationship with an object can change its function and importance. Throughout, Riello’s approach of a “history of things” will be prevalent, placing the object in its cultural and personal context.[2]

The book itself contains over one hundred and thirty-seven colourful self-portraits that reflect upon the clothing Schwarz wore throughout his life.[3] Each page is around sixteen by ten centimetres, produced on parchment paper with vivid watercolour paints, a rarer medium of the time.[4] Also included on each page is a description of the outfit, alongside his age and occasionally the reason the outfit was worn, which Schwarz scribed himself. Schwarz worked closely with the artist Narziss Renner for four-fifths of the book, until Renner died in 1536. [5] Woodward argues that objects are “the material embodiment” of the human effort that first creates them.[6] Meeting Renner when he was just twenty years old, portrays the personal effort involved, Schwarz entrusted Renner to produce something important to him. The personal relationship between the patron and the artist was paramount in the book’s creation: after Renner’s death, only twenty-nine more paintings were produced for the book. [7]

An entry showing Matthäus as a young man, aged 21.

This leads to why Schwarz created such an object in the first place, it appears that it was intended as a personal project, that would have probably only been shared with family or close friends.[8] This is interesting as it represents the object as being self-reflective, an idea that coincided with the increase of personal documents such as diaries during the period.[9] The creation of this book started in 1520, the year that Schwarz secured his position working as an accountant to the Fugger merchants, “captains of industry” in Augsburg.[10] This position represented a turning point for Schwarz, restoring family honour after the public execution of his grandfather.[11] This idea lends itself to the book having a diary-like nature as Sangha argues they reflected the way people interpreted important events in their lives.[12] Sangha also argues that self-examination at this time was usually focused on one aspect of someone’s life, for Schwarz, this was clothing.[13] During the early modern period, clothing was intrinsically linked to social status, as Prieto argues clothes were used to “fashion oneself.”[14] Therefore the creation of the Book of Fashion exemplifies the reflection of identity through clothing. Vincent asserts that clothing was a choice of “self-presentation,” Schwarz was choosing to present and remember his life through his clothes.[15] Art and fashion were “imbued with meaning,” therefore the book provides an insight into the way people chose to perceive themselves and reflects how the culture of the Renaissance meant art was just as contemplative as writing.[16]

Matthäus Schwarz painted aged 45 in 1542 by Christoph Amberger, Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid

The Book of Fashion demonstrates arguments that have started to become prevalent in the historiography of material culture, the rejection that objects are inanimate and instead that they can possess agency.[17] If the owner of an object “ascribes meaning” to it, this can lead to an emotional attachment.[18] Schwarz created this book over forty years, exemplifying that there was a relationship between the object and himself, it evoked reflection and memory through the creation of it, hence creating a personal connection.[19] Books and emotions, Downes argues, are intrinsically linked, as they proved the connection between material culture and how people used it to express emotion.[20] For Schwarz, this emotional expression is evident through the remembrance of events in his life, and the remembrance of his love of art and clothing through the object’s creation. Undeniably, The Book of Fashion had agency in Schwarz’s life because it was how he chose to remember his life, particularly key events such as weddings. This is also telling of human behaviour, why he deemed certain outfits and events as important passageways to include. Important events linked to an object are key to building sentimentality towards an object, as Fletcher argues.[21] Therefore as a book, it is an entanglement of nostalgia, passion and emotion that held forty years of life in it.

Electress Sophia of Hanover (1630-1714), Princess Palatine, bought Matthäus’s fashion book after his death. Portrait by Gerrard van Honthorst, National Trust, Ashdown House, Berkshire.

The final important analysis when discussing the book is its lifecycle, how it survived and the changing meaning it acquired through the passage of time. Matthaeus encouraged his son to work on creating a similar book, demonstrating his sentimentality towards the book. However, his son scarcely carried the project on, adding to the personal nature of the book, and its specific socio-cultural context. During Matthaeus’s time living in the rich industrial centre of Augsburg, there was a Renaissance trend of increasingly realistic portrayals of both the self and clothes in portraits, seen through the work of artists such as Daniel Hopfer.[22] This links to self-observation and explains why Schwarz created this object the way he did in 1520, and why it is a specific outcome of the cultural context. After Matthaus’s death, the book came into the possession of his granddaughter, who sold the manuscript to Jeremias Steiniger.[23] This shows the loss of personal importance of the book. His granddaughter had no relationship with him and thus no relationship to the object. With no emotional connection, the object lost its agency. In this case, it was sold, considering this was not the original intention for creation, it demonstrates that as a relationship changes with an object so does the purpose of it. It is thought that the manuscript was then sold to Sophie Electress of Hanover and two copies were made, one remaining in the Imperial Library in Paris to this day. [24] Vastly different from its original purpose of self-reflection, it now acts to reflect on the values of the Renaissance and how books are the mirror of the culture that made them.

