1. professional reputation
2. standing with the public
3. impact on the public purse
4. conduct of foreign policy
5. preparations for succession

Starting from 1066 with William the Conqueror (overrated), through to a postscript for Elizabeth II (good), he hurls a revisionist Molotov Cocktail into our historical thinking.

How Can You Measure Monarchy?

Measuring Monarchy is not … an endeavour which aspires to construct some sort of league table in which every monarch who fits in the frame of England to 1603 and England and Scotland from that date is listed. The aim instead is to establish some general but enduring rules for deciding on relative merit, then to offer a series of case studies of who appear to be underrated and overrated respectively, and then to draw some threads together in concluding what it is that the underrated have in common.

The task is not as taxing as it might seem to be anyway. Comparing William I (the Conqueror) (1066–87) with Stephen (1135–54) is not an impossible aim as Norman England (once the invaders had become a fully occupying force) did not change that dramatically between the dates concerned. Henry II (1154–89) was succeeded by Richard I or Lionheart (1189–99). It is not that hard to draw a comparison between Edward III (1327–77) and Henry V (1413–22), where there is not a chasm in their timespans. The monarchs Henry VII (1485–1509), Henry VIII (1509–47) and Elizabeth I (1558–1603) are Tudor family. William III (1689–1702) is followed by Anne (1702–14). William IV (1830–37), Victoria (1837–1901) and Edward VII (1901–10) come after one another. These fourteen kings and queens comprise those who are to be awarded either an ‘underrated’ or an ‘overrated’ designation.

The Ratings

The use of terms like ‘underrated’ and ‘overrated’ only makes sense if there is some degree of consensus about those who are either ‘accurately rated’ or ‘fairly rated’. To a perhaps rather surprising extent, this writer believes that most historical observers would not have that much difficulty determining who should be rated ‘good’, ‘average’, ‘poor’, ‘terrible’ or ‘not rateable’.

The Good

The ‘good’ (excluding, as will be the case uniformly here, the fourteen monarchs scheduled for a closer inspection) include Henry I, Edward I, Henry IV (a slightly edgy choice, some would assert) and (on balance) Edward IV. As will be outlined at the end of this book, Elizabeth II may well fit here too.

The Average

The ‘average’ (in chronological order) would include William II, James I (possibly at the top of this division), Charles II, George II (perhaps close to the relegation zone), George V and George VI.

The Poor

The ‘poor’ (in order of their reign) contains John, Henry III, Mary Tudor, George I (although it is a judgement call between the first two Hanoverians as to who is the less appealing), George III (it was not his fault that he was consumed by insanity, but a device should have been found for abdication in these conditions) and George IV. They tainted the monarchy to a degree but were not overthrown.

The Terrible

The ‘terrible’ were actually thrown out. They number Edward II (removed by his wife, her lover and his own heir), Richard II (deposed by Henry IV), Henry VI (ejected by Edward IV), Richard III (although he has his defenders, who would not be pleased to see him placed in this company), Charles I (not a smart king even if the royalists were ‘wrong but romantic’) and his son James II (forced to flee).

The Remainder

There is then a small set of kings and queens who for diverse reasons are hard to categorise at all. Edward V disappeared from the Tower of London, assumed murdered as a child. Edward VI was a boy king under the control of first the Duke of Somerset, then the Duke of Northumberland. Mary II, in theory the joint monarch with her husband William III, was plainly the inferior party in that contract and died after just over five years on the throne. Edward VIII abdicated within a year so that he could marry Wallis Simpson (although there is a plausible lobby that would mark him down as ‘terrible’ for that decision and his liaisons with Adolf Hitler and the Nazis). Charles III is too new to judge.

The Evaluation Here

The central premise of this book is that a series of monarchs whom many would automatically list as ‘good’, even ‘great’, should not have that status and that a series of other figures (some of whom are well known but have been burdened by an unfair assessment) should be elevated from an ‘average’ ranking, which most of them would conventionally have, and now be evaluated as ‘good’ rulers.

There is, nonetheless, one final constraint that should be conceded at the outset of the operation. It is surely unavoidable even if strenuous efforts are made to minimise it. It cannot be obliterated.

It is subjectivity. Even if there were to be a universal consensus that the five measures which are about to be outlined are indeed the ideal means by which monarchs should be evaluated (and it would be a miracle on the scale of the loaves and the fishes if that were to come to pass), then that still leaves an immense amount to disagree about in how those measures should be utilised. At the extremes, there are occasions where it is absolutely clear whether a monarch did or did not leave the public finances in a better or worse state than they inherited, or engaged in wars which either did or did not make England, or England and Scotland, a bigger player on the European (later global) stage and whether the succession which would follow their deaths would be smooth or contested.

There are other instances, though, when it is not as clear-cut how to validate a verdict. There may be a case that the strength or weakness of the coffers was not a direct reflection on the monarch of the day, or that their options in the exercise of foreign policy were either wider or narrower, or that the succession question arose in circumstances which it was unreasonable for them to have expected.

There will doubtless be observers of certain figures, whom I believe can be dispassionately assigned as ‘underrated’ or ‘overrated’, who will examine the same acts or events in history and come to an entirely different conclusion as to how they should be interpreted. Subjectivity is destined never to be removed from historical deliberation altogether. In truth, it is the blood flowing in its veins.

Without an element of structure, and one which is not too open-ended or ambiguous, the aspiration to measure monarchy is lost before it has even started in earnest. We need some rules, or we have little chance of reaching findings, even if they will still prompt dissent thereafter. What are set out now are the five measures by which, it will be asserted here, we can examine the record of monarchs not only in terms of what their contemporaries might have thought, but more widely.

Extracted from Measuring Monarchy by Tim Hames

The post The most overrated and underrated British kings and queens? appeared first on The History Press.

How would you describe The Cleveland Street Scandal in 3 words?

Sex, power, cover-up / abuse of power.

What inspired you to cover this particular story?

It was a scandal that I was vaguely aware of, but I didn’t know much about it – we never covered this in history lessons at school in the 1980’s! It was the fact that Inspector Abberline, whom I knew was a key figure in the Jack the Ripper investigation in London’s East End in 1888 – the year before the Cleveland Street scandal – was put in charge of the inquiry which first intrigued me. The connection with Abberline didn’t seem to be widely known outside of Jack the Ripper researchers, known as ‘Ripperologists’. Then I discovered that no book had been written about the scandal for almost fifty years, so I was sure that I could find out more and add detail and cover the Abberline angle in more depth. But as research continued, I realised how much it was a story about the terrible mistreatment of gay men, the way that the Establishment closes ranks and abuses power to protect itself, and a massive cover-up which included the involvement of the Prince of Wales, the future Edward VII.

As someone outside the LGBTQ community, how did you approach writing this book?

When I realised that it was in many ways an LGBTQ story, I did pause for a moment and wondered if I could take it on as a book project. Not being gay myself – although I have several gay friends – could I do it justice? But then I realised that the story itself was so powerful that I just had to accurately try to bring that story to life and tell it honestly, so that those unaware of this incredible incident in British history – and I suspect that there are many people who have never heard about it before – could become aware of it. The Cleveland Street scandal also set the template for Oscar Wilde’s prosecution for gross indecency six years later in 1895 (which I cover at the end of the book and show the links to the Cleveland Street prosecutions), and most people know about that. I wanted to raise awareness of how badly gay men were treated legally in the Victorian period and beyond: right up to 1967 in England and Wales, Scotland in 1981 and Northern Ireland in 1982. And at least 50,000 gay men who were demonised and prosecuted because of their natural sexual inclination – including Wilde – weren’t pardoned until 2020! So, I felt a strong sense of responsibility in presenting this story to a wider public, including of course those in the LBGTQ community who had little knowledge of it, and I hope that I did a reasonable job.

