Recently, the internationally-renowned museum, The D-Day Story, published on their website a podcast recorded in 2021 by three second year History students, Joshua Bown, Angus Grieve and Shannen Smylie. The students 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.
Tag: personal sources
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Could Churchill have done more to prevent the holocaust? The evidence of a personal letter
Callum Chinn, now in his final year studying history at Portsmouth, wrote this blog piece for the second-year Introduction to Historical Research module last year. In it, he examines a letter written by Winston Churchill in July 1944, and what it reveals about the allies’ knowledge of and response to the holocaust.
The twentieth century witnessed one of the most horrific atrocities of all time, the mass murder of Jews by the Nazis across Europe; known worldwide as the Holocaust. With a ‘recent estimate that 5.4 million to 5.8 million Jews were murdered in the Holocaust’, it raises questions about the speed of the allied response to the situation, whether there could have been an intervention at an earlier stage to prevent such large-scale deaths. [1] A private letter dated 13 July 1944 from British wartime Prime Minister Winston Churchill sheds light on this issue. The document is a response to a letter received from Lord Melchett, a former Conservative politician, who warned of the mass murder of Hungarian Jews by the Nazis. It describes the actions which Churchill took in response to the letter, and the overall actions he felt would help stop the atrocities being committed. Historians often appreciate the value of letters as historical sources. However, they are also a complex communicative source to understand. [2] Dobson and Ziemann feel that letters can be a ‘troublesome genre’ however are also of the opinion that they are useful due to their intimate nature. [3] For this reason, the source is interesting to analyse as a historian. It shows Churchill in a more personal, informal light than previously seen.
Selection of Hungarian Jews at Auschwitz II-Birkenau around May 1944. Auschwitz Album, Yad Vashem, donated by Lili Jacob (later Lili Jacob-Zelmanovic Meier), a survivor. In assessing the usefulness this source to historians, the first thing to note, as with any letter, is the relationship between those interacting. In this case, it is evident to historians that there is a close relationship between Churchill and Lord Melchett, with Churchill referring to him as ‘My dear Henry’. [4] However, it is also interesting to note that the letter becomes more formal as it proceeds, signed off with ‘Yours Sincerely’. [5] The fact that even in letters to his close friends, Churchill speaks formally, highlighting to historians the tough political character of Winston Churchill. He is illustrated as a man from an aristocratic background who described how his whole life ‘had been a training for the high office he had filled during the war’.[6] Similarly, an interesting element of the letter to note is the date, which it was written, July 1944. Only a year before the close of the war, and with the mass murder of Jews beginning ‘in the late summer of 1941’, it appears that the letter of warning from Lord Melchett may have arrived rather late for Churchill to have much effect on the events referred to. [7]
Winston Churchill in 1944 This letter would be useful for historians studying the view that Britain’s intentions were selfish throughout the war, not humanitarian, namely by not helping the Jewish people during the holocaust. Churchill’s words almost confirm this view, where he states that ‘the principle hope of terminating it must remain the speedy victory of the Allied Nations’, referring to the elimination of those persecuting the Jewish people. [9] The Prime Minister would have known at the time, a month after the successful D-Day landings, Britain’s progress on the European front would be the primary hope for ending the war and therefore the mass murder of the Jews. However, the limitation of using this as a view to determining the attitude of Britain towards the holocaust is that it almost seems like a premeditated, mechanical response, not the kind of response you would expect in a personal letter. On the other hand, linking back to the character of Churchill himself, he once stated that ‘I very rarely detect genuine emotion in myself’, and this perhaps answers the question of why such a personal letter to a close friend in Lord Melchett comes across so formal and emotionless. [10]
Memorial on the Danube river in Budapest to the genocide of Hungarian Jews between 1944-5. Photo by Dennis Jarvis from Halifax, Canada, Wikimedia Commons. With Britain being one of the major powers in the Second World War, the onus for liberation of these extermination camps during the holocaust naturally fell on British shoulders. Historians have argued that Churchill knew about the events long before it was publicly addressed, and therefore could have intervened at an earlier stage. This source would be appropriate in disproving the view that action could have been taken quicker, as by stating that ‘I have forwarded your letter to the Foreign Secretary’, Churchill appears almost powerless to stop the massacre of Hungarian Jews.[11] Linguistically, the use of ‘fear’ in his response evidences his feelings on his inability to help and provide Lord Melchett with the positive response he would have desired. [12] Martin Gilbert’s view echoes that of Churchill’s response, in that he felt that the allies were powerless throughout large periods of the holocaust, due to German military superiority coming at times where Britain were at their weakest.[13] With the use of hindsight, we know that Churchill did in fact have some power to stop the murder of Hungarian Jews, as throughout 1944 the Allies pressured Hungary into stopping Jews being deported. Threatened with the bombing of Budapest, Hungary refused to deport 100,000 more Jews to concentration camps. [14] This shows a further limitation of using this letter as a source, as the information contained presents Churchill as powerless to help the situation when history evidences that this was not so.