In conclusion, The Book of Fashion when studied as an object brings to the forefront many ideas surrounding the Renaissance. It shows us the rise of self-reflection and how people carried this out through a myriad of media, whilst simultaneously exemplifying the role of objects in this process. Another salient analysis of the Book of Fashion is the clear agency it had throughout Schwarz’s life and the importance he attached to creating the object. This is why the book held a fascination, it was a personally reflective object, yet it created this reflection through art and clothing, which in turn provides huge insight into the culture of the Renaissance.

To discover more about clothes and the construction of Renaissance masculinity, read our 2017 post on King Henry VIII’s wardrobe by Andrew McCarthy.

[1] Ulinka Rublack, “Introduction,” in The First Book of Fashion: The Book of Clothes of Matthaeus and Veit Konrad Schwarz of Augsburg ed. Ulinka Rublack, Maria Hayward and Jenny Tiramni (London: Bloomsbury Publishing 2015), 3.

[2] Giorgio Riello, “Things that shape history,” in History and Material Culture: A Students Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources ed. Karen Harvey (London: Taylor and Francis, 2013), 25.

[3] Rublack, “Introduction,” 3.

[4] Rublack, “Introduction,” 3.

[5] Rublack, “Introduction,” 20.

[6] Ian Woodward, Understanding Material Culture, (London: Sage, 2007), 82.

[7] Rublack, “Introduction,” 10.

[8] Rublack, “Introduction,” 3.

[9] Laura Sangha, “Personal Documents,” in Understanding Early Modern Primary Sources, ed. Laura Sangha and Jonathon Willis (London: Taylor and Francis, 2016), 107.

[10] Mark Haberlein and Gerda Schmid, The Fuggers of Augsburg: Pursuing Wealth and Honor in Renaissance Germany (Virginia: Virginia University Press, 2012), 2.

[11] Rublack, “Introduction,” 3.

[12] Sangha, “Personal Documents,” 112.

[13] Sangha, “Personal Documents,” 115.

[14] Laura R. Prieto, “Clothing,” in Approaching Historical Sources in their Contexts: Spaces, Time and Performance ed. Sarah Barber and Corinna M. Peniston-Bird, (New York: Routledge, 2020), 184

[15] Susan Vincent, Dressing the elite: Clothes in Early Modern England, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 7.

[16] Vincent, Dressing the elite, 5.

[17] Stephanie Downes, Sally Holloway and Sarah Randalls, Feeling Things: Objects and Emotions through History, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 8.

[18] Downes, Holloway and Randalls, Feeling Things, 9.

[19] Stephanie Triig and Anna Welch, “Objects, Material Culture and the History of Emotions,” Emotions: History, Culture, Society 7 (2023): 7.

[20] Stephanie Downes, “Books,” in Early Modern Emotions ed. Susan Broomhall (London: Routledge, 2016), 132.

[21] Downes, Holloway and Randalls, Feeling things, 13.

[22] Rublack, “Introduction,” 5.

[23] Rublack, “Introduction,” 21.

[24] Rublack, “Introduction,” 21.

June 14, 2024
A photograph in a riot: How much can we believe?

Photographs provide compelling insight into the past, but can we trust them to give an accurate depiction?[1]. Second-year UoP history student Becky Platt shows how a photograph seemingly showing an argument between a woman and a protestor during the poll tax riot in London in 1990, is shown to have a very differing story from the account of the woman in the picture. It is a great example to discuss how far we can believe a photograph to depict an event accurately. Becky originally wrote this piece for the 1^st year history module Traces of the Past: Exploring Lives Through Sources.

The photo portrays a man and woman arguing with each other over a railing[2]The man appears agitated, and although we are unable to see his face, it seems he may be speaking angrily towards this woman as he is gesticulating with his free hand. What cements this is that he is being restrained by a police officer in riot gear, this gives the impression that the police officer is protecting the woman from the man. The woman is leaning forward against the railing to speak to the man, and within the context of the rest of the photo it seems as though she is arguing with him. Within the picture we can see a further two police officers standing to the side, both in riot gear. Overall, this looks to be a clash between two civilians, the man and woman, with the police officer trying to pull the man away, perhaps to protect the woman from him. However, how much should we believe this to be a true representation of what occurred on that day?