You refer to the late-Victorian gay scene in London as ‘a thriving subculture’. What can you tell us about it?

It was going on, in London anyway, and more openly than you might think, given that it was socially taboo as well as illegal. Since at least mid-Georgian times in the late eighteenth century, gay men had met in what were called ‘Molly houses’, but which really referred to places where they met – not always privately, and sometimes in pubs and coffee-houses. There was some male prostitution of course, but many of these meetings would have just been between gay men who mixed together, although passwords and codes were often used to communicate. Assignations and pick-ups would also take place in London’s large parks, but from the mid-eighteenth century the very centre of London began to really develop. The term ‘West End’ came into usage in the very early nineteenth century, and this offered new methods of meeting ‘Mollys’ or rent boys. As I detail in the book, the modern West End as we know it today – Charing Cross Road, Shaftesbury Avenue, Piccadilly Circus – was largely built from the 1850s onwards, and so by the time of the scandal in 1889 was largely in place. Lit by streetlamps, these thoroughfares were much safer than parks for well-heeled men to meet rent boys (and there were hundreds if not several thousands of them operating in London by that time). Pick-ups often took place as rent boys hovered in front of shop windows hoping to the catch the eye of a potential client. From there, it was off to private rooms or organised brothels such as at No.19 Cleveland Street. The gay subculture was thriving, and early gay slang known as Polari was already in use by the late 1880s.

The treatment of gay men and the deep prejudice you describe can feel very shocking today. Did anything especially shock you about it?

Gay men were persecuted, and made to feel inhuman, in a psychiatric, social and legal sense. And public opinion was very largely homophobic in late Victorian Britain (in rural areas unsurprisingly more so than in the cities) outside of the gay subculture which operated under the surface. As the saying goes, it takes a long time for minds to change. It is shocking through our much more liberated prism of over 135 years later. What shocked me most though was how the law was applied differently to those of low social standing – the rent boys or ordinary gay men, and those of social standing. The Cleveland Street scandal is a clear and documented example of how aristocrats were allowed to escape prosecution, while those of low station had to face the law. It’s the tale of discriminatory and simply unfair legislation coupled with massive class inequality, where those at the top of the hierarchy – in this case close to Queen Victoria’s Royal family – were protected as the Establishment closed ranks to protect itself.

There are many colourful characters on both sides of the law, and from across the class divide. Did anyone especially stand out for you?

This true story does have a ready-made cast of colourful and quirky characters. Ones that particularly stood out for me, for a variety of different reasons, were the crooked lawyer, Arthur Newton; the irascible Earl of Euston; the slippery pimp Charles Hammond and his sidekick, George Veck, who posed as a priest; the politician, journalist and theatre-owner Henry Labouchère; and the veteran and brazen rent boy Jack Saul.

This was the final case for Detective Inspector Abberline, the man who mishandled the Jack the Ripper case. How significant was his role in the Cleveland Street Scandal?

Abberline was very significant to the scandal, as he led the investigation into it. He was a methodical and earnest policeman, with many commendations, and did his utmost to uphold the law. But he was hampered in his investigation by higher authorities, and became very frustrated by this, as did his overall boss, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner James Munro. And it must be said that the police in this case wanted the law to be applied fairly. As I relay in the book from files in the archives and other sources, these officers (along with some members of the justice system) wanted everybody to face justice if they had broken the law, regardless of social standing. But pressure from the Prince of Wales’s fixers and a government compliant to that pressure made this very difficult.

Has researching this scandal changed your view of authority?

I’ve been researching history and crime for some time now, so to be honest I already had a jaded, sceptical (hopefully not totally cynical!) view of authority. The old saying, ‘Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’, which was incidentally coined by the historian and politician Lord Acton just two years before the Cleveland Street scandal, holds a great deal of truth. The levers of power in society control how we all live, and we are at the mercy of them. All that we can do is be vigilant and try to keep checks on that power. In a Western democracy we are very lucky to largely have free speech, but we still have to be aware that machinations are going on and levers are constantly being pulled behind closed doors. There’s nothing wrong with authority in itself, it’s just how it’s administered.

What conclusions, if any, do you think might be drawn between the cover-up at Cleveland Street and similar scandals today?

My conclusion is that when those with a lot or the most to lose have power, they will do anything to protect themselves and their position. In the Cleveland Street scandal, the very structure of society and those at the very top of the hierarchy, which held it together top-down, was for a few months in real jeopardy – namely the Royal family and the aristocracy. This could happen again, in a different way, and we must be watchful for those closing of ranks, which leads to injustice, abuse of power, and the suffering of those with little or no power. Whether it’s on a nationally governmental or local political level, within a corporation or company, or within a community, scandals will always happen, and cover-ups may also occur or be attempted.

What thoughts would you like readers to take away from the book?

The old adage is that we can learn from history. Details change as societies progress and structures are altered, but the same general patterns emerge repeatedly. I hope that this book puts a spotlight on the mistreatment of gay men and the abuse of power and privilege by the Establishment in the late Victorian period. We really can learn from what went before, and I certainly did while researching and writing this book. But there is a comical and farcical side to the book alongside the serious one, and I hope that readers are also entertained by it!

The post Ask the author: Neil Root on The Cleveland Street Scandal appeared first on The History Press.

Steadily, throughout the 2000s, I had searched for former members of the Association and done my best to ensure that they didn’t throw away records. Whenever there were files or memorabilia that the owner no longer wanted I was able to redirect these either to the British Library or the National Football Museum in Manchester. My own cellar revealed old minutes, newsletters and football programmes, all of which have been invaluable in compiling this book. I have not had access to a complete set of WFA minutes but I have done the best I could with whatever material was available to me – and it was a lot! Just as important, have been the memories of so many people who were involved with the WFA from its inception in 1968 and beyond.

Although, as the late Queen Elizabeth II said, ‘recollections may vary’, the memories of so many have helped to jog the brain cells to unearth long-buried stories. My thanks in particular to June Jaycocks, David and Marianne Hunt, Jenny Bruton, Pam Marlowe, Mary and Suzanne Hull, Bill and Viv Bowley, and many more. Almost all of whom I tracked down were kind and generous with their time and their help. Occasionally someone did not wish to talk to me, but I hope that I have done justice in recording what was a relatively short existence for the Association. The WFA was founded on voluntary effort, which continued even after we were able to open an office. Unsurprisingly, given the time span, I was too late to speak with some volunteers. Clubs, leagues and much of the Association’s business was down to their efforts. When it became obvious that our inadequate resources would not be enough to develop the sport as it deserved, we handed its organisation over to the Football Association in 1993. The 2022 Euros trophy and England’s silver medal from the 2023 World Cup are surely proof that we were right to do so.

Our determination

Since UK women’s football has found its way on to the sports pages of the national newspapers and even TV and radio news bulletins, there has been a steady increase in the number of books written on the subject. None, however, have been devoted to the re-emergence of the sport in the late twentieth century through the work of the Women’s FA following the Football Association ban of women’s matches from pitches under their control (and consequently the other British football authorities) in 1921. A ban that remained in place until the end of 1969.