Analysis of this letter allows insight into the power of Churchill during the Second World War, and also enables historians to experience a sense of his character through the intimate nature of a personal letter. As much as it is a useful insight into whether Britain could have intervened earlier in the murder of Hungarian Jews, it has its limitations due to the fact that letters do not always contain the full range of information and context from the time. Historians would benefit from studying a variety of personal letters from Churchill on the topic, in order to gain a more concise insight into the situation.
Primary Source:
Winston Churchill letter to Lord Melchett, 1944. Retrieved From: https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/holocaust/churchills-reaction/
[1] Lewi Stone, “Quantifying the Holocaust: Hyperintense kill rates during the Nazi genocide.” Science Advances 5, no. 1 (2019): 1.
[2] Regina Schulte and Xenia Von Tippelskirch, Reading, Interpreting and Historicising: Letters as Historical Sources. (Florence, European University Institute, 2004), 5.
[3] Miriam Dobson, Benjamin Ziemann, Reading Primary Sources: The Interpretation of Texts from Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Historians. (Abingdon, Routledge, 2008), 58.
[4] Winston Churchill letter to Lord Melchett, 1944. https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/holocaust/churchills-reaction/
[5] Winston Churchill letter to Lord Melchett, 1944. https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/holocaust/churchills-reaction/
[6] Andrew Roberts, Churchill: Walking with Destiny. (London, Puffin, 2018)
[7] Christopher Browning, The Origins of the Final Solution. (Nebraska: University of Nebraska Press, 2004), 1.
[8] Louise London, Whitehall and the Jews, 1933-1948. (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2003) p.1
[9] Winston Churchill letter to Lord Melchett, 1944. .https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/holocaust/churchills-reaction/
[10] Martin Gilbert, Churchill: A Life (New York: Random House, 2000), 88.
[11] Winston Churchill letter to Lord Melchett, 1944. https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/holocaust/churchills-reaction/
[12] Winston Churchill letter to Lord Melchett, 1944. https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/holocaust/churchills-reaction/
[13] Martin Gilbert, Auschwitz and the Allies: A Devastating Account of how the Allies Responded to the News of Hitler’s Murder (New York: Rosetta, 1981).
[14] Gilbert, Auschwitz and the Allies.
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Putting a positive spin on war-time evacuation
In this blog post, second-year history student Alex Symonds looks at a diary from World War II, now in the Imperial War museum. The diary, apparently a joint effort by three girl guides, was probably intended for public consumption, and thus downplays the negative impact of war-time life for evacuees.
The evacuation of British children in World War II is often depicted as a negative experience for everyone involved. Children who had never even left their home towns suddenly had to adapt to life in the countryside and living with strangers, while their host families were confronted with dirty, disease-riddled children who were nothing like they had ever seen before.[1] There is a plethora of primary sources that reflect this, including letters from hosts complaining to officials about the state of their child, and official statistics on how many children were relocated to different households.[2] However, not all sources reflect this evacuation horror story; an alternative, more positive experience is reflected in the diary kept by three girl guides who ran an evacuee hostel in Perthshire, Scotland. The diary is now held by the Imperial War Museum.[3]
The two pages discussed here cover what life was like in the Balendoch hostel in April, May and June of an unspecified year between 1941-1944 during World War Two.[4] Each entry in the diary covers one or two months (May and June are covered together), with brief descriptions of any events that occurred, such as an air raid in April, and is accompanied by photographs.[5] The entries are overwhelmingly positive, which is abnormal for diaries from this period, and the reasons for this are touched upon further on. While it is not stated which of the three girl guides wrote each entry, it is not unreasonable to assume that it was a collective process.