Source: James Bourne, Wikimedia Commons

To give context to this photograph we need to discuss the introduction of the incredibly unpopular poll tax, as it was known publicly[3], which eventually led to a riot in London on 31 March 1990[4]. Within government this was called the Community Charge and it was introduced in April 1989 in Scotland, with England and Wales following the next year[5]. The reason for its overwhelming unpopularity was due to everyone paying the same amount, no matter what wage you earned, and it being applied to every adult[6]. This was crippling for some people who were having to pay bills significantly higher than they had been previously[7]. A demonstration was held in London against the poll tax on 31 March 1990 with thousands of people coming out to march, and which eventually devolved into a riot[8]. In the following days the media reported on the riot with condemnation against the civilians involved in them but many suggestions have been made that following a peaceful sit-down riot police were dispatched and charged into the crowd, a provocation leading to retaliation [9] [10]. The article in which the photo was included appeared in The Independent newspaper on 7 April 1990 under the title “The Mob’s Brief Rule”[11]. The use of the word mob leads readers to form a negative viewpoint on the event and the article goes on to blame the violence on “hoodlums and political extremists”[12]. Within the article this photograph is labelled “A West End shopper argues with a protester who is being taken away by the police”[13] which seemingly confirms the initial thoughts upon viewing it and readers may assume this depiction was accurate.

What is so interesting about this photo is the rebuttal from the woman in it, which gives credence to the idea that the riot police had been antagonistic. According to her account, which was published in The Independent a week later, the riot police had grabbed a young girl without provocation and were being rough with her. She states that the photograph shows the young girl’s male companion trying to get to her but being held back by the police, whilst she was attempting to convince the man to calm down due to the risk of arrest[14]. This paints a very different picture and contrasts how it is framed within the news article. It is a perfect example of how photographs can be misinterpreted despite their apparent truthfulness. The inherent danger with photography is the assumption that a photograph is an accurate representation of an event, without considering other aspects[15]. When viewing a photograph, we are seeing a snapshot of an event, but we are often missing further information regarding the circumstances and reasoning from the people captured[16], as is clearly shown when this woman refutes the initial assumption. The woman goes on to condemn the actions of the police, which gives a different perspective on the police, casting them in a bad light[17]. It is important to note that while we have received extra insight from the woman in the photo, we have not heard from the man being restrained, nor from the police officers. These perspectives could also show a different viewpoint of what occurred on this day. The photo and its rebuttal show the importance of viewing photography critically and not believing it to be fact. Nowadays, particularly with the rise of photo editing software, people understand that photos they are viewing could be falsified in some way. However, this software is relatively new, and I believe it could be overshadowing the need to be wary of assumptions that we know what is going on even with photos that we believe show an accurate image, such as those published in newspapers. The over saturation of photographs these days leads to a certain amount of carelessness when viewing photography. We are bombarded constantly with images, and we often glance and assume, with no real interrogation of what we are seeing.

This photograph is an incredible representation showing why we should not take images at face value. A photograph initially assumed to show a woman arguing with a protestor, corroborated by the labelling in the news article where it was displayed, has been shown to be a misinterpretation as stated by the woman within the photograph. It demonstrates the importance of thinking critically when viewing photography and not just glancing at a photo and assuming you understand what is being depicted. It does also lend itself to further discussion and interpretation as we are still missing perspectives, such as those of the man being restrained and the police officers. It is a fascinating case which provides such an interesting discussion with respect of the use of photography as historical sources.

Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/neilhester/3629487913

[1] Derek Sayer, “The Photograph: the still image”, in History Beyond the Text: A Student’s Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources, ed. Sarah Barber and Corinna Peniston-Bird (London: Routledge, 2009), 49.

[2] Richard Smith, 31 March 1990, in “The Mob’s Brief Rule,” The Independent, April 7, 1990, 78.

[3] Danny Burns and Mark Simmons, Poll tax rebellion (Stirling: AK Press, 1992), 10.

[4] Anthony Seldon and Daniel Collings, Britain under Thatcher (London: Taylor & Francis Group, 1999), 50.

[5] Danny Burns and Mark Simmons, Poll tax rebellion (Stirling: AK Press, 1992), 10-11.

[6] Ewan Gibbs, “Historical Tradition and Community Mobilisation: Narratives of Red Clydeside in Memories of the Anti-poll Tax Movement in Scotland, 1988-1990,” Labor History 57, iss. 4 (2016): 439-62.

[7] Danny Burns and Mark Simmons, Poll tax rebellion (Stirling: AK Press, 1992), 10.

[8] Danny Burns and Mark Simmons, Poll tax rebellion (Stirling: AK Press, 1992), 87-89.

[9] Poll Tax Riot: 10 hours that shook Trafalgar Square (London: Acab Press, 1990), 61.

[10] Danny Burns and Mark Simmons, Poll tax rebellion (Stirling: AK Press, 1992), 89.

[11] Alexander Chancellor, “The Mob’s Brief Rule,” The Independent, April 7, 1990, 77-79.

[12] Alexander Chancellor, “The Mob’s Brief Rule,” The Independent, April 7, 1990, 79.

[13] Alexander Chancellor, “The Mob’s Brief Rule,” The Independent, April 7, 1990, 78.

[14] R A Sare, “Eye-witness,” The Independent, April 14, 1990, 7.

[15] Penny Tinkler, Using Photographs in Social and Historical Research (London: SAGE Publications Ltd, 2013), 3.