Some women found a way to play football in the intervening years, but it took the selfless efforts of men and women in the 1960s to overturn the ban and secure a sound base from which today’s women’s players have benefitted. Breaking the Grass Ceiling attempts to record the struggles of the Women’s Football Association to become established and to recognise what those people achieved.

Extracted from Breaking the Grass Ceiling by Patricia Gregory

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Tuesday, 8 May 1945 was VE – Victory in Europe – Day. Germany had surrendered. It was the end of the war in Europe. It was a time for celebration, but it was also a time for reflection. On VE Day, a jubilant crowd of thousands made their way to Buckingham Palace in London. They clamoured for the royal family. King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, with the two princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret, went out on the palace balcony eight times. Prime Minister Winston Churchill joined the royal family on the balcony. That day he told the nation:

‘My dear friends, this is your hour. This is not victory of a party or of any class. It’s a victory of the great British nation as a whole.’

Winston Churchill, VE Day 8 May 1945

Far away in Germany, Adelaide Hall was in the middle of her ENSA tour. She was in Hamburg when she was notified that the war had ended. Adelaide then became one of the first entertainers to arrive in Berlin to congratulate the troops after the city had been liberated. She said:

‘There was not a street in sight – nothing. They had all been razed to the ground, and people were putting up little boards, made from bits of wood, to identify the names of the streets that used to be there.’

Adelaide Hall

After the war, her husband Bert couldn’t get her out of the uniform specially made for her by Madame Adele of Grosvenor Street. He told his wife, ‘The war is over now, honey, you can let that uniform go!’

Norma Best, from British Honduras, had joined the ATS in 1944. She was in London for VE Day and took part in the endof-war celebrations on the Embankment. She later reflected:

‘I think the spirit of the war was that we were all fighting to win. All we could think about is to get in there, do a good job, let’s get it over and done with. Colour didn’t come into it.’

Norma Best

In January 1945, the newsletter of the LCP [League of Coloured Peoples] noted that Ulric Cross had been appointed the first liaison officer for West Indians in the RAF. They added that the recent award of the Distinguished Service Order (DSO) to Ulric was ‘a joy to every West Indian heart’. Ulric heard on the radio that the war was over, and he went to Piccadilly Circus in London to join the celebrations:

‘Everybody was overjoyed and I just didn’t feel like taking any part in it. So I went back home. I just felt that a lot of people had been killed. This was not a cause for celebration. The war did not stop people from being killed and a lot of my friends were killed, at least four or five from Trinidad. I was extremely glad the war was over.’

Flight Lieutenant Ulric Cross, DSO, DFC

In Jamaica, Connie Mark, who was serving with the ATS, remembered VE Day as a marvellous time:

‘Everybody was happy ’cause as far as we were concerned, the war was finished. Everybody was happy. Everybody just jumped up and down; the war was over, and it meant that no more of our people would be killed. We had parties, and everybody took it as an excuse to have a party, a drink up, and get stone-blind drunk. I didn’t used to drink in those days; I just went to all the parties that there were. Yeah, you were glad that the war was over, and people weren’t going to die. You didn’t have troop ships coming in with people sick, or blinded, or with missing limbs.’

Connie Mark

Cerene Palmer said that everybody in Jamaica wanted to know that Hitler was really dead.

‘They wanted to make sure it was him. They hung Mussolini so everybody could see him. You knew he was dead.’

Cerene Palmer

In England, another Jamaican, Sam King, was at his RAF hangar, repairing an aircraft, when victory was announced on the tannoy. Everyone was given the remainder of the day off, but they were told they would have to be back on duty the next day. Sam put on his RAF uniform and caught the bus into Weston-super-Mare:

‘It was different. The birds were singing. I got off the bus and I was on the right-hand side of the road, passing the George and Dragon. A lady rushed out: “Come along! You must have a drink.” She pulled me in the pub and said, “Bring rum for this airman, he’s from Jamaica.” I said, “I’m very sorry. I do not drink rum.” She said, “How can you not drink rum? You’ve got Jamaica on your shoulder!” She brought the rum and I had to drink the rum. Everybody was happy. It was VE Day. There’ll be no more bombing. No more killing. And especially for the women whose loved ones were coming home. It was good to be alive and I was alive.’

Sam King

Harold Sinson, from British Guiana, served in the RAF in Pembroke Dock in Wales. When asked about his memories of VE Day, he spoke of how everyone just downed tools:

‘Everything was free – there were drinks all over the place, there was dancing in the street. It was really exciting. It lasted all that day and all night – nobody knew what was happening, you just danced away until you had enough and you went back to camp and to bed. We got off the next day – it was wonderful. We spent time with our friends, and felt very humble for the things people did for us and the people who had died.’

Harold Sinson

Eddie Martin Noble was a Jamaican who was also in the RAF and serving in England. He said he was in Cambridge on VE Day when ‘the very the end of the war in Europe was announced’. In his autobiography, published in 1984, he reflected:

‘It is almost impossible for me to adequately describe here, after all these years, the incredible scenes of joy and sheer abandonment which took place in Cambridge that day and night. Complete strangers would hug and kiss you in the streets, shops and parks. There was dancing in the streets, and bonfires everywhere. In a park near the university I saw servicemen and officers take off their tunics and throw them on a massive bonfire.’

Eddie Martin Noble in his autobiography Jamaica Airman: A Black Airman in Britain 1943 and After

Eddie acknowledged that Winston Churchill was ‘a great war leader’. He believed that, without his leadership, the British people would have lost the war, ‘But, to put it bluntly, he was a bastard. As soon as the war ended they threw him out, and let a Labour government in, so that should tell you something.’

On VE Day, the Trinidadian singer Edric Connor was ready to broadcast the first instalment of a new BBC series of programmes called Serenade in Sepia. However, the live broadcast was postponed so that the BBC could do justice to the celebrations of the end of the war. It was decided that Edric and his co-star, Evelyn Dove, would record the programme on VE Day instead and it would be broadcast at a later date. However, getting to Broadcasting House on VE Day proved an almost impossible task for Edric:

‘Most public transport stopped running. Housewives left kitchens. Shops and schools were closed. All commercial and industrial activities ceased. The only way I could get to London that day was in a hearse. As I sat near the coffin I contemplated the dead body it contained. What a day to go to the BBC! Then I thought of the millions of people killed in the war and wept quietly. Somebody has to cry for the steel that is bent and the body broken against its will. Somebody has to cry for the children unborn and those born but hungry. Somebody had to cry for humanity. The hearse put me down at Oxford Circus.’

Edric Connor

Ambrose Campbell, the Nigerian musician and bandleader, was also drawn into the VE Day celebrations. On that memorable day he launched his new band, the West African Rhythm Brothers, in Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus. Sixty years later, Campbell reflected:

‘Everybody had been waiting for that day so everybody was happy and jumping around and dancing and kissing each other, so we thought we’d join the celebration. Four or five drummers and two or three guitars and these voices singing. We had a huge crowd following us around Piccadilly Circus. You could hardly move.’

Ambrose Campbell

In Black London (2015), Marc Matera described Campbell’s participation in VE Day as a ‘spontaneous expression of hope for a transformed post-war social order’.

