Author: Robert James

  • Have yourself a (not quite so) very merry Christmas film

    Have yourself a (not quite so) very merry Christmas film

    In this blog, UoP Senior Lecturer Rob James reflects on the changing popularity of the, now well-regarded, festive classic It’s a Wonderful Life. Rob tells us that the film’s success was not predetermined, and that it took a mixture of chance and luck, along with a well-told story of course, for the film to achieve its status as a seasonal favourite. Rob’s research covers society’s leisure activities and this feeds into a number of optional and specialist modules he teaches in the second and third year.

    Final scene from It's a Wonderful Life showing everyone celebrating Christmas.
    Final scene from It’s a Wonderful Life.

    In a recent poll featured in The Independent newspaper of the ‘Best Christmas Movies’, the 1946 Hollywood-produced film It’s a Wonderful Life came in at number one, followed by Home Alone (1990) at number two, Elf (2003) at number three, and The Snowman (1982) and Love Actually (2003), at numbers four and five respectively, making up the rest of the top five most highly-rated Christmas films.[1]

    It’s a Wonderful Life is, by far, the oldest film featured in the top 5, and is the second oldest film in the twenty-film list – the oldest being the 1944 wartime hit Meet Me in St Louis, featuring Judy Garland, who sang the tear-jerking, pathos-filled song Have Yourself a Very Merry Christmas at a time when many people could certainly not look forward to having a very merry Christmas at all.

    Despite being released in 1946 – and filmed in black-and-white – It’s a Wonderful Life maintains a particular resonance with contemporary audiences.  The film often sits atop these types of seasonal all-time Christmas movie lists, keeping all other films, even popular newcomers, at bay. In fact, It’s a Wonderful Life has, for some time now, been recognised, and frequently-voted as, the favourite Christmas film by both film critics and the film-loving public. Indeed, in a Radio Times poll in 2018 the film came top having received just under 10% of the overall votes.[2] As James Munby has rightly noted, It’s a Wonderful Life has ‘assumed the status of the Christmas movie’.[3]

    Cinema poster showing how the film was advertised when first released.
    Cinema poster showing how the film was advertised when first released.

    However, its popularity has not always been so failsafe. Despite America’s Variety magazine heaping praise on the film upon its release, describing it as ‘gleaming, engaging entertainment’, it generally received mixed reviews, and didn’t perform at all well at the box-office.[4] In fact, it lost money – some half a million dollars; a considerable sum now, let alone in the austerity-ridden post-war years. This came as something of a surprise considering it was directed by the renowned Hollywood producer Frank Capra, whose films had usually struck gold.[5]

    It was the film’s bleak subject matter that caused alarm among its critics. Contemporaries were often left feeling rather nonplussed after watching the tale of wholesome family man George Bailey, played by the popular film star James Stewart, contemplating suicide and only accepting his life had meaning – and was worth living – after the timely intervention of guardian angel, Clarence (Henry Travers). One contributor to the British film fan magazine Picturegoer, for example, thought the film was ‘well handled’, but showed ‘signs of being too well worn’.[6] More acerbically, a The New York Times writer criticised its tendency to put a positive spin on its subject matter, describing it as ‘a figment of Pollyanna platitudes’.[7]

    Nevertheless, despite this rather inauspicious start, It’s a Wonderful Life continues to appeal to generations of film lovers, offering something as warm and cosy as a comfortable pair of slippers. What caused this revival? Partly it is the film’s subject matter. As The Guardian‘s Lucinda Everett has noted, it’s the film’s message that ‘we are loved, and our lives matter more that we could imagine’ that cements it as one of the festive season’s best offerings.[8]

    However, the story hasn’t changed – it’s still very bleak – it’s just that the context has. At the time of its release in 1946 audiences didn’t really want to watch a film that reminded them of the struggles facing the American ‘Everyman’. They demanded something more upbeat.[9] So, it’s not just the subject-matter that helps to create popularity, it’s also a matter of timing.