This leads us to the first thing to consider when analysing this source: unlike many other examples of diaries, this was not intended to be private, instead showcasing what life was like at the hostel, and keeping track of how they were affected by the war. Historian Harriet Blodgett is of the view that the greater the explicit purpose of a diary, the less likely it is to be honest and critical, and this can certainly be applied to this source.[6] While the purpose of the diary is not stated in the web-accessible pages, the presentable layout and lack of detail on less positive aspects of life speaks for itself: this is certainly not a diary used for writing down the author’s deepest and darkest thoughts. In addition, the authors would have been well aware that they were contributing to the war effort with their hostel; it was even acknowledged by the Girl Guides’ founder Baden Powell in letters to the girls, so the likelihood of them writing the diary expecting no-one to ever read it is slim. While there are other cases of diaries being kept with the knowledge that it could be read, this is uncommon.[8]
While serving this purpose, the authors (intentionally or not) constructed a positive narrative of what life was like at the hostel, no doubt because they were aware that their experience was being discussed.[9] They perhaps did not foresee their diary becoming a museum exhibit, but the letters from Baden Powell made it clear that their efforts were being noticed. Also, making monthly entries would have given the authors time to consider what should be entered, which John Tosh argues can vastly affect how genuine diary entries are, as it is easier to construct a narrative when writing with hindsight.[10] In addition, there is evidence of them constructing a positive narrative with their wording, with the May and June entry stating “before very long quite a lot of people will be able to swim quite well.”.[11] This only touches upon the progress that a vague number of people have made, ignoring any negative incidents, and every other activity that occurred over the two months, focusing on what they saw as worthy of documentation. The April entry also features the only mention of bombings and warfare in these two entries, which presents an air raid as a positive experience because they drank cocoa afterwards, completely ignoring any fear that most likely the children experienced.[12] There is undeniably a narrative present here, especially when you consider that they likely knew that this would be read by others after the war was over.
These points do not render this source useless though, they just change the viewpoint from which you should study the diary. While the diary may ignore any negativity, having a record of positive experiences of evacuation presents an alternative to the stereotypes mentioned at the start of this blog. Travis L Crosby writes heavily about the negative experiences of evacuees, reporting high levels of arguments between the children and their hosts, along with 750 cases of relocating evacuees to different homes just in three months in Maidenhead.[13] Arthur Marwick has similar findings, stating that nearly a million evacuees had already returned home by 1940 due to failing to adapt to countryside life and their hosts being unwilling to house them due to their filthy conditions.[14] Clearly, the Balendoch hostel was not a standard host, resembling more of a summer camp with fun activities designed to distract children from the war, aiming to take away a lot of the fear experienced elsewhere.[15]
This diary has value because of everything that it is not, it is a positive example of evacuation that can be used as a valid comparison to the negative narratives that are portrayed by historians like Crosby and Marwick. It has value as a personal source due to its intentional narrative, multiple authors, and planned entries. By some definitions, such as Ralf Wuthenow’s, it lacks so many key characteristics of a diary that it perhaps should not be considered as one.[16] Used alone, it portrays a misleadingly positive image of evacuation, but without sources like this one you would be lead to believe that evacuation was entirely negative for everyone involved.
[1] Arthur Marwick, Britain in the Century of Total War (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970), 265
[2] Travis L. Crosby, The Impact of Civilian Evacuation in the Second World War. (London: Croom Helm, 1986), 31-32
[3] Unknown, “Evacuation Hostel Diary, Balendoch, 1940-1945.” https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/1030013451, last accessed 04 March 2020
[4] It was between 1941-1944 due to the hostel opening in June 1940, and the diary finishing in January 1945.
[5] “Evacuation Hostel Diary, Balendoch, 1940-1945.”
[6] Penny Summerfield, Histories of the Self: Personal Narratives and Historical Practices. (London: Routledge, 2008): 52
[7] “Evacuation Hostel Diary, Balendoch, 1940-1945.”
[8] Christa Hämmerle, “Diaries” in Reading Primary Sources: The Interpretation of Texts from Nineteenth and Twentieth Century History, edited by Miriam Dobson and Benjamin Ziemann. (London: Routledge, 2008), 141-142.
[9] Kaspar von Greyerz, “Ego-Documents: The Last Word?” German History 28, no.3 (2010): 275.