As the war drew to a close, Dr Harold Moody made a broadcast to the people of the Caribbean for the BBC’s Empire Service in their series, Calling the West Indies. Extracts were then published in the News Letter of the LCP. ‘VE Day has come and gone,’ he said:

‘The years of blood and toil and sweat have come to an end in Europe. The tension of war for millions is over. We are free, again in the continent of Europe. I have been in the midst of a peoples whose homes have been shattered, whose families have been battered, who themselves have been maimed. I have seen these people bear all these shocks bravely and with stoic resistance. I now see these same people breathing the air of relief, and, in their rejoicing, lighting those fires the sight of which, a while ago, would have struck them with terror … I have rejoiced in meeting from time to time the fine group of men and women you have sent over from the West Indies, British Guiana and British Honduras. Their doings and achievements have thrilled me beyond telling. They will be coming back to you, we hope, before very long now, just as I hope my five boys and girls in the services will be back again soon. They have all done magnificently as they battled against evil things. Now they and you will have to continue the war against those evil things which are hindering the progress and development of our beloved lands in the West Indies.’

Dr Harold Moody

On 24 April 1947, at the age of 64, Dr Moody died of acute influenza at his home in Peckham. Thousands of people from all walks of life, including many of his patients, paid their respects at his funeral service which was held at the Camberwell Green Congregational Church. In his biography of Dr Moody, David A. Vaughan said that Moody gave to the LCP ‘devotion, sacrifice, passion and zeal for the rest of his life and he held the office of President continuously until his death in 1947’. Sam Morris commented, ‘In his passing, the black people then resident in Britain lost a sound, sincere, dedicated but completely unpretentious champion.’

Pauline Henebery remembered the feeling of relief when the war in Europe was over, but it was short-lived for her because of the shock of what happened to Hiroshima, a city in Japan that was largely destroyed by an atomic bomb on 6 August 1945. Between 70,000 and 126,000 civilians were killed. She said:

‘I remember the news of that, and was just shattered by the horror, and what it was going to mean. It was just so, so awful. I had the most terrible feeling of guilt that this nation which I’d adopted had done this … well, it was the Americans, really, but still.’

Pauline Henebery

Baron Baker, a Jamaican who had joined the RAF in 1944, felt passionately about the role West Indian servicemen had played in the conflict, as well as the sacrifices some of them had made for the mother country:

‘Many of our blue blood blacks died for the establishment. I know it because I buried several … so many of our young Jamaicans, and West Indians, contributed immensely to Britain’s war effort. It should be remembered at all times. It should never be forgotten.’

Baron Baker

At the end of the war, Esther Bruce took Stephen Bourne’s mother Kathy, aged 14, to see St Paul’s Cathedral. Like so many others, Esther found it hard to believe that St Paul’s had survived the German bombardment of London (the Blitz, doodlebugs and V-2 rockets). For many, including Esther, the beautiful and majestic cathedral symbolised the hope and strength of the British people. ‘Look at St. Paul’s Cathedral,’ Esther said to Kathy. ‘There’s not a mark on it. We’re lucky. We’ve still got half a street, but some poor souls have ended up with nothing.’

Extracted from Under Fire: Black Britain in Wartime 1939–45 by Stephen Bourne

The post Black Britain and VE Day appeared first on The History Press.

At her birth in 1889, Miss Dorothy Walpole, as she then was, seemed to have it all. Her family boasted an impressive political and literary heritage: ancestors included Sir Robert Walpole, Britain’s first Prime Minister and his famed son, Horace, author of the first gothic novel. Her father was heir to an earldom and her American mother the daughter of a wealthy railroad magnate. Dolly (as she was known) was raised in two of Norfolk’s finest houses, Wolterton and Mannington. But her privilege was tempered by several factors, including the early death of her mother and the clear desire of her father for a male heir.

When Dolly married a clever but poor army officer, Captain Arthur Mills, her father – by then the Earl of Orford – disinherited her and went on to marry a woman younger than his daughter. Life is often described as a journey. As an aristocratic woman with all the attendant advantages, Dolly could have taken the easy route, but the consequences of falling in love with the ‘wrong’ man saw her take another path. In doing so she underwent a metamorphosis and discovered much about herself, physically and mentally. Although she would never lose her love of donning a glamorous frock and downing a cocktail, for several months each year she left the decadent glamour of Jazz Age London for the wildness of desert, jungle and bush, where she found great solace.

Dolly had fallen in love with the Sahara when holidaying in Algeria. Her first expedition was in 1922 to Tunisia, to stay with the reclusive cave dwellers. Before Dolly, few women had chosen to journey through Africa, much of which was still little-known, and she became particularly known for her exploration in West Africa, becoming the first English woman in Timbuktu. Chugging along sluggish rivers on rickety boats she endured deadly heat, man-eating crocodiles and a male pursuer with teeth filed to sharp points. That achievement and the first of her six travel books, The Road to Timbuktu, cemented her reputation as an explorer and a travel writer.

In Liberia she was the first woman to cross the country to its furthest point, encountering cannibals on the way. In Venezuela she travelled over 800 miles through challenging terrain and along the Orinoco river. Everywhere she went, she stayed with local tribes whenever possible. Those who accompanied her on her expeditions were people she hired locally as guides, porters, interpreters. She never travelled with close companions, not even Arthur, who undertook his own journeys to find material for the successful adventure stories he wrote. They would reunite in their London flat, holiday together, then write and socialise.

Dolly travelled during a volatile period, when the world was emerging from the chaos of the Great War and re-shaping itself politically and culturally. She witnessed history in the making when Lord Balfour opened the first Hebrew University in Tel Aviv: her observations of the relationship between Jews and Arabs were prescient. In Iraq, she stayed with the Yezidi tribe, arriving via Aleppo in northern Syria and enduring a near-ambush by brigands. A century later, it is sobering to see that parts of the Middle East into which she ventured remain deeply troubled, and that some other places and peoples she wrote about have, at various times, continued to be the subject of distressing news.

Afterwards she shared her experiences with the world by turning them into compelling prose for her travel books and escapist stories for her novels, while undoubtedly being the only explorer who also wrote journalistic features on a wide range of topics for the emerging modern woman, now empowered by achieving suffrage. That she continued to enjoy the buzz of a social life when back in England provided a marked contrast with the other worlds she inhabited.

Today we take for granted the protection of inoculations for foreign travel. In Dolly’s time, smallpox, malaria and TB were rife, the number of people killed between 1900 and 1950 alone totalling more than those killed in both world wars. In several countries she explored, yellow fever was a killer: inoculation trials did not begin until 1938. Although she took precautions against certain illnesses, she succumbed several times yet survived, her petite, almost delicate frame enduring an extraordinary amount: no doubt she put her resilience down to the cigarettes she smoked and the alcohol she consumed whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Yet she also faced personal tribulations, including – ironically – a serious accident back home in London when she was at the height of her fame, and an emotional blow from her father. But she was buoyed up by her election in 1930 as an early female Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society (RGS). Always keen to foster a curious mind in the young, on her death in 1959 her most significant bequest was a legacy for a young woman member of the RGS to use for an explorative enterprise.

With no-one close enough to keep her memory alive, Dolly has been overlooked. Yet her curiosity, courage and sense of humanity showed the world extraordinary places and peoples, focusing always on what draws us together rather than what divides us.