    There’s even more to it than this, though. The film also owes its modern-day success to chance. Having been sold to television when its releasing company RKO collapsed in the mid-1950s, and then falling out of copyright in the 1970s after its license wasn’t renewed, It’s a Wonderful Life became free to broadcast, leading more cash-strapped TV companies to show it as competition against other big holiday specials scheduled by the larger stations.[10] As film critic Peter Bradshaw has noted, ‘a seasonal tradition was invented and this little-regarded film began to grow inexorably in popularity and retrospective importance’. [11]

    Ever since then, this festive fantasy comedy drama has grown in the public’s affections and featured high in the Christmas movie popularity stakes. So, while It’s a Wonderful Life has not always been viewed as capturing the spirit of this festive time of year, and while its subject matter may not be as reassuringly comfortable as the fluffy dressing-gown worn as we settle down to watch it with a glass of port or brandy-infused Christmas pudding, it nonetheless serves as a reminder that a film’s popularity fluctuates, that successful films are often the result of luck or happenchance, not just a darn good story, and that these things are always historically contingent. Perhaps, then, to repurpose (and mangle) the film’s closing lines, it’s not every time a bell rings that an angel manages to get its wings. Or perhaps it is, judging by the film’s current day ubiquity. I’ll leave that for you to decide. Merry Christmas.

    [1] Alexandra Pollard, ‘The 20 greatest Christmas movies, from Home Alone to The Muppets Christmas Carol’, The Independent, 8 December 2020. https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/films/features/best-christmas-movies-films-ranked-b1765604.html. Accessed 8 December 2020.

    [2] Radio Times Staff, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life named Britain’s favourite Christmas film’, Radio Times, 19 December 2018.

    [3] James Munby, ‘A Hollywood Carol’s Wonderful Life’, in Mark Connelly ed. Christmas at the Movies: Images of Christmas in American, British and European cinema, (London: I.B Tauris, 2010), 39-57; 39.

    [4] Bert, ‘Film Reviews’, Variety, 26 December 1946, 12.

    [5] Munby, ‘A Hollywood Carol’s Wonderful Life’, 39.

    [6] M.W., ‘A wonderful life for Donna’, Picturegoer, 7 June 1947, 8.

    [7] Cited in Munby, ‘A Hollywood Carol’s Wonderful Life’, 46.

    [8] Lucinda Everett, ‘What is the best Christmas movie? You asked Google – here’s the answer’, The Guardian, 27 December 2017.

    [9] Munby, ‘A Hollywood Carol’s Wonderful Life’, 46.

    [10] Munby, ‘A Hollywood Carol’s Wonderful Life’, 39-40.

    [11] Peter Bradshaw, ‘The Santa supremacy: Peter Bradshaw’s top Christmas movies’, The Guardian, 15 December 2010.

  • Heritage and Memory: Warlingham War Memorial

    Heritage and Memory: Warlingham War Memorial

    Benjamin Locke, a second year History student at the University of Portsmouth, has written the following blog entry on Warlingham War Memorial for the Introduction to Historical Research module. Benjamin considers the messages provided by the memorial’s imagery and how they reflect the social expectations of the time of its unveiling. The module is co-ordinated by Dr Maria Cannon, Lecturer in Early Modern History at Portsmouth.

    ‘Heritage is the valorisation and preservation by individuals and groups of traces of the past that are thought to embody their cultural identity’. [1] The values and practices of heritage preservation are determined by major political and economic trade-offs, both of which determine what sites and properties are to be preserved. [2] In this blog, I will assess the role collective memory played in the foundation of the Warlingham War Memorial, and if the 1920s values on which it was built can come into question. This is important in understanding the cultural significance of the memorial. Maurice Walbwachs’ quote ‘We can understand each memory as it occurs in individual thought only if we locate each within the thought of the corresponding group’summarises how assessing collective memory can help interpret and understand its cultural significance and influence. [3] In this blog I will also determine whether the memorial is successful in its original role as a site of remembrance for those who tragically lost their lives in the Great War, and its greater cultural meaning and representation for contemporary British society.

    https://www.iwm.org.uk/memorials/item/memorial/919
    Warblingham War Memorial, Tandridge, Surrey
    Image: iwm.org.co.uk