[10] John Tosh, The Pursuit of History 6th ed. (Florence: Routledge, 2015), 106.
[11] Unknown, “Evacuation Hostel Diary, Balendoch, 1940-1945.”
[12] Ibid.
[13] Crosby, Impact, 32.
[14] Marwick, Britain in the Century of Total War, 265.
[15] Maggie Andrews, Women and Evacuation in the Second World War, (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019), 136.
[16] Christa Hämmerle, “Diaries.”, 142.
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Self-identity under slavery: Frederick Douglass narrates his story
Joshua Bown, a first year History student at the University of Portsmouth, has written the following blog entry on the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass: An American Slave, for the Fragments module, which looks at the possibilities and challenges of using primary sources for historical study. The module is co-ordinated by Dr Katy Gibbons, Senior Lecturer in History at Portsmouth.
The use of egodocuments as a primary source for historians has provided both significant and controversial contributions to the field. As Laura Sangha puts it, the potential advantages of studying these personal documents seem obvious, in that they may ‘reveal what an individual actually thought and felt about the times they lived through’. However egodocuments do not ‘give us unmediated access to the private thoughts of contemporaries, despite their look and feel’.[1] Even though they are a form of personal writing, egodocuments are still written in a certain way, whereby the individual constructs an image of themselves shaped by the historical context of when it was written, alongside their own intentions which may be hidden to the reader. This blog will focus on a particular type of egodocument, the autobiography, specifically the Narrative of the life of Frederick Douglass: An American Slave and how through examining it we can determine its significance to the historical context it was produced in, alongside broader historiographical discussions which continue into the present day.
Douglass’s autobiography which was written and first published in 1845. Douglass was born into slavery in 1818 and later went on to escape in 1838 to the North, where he became an orator and key figure of the abolitionist movement in Massachusetts and New York. Whilst Douglass went on to write other autobiographies following him becoming a free man, his first piece of published work was arguably his most significant, and undoubtedly his most successful, as it immediately went on to become a bestseller both in the US and Europe. The motivations as to why Douglass wrote and published his autobiography are various, but it is quite clear that through highlighting the oppression slaves faced as well as humanising them in a way which would have been unheard of at the time, Douglass could have used his autobiography not just as a personal account, but as a way to build support for the Abolitionist movement he would go on to become such an integral part of.
Before going on to discuss the significance of his autobiography in terms of a historiographical context, it is perhaps more useful to firstly look at its significance in terms of the historical context it was produced in. As Robert Levine puts it, the autobiography ‘draws considerably on the conventions of the slave narrative’ which traditionally involved ‘describing in documentary fashion the journey from slavery to freedom’. However, as Levine goes on to say, Douglass’s work is essentially unique as it strays from what would traditionally be seen as a slave narrative, and through his style of writing instead provides historians with useful knowledge on ‘slavery, abolitionism and the politics of race in nineteenth-century American culture’.[2]
Perhaps also worth considering is the position Douglass found himself within society at that time, and therefore how significant it was that he managed to produce such a successful and, in a sense, inspiring piece of work, which not only created an identity for himself, but for the unrepresented minority group of slaves as a whole. In the chapter where Douglass is introduced to the alphabet by Mrs. Auld he first begins to understand the concept of reading and writing.[3] Shortly after this, Douglass writes how Mr. Auld forbids him for learning any further, stating that ‘Learning would spoil the best nigger in the world’. This is significant as it essentially acts as a turning point for Douglass, who through the harsh words of Auld begins to understand ‘the pathway from slavery to freedom’and set the foundations for his newfound motivation to learn to read and ultimately escape to tell his experience and again create a new identity for slaves, which would break the traditional way in which they were portrayed at the time.[4]