The post From cocktails to cannibals: The adventurous life of Lady Dorothy Mills, explorer and writer appeared first on The History Press.

Shelf Life covers a lot of ground, stretching right back to the Ancient World. Which period of bookselling history fascinated you the most?

There are many fascinating periods in the history of bookselling and publishing, but I think the eighteenth century is one I found most interesting. The laws governing what could be published had just been relaxed, so the century saw a torrent of new books, magazines and newspapers flooding the market. It was an exciting time, as more of the population moved to towns and cities and there was a significant growth in literary culture. The century also witnessed the real birth of the novel and its immediate success through authors such as Daniel Defoe and Samuel Richardson. In turn, this led to a growth in bookshops and a change in what bookshops looked like, more like what we know as bookshops today.

Did you discover a favourite pioneer or historical figure?

Again, there are many fascinating people through book trade history who have played a role in developing the business, but one of my favourites is also from the eighteenth century. James Lackington came from a poor background and only learned to read in his teens. But he became a bookseller, keen to share his love of books and eventually opened the biggest bookshop in the country up to that time – the huge Temple of the Muses bookshop in Finsbury Square in London, which stocked over 500,000 books across several floors. He also ensured that lots of his books were accessible to the less well off in society, selling many of them cheap, keen to encourage others in their discovery of books. This desire to widen access to books is a theme that runs throughout the book.

What was the most interesting fact you discovered while researching the book? Was there anything that surprised you?

The research for the book provided me with so much information about the history of bookselling that I was previously unaware of, and I’m continuing to learn more all the time. The impact and huge immediate success produced by Allen Lane, who introduced the very cheap Penguin paperbacks in the 1930s and transformed how we read books, is one area that most surprised me. I was obviously aware of Penguin Books, but was fascinated to learn how they were an immediate success and that many of their paperback editions went on to sell over a million copies in just a few decades, including the Penguin Classic of The Odyssey and the paperback of Orwell’s Animal Farm. From Lane’s big idea, paperbacks quickly became the most popular format for books and again widened the book market to make all sorts of books accessible to buy for a much wider readership. The affordability of paperbacks drove a huge growth in book ownership and reading during the twentieth century.

Which section of the book was most difficult to write?

The most difficult section of the book was probably the final section, which looks at where the book trade is today and what challenges it faces in the years ahead. I realised early on that I needed to pull in a wide range of viewpoints for this section, so I interviewed more than a dozen people working in the business. They offered perspectives from a wide variety of experience and different roles in bookselling and publishing. This was much more time-consuming than other parts of the book, but enjoyable and eye-opening. The disparate viewpoints then had to be collated into a coherent narrative that tries to represent them all. I hope it succeeds. My book doesn’t have all the answers, but poses a lot of questions for those working in the book trade and indeed to everyone who loves books. I can only hope that it prompts discussion around these points.

What did you enjoy most about owning and running your own bookshop, and what won’t you miss?

Running my own bookshop was easily the best job I ever had. On the one hand, it was the hardest I have had to work in my life, but equally it didn’t really seem like work – it was a labour of love. Spending your day opening boxes of books, talking to customers and sales reps about books, hearing others share their stories of how important books are to them (or their children) – you never tire of such things. However, I couldn’t be a bookseller today, as I don’t think I’ve got the energy necessary to do what is now a much tougher job. Today’s booksellers have to compete with Amazon and supermarkets, they have to run lots of events to attract customers into their shops, as well as multiple other things like running book groups and a café, not to mention keeping a website updated and constantly posting on social media to keep customers informed. I am in awe of today’s booksellers for the amazing job they do!

Publishing has always been fraught with challenges – all largely covered in your book. Which challenge do you think is most pressing for publishers today?

At the end of the book, I outline two big challenges to bookselling and publishing today – the impact of AI and the future of reading. AI is a buzz topic across all sorts of businesses at the moment and publishing is wrestling with its possibilities and implications like so many other industries. But do we want or need AI to create content for us, having been trained on content written and created by humans? Most readers would probably say not, and yet multiple companies are spending huge amounts of money developing this. AI potentially can be used to improve processes and make publishing more efficient, but a more cautious approach is needed when dealing with its creative possibilities. Likewise, the alarming drop in the numbers of people reading and how much they read, in particular children, is something the industry, government and all of us who care about books should be addressing. There is plenty of food for thought in the book.

What do you hope people take away from reading Shelf Life?

I would hope that those who love books and bookshops have a much better understanding about the history of this business, but also the importance of those who work in the book trade (and often are incredibly undervalued). I hope the book makes people value books and bookshops more highly.

How would you describe Shelf Life in one word?

Hard to use just one word, but I hope the book is a journey of discovery, in many directions and across many centuries.

Following your extensive career in the industry, what three tips would you give to someone new to the business?

Remember that we are all always learning. Always listen to those around you in the business (we can learn so much from others). Be open to different roles – the number of people who started as booksellers and ended up as editors or even writers is phenomenal. All experience in this industry is useful, at whatever level.

Lastly, in the epilogue you mention the first book you ever owned was Ginger’s Adventures, but do you have a favourite read?

I greatly value many of the books I read in childhood, including C.S. Lewis’ Narnia books. These days, I read both fiction and non-fiction, including many biographies of writers or histories connected to the book industry. My favourite authors are probably still Orwell and Dickens, although I read plenty of contemporary authors too. If I had to pick one book as my favourite read, one I have returned to time and again, it would be either David Copperfield or Great Expectations. Both of these are great advertisements for the power of books, taking you away from your day-to-day life and involving you in a whole life story, a whole world, multiple characters, multiple plots, multiple ideas – the sheer joy of fiction.

The post Ask the author: Michael Robb on Shelf Life – A history of bookselling and publishing appeared first on The History Press.

What inspired you to write this book?

I knew from researching and writing about members of Scott’s Terra Nova expedition that several also participated in expeditions led by Ernest Shackleton and Douglas Mawson. The fact that Scott consulted Arctic explorer Fridtjof Nansen about Arctic clothing and equipment (including that adopted from Inuit precedents) also emphasised links between exploration techniques in the two polar regions. And as James Cook, Roald Amundsen and others had explored both polar regions – something Nansen, Shackleton and Robert Peary also planned to do – it struck me that a history of exploration covering both polar regions would tell a more integrated story.

Why ‘50 Objects’ rather than biography this time?

In 2010, as I embarked on my first polar book, Birdie Bowers; Captain Scott’s Marvel, Neil MacGregor’s A History of the World in 100 Objects was broadcast on BBC radio and published as a book. MacGregor’s ground-breaking work showed how objects, whether generic or personal, can reveal history in a fresh, engaging way. Since then I’ve enjoyed other ‘50/100 Objects’ books either as gateways to new subject areas or a means of shedding fresh light on more familiar ones. So, happily for me, as The History Press had already published several object-s based books, they agreed that polar exploration history was an appropriate subject for new one.

What kind of research have you done for your books, including this one?

Like most authors, I start with desk research for each new book. But this book was also informed by previous site research visits, starting in 2011, when I first went to Antarctica and visited Scott’s Terra Nova hut (ice blocked us from the Discovery hut) and Shackleton’s Nimrod and Borchgrevink’s Southern Cross huts. One of my outstanding memories (alongside encountering penguins in their natural habitat) is of seeing the bunks once occupied by Bowers and his companions. As part of that first trip to Antarctica, I visited archives, museums and relevant local sites in Australia and New Zealand – a pattern I continued during research visits to Spitsbergen, the South Atlantic and Antarctic Peninsula area and, most recently, the Northwest Passage. But while site research is important and allows me to add my own ‘angle’ to subjects, the length of my bibliographies and acknowledgements pages attests to the bedrock of reading and archival research in Britain on which all my books depend.