    Warlingham War Memorial was designed by John Edward Taylerson and was originally unveiled on the 4th December 1921 to commemorate the First World War. A plaque was later placed in 1946 in honour of those who fought and died in the Second World War. It consists of a tall column, with a high-standing soldier sheltering a helpless woman and the baby in her arms. The role that collective memory has on remembrance and how this comes into play is questionable. Halbwachs argues that we must ‘put ourselves in the position of others’ and ‘tread the same path’ to really understand remembrance. [4] Does the memorial really represent how contemporary British people viewed the war? It seems to portray the war as a male sacrifice for well-being of women and children. Angela Woollacott argues that women’s participation in the war effort was lamented by guilt, anger and adoration that their brothers/fiancées were evoked in their role as warriors, which ‘subsumed their own novel freedoms’. [5] She uses the memoir of Peggy Hamilton, a middle-class woman, who wrote that women suffered an ‘inferiority complex’ which put a barrier of ‘indescribable experience’ between men and women. [6] The Warlingham Memorial reflects this, with its lack of acknowledgement of the great sacrifices’ women made to the war effort in favour of the valorisation of the male soldier. The hopeless woman on the memorial is in no way a representation on the role of women, or how collective memory today views the role of women in the war. However, class differences are what really distinguishes people from their roles in war. A middle-class woman’s experience would arguably be completely different to the experiences lived by working women.

    The roles of war memorials are to do the dead justice and to make sure that we follow their example and ensure that they did not die in vain. Alex King perfectly summarises this duty, saying that it is ‘necessary to understand what the dead had died for and to follow the example they had set. The dead had died for others, and by emulating them they were, indeed, worthy of the sacrifices the dead had made on their behalf’. [7] The memorial does a successful job in showing that soldiers died to protect their families. The message the memorial emits is powerful and successfully aids our memory in the sacrifices made, even if the message that can be seen to invalidate the role of women. Despite its success in acting as a memorial for the fallen, is it dangerous for us to entirely take in the messages, which according to some revisionist historians are inaccurate portrayals composed of myths? King argues that commemoration had always offered a political platform, which had become available to mass organisations like the British Legion and the League of Nations. [8] The latter of these organisations would have wanted to preserve the status quo and deflect any criticism of the war, which was directed to the ruling classes, by instead portraying the war as a noble cause of death for the good of Europe and everyone at home. Ross Wilson supports this argument, believing that interrogation must be done when thinking about the message that memorials portray. However, he argues that myths in popular memory of the war are widely known by the public, and that the audiences do not passively consume everything they see. [9] Indeed, Wilson uses the popular television series Blackadder Goes Forth to show that there is an understanding of what the Great War was like, as it contains suffering soldiers, incompetent officers, atrocious conditions and pointless military advances. [10]

    In conclusion, the war memorial successfully acts as a symbol of remembrance for those that fell in the First World War. It creates an image of noble sacrifice, and despite any opinions on the causes, justifications and pointlessness of the war, it is clear that many of these soldiers fought and died for their country, and will ensure that the people of Warlingham will never forget the sacrifices of combatants in both the First and Second World Wars. However, the connection between politics and remembrance has meant that the role of women during the war has been diminished, with the memorial’s portrayal of the woman as being helpless, weak and being shielded by nothing but the men fighting on the front line. By today’s standards, this is not a completely successful memorial in showing the great sacrifices that the whole of British society had made to the war effort. It is important for us to not judge societal norms through the lenses of today, and we must remember that gender roles and norms were completely different to what they are now. Nicholas J. Saunders’ remarks – ‘While memorials are supposed to serve as tangible weighty structures denoting consensus, they can divide a community as much is it could unite’ – perfectly details how the politics in memory can be polarising. [11] The memorial is overall, very moving and sad, but it makes me wonder that if it were to be situated in central London rather than a village in Tandridge, would it prove too controversial and raise debate?

    Notes

    [1] Yudhishthir Raj Isar, Dacia Viejo-Rose and Helmut Anheier, Heritage, Memory and Identity (London: Sage Publications, 2011), 3.