Identity, and the construction of one’s selfhood through personal writing, is arguably the most significant debate amongst historians in a historiographical context, when looking at Douglass’s autobiography. As Mary Fullbrook and Ulinka Rublack put it, on first glance ego-documents seem like they can ‘provide privileged access to the inner workings of an authentic self’.[5] On further investigation however, it seems the idea of selfhood itself is much more complex than it seems. Douglass, throughout his autobiography and again in his further works, seems to struggle with the idea of selfhood, and who he actually wants to portray himself as.[6] Celeste-Marie Bernier, whose work looks at the idea of selfhood in Douglass’s later works, makes a point which can also be related to his first autobiography, in that through his use of literature to express his experience, he seems conflicted on the representation of self he wants to emit, leading ultimately to ‘multifaceted constructions of self’.[7] Alongside this viewpoint, Levine also studies the idea of identity in the autobiographies and comes to a similar conclusion in that Douglass ‘reveals his confusions about personal identity’.[8] Regardless of the historiographical debate surrounding Douglass’s idea of identity and selfhood, it is clear in his autobiography that he successfully created a form of identity for himself which went against the notions of what a slave was deemed to be represented as within the historical context – he was an intellectual human being, capable of being a full-fledged American citizen and far from the animal he was conceived as being when compared alongside livestock whilst still in chains.[9]
To conclude, it is important to round up on the significance of Douglass’s autobiography, both in terms of the historical context it was written in, as well as in a broader historiographical context. Without a doubt, what Douglass accomplished during his lifetime was extraordinary – he escaped slavery, learned to read and write and published an autobiography which went on to change the way slaves were represented and viewed, as well as building considerable support for the Abolitionist movement. On the other hand, the historiographical debates about his work continue into the present day – Douglass struggled with the idea of selfhood and seemed conflicted on the type of identity he wanted to present within his works.[10] Nevertheless, Douglass and his works provide historians with many new ways of exploring ego-documents and allow many new conclusions to be drawn on their usefulness as a primary source.
Portrait of Frederick Douglass. By Mike Alewitz – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=80805570,
Detail from “The City at the Crossroads of History,” a mural series commissioned in 2014 to be displayed in the Museum of the City of New York, but never installed. The four panels chart the history of worker’s struggles in America. This panel, “We Follow the Path Less Traveled” depicts twenty-five historically important leaders of civil rights causes.
Bibliography
Douglass, Frederick. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass: An American Slave (Minneapolis, Lerner Publishing Group, 1976)
Sangha, Laura. Understanding Early Modern Primary Sources, Routledge, 2016.
Fullbrook, Mary & Rublack, Ulinka. In “Relation: The ‘Social Self’ and Ego-Documents”, Ger Hist, Volume 28, no.3 (2010): 263–272.
Levine, Robert S. “Identity in the Autobiographies”, in The Cambridge Companion to Frederick Douglas, ed. Maurice S. Lee (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2009), 31-45
Bernier, C-M. (2011). “’His Complete History’? Revisioning, Recreating and Reimagining Multiple Lives in Frederick Douglass’s Life and Times” Slavery & Abolition, Vol. 33, no. 4 (2011): 595-610.
[1] Laura Sangha,. Understanding Early Modern Primary Sources, (Routledge, 2016), 107.
[2] Robert S. Levine, “Identity in the Autobiographies” in The Cambridge Companion to Frederick Douglas, ed. Maurice S. Lee (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 31.
[3] Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass: An American Slave. (Minneapolis: Lerner Publishing Group, 1976), 31.
[4] Douglass, Narrative, 31.
[5] Mary Fullbrook, & Ulinka Rublack, “Relation: The ‘Social Self’ and Ego-Documents”, Ger Hist, 28, no. 3 (2010): 264.
[6] C.-M. Bernier, “’His Complete History’? Revisioning, Recreating and Reimagining Multiple Lives in Frederick Douglass’s Life and Times” (1881, 1892), Slavery & Abolition, 33, no. 4 (2011): 595-610.
[7] Bernier, “’Complete History’?”, 596.
[8] Levine, “Identity”, 32.
[9] Douglass, Narrative, 37.
[10] Bernier, “’His Complete History’?”: 595-596.
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Fear of the Unknown: An investigation into individual experiences of the D-Day campaign
Cameron Meeten, third year History student at the University of Portsmouth, wrote the following blog entry on the research he and his fellow students undertook as part of a final year group research project. Along with fellow final year students Ian Atkins, Dom Coombs, Patrick Kelliher and Chris Kyprianou, Cameron looked at the ‘fear of the unknown’ felt by D-Day combatants in June 1944. As well as presenting their findings as part of the unit’s assessment, the students also gave a public presentation at the D-Day Story, Southsea. The final year group research unit is co-ordinated by Dr Rob James, Senior Lecturer in Cultural and Social History at Portsmouth.