Was there anything especially surprising that you found in your research?

I’ve always enjoyed discovering unexpected encounters and interconnections during my research and this book was no exception. One object recalls the unplanned meeting on a remote Arctic island of Nansen and British explorer Frederick Jackson – a meeting which resulted in a famous Illustrated London News front page. I also noticed how scientists regularly shared the results of their work and that Joseph Hooker, who saw Antarctica’s Great Ice Barrier in 1841 from the decks of Erebus, lived until 1911 so met to compare notes with Edward Wilson, his Discovery and Terra Nova expedition counterpart. French explorer-scientist Jean-Baptiste Charcot, a prototype of today’s ‘networkers’, regularly collaborated with Scott and other expedition leaders, fellow-scientists and Deception Island whalers and others he encountered during his travels. Ports were also nodes of interconnection – while I knew circumnavigator James Cook lived in Whitby and used Whitby-built vessels, I had not previously encountered two Whitby master-whalers, William Scoresby senior and junior, whose achievements are recognised with objects in my book.

Unusually for a polar history covering this period, several chapters focus on women. Can you explain how that came about?

From the outset I realised the timespan of this book – from the late 1700s to early 1930s – precluded featuring women who stood on the Antarctic continent or led official expeditions. But while researching James Cook’s family life, I found details of Elizabeth Cook’s little ‘ditty box’, now in the Library of New South Wales, Sydney. This became the second object in my book and allowed me to describe Cook’s third circumnavigation from a different standpoint. I then found suitable objects associated with Jane Franklin (Franklin’s second wife), Eleanor Gell (Franklin’s daughter by his first marriage), Kathleen Scott (who worked as sculptor while Scott was in Antarctica) and with Dorothy Russell Gregg (later Irving-Bell), whose album of Shackleton and other memorabilia suggests that ‘super-fandom’ is not a new phenomenon!

What is your favourite object or chapter in the book? Why?

That’s probably the hardest question so far – so I’ll shortlist three candidates!

• The beautifully cased daguerreotype of a young Scottish doctor Harry Goodsir, which was taken in May 1845, just before Franklin’s ships left for the Northwest passage. Although Harry looks relaxed in the image, his letters reveal him as full of energy and enthusiasm for the challenges ahead.
• Discovery, Scott’s custom-built expedition ship, which came close to being abandoned in Antarctica on her maiden voyage, but can be visited in Dundee, over 120 years after being launched there.
• Elizabeth Cook’s ‘ditty box’, made by her husband’s shipmates and shedding a light on a remarkable woman.

Any final thoughts …

As suggested in the introduction to my book and by the title, this is only one history of polar exploration. I’ve cast my net wide and, in addition to objects associated with famous ‘Polar Stars’, included ones owned or used by women, people of colour and lesser-known participants in expeditions. But there are still polar exploration histories to be told – some of which are already being researched or written.

One of my reasons for highlighting collaborations and interconnections is that I believe that, if we are to protect the polar regions and their history, these are more important than national rivalries or competition. The finding of the wreck of Franklin’s Erebus in 2014 resulted from collaborative working between the Canadian government and Inuit people, whose oral history indicated the wreck-site. I’ve also highlighted the 1903-5 voyages of ARA Uruguay, during which explorers and scientists from Sweden, Norway, Argentina, Scotland and France were rescued and assisted. As it happens, emergency stores were cached for future mariners in distress – stores which, a decade later, gave Shackleton (who knew of them) a glimmer of hope that he could save his men after Endurance sank.

Last, but not least, I hope that readers – whether experienced polar travellers and historians or those who have learned recently about the finding of the Endurance wreck or at-risk penguin colonies – enjoy A History of Polar Exploration in 50 Objects as much as I enjoyed researching and writing it.

The post A History of Polar Exploration in 50 Objects appeared first on The History Press.

Back then, the word was a term used, not always positively, for those who lived unconventional lives. One of the most famous was Isabel Rawsthorne: artist, spy, pornographer, model and muse for some of the greatest artists of the 20th century, including Picasso whom she considered “not a man any woman in her right mind could care for”. Living in 1930s Paris with her husband “Tom” Sefton Delmer, a highly intelligent and shrewd journalist for the Daily Express newspaper who’d interviewed Hitler and witnessed the rise of the Nazi regime first-hand. He had originally met Isabel in the most unlikely of circumstances at the Tate Gallery in the form of a bronze bust sculpted by Jacob Epstein in 1932. As soon as the journalist saw it, he was smitten with the sitter. “You,” he said to the bust, “are the girl I am going to marry”.

18 months later something extraordinary happened. Having been dispatched to France by the Express as head of its Paris bureau, he was sitting in a Café just off the Champs Elysee when his eye was caught by a striking girl a few tables away. As he looked at the slanting eyes above the red pouting mouth, it suddenly hit him. “Please Mademoiselle, excuse my intrusion,” he politely fumbled. “I’m Tom Delmer, Paris correspondent of the Express. I have been looking at you and I feel certain you must be the famous Isabel, of whom Epstein did that superb bust. Are you?” Isabel gazed at him with her wide-open friendly eyes and shrieked: “I certainly am Isabel,” she laughed.

That first night together, Isabel and Tom danced till dawn. She soon moved into his penthouse apartment and he showed her the fine art of Parisian living. She then rented a studio in Montparnasse and frequented the Dome Café to meet and model for many like-minded artists of the French Avant-Garde; Pablo Picasso, Alberto Giacometti and Balthus, who liked to paint pubescent girls in erotic poses we now view as rather creepy. Isabel was using Balthus’s studio in Paris when the Germans invaded France. She headed north and luckily boarded the last ship to leave for Britain. Having volunteered to play her part in the war, she was then sent to one of several secret units on the Woburn Estate in Bedfordshire. These came under the wing of the Special Operations Executive (SOE).

Isabel’s section was devoted to broadcasting anti-Nazi propaganda to occupied Europe, masterminded by her husband, who’d been recruited by fellow SOE agent (and future James Bond author), Ian Fleming. They decided to use ‘radio-pornography’ to catch the Germans’ attention and invented a character called ‘Der Chef, a German patriot who told salacious stories about Hitler’s inner-circle. The recipe was an instant success. One German woman who worked for the Gestapo was denounced by ‘Der Chef’ for having insulted the honour of the German army by using an officer’s steel helmet as a chamber pot, during an orgy, received a stream of telephone calls from listeners denouncing her.

When not dreaming up new forms of sexual depravity to attribute to Hitler’s regime, Isabel used her artistic talents to design subversive greetings cards to be distributed by the resistance. Or as she put it: “What were humorously called ‘greeting cards’ were leaflets in colour of a highly sexual nature. This was great fun. Fancy being employed by the government to create pornography! One I much enjoyed was a picture painstakingly realistic of a foreign worker making love with a bright blonde German girl.” Isabel painted the images in the neo-classical style favoured by Hitler, and her secret agent friends ordered the leaflets by the thousands. Not because they sapped German morale, but because they found them excellent for the morale of their men distributing them; and Ian Fleming, was a frequent visitor: “He was our liaison with the Admiralty,” recalled Isabel. “Years later, when I read the James Bond stories, I understood that Bond was Ian’s fantasy, skilfully told. Ian thought himself Bond.”