[16] Richard Salkeld, Reading Photographs: An Introduction to the Theory and Meaning of Images (New York: Fairchild Books, 2014), 73.

[17] R A Sare, “Eye-witness,” The Independent, April 14, 1990, 7.

February 27, 2024
Charting the major milestones of the Space Race: Wally Fawkes and the satirical cartoon

On 1 March 2023 the renowned jazz musician and cartoonist Wally Fawkes passed away aged 98. In his long career, Fawkes illustrated satirical cartoons for The Daily Mail under the pseudonym ‘Trog’. His most famous creation was the comic-strip ‘Flook’, but his illustrative work increasingly focused on British politics. In this blog, alumnus student Daniel Millard discusses Fawkes’ role in familiarising the British public with the country’s role in the ‘Space Race’ during the Cold War years. Daniel interviewed Fawkes as part of his research for his undergraduate dissertation, ‘Exploring together: how curators, correspondents and cartoonists presented the Space Race to the British public, 1957-1975‘. Daniel graduated with a first-class BA (Hons) History degree in 2019 and is now working as an optical assistant.

Fawkes self-portrait with his most famous creation ‘Flook’
Wikimedia Commons

In recent weeks two reported events have caught the attention. The first has been the news of NASA’s growing ambition to return astronauts to the Moon.[1] Attention has also turned to the sad passing of cartoonist Wally Fawkes, better known to readers as ‘Trog’.[2] Whilst for many, these two events appear unconnected, for space historians they hold special interest for it was Mr Fawkes, along with his fellow cartoonists, who helped keep the nation abreast of developments during the Space Race years (1957-1975), at a time when Cold War sensibilities ran extremely high.

Fifty years before Sputnik 1 was sent into orbit, Marion Spielmann concluded that cartoons offer the historian a valuable insight into the “prevailing feeling” of a nation.[3] It is surprising, therefore, to note that they have remained a largely overlooked resource for those investigating how the race to the Moon was presented to the British public. This is a clear oversight given that space activities were taking place in a century when the newspaper cartoon emerged as a national institution [4], and seventy-five million newspapers were being routinely purchased every week.[5] Many historians, it would seem, have been unwilling to stray beyond scientific, technical, or political treatments and it has been left to devotees of cartoons working outside the field, to extol their importance. Eminent space scientist Professor Colin Pillinger is a good example. Space cartoons, he believed, have the power to close the gap between expert and lay audience and so promote mutual interest in planetary science. [6]

In November 2018, as part of my final year dissertation, I was fortunate enough to conduct an oral history interview with Mr Fawkes. Whilst the interview took place four decades after the Space Race ended, it is to be hoped that the information gathered satisfies Portelli’s belief that ‘informants are usually quite capable of reconstructing their past attitudes even when they no longer coincide with present ones’. [7]

It is notable that Britain’s cartoonists charted both the major milestones of the Space Race and the lesser-known aspects of it. In 1965 Stanley Franklin, for example, presented a cartoon announcing the failure of the Russian Luna 4 mission.^[8] How far such detailed mapping of events was led by the need to satisfy readers’ insatiable appetite for space news at the time can be determined through secondary and primary records. In 1948, American cartoonist Eugene Byrnes reminded his British counterparts that “you can make an acceptable cartoon on any subject on God’s green earth if public interest is thoroughly aroused”, ^[9] a sentiment echoed by Fawkes seventy years later when he stated:

I was working for a newspaper that was read by a lot of people. I felt that I had to shed light on what the public had a personal interest in at the time. My personal interests were never the focus of my work.^[10]

Fawkes’ personal apathy towards space exploration was a direct response to his life-long disinterest in all things mechanical, admitting ‘I never drove a car and the most advanced piece of technology I owned was my bicycle.’ [11] But within his testimony we also get hints of something more profound. Despite an awareness that his outputs were for a wider audience, he acknowledged that his cartoons were ‘always about my take on something. Many people agreed, but I’m aware that not everyone did.’[12] Equally important was his declared understanding that talk around space science at the time was so diverse that ‘I don’t think it was possible to ever have a ‘one-sided conversation’. [13]

Whilst, in the late 1940s, British cartoonists used their artistic skills to hit back at American suggestions that the nation was in decline,[14] there is nothing to suggest a similar attitude prevailed during the Space Race. Britain’s cartoonists, it would appear, were fully aware that their home nation was never going to be a significant player in the story. On 11 August 1965, Michael Heath presented the public with a cartoon depicting a British spectator watching the launch of an American rocket while proudly announcing to his fellow onlookers that the on-board astronaut was wearing a British corn plaster. [15] Fawkes himself embraced such pessimism declaring:

The Space Race was ultimately the big two fighting it out. Russia won with the man in space so America responded by putting a man on the moon. In my opinion, that was very much the end of the game. We were always an onlooker. [16]