For our Archival Research Project in the final year of our History degree we worked alongside the D-Day Story to research the personal experiences of those involved in D-Day in 1944. The aim of our research was to uncover and analyse the notions of fear experienced and expressed by the allied personnel who were directly involved in the campaign. The D-Day Story has a vast array of personal sources, such as letters, diaries and interviews, that provided us with a wealth of material to facilitate our research. The lack of research into the individual emotions and experiences of Allied personnel participating in D-Day ensured that this project was a unique experience, deviating from the typical historiographical perspective that often just provides a narrative of the military aspects of the campaign. Following the completion of our research, we were given the opportunity to present our findings to the public at the D-Day Story in Portsmouth. This allowed us to provide a fresh perspective on the personal experiences of D-Day combatants to the people who attended.
Cameron Meeten (left) presenting at the D-Day Story, Southsea, with Chris Kyprianou, Ian Atkins and Dom Coombs A key theme we came across in the archives was the notion of British stoicism. We found that combatants rarely wrote about their feelings, instead favouring narratives of events which avoided the subject of individual emotion. For example, stoicism is demonstrated in the account of Elliot Dalton when he stated that he was wary of the spread of fear, so didn’t share his thoughts with his fellow combatants. However, he admitted that he confessed such feelings to his younger brother. [1] The negative stigma surrounding the expression of fear ensured that it was mentioned infrequently, and was downplayed in letters. This is demonstrated in Radio Mechanic Ainslie Hickman’s letter to his parents which likened the journey across the English Channel to a ‘pleasure cruise’. [2]
From our research we found that fear was – perhaps predictably – more significant prior to the invasion of Normandy. On 5 June, just a day before the invasion, Gunner E. Brewer not only stated that he and his fellow combatants ‘had well and truly had it’, but he also admitted to not being confident that he would see home again. [3] This contrasts significantly with the archival material which was written following the landings. Diaries and letters written after the landings were generally far more optimistic and portrayed experiences of excitement and adventure. For example, Lieutenant George Wildman expressed the excitement and adventure in his discovery of a bottle of brandy and a stash of Franks. [4] This suggests that fear was tied to personal success, as demonstrated through the interview of Ted Hunt who commanded 15 Rhino tanks on D-Day. Hunt stated that while he was obviously scared from time to time, the campaign was not as terrifying as Norway which he described as ‘terrible with no success’. [5]
Our research into the archives also gave us a unique opportunity to see what coping mechanisms were utilised by soldiers. Two of the most interesting of these that we discovered were smoking and drawing. Drawing as a coping mechanism is evidenced in Sergeant John Jenkins’ rough sketches. [6] Interestingly, the drawings we found in the archives do not portray any conflict, but menial daily tasks – such as washing – which acted as a distraction from the war. Smoking was almost a universal coping mechanism for Allied soldiers following the Normandy landings. Private William Oatman noted that his backpack contained more packs of cigarettes than food, and he said that he went through all of them in the first two nights of the campaign. [7] From this we can see that drawing and smoking were utilised by soldiers to keep busy as a distraction from the war.
Sketch by Sergeant John Jenkins. Courtesy of D-Day Story Archive The contrast of the fear expressed between ‘bloodied’ and ‘unbloodied’ soldiers – those who had experienced combat and those who had not – was a key discovery of our research. Bloodied soldiers such as Ted Hunt were far less jubilant regarding the prospect of invasion due to their previous experiences in the war; this contrasted with the positive outlook of unbloodied soldiers such as Roy Clarke, who claimed that the ‘excitement was beyond anything he had experienced in his life’. [8] This demonstrates that previous experience ensured that bloodied soldiers knew what horrors to expect, making them less optimistic than their inexperienced counterparts. Therefore, for the more battle-worn soldiers, previous combat experience served as a significant cause for the fear surrounding D-Day.
Our experience working alongside the D-Day Story has been very enjoyable. Gaining access to their archives provided us with a rich variety of sources which aided our pursuit of finding a new perspective on the soldiers’ experiences of D-Day. This project allowed us to research the combatants’ unique personal experiences, and we uncovered stories and experiences about the campaign which may have otherwise gone unheard. Presenting our research publicly at the D-Day Story was a memorable experience and allowed us to share our findings with visitors to the museum, providing them with a new perspective from which to think about the experiences of the many people who took part in the D-Day campaign.