    [2] Isar, Viejo-Rose and Anheier, Heritage, Memory and Identity, 4.

    [3] Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory (London: University Chicago Press, 1992), 53.

    [4] Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, 53.

    [5] Miriam Cooke and Angela Woollacott, Gendering War Talk (Winchester: Princeton University Press, 1993) Chapter 6: Angela Woollacott, 128.

    [6] Cooke and Woollacott, Gendering War Talk, 128.

    [7] Alex King, Memorials of the Great War in Britain: The Symbolism and Politics of Remembrance (Oxford: Berg, 1998), 155.

    [8] King, Memorials of the Great War in Britain, 165.

    [9] Bart Ziino, Remembering the First World War (Oxfordshire: Routledge, 2015) Chapter 3: Ross Wilson, 135.

    [10] Ziino, Remembering the First World War, 140.

    [11] Nicholas J. Saunders, Matters of Conflict: Material Culture, Memory and the First World War (London: Routledge, 2004), 134.

  • Material Culture – Adam and Eve Powder Flask, Austria ca. 1600

    Material Culture – Adam and Eve Powder Flask, Austria ca. 1600

    Tom Underwood, a second year History student at the University of Portsmouth, has written the following blog entry on the Adam and Eve Powder Flask for the Introduction to Historical Research module. Tom discusses the flask’s importance as a marker of social standing in the Renaissance period. The module is co-ordinated by Dr Maria Cannon, Lecturer in Early Modern History at Portsmouth.

    In the Abrahamic religions Adam and Eve are the symbol of life, the creation of humankind, the genesis of man. Firearms, on the other hand, are representative of quite the opposite, death, destruction and a complete collapse of humanity that would not look entirely out of place in the Book of Revelation. Whilst this seventeenth-century Austrian powder flask did not intend such a sardonic juxtaposition, it does bring into question how objects mediate past ideas and experiences, not only of the specialist that sculpted, engraved or designed them, but those that saw and interpreted the appearance of such aesthetic items. This blog, which will centre on a flask that once belonged to a member of the zu Welsberg family of the Tyrol, shall asses the multi-dimensions of material culture which can offer not only visual, but scented and tactile manifestations of the past. [1]

    Adam and Eve Powder Flask held at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London.
    Image: Wikimedia

    To truly understand the nature, and more importantly extract the meaning, of this Austrian powder flask which once formed part of a garniture of firearms, one must first penetrate and conceptualise the world in which it was created. In a Renaissance world, a time of genuine materialist exceptionalism, both Michelle O’Malley and Evelyn Welch argue that consumption and consumerism was an ‘arena’, where not only culture was fought over but where social standing was won and lost. [2] Ulinka Rublack has suggested that early modern people created a sense of being, not just through a cross-comparison with other people, work, space, or religion, but through a ‘creative exchange with the material world’. [3] Rublack argues that, as such, when historians begin to explore past societies, they must first concern themselves with the ‘life of objects’ and the part material culture played in people’s lives. [4] Clothes, as with other wearable objects like the powder flask, performed an immediate role in constructing identities, for they impart their aesthetic qualities that enables the representation of taste, values and spirituality. [5] Public appearance established and up-held identity.

    The outward projection of materiality enabled a conduit for not only how past people perceived themselves within their society, but how they wanted to be perceived by others. [6] Ludmilla Jordanova argues that ‘sight’ is crucial, not only for the historian in understanding the material world, but how it was understood in past societies. [7] It is important to distinguish objects as an entity which it is, in its very design, intended to be looked at. What is seen, however, and how it was meant to be seen, Jordanova stresses, necessitates historians’ attention. [8] Decoding the iconography of the powder flask can offer significant insights into how this particular piece of material culture should be read. Carved in relief with Adam and Eve flanking either side of the tree of Life, the image closely resembles the work on the same subject by Albrecht Dürer. [9] Employing a similar style implies that the flask dates from the time of Dürer’s revival in the early seventeenth century. [10] Whilst the flask has the more overt religious and artistic overtones associated with space and culture, the piece is also embedded with a more personal meaning. Towards the top of the piece is the quartered arms, partnered by the initials I.Z.W., which indicates that the owner is likely a member of the zu Welsberg family of the Tyrol; furthered by the eagle displayed at the bottom. [11] Angus Patterson argues that of all the objects that were on offer during the renaissance, none of them spoke more firmly of a nobleman’s honour than his armaments. [12] In this sense, the flask is suggestive of more than just O’Malley and Welch’s interpretation that objects are a marker of Renaissance consumerism, items bought simply as possessions of value. The flask shows that noblemen were not just equipped for battle, they were dressed for fashion.