Such comments mark a significant shift in attitude from a series of cartoons produced by Joseph Lee in 1954 that inferred Britain would very much be part of the upcoming Space Age. [17]

Whilst primary evidence confirms that British cartoonists never sought to heroise the Russian cosmonaut, they never knowingly depicted him in unflattering terms as American cartoonists are known to have done. [18] Nevertheless, a preponderance of cartoons linked to the Apollo program suggest they generally viewed the United States’ space activity in more benevolent terms. [19] For Richard Wevill this hints at a persistence of cordial wartime relationships when Britain and America had fought closely alongside each other. [20] For Fawkes, the reason was far simpler. He found it easy to get information about the American space programme at a time when NASA had an open-door policy for the world’s press. [21]

Despite the lack of homegrown involvement, it is notable that British cartoonists continued to chart space progress throughout the 1970s – even though global interest had begun to wane after the Apollo 11 moon landing. ^[22] In 1972 cartoonist Mac acknowledged the growing apathy when he presented the nation with a cartoon showing bored staff at mission control, Houston, using their screens to watch Disney cartoons instead of monitoring the Apollo 16 mission. Fawkes himself echoed the lethargy declaring:

I don’t think that the public ever lost interest in space completely, but I’d say that the moon landing was the peak of its popularity. After the moon landing, I couldn’t help but feel ‘so what’ whenever space was brought up, so I understand how many other people felt at the time. It wasn’t that it was no longer impressive, it just wasn’t as impressive as that initial win.”[23]

With the recent announcement of America’s planned return to the Moon and the UK’s upscaling of its own space activities it is to be hoped that interest will be rekindled among Fawkes’ successors. If so, future historians would be well served by keeping a close watch.

Notes

[1] Nadia Drake, “Artemis I Launches U.S.’s Long-Awaited Return to the Moon”, Scientific American, (November 16, 2022), last accessed March 10^th, 2023, https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/artemis-i-launches-u-s-s-long-awaited-return-to-the-moon/

[2] George Melly, “Wally Fawkes Obituary”, The Guardian, (March 7^th, 2023), last accessed March 10^th, 2023, https://www.theguardian.com/media/2023/mar/07/wally-fawkes-obituary

[3] M. H. Spielmann, Cartoons From “Punch”, Vol. I, (London: Bradbury, Agnew & Co Ltd, 1906), v.

[4] Peter Salisbury, “Giles’s Cold War: How Fleet Street’s Favourite Cartoonist Saw the Conflict”, Media History, Vol. 12, No. 2 (2006), 157.

[5] Martin W. Bauer, Kristina Petkova, Pepka Boyadjieva and Galin Gornev, “Long-Term Trends in the Public Representation of Science Across the ‘Iron Curtain’ 1946-1995”, Social Studies of Science Vol. 36, No. 1 (2006), 103.

[6] Colin Pillinger, Space is a Funny Place: Fifty Years and More of Space Exploration Seen Through the Eyes of Cartoonists, (Barnstorm Productions, 2007), ix.

[7] Alessandro Portelli, “The Peculiarities of Oral History”, History Workshop Journal, Vol. 12, No. 1 (1981), 102.

[8] Stanley Franklin, “If Number Five Shot Fails, We’ll Make Sure Number Six Shot Doesn’t”, Daily Mirror, December 7, 1965.

[9] Gene Byrnes and Albert Thornton Bishop, A Complete Guide to Drawing, Illustration, Cartooning and Painting, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1948), 134.

[10] Walter E Fawkes, Telephone Interview by Daniel Millard, November 5, 2018.

[11] Ibid

[12] Ibid

[13] Ibid

[14] Allen McLaurin, “America Through British Eyes: Dominance and Subordination in British Political Cartoons of the 1940s”, Journalism Studies, Vol. 85, (2007), 694-695.

[15] Michael Heath, “I Understand He’s Wearing a British Corn Plaster”, Punch, August 11, 1965.

[16] Walter E Fawkes, Telephone Interview by Daniel Millard, November 5, 2018.

[17] See for example: Joseph Lee, “London Laughs: Flying Saucer”, Evening News, January 6, 1954;

Joseph Lee, “London Laughs: Hire Purchase”, Evening News, July 16, 1954.

[18] Christopher P Lehman, American Animated Cartoons of the Vietnam Era: A Study of Social Commentary in Films and Television Programmes, 1961-1973, (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company Ltd, 2007), 24.

[19] Colin Seymour-Ure, “FAREWELL CAMELOT! British Cartoonists’ Views of the United States since Watergate”, Journalism Studies, Vol. 8, No. 5 (2007), 730.

[20] Richard Wevill, Britain and America After World War II: Bilateral Relations and the Beginnings of the Cold War, (London: I B Tauris & Co Ltd, 2011), 1.