NOTES
[1] 2003/2245/1, Diary of Elliot Dalton, dated October 1944. D-Day Story Archive, D-Day Story, Southsea.
[2] 2014/403, Letter by Ainslie Hickman, dated 12/06/1944. D-Day Story Archive, D-Day Story, Southsea.
[3] DD 1990/536/12, Letter by Gunner Brewer E., dated 28/05/1944. D-Day Story Archive, D-Day Story, Southsea.
[4] DD 1990/544/2, Letter by Sub-Lieutenant George Wildman, dated October 1944. D-Day Story Archive, D-Day Story, Southsea.
[5] ‘Ted Hunt-Fear’, Legasse: The Veterans Video Archive, https://www.legasee.org.uk/operation-overlord/the-archive/ted-hunt/, last accessed 25 March 2019.
[6] DD 2015/53/6, Drawing by Sergeant John Jenkins sent to his daughter, dated 1944. D-Day Story Archive, D-Day Story, Southsea.
[7] 2014/252/31, Diary of William Oatman, dated June 1944. D-Day Story Archive, D-Day Story, Southsea.
[8] Lance Goddard, D-Day: Juno Beach, Canada’s 24 hours of destiny, (London: Dundurn, 2004); p. 44.
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Using Personal Sources: Charlotte Brontë’s letters
Rachel Savage, a second year History student at the University of Portsmouth, has written the following blog entry on letters sent between author Charlotte Brontë and her friend Ellen Nussey, for the Introduction to Historical Research module. Rachel reveals how personal sources like this can be used to gain insight into the emotions of women living in the 19th century Britain. The module is co-ordinated by Dr Maria Cannon, Lecturer in Early Modern History at Portsmouth.
Charlotte Brontё was born in 1816 and grew up in a society which compelled her to conceal her gender with the pseudonym Currer Bell in order to initiate her successful writing career. [1] The suppressive lives women experienced in the Victorian period led Charlotte to form a close relationship with Ellen Nussey. [2] It is the closeness of this relationship that will be explored in this blog, as some historians, such as Rebecca Jennings, believe their relationship to have been a romantic one. [3] The primary sources used to debate this question are two letters that Charlotte wrote to Ellen in 1836 and 1837. [4] The analysis of these letters is crucial to this question and the extent to which these letters are useful as a piece of historical research will also be discussed.
Copyright:The Morgan Library & Museum It is evident from these letters that Charlotte cared greatly for Ellen as there is an abundance of emotive language which expresses Charlotte’s honest feelings, for example, “what shall I do without you?”, and “I long to be with you.” [5] Rachel Fuchs and Victoria Thompson argue that these expressions are not evidence of a romantic relationship, as in this time period women would form very close bonds and their letters would contain the topics of “their joys, their loves and their bodies.” [6] Therefore, the intimate nature of these letters may be evidence of how two friends felt they could truly be honest with each other rather than being evidence of a romantic relationship. However, it is interesting to consider that Charlotte herself was concerned that her letters to Ellen were too passionate and might be condemned. [7] This suggests that their relationship was a romantic one. Arguably one of the most passionate sentences in the 1837 letter – “we are in danger of loving each other too well” – could suggest that Charlotte and Ellen were on the brink of a romantic relationship and were in fear of that relationship developing. Because Victorian women were expected to have no sexual desires, the idea that two women could be having a romantic relationship was completely unacceptable to society. [8] Thus, Charlotte and Ellen may have feared the consequences of a romantic relationship developing.