    Arjun Appadurai has argued that objects, much like people, have social lives. [13] Appadurai explains that material objects exist between desire and pleasure, human interaction endows these meanings onto objects through ownership. [14] David Gaimster, Tara Hamling and Catherine Richardson argue that the exploration of the material world, people’s possessions, clothing and household, enables an understanding of past people’s daily life, their experiences and fundamentally the way they saw themselves in, and their responses to, the societies that they lived. [15] Gaimster et al. argue that early modern material culture was ‘implicated in the negotiation of a rapidly changing social structure’. [16] The authors question the extent materiality appropriated social difference and how material culture enabled the negotiation of societal place in distinguishing different groups from one another. [17] As such Gaimster et al. challenge whether material culture can be isolated into ‘popular’ and ‘elite’. [18] One can argue that practicality is a huge determinant in this debate. The powder flask, whilst it is, strictly speaking, equipped to fulfil its designed role, it is likely that it was intended for display rather than use. [19] Carved staghorn with silver-gilt mounts, it is, to say the very least, a grandiose display of opulence. [20]

    Whilst material culture can provide a cultural understanding of the lower sections of early modern societies that may not always be present in other forms of historical source, objects themselves are not free from certain limitations. Appadurai argues that commodities are ‘culturally regulated’, the interpretation of objects can be manipulated. [21] In this sense, Jordanova argues that it is not just the production process that should be analysed by the historian to uncover hidden meanings, but the forms of display and use. [22] With its personalised inscriptions and iconography, the powder flask is clearly a commissioned piece designed and intended for its owner; not a piece for practical use, but an object of wealth, a marker of social standing. Understanding the production of an object can be important in the analytical methodology of the historian as each object had and has a purpose, and likewise a life-span. [23] Adrienne D. Hood has argued that, from this perspective, historians are not ‘equipped’ to undertake object centred research because a reliance on traditional written documents will always take control. [24] Gaimster, Hamling and Richardson believe that an inter-disciplinary approach to material culture, employing the disciplinary skills of art history and archaeology, can further the functionality of objects in understanding past social structures, practices and cultures.

    To conclude, objects, as with other forms of historical source, are subject to human interaction, the ideas that passed the maker’s consciousness are inscribed in the item, entwined with the social practices of historical societies. In the case of the flask, an object produced out of a commission, it reflects the nature of an early consumerist society that was not only driven to buy material goods in an exhibition of wealth, but to reassert honour and social standing.

    Notes

    [1] Unknown, Adam and Eve Powder Flask, V&A museum (234-1854); Adrienne D. Hood, “Material Culture: The Object”, chapter eleven in History Beyond the Text: A Student’s Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources, Sarah Barber and Corinna Peniston-Bird eds., 176-198, (London: Routledge, 2009), 177-178.

    [2] Michelle O’Malley and Evelyn Welch, “Introduction” in The Material Renaissance, Michelle O’Malley and Evelyn Welch eds., 1-10, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007), 3; Mary Hollingsworth, “Coins, Cloaks and Candlesticks: The Economics of Extravagance”, chapter twelve in The Material Renaissance, Michelle O’Malley and Evelyn Welch eds., 260-287, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007), 260-262.

    [3] Ulinka Rublack, Dressing Up: Cultural Identity in Renaissance Europe, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 3; Erin Sullivan and Andrew Wear, “Materiality, Nature and the Body”, chapter nine in The Routledge Handbook of Material Culture in Early Modern Europe, 141-157, (London: Routledge, 2016), 143-145; Giorgio Riello, “Global Things: Europe’s Early Modern Material Transformation”, chapter one in The Routledge Handbook of Material Culture in Early Modern Europe, David Gaimster, Tara Hamling and Catherine Richardson eds., 29-45, (London: Routledge, 2016), 34.