[21] David Meerman Scott and Richard Jurek, Marketing the Moon: The Selling of the Apollo Lunar Program, (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2014), vii.

[22] Richard S Lewis, “End of Apollo: The Ambiguous Epic”, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, Vol. 28, No. 10 (1972), 43.

[23] Walter E Fawkes, Telephone Interview by Daniel Millard, November 5, 2018.

March 23, 2023
Researching the letters of Allied service personnel in WW2: A student podcast

Recently, the internationally-renowned museum, The D-Day Story, published on their website a podcast recorded in 2022 by three second year History students, Amy Deighton, Jessie Rickman and Sam Marchetti. The students, who are now in the final year of their studies, worked with the museum’s archives as part of their assessment for the ‘Working with the Past’ module, coordinated by Mike Esbester. The second-year module encourages students to work with our local community partners where possible and produce work that has a benefit to them and the organisation they are working with. To hear the podcast, go to the D-Day Story website here.

January 5, 2023
“There are no revolutions in well-governed countries” – British film and the Russian Revolution

In this blog, Rob James explores how the events of the 1917 Russian Revolution impacted British film production in the mid-twentieth century. Rob tells us that the chance of a film being made depicting those tumultuous events depended on how they were presented. If the film demonstrated any sympathy towards the revolutionaries, then a ban was inevitable. Rob’s research covers society’s leisure activities and how they were shaped and controlled from both within and outside the entertainment industry. His research feeds into a number of optional and specialist modules that he teaches in the second and third year.

Still from the film Princess Charming (1934)

In the 1934 film Princess Charming, produced by Michael Balcon, one of Britain’s leading filmmakers at the time, Captain Launa, the upper-class suitor of the eponymous Princess, criticised the Bolshevik revolutionary activity taking place in the fictional Ruritanian country the action is set in, pointedly remarking: ‘There are no revolutions in well-governed countries’.[1] It’s a clear message for cinemagoers, particularly those living in Britain, that revolutions only occur in countries without adequate governing structures. The implication, therefore, was that the British state, with its long-standing history of democratic government, could be trusted to solve any difficulties that the country was currently facing.

The Jarrow marchers, 1936

And Britain was certainly facing significant difficulties in the decade in which this film was made. Suffering from economic decline, high unemployment and rising poverty, and confronted by a series of national and international crises, Britain was a divided country, with many of its citizens feeling deep social and political discontent. Historians have described the period as a ‘devil’s decade’, a near-apocalyptic era that witnessed a rupture in the normally stable system of government.[2] With many of the country’s inhabitants looking outwards towards Soviet Russia or Nazi Germany for an answer to their problems, this bubbling discontent was brought to the fore, and seemed to be encapsulated in, two events that took place in October 1936: the Jarrow March – when 200 men from that Tyneside town marched to London to protest about rising unemployment in traditional heavy industries; and the Battle of Cable Street – which saw clashes on London’s streets between Oswald Mosley’s Blackshirts and 100,000 anti-Fascist protesters.[3]

The battle of cable street in 1936

On top of these tumultuous events, in December of that very same year the King, Edward VIII, renounced the throne so that he could marry the American-divorcee Wallace Simpson, creating a constitutional crisis.[4] The fallout from the Abdication crisis was huge. Society’s leaders were concerned that if this important pillar of the British constitution could fall, then so could the others – namely democratic parliament could come crashing down at the whim of political extremism. As a result, any depiction of revolutionary activity in popular cultural media, like film, became a touchy issue. The political censorship of the film medium thus increased dramatically throughout the decade, and any film that attempted to deal with some of the most pressing social issues of the day was likely to be banned by the British Board of Film Censors, the organisation in charge of overseeing the censorship of the film medium.[5] Reading the reports written up by the censors, it becomes clear that whether a film was passed or not was dependent on how it presented the ‘revolutionary’ element. In 1931, for example, The Red Light, a film said by the censor to depict London ‘on the eve of Red Revolution’, was prohibited. The film’s setting was its undoing – it was based too close to home![6] Another film, Red Square, despite being set in Russia, was prohibited in 1934 because it contained ‘sordid settings’.[7] However, two other films that dealt with the revolutionary topic, Soviet and Knight Without Armour, were allowed to be produced; the former because, the censor noted, it emphasised ‘the forced labour and hard striving of the working class under the five year plan’; the latter because, it made ‘no attempt at political propaganda’.[8]

The censor’s comments about Knight Without Armour‘s political neutrality aren’t quite true, however. The film does contain political propaganda. In its depiction of the Bolsheviks it openly condemns revolutionary activity. Produced by Alexander Korda, another leading filmmaker of the time who was sympathetic to the British constitution, Knight Without Armour is set in the throes of the 1917 Russian Revolution and depicts the Bolsheviks as brutish, self-indulgent, and only interested in personal gain.[9] The country they have taken over is shown to have been thrown into chaos because of their activities. By contrast, the Russian aristocracy, epitomised by Marlene Dietrich’s Countess Alexandra, is portrayed in a sympathetic light. In one stunning sequence during which the revolutionaries storm the Countess’s palace, Dietrich is clothed in white and bathed in light: the embodiment of aristocratic purity and virtue.