A few weeks before they were put on the secret base, Isabel and Tom had invited Fleming to a dinner-party in Holborn, where an unexpected guest – a German bomb – gatecrashed the evening. After a huge jolt and a bang, Tom opened the dining room door to discover the staircase had disappeared. Isabel said she’d never seen anyone move as fast as Fleming, who effortlessly vaulted the missing stairs because he was worried about his lovely car parked outside. But Tom’s life of secrecy and subterfuge wasn’t the artistic life Isabel had aspired to. And little did her husband realise Isabel was harbouring a secret from her youth – far darker than anything he or Ian Fleming could have ever dreamed of. As a child, Isabel was forever drawing and had attended Liverpool School of Art, where she hung out with the rebellious male students. Together they visited an exhibition of Jacob Epstein’s controversial sculpture, Genesis, which depicted a naked pregnant woman with swollen breasts. Its slanting eyelids and chiselled cheekbones looked remarkably like Isabel’s and the notorious sculpture attracted over a thousand visitors per week, who paid to gawp at this modern twist on the classical nude.

After leaving Liverpool School of Art, Isabel won a scholarship to the Royal Academy of Art. Sadly, she didn’t have a wealthy family to support her, so she tried working as a life model, but every art school turned her down. Then Isabel’s friend had a brainwave. She should go and see Jacob Epstein. “She was convinced that he would want to make a portrait,” she recalled. “She was quite right. We went together to his house in Hyde Park Gardens and he immediately took me to his studio and asked me to start posing.” Isabel was a stunningly beautiful girl who used make-up in a painterly way to accentuate the ‘modern’ features of her face. She powdered it white like a blank canvas, before carving out her eyes with thick black eyeliner, to make it more angular.

Her style spoke of ‘savage’ sophistication to some and sinful excess to others. Epstein must have spotted Isabel’s striking similarity to his Genesis sculpture, and his wife knew Isabel was a vulnerable young woman with no money. If Mrs Epstein were alive today, she would be labelled a sex trafficker for aiding and abetting her husband’s behaviour. She welcomed Isabel into the household like a spider to a fly.

Whilst I was researching my new book Queens of Bohemia, it became clear that Epstein was a sexual predator with a set pattern of seduction. First, he’d sculpt a head then, once lulled into a false sense of security, he’d ask the model to pose nude before pouncing on her. That’s how he groomed Isabel. “After Epstein had been working on my head for a few weeks… he suggested that I come to live in his house, which would make my life much simpler,” she later recalled. Isabel and Epstein soon became a noticeable couple about town being photographed together at posh premieres and art openings. He sculpted large bronzes of her stripped naked to the waist and bearing her breasts. These were to be among the first of a long line of extraordinary artworks she inspired throughout her long life. But when Epstein got Isabel pregnant, she was quietly moved out of the public gaze and gave birth to a little boy in September 1934. The arrival of a child changed the dynamic of their menage a trois lifestyle.

Only one woman in the household would be socially accepted to carry out the role of mother and Epstein was already maintaining a second family with another mistress. To maintain a third, with Isabel, was beyond his financial means. Isabel changed her name to ‘Mrs Epstein’ during her pregnancy so that when the birth was recorded in every legal sense the child became Mrs Epstein’s son, as she’d done before with her ‘daughter’ from another of Epstein’s models. Mrs Epstein was infertile and had no qualms about using and abusing her husband’s many mistresses. She brought up their two children, and even shot one mistress, Kathleen Garmen, with a revolver. Kathleen, who would become Epstein’s second wife, survived but the Press had a field day. So, with a heavy heart, Isabel handed her baby over. She was seen soon after dressed in black, looking sad and tearful. With Epstein using his connections and wealth, Isabel was ‘paid-off’ and exiled to Paris. She never saw her child again.

Isabel must have had a quiet moment of reflection wondering about the son she’d given up when news came through that Margaret had fallen on the steps of her house and died in 1947. Another ex-lover, Alberto Giacommetti, compared Isabel to a big cat – ‘a man eater’ – when he sculpted her.. She was still a desirable woman and had many lovers including the infamous homosexual artist Francis Bacon, who painted her many times and claimed she was the only woman he’d ever slept with.

Isabel was always the life and soul of any party but did her wild shrieks of laughter hide and bohemian behaviour belie a sadness? She eventually moved to a cottage in Suffolk and lived the life of a recluse before descending in to alcoholism. She also kept a gun by her side to protect her precious art collection from burglars and began writing her memoirs.

But the eye disease, glaucoma soon meant she could no longer write or paint. Increasingly blind with rails fixed to the walls, she edged around the cottage like a shadow, On January 27, 1992, she decided she could take no more, standing at the top of the stairs she leapt and fell to her death. She was 79. Her body lay at the foot of the stairs for days, waiting to be discovered: a sad shattered beauty that had once inspired so many works of art.

The post The dark side of Bohemia appeared first on The History Press.

Colin Bell, now 103, recollects the announcement of the Second World War. Colin was 18 years old at the time, living with his family in East Molesey in Surrey.

“Strangely I wasn’t scared, I probably should have been, but I was eighteen years old at the time and because we were half-expecting war to be announced I remember feeling quite calm.”

This is Flight Lieutenant Colin Bell’s recollection of the announcement, by Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, that Britain was once again at War with Germany; at 11 am on 3rd September 1939, 85 years ago. Colin Bell, now 103, was one of millions huddled around wireless sets in kitchens, sitting rooms, village halls and community centres across Great Britain that morning, with his family, listening to the news they had long been fearing. Despite the passing of over eight and half decades, Colin can recall Chamberlain’s words as though they were spoken yesterday. He remembers, too, how he (and some of his friends) were influenced by H.G. Wells’ book The Shape of Things to Come, which they had read at school. This predicted that another world war would take place, with remarkable accuracy, but also predicting the outcome would be a ‘draw’ not victory on either side, which perhaps was reassuring because at least Wells did not write of defeat.

Speaking from the Cabinet Room at 10, Downing Street Chamberlain explained to the nation that war could not be averted because Germany was continuing to refuse to withdraw troops from Poland. He spoke of his profound sadness that his ‘long struggle to win peace’ had failed, but because of ‘evil things’ war was inevitable; that ‘bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution’ had to be fought; and, in the closing words of his address, of his certainty that ‘right will prevail.’

“However,” Colin told me, “Whilst I wasn’t scared, my parents were, they were very frightened indeed. I remember we spent the first few days thinking we would be bombed immediately (everyone did), but it wasn’t really like that – it was more a state of confusion because we didn’t know what to expect.” The Bell family lived in East Molesey, in Surrey, not far from Hampton Court; Colin said he told his parents he wanted to sign up for the RAF as soon as possible, but his father strongly discouraged him, persuading him – instead – at the start of the war to join the Home Guard. “I spent the first few weeks of the War guarding Hampton Court Bridge, which I didn’t find at all interesting, most of all I just didn’t feel useful.” A year later, with his parent’s reluctant blessing, Colin applied to join the RAF; eventually becoming a decorated Mosquito pilot, serving in Bomber Command’s Night Light Striking Force, a member of 608 Squadron. By the end of the war, he had flown fifty sorties; including many over heavily defended German cities – in his relatively small, but very fast and feisty, de Havilland Mosquito aircraft. “Every sortie was different,” Colin explained, “you never knew if you would come back; some operations were more petrifying and risky than others, and you always had to keep your wits about you, but not for a moment did I not want to be part of the war effort; we had a job to do, an enemy to destroy – who was certainly intent on destroying us.”