    [4] Rublack, Dressing Up, 3-4.

    [5] Nicole Boivin, Material Cultures, Material Minds: The Impact of Things in Human Thought, Society, and Evolution, (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2008), 30; David Grummitt, “Arms and Armour”, chapter thirteen in The Routledge Handbook of Material Culture in Early Modern Europe, David Gaimster, Tara Hamling and Catherine Richardson eds., 196-205, (London: Routledge, 2016), 197-198.

    [6] Erin Sullivan and Andrew Wear, “Materiality, Nature and the Body”, chapter nine in The Routledge Handbook of Material Culture in Early Modern Europe, 141-157, (London: Routledge, 2016), 141-142; Susan Vincent, Dressing the Elite: Clothes in Early Modern England, (Oxford: Berg, 2003), 13.

    [7] Ludmilla Jordanova, The Look of the Past: Visual and Material Evidence in Historical Practice, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 1.

    [8] Jordanova, Look of the Past, 2-3.

    [9] Unknown, Flask.

    [10] Unknown, Flask.

    [11] Unknown, Flask.

    [12] Angus Patterson, Fashion and Armour in Renaissance Europe: Proud Lookes and Brave Attire, (London: V&A Publishing, 2009), ii.

    [13] Arjun Appadurai, “Commodities and the Politics of Value”, introduction in The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, Arjun Appadurai ed., 3-63, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 3-5.

    [14] Appadurai, “Commodities”, 3.

    [15] Tara Hamling and Catherine Richardson, “Introduction” in Everyday Objects: Material and Early Modern Material Culture and its Meaning, Tara Hamling and Catherine Richardson eds., 1-26, (Surrey: Ashgate, 2010), 1-3.

    [16] David Gaimster, Tara Hamling and Catherine Richardson, “Introduction”, in The Routledge Handbook of Material Culture in Early Modern Europe, David Gaimster, Tara Hamling and Catherine Richardson eds., 3-28, (London: Routledge, 2016), 21.

    [17] Gaimster, Hamling and Richardson, “Introduction”, 22.

    [18] Gaimster, Hamling and Richardson, “Introduction”, 22-23.

    [19] Unknown, Flask.

    [20] Unknown, Flask.

    [21] Appadurai, “Commodities”, 3-4.

    [22] Jordanova, Look of the Past, 5-7.

    [23] Karin Dannehl, “Object Biographies: From Production to Consumption”, chapter eight in History and Material Culture: A Student’s Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources, Karen Harvey ed., 171-186, (London: Routledge, 2017), 172-173; Giorgio Riello, “Global Things: Europe’s Early Modern Material Transformation”, chapter one in The Routledge Handbook of Material Culture in Early Modern Europe, David Gaimster, Tara Hamling and Catherine Richardson eds., 29-45, (London: Routledge, 2016), 46.

    [24] Hood, “Object”, 177; Karen Harvey, “Practical Matters”, introduction in History and Material Culture: A Student’s Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources, Karen Harvey ed., 1-23, (London: Routledge, 2017), 7.

  • Heritage and Memory: HMS Belfast

    Heritage and Memory: HMS Belfast

    Ben Humphreys, a second year History student at the University of Portsmouth, has written the following blog entry on the museum ship HMS Belfast for the Introduction to Historical Research module. Ben considers why the ship was chosen for preservation and reveals that political factors likely played a key role in the decision-making process. The module is co-ordinated by Dr Maria Cannon, Lecturer in Early Modern History at Portsmouth.