Marlene Dietrich in Knight Without Armour (1937)

The revolutionaries, in sharp contrast, are darkly attired and cast in shadow: a sinister, anonymous mob descending the hill to brutalise the Countess and lay waste to her home. By juxtaposing the protagonists in this way Knight Without Armour makes a powerful statement against Soviet Russia. It both instructs and educates the audience against the folly of trying to overthrow the system. It is film as political propaganda, persuading the audience to think in a particular way about the Revolution. In a time when the very foundations of British society were appearing to crumble, this was a very powerful message indeed. And this was undoubtedly the reason why the film was passed by the censors.

Knight Without Armour: revolutionaries

Of course, no film ever reflects reality, but all films will reveal something about the time in which they were made. And the British films that were made in this period that featured any form of revolutionary activity are perfect examples of this.

The messages they presented to cinemagoers who may have been agitating for radical change were clear: any form of violent overthrow of the established order was to be avoided at all costs, and there would be no need for a revolution in this well-governed country!

[1] Michael Balcon, Princess Charming, 1934.

[2] Early proponents of this view include Noreen Branson and Margot Heinemann, whose Britain in the Nineteen Thirties (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1971) painted a picture of a country on the brink of collapse.

[3] Juliet Gardiner, The Thirties: An Intimate History (London: Harper Press, 2010), 441-446.

[4] Frank Mort, “Love in a Cold Climate: Letter, Public Opinion and Monarchy in the 1936 Abdication Crisis,” Twentieth Century British History 25, no. 1 (2020), 30-62: 33.

[5] Robert James, “‘The People’s Amusement’: Cinemagoing and the BBFC, 1928-48”, in Behind the Scenes at the BBFC: Film Classification from the Silver Screen to the Digital Age ed. Edward Lamberti. (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 16-27: 17.

[6] British Board of Film Censors, ‘Scenario Reports’, British Film Institute, London. 15 December 1931.

[7] Ibid., 22 February 1934.

[8] See Ibid., 24 July 1933 and 18 February 1935 respectively. Soviet was initially opposed (Ibid., 11 March 1933) but was allowed to be produced after amendments were made.

[9] Alexander Korda, Knight Without Armour, 1937.

February 1, 2021
The domestic colonisation of eighteenth-century Scotland

Third year student Kathryn Watts chose an original focus for her dissertation in investigating the eighteenth century attack on Scottish culture. As she argues below, colonialism is often looked at in the global context, but the domestic colonialism of Scotland (and Ireland) predated it, and provided a prototype for many of the colonialist ideas of racial hierarchy and methods of cultural indoctrination which followed. It has been fascinating supervising Kathryn’s dissertation journey – ed.

In this 1766 satirical print, the devil is shown wearing tartan and playing the bagpipes: British Museum print J,1.111

On April 16, 1746, the bloody battle of Culloden ended with Jacobite defeat; the rebellion of Bonnie Prince Charlie, crushed. This date became synonymous with the decimation of Highland culture, as pro-Government forces sought to destroy Jacobite support, which was equated with the Highlander. My dissertation, entitled Demonisation and Appropriation: Transitions of Scotland Post-Culloden, 1746-1784, explored the impact of appropriation of highland culture by wealthy lowland and English elites. I organised my chapters into three, exploring the historiography first, then examining domestic colonialism and then romanticism respectively.

I chose this topic as my dissertation, having had prior interest in the Jacobite movement, and noting the romantic approach taken by historians, I was interested in examining the ways in which Scottish culture, but in particular Highland culture, was decimated. This was achieved through a concept of domestic colonialism within British borders, an approach taken by both lowland Scottish and English elites who felt they were racially superior to the supposedly ‘uncivilised’ Celtic highlander.[1] Both lowland and highland Scots were demonised, but highlanders especially were designated as the ‘uncivilised’ brute that both lowland and English perceptions sought to change.

After the battle of Culloden, whether through satire, religion, language, or culture, the highlanders were demonised at the same time as legislative reforms were put in place to strip the highlanders of their culture. The Disarming Act of 1746 specifically ordered the ban of the use of tartan and the Highland costume – the kilt – which was identified as a symbol that became equated to the Jacobite movement. It further demanded the removal of the use of bagpipes citing them as a weapon of war.[2] Breaking this Act faced severe punishments: to break the act first time meant six months in prison, a second time could mean transportation for seven years.[3] This Act was not enforced strongly everywhere: most convictions were in towns or villages that were near garrisons.[4]

This 1745 etching caricatures the Scots using a folkloric legend of the cannibalistic Sawney Bean. Whilst the legend dates back much earlier, it was used in the mid eighteenth-century to accentuate the Scot as primitive. Entitled Sawney in the Boghouse, the uncivilised Scot is shown sitting on the toilet, but unable to properly use the ‘lavatory pans’.