These letters further highlight the context of Victorian society in which men were perceived to be superior. This limited the possibility of Ellen and Charlotte ever living together, most clearly captured in the lines, “Ellen I wish I could live with you always”, and “we might live and love on till Death without being dependent on any third person for happiness.” [9] Here Charlotte refers to a third person being a man, as in Victorian society women were completely dependent on men economically as they were the sole earners and therefore for women in a same-sex romantic relationship they faced economic barriers when it came to establishing a home together. [10] Consequently, for “novelist Charlotte Brontё and her lifelong romantic friend, Ellen Nussey, a joint home remained an unattainable dream.” [11] The fact that Charlotte and Ellen desired to live with one another suggests a romantic nature to their relationship. This is further emphasised when Ellen’s brother Henry proposed to Charlotte in 1839; Charlotte considered accepting in order to live with Ellen, but ultimately she could not accept the proposal. [12] The mere fact that Charlotte considered the proposal suggests her immense desire to live with Ellen, although as she writes in her 1836 letter that she wanted to live with Ellen without the dependence of a third person. Subsequently, this may have led her to decline the proposal. [13] As well as this, Jennings suggests women feared “that marriage would limit their independence further and restrict their access to their female friends.” [14] This was certainly the case for Charlotte when she married Arthur Bell Nicholls in 1854, as he prevented Charlotte and Ellen meeting on occasions and he read all of Charlotte’s letters before she sent them to Ellen. [15] Furthermore, the significance of Charlotte rejecting Henry’s proposal in 1839 suggests that the desire to live with Ellen in 1836 was still a dream to which Charlotte clung.
It is also important to illuminate the positives and limitations of using these letters to gain a true historical representation of Charlotte Brontё. The use of letters for historical research is helpful because, as Miriam Dobson suggests, they offer a true representation of the authors feelings. [16] It is unlikely that Charlotte would have been dishonest with Ellen especially as they had such a close relationship, whether it be romantic or not. However, Alistair Thomson argues that “every source is constructed and [a] selective representation of experience.” [17] Subsequently, although Charlotte is likely to be honest within this source she would also have been selective in what she wrote. This is especially significant to these letters. If Charlotte did have a romantic relationship with Ellen, she had to be careful how explicitly she expressed her love for her, for if someone other than Ellen had read these letters they could both face social exclusion from society. It is this selectivity that causes historians such as Jennings, Fuchs and Thompson to debate whether Charlotte and Ellen actually had a romantic relationship. Although, these letters offer a clear insight into the personal life of Charlotte Brontё and her thoughts and feelings, it is also important to remember that letters are a response to a previous interaction. [18] Consequently, these letters cannot be considered in isolation, as Ellen’s responses are also important to the creation of Charlotte’s image and presentation of herself.
In summary, by considering these letters historians can gain a deeper insight into the personal relations that Charlotte had and how she constructed her self-image to Ellen with the influence and constraints placed on her in society in which she could not openly express her love for Ellen. It is certainly clear that Charlotte would be honest and express her deepest thoughts and desires with Ellen. The question of Charlotte’s lesbianism is in no way conclusive, as more letters would need to be analysed especially those by Ellen. However, it is likely they may have desired a lesbian relationship, but the social constraints were too restricting to do so.
Notes
[1] Dinah Birch, “Charlotte Brontë”, in The Brontёs in Context ed. Marianne Thormählen. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 65.
[2] Eugene Charlton Black, “Sexual Roles: Victorian Progress?”, in Victorian Culture and Society ed. Eugene Charlton Black. (London: Macmillan, 1973), 385.
[3] Rebecca Jennings, A Lesbian History of Britain: Love and Sex between Women Since 1500 (Oxford: Greenwood World, 2007), 51.
[4] Charlotte Brontё, “C.Brontё letters to Ellen Nussey, 1836”Alison Oram and Annmarie Turnbull, The Lesbian History Sourcebook: Love and Sex Between Women in Britain from 1780-1970 (New York: Routledge, 2001), 60-61.
[5] Brontë, “C. Brontë”, 61.
[6] Rachel G. Fuchs and Victoria E. Thompson, Women in Nineteenth-Century Europe (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 38.
[7] Jennings, Lesbian, 53.
[8] Fuchs and Thompson, Women, 40-41.
[9] Brontë, “C. Brontë”, 61.
[10] Jennings, Lesbian, 51.
[11] Jennings, Lesbian, 51-52.
[12] Jennings, Lesbian, 53.
[13] Brontë, “C. Brontë”, 61.
[14] Jennings, Lesbian, 53.
[15] Jennings, Lesbian, 53-54.
[16] Miriam Dobson, “Letters”, in Reading Primary Sources: The Interpretation of Texts from Nineteenth and Twentieth Century History ed. Miriam Dobson and Benjamin Ziemann. (New York: Routledge, 2009), 60.
[17] Alistair Thomson, “Life Stories and Historical Analysis”, in Research Methods for History ed. Lucy Faire and Simon Gunn. (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2012), 102.
[18] Dobson, “Letters”, 69