    Heritage and memory have always had a political relationship. War museums and memorials almost exclusively portray a heroic tale of the machines and men (and increasingly women) who ‘served the nation,’ for which we should be grateful. As Gerder Lerner fears, such a collective memory would be prone to selectiveness and the dark sides of events would be forgotten. [1] HMS Belfast is no exception and attempts to represent national values such as patriotism and strength, ignoring the countless lives which ended violently at the receiving end of her guns. As Geoff Cubitt has demonstrated, history and memory are undoubtedly intertwined although there is fierce historiographical debate over what the relationship is exactly. [2] What is certain, though, is the efforts of heritage sites to construct a collective memory for our imagined communities – the nation. After all, ‘The practice of history is […] a highly specialised form of commemoration.’ [3] This blog looks to examine HMS Belfast as a useful historical source, its effectiveness as a museum, the politics surrounding the preservation of vessels and why Belfast may not be the most suitable choice.

    HMS Belfast. Image: Wikipedia

    HMS Belfast is a Town-class light-cruiser of the Royal Navy, commissioned in 1938, just in time for the Second World War. Belfast was decommissioned in 1963 after being placed in Reserve. She had a relatively long service, involved in the European and Pacific theatres of the Second World War; the Normandy invasion, escorting arctic convoys and operations in the Pacific. She was also involved in the Korean War and then exercise after that. HMS Belfast became a museum ship in 1973, moored in London next to Tower Bridge, after a private trust fund was started and then managed by the Imperial War Museum, a government funded organisation. [4] At the heart of the country, the location is suitable for a war museum which is critical to a nation’s self-identification. [5] However, Belfast had a relatively uneventful or heroic service. She was not unique, being one of ten ships of her class. Light-cruisers stood to their name; they were not particularly large and in no way considered a flagship or a symbol of power for the Royal Navy. This makes Belfast a questionable choice for preservation, especially in comparison with other RN vessels, such as the famous HMS Dreadnought, which was world renowned for initiating a naval arms race pre-First World War – a ship so superior that all other battleships became regarded as ‘dreadnoughts’ or ‘pre-dreadnoughts’. [6] Yet surprisingly, Dreadnought was scrapped in 1921 despite her outstanding historical significance. This demonstrates to historians how objects are preserved and discarded based on contemporary perception of significance, which the preservation of museums ships verifies. [7] By 1921 Dreadnought was an inferior vessel and valued by its metal content. Almost a hundred years later and its significance is still widely publicised and regularly noted in history books. Another factor that contributed to the preservation of Belfast was the ease of access to worthy moorings; another contender for preservation was HMS Illustrious, the lead aircraft carrier of her type and therefore a true symbol of power, with a number of confirmed kills. Unfortunately, Illustrious was so large that there were few suitable options.

    The preservation of Belfast may reveal political tensions from its conception in 1972. The 1970s are hallmarked by tough political and economic conditions for Britain – power cuts, miners’ strikes and IRA bombings. Perhaps a coincidence, but the heritage and honour created in preserving a vessel named after the Northern Irish city it was built in was likely a strategic movement by the British government to quell tensions in Northern Ireland, by placing an achievement of Irish labour at the heart of England as a symbolic gesture. In this sense, heritage has been used for contemporary purposes. [8]

    A controversial factor in the preservation of Belfast was how far it should be modified for museum purposes, without damaging her authenticity. Some decisions were unquestionable, such as removing asbestos from the ship, for obvious health and safety reasons, in areas that were accessible to visitors. [9] Removing this insulation from some of her piping was insignificant in damaging her authentic condition. However, the interior of the vessel proves challenging for visitors with disabilities or even poor mobility, due to steep stairways, trip hazards, and watertight hatches, which require stepping over and through, and head height hazards. Jason Dittmer and Emma Waterton comment on the matter frankly: ‘Sailors in the Royal Navy were trained extensively in order to function as highly efficient combat machines. This is in sharp contrast to most visitors to HMS Belfast.’ [10] However, they do recognise the value in this physical challenge. The ‘alien experience’ is a learning opportunity that a museum ship provides. [11] Instead of reading the dimensions or viewing images of watertight hatches, visitors and historians get to experience it for themselves. This is something that historical textbooks and other types of primary sources cannot do. What is controversial, though, is the café installed on the ship, which arguably damages a historical relic, whereas others may appreciate the fact that museums must generate their own income, which a café will supplement, whilst improving the experience of the visitor.