Furthermore, the Heritable Jurisdiction’s Act of 1747 stated that any Jacobites’ land would now be in control of the government, and destroyed the former clan structure. The government had observed how clan leaders were able to rouse Highlanders into fighting for the Jacobite cause (though it is contested on how well they were actually able to do this).[5] By removing the clan leaders, the government felt they could then ‘civilise’ the Highlanders by destroying their political structure, and instead anglicise it.

Methods of anti-Scottishness was also introduced through schooling of children. Extra focus was placed on removing the Scottish Gaelic language, and instead teaching English to highland children – implanting dominant English culture over the Highland culture.[6] This was implemented by the missionary group entitled the Scottish Society for Propagating Christian Knowledge (SSPCK). The form of teaching that the SSPCK used in highland schools was a prototype for what would later be used in the global colonial settings, where punishment was strict, and the enforcement of English culture was to be dominant.[7] Whether it can be said to be successful is doubtful. Rumours, for example, spread that if any person had attended at a school on the Earl of Lovat’s land, they would immediately be transported to the colonies, which dramatically lowered the attendance of that school.[8]

Pompeo Batoni, Colonel William Gordon of Fyvie, painted 1766, National Trust for Scotland, Fyvie Castle, Aberdeenshire, personal photo.

After a series of successive laws that removed the highlanders of their culture, wealthy elites of both England and the Lowlands sought to appropriate their culture for their own personal benefit. Within this period, paintings such as Pompeo Batoni’s Colonel William Gordon of Fyvie (as seen below; figure 1) became common amongst the wealthy classes, removing the connotations of tartan from Jacobitism to a romantic fashionable item. Batoni’s painting is one example of this. The man featured in the painting, Colonel William Gordon of Fyvie, is dressed in both a British uniform jacket married with a philibeg costume (a traditional kilt that was worn over the shoulder). Furthermore, Batoni features classical influences, such as the background behind Colonel William Gordon, suggesting he is the epitome of the civilised gentleman.

However, it was only after British colonialism had decimated Highland culture, and the Jacobites were no longer a threat, that highlanders began to be considered romantic, antiquarian freedom fighters who had lived in a primitive lifestyle. They were ‘uncivilised’ but they were also now romantic. Books such as James Mcpherson’s Ossian, published in the 1760s, benefited from this new perception of the highlanders. Through portraits, literature, poetry, and clothing and particularly the later work of Burns and Sir Walter Scott in the mainstream of the Romantic period, the highlander came to be seen from a restrained Lowland/English perspective – tamed of his former ‘brutish’ manners.

Whilst this is an under-researched topic, I found this dissertation to be extremely rewarding. Scottish colonialism in the eighteenth-century is an under-developed scholarly field, which, in attempts to decipher, unravels a whole lot more about the context of early Scottish enlightenment. Where there is information about the highland clearances, this is often looked at from an economic perspective, rather than the damage to highland culture. Colonialism is often looked in the global context, but there should be greater emphasis placed on domestic colonialism where not only the English, but lowlanders too, saw themselves as racially superior to that of the highlander.

[1] Robert Knox, The Races of Men. A Fragment, (Philadelphia, PA, 1850), 18. Quoted in Iain MacKinnon, “Colonialism and the Highland Clearances,” Northern Scotland 8 (2017): 35.

[2] Fitzroy Maclean, A Concise History of Scotland (London: Thames and Hudson, 1970), 182.

[3] T. M. Devine, The Scottish Nation: A Modern History (London: Penguin, 2012), 233.

[4] J. Telfer-Dunbar, History of Highland Dress (London, 1962), 6-8; NLS, MS 5129, fo. 42 (Disposition of Troops in the Highlands, April 1749). Quoted in Charles W. J. Withers, Gaelic Scotland: The Transformation of a Culture Region (London: Routledge, 2016): 83.

[5] Devine, The Scottish Nation, 47.

[6] Peter Womack, Improvement and Romance: Constructing the Myth of the Highlands (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1989): 4.

[7] Silke Stroh, “The Modern Nation-State and its Others: Civilising Missions at Home and Abroad, ca. 1600 to ca. 1800,” in Scotland in the Colonial Imagination: Anglophone Writing from 1600 to 1900 (Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 2017), 67.

[8] Deposition of John Grant, January 17, 1753, British Library Add. 35, 447, 379. Quoted in Geoffrey Plank, Rebellion and Savagery: The Jacobite Rising of 1745 and the British Empire (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006), 113.

June 25, 2020