    A final point to consider is that for Belfast the task of commemorating the crew and the conflicts is complicated by its long service. Whose story should it tell? How will the IWM depict the experience of the sailors on Belfast at Normandy, Belfast in the Arctic and Belfast in Korea? A decade later? Considering there were over 700 crew members at any given time, and four commanding officers throughout her service, how can the IWM decide who should be represented. Furthermore, the ship is not what she used to be due to numerous refits, which has significantly altered her appearance. For example, the removal of her catapult, scout aircraft and a fully enclosed bridge. [12] Thus, historians would have to rely on official or visual sources to learn about the original specifications of the vessel.

    In conclusion, HMS Belfast is a questionable choice of vessel in terms of symbolism and representation of the Royal Navy, although as some historians have discussed, heritage is part of the past chosen for contemporary issues, in this case, the political climate of the 70s. However, Belfast should be commended for remaining in relatively authentic condition, by minimising commercial refittings that other heritage sites have succumbed to such as gift shops, play areas and multifunctional areas. In fact, it is this authentic restricted and sometimes dangerous spaces within the ship which is the most valuable aspect of this floating historical relic to historians and casual visitors alike.

    Notes

    [1] Gerder Lerner, Why History Matters: Life and Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 52.

    [2] Geoffrey Cubitt, History and Memory (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007), 30.

    [3] Ludmilla Jordanova, History in Practice (London: Bloomsbury, 2000), 138.

    [4] John Wingate, In Trust for the Nation: HMS Belfast, 1939 – 92 (London: Profile Publications, 1972), 14.

    [5] Sue Malvern, “War, Memory and Museums: Art and Artefact in the Imperial War Museum,” History Workshop Journal 2000, no. 49 (2000), 178.

    [6] Roger Parkinson, The Late Victorian Navy: The Pre-dreadnought Era and the Origins of the First World War (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2008), viii.

    [7] Eileen Hooper-Greenhill, Museums and the Shaping of Knowledge (London: Routledge, 1992), 196.

    [8] Brian Graham, Gregory John Ashworth and John E. Tunbridge “The Uses and Abuses of Heritage,” in Heritage, Museums and Galleries an Introductory Reader, ed. Gerard Corsane (Abingdon: Routledge, 2005), 29.

    [9] Jason Dittmer and Emma Waterton, “‘You’ll go home with bruises’: Affect, embodiment and heritage on board HMS Belfast,” Wiley, Area. (2018), 5.

    [10] Dittmer and Waterton, “‘You’ll go home with bruises’,” 6.

    [11] Ibid.

    [12] John Wingate, In Trust for the Nation: HMS Belfast, 1939 – 92 (London: Profile Publications, 1972), 58.

  • Graduation 2019: A day of memories

    Graduation 2019: A day of memories

    Graduation is a always special day for tutors and, of course, students and their families and friends. In this blog the History team at Portsmouth share a few pictures from the day and reflect on the successes of their undergraduate and postgraduate students.

    Waiting to proceed to the Guildhall stage

    Today we watched our undergraduate and postgraduate students walk across the stage at Portsmouth Guildhall to be congratulated by the Pro-Vice Chancellor of the university, Paul Hayes, and the Dean of the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, Matthew Weait. While it was a fun day, graduation is always a day of mixed emotions. It is exciting, of course, to see our students graduate, but it is also sad to see another year group leave after working closely with them over the years. Nevertheless, while we are sorry to see them go, time moves on, and we are filled with pride as we share part of their special day with them.

    Champagne reception in Ravelin Park

    After the ceremony we headed over to Ravelin Park to chat with students and their guests over a glass of champagne. It’s a final chance to congratulate them on their achievements – and remind their families how clever they are! Oh, and there’s always time for more photos. Unfortunately, the rather inclement weather (okay, it poured down!) prevented the usual large group photo with the throwing of the hats, but we did manage to take one photo with a few brave souls while the rain lightened up!

    Celebrating with a glass of bubbly!

    So, that’s it. The end of another year. Congratulations Class of 2019! It’s been a pleasure. We wish you all the very best in your future endeavours. And do keep in touch!

    The History team