Dorothy Drew, now two years deceased, also spoke to me about her memory of 3rd September 1939. Dorothy was seven years old at the time, living in Romford, in east London.

She told me: “I was playing on my swing in our little garden. The birds were singing, and the sun was shining, I was having a nice time and was upset when my father suddenly appeared and said to me, ‘Dorothy, you need to come inside. We must listen to Mr Chamberlain on the wireless because what he is going to say is very important’.”

Dorothy told me her father, an engineer, was particularly proud of this wireless, which he had made himself; she described it as a ‘great big set, that sat in an alcove in the kitchen, with big buttons on it.’ Quite often, as a child she said she ‘watched’ the radio whilst people talked, imagining the faces behind the voices.

However, that day, she said, there was no ‘childish fun’ to be had behind the words emanating from the wireless set. She too, like Colin, recalled her parents panic-stricken and terrified reaction to the news. Dorothy, together with hundreds of children her age, some older and many even younger, was a wartime evacuee. This was a generation who had to learn to grieve at a young age; had to live separated from mothers, fathers, grand-parents, brothers, sisters; many witnessed (and suffered themselves) the brutality men could inflict on each other – in a nutshell, this was a generation for whom childhood was cruelly taken.

How could the parents of both Colin Bell and Dorothy Drew; representing this whole generation, not feel anything but fear and absolute dread – not even twenty-one whole years had passed since the armistice of the First World War; a war that was won, but the legacy of so much loss, grief, suffering still impacting the lives of all who learnt on 3rd September 1939 that they were about to experience a second World War in their life time.

It could be argued that, eventually, the ‘right’ Chamberlain spoke of in his speech did prevail; just over five and half years later the Second World War was won when the Allies defeated the Axis powers of Germany, Italy and Japan – but with it the largest loss of life in any single conflict; around 80 million died (about 3% of the population of the whole world …), two thirds of the deaths civilian. Those who survived have lived their lives with an immense range of emotion; the trauma of their own suffering (emotional and physical), witnessing other’s suffering and learning to live with grief at such a young age is undoubtedly an exacting emotional burden. I have been privileged to speak to several who lived through these years, and for whom are gifted with memory to recall their recollections*. Whilst the tragedy of war escapes no-one, some have been able, more than others, to draw strength from their experience, living a life of courage because, quite simply, they know how very precious life is and how every day is a gift. Returning to Colin Bell, only last year, aged 102, he raised over £56,000 for four charities abseiling down the side of the Royal London Hospital. After completing his descent, he spoke of his gratitude that he was given this opportunity, declaring the adventure as “money for old rope!”

The men, and women, from around the world, who have bravely recalled their recollections of the Second World War (as written in my books) have done so, not so much that they might be remembered, but for the thousands each one represents (who could not tell their story) and so that future generations might better understand the Second World War years. When I began writing these history books, back in 2014, it did not occur to me that ten years later I would – tragically – be writing with a third world war potentially looming. The overall message of all the remarkable men, and women, I have spoken to, fought, strove and suffered so much that at the very least this does not happen.

In the words of Lt John Randall (now deceased), who whilst serving in the SAS at the end of the War was one of the first to rescue the few survivors of the of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp:

“In spite of the horrors the survivors have a history of extraordinary bravery, a determination to survive and the indomitable spirit to never give up hope. This must be an inspiration to all of us.”

Sadly, what Mr Chamberlain spoke of on 3rd September 1939 – “bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution” – is all too prevalent in the world today. For the sake of those who lived through both World Wars, for those who did not, and for all who battle for and yearn for peace today, we must not give up hope of a better world.

The post Lessons learnt from the Second World War appeared first on The History Press.

DARREN COFFIELD: Bohemian was a term used for those who lived unconventional lives, when the first Romani Gypsies appeared in sixteenth century France they were labelled bohemian and their non-conformist lifestyle and dress caught the popular imagination. By the twentieth century, a new generation of British women began rejecting the protection of the traditional family hierarchy and fashioned themselves a new identity through the arts and in doing so turned the idea of Victorian respectability on its head.

Track 1: Fitzrovian Femmes – The Charleston

DARREN COFFIELD: Queens of Bohemia and Other Miss-fits begins in the 1920s, when the Suffragettes had fought hard for equality and nightclubs became the new social spaces where women could socialise unchaperoned. Kate Meyrick’s ’43’ club on Gerrard Street scandalised society and inspired the creation of The Gargoyle club, a hunting ground for Femmes Fatales and film stars. This was the age of the dance craze and the arrival of the gender-bending ‘Flapper.’

Track 2: Femme Fatales – Poor Little Rich girl

DARREN COFFIELD: Hermione Baddeley had her own independence, wealth and status. ‘Cochran’s Young Ladies’ were then considered the most beautiful girls in the world, an Edwardian chorus line that creamed off the best talent. She appeared in, On with The Dance, where her big number was the Noel Coward song, Poor Little Rich Girl. It became her theme tune and was played whenever she entered a club.

Track 3: Sladies – Teddy Bears’ Picnic, Henry Hall

DARREN COFFIELD: Contrary to popular belief, bohemians were very conservative and met every morning for a coffee to kill their hangover. By the Scala Theatre off Charlotte Street there was a little café run by the Swiss émigré, Madame Buhler. Originally an outlet for the Librarie Hachette to provide foreign language books and newspapers for foreign workers, Madame Buhler had turned it into a café where her customers could sit and read them…

Track 4: Viva La Vie Boheme – Land of Hope and Glory

SHEILA VAN DAMM: I had never thought of Father as brave. I don’t think he is. But in the Blitz he was terrific. He was up on the roof fire-watching when the sky was red, down in the wings when near-misses were shaking the building—and still the show went on; he exuded a calm, ridiculous confidence that we could not be hit, and somehow persuaded everyone else to think the same. Even I fell for it. We are very proud that we never closed. We were immensely proud when, for ten dangerous weeks, the Windmill was the only theatre open in the West End of London. We did not kid ourselves that we were keeping culture alive or anything highbrow like that. We were simply doing our bit as civilians to show that London could take it…

Track 5: Let’s Blitz Bohemia – Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise, Chevallier

DARREN COFFIELD: Louise’s contribution to the war effort was to become a barmaid at Olwen’s Le Petite Club Francais, where Barbara Skelton drank freely with Augustus John until Louise lost it over a French opium smoker nicknamed Chopin.

Track 6: The Lost Girls – Puttin’ On The Ritz

DARREN COFFIELD: Barbara Skelton spent her mornings doing her face and telephoning friends for dinner dates. As all the cooks had been called up, the herd instinct of the rich was to gather and eat at the Ritz. Centrally placed by Piccadilly, the few remaining buses would pull up outside … At first Barbara was shy and self-conscious at Horizon’s Ritz dinners but soon realised that when the Horizon crowd hit the hotel it was Ritz-Krieg!

Track 7: Café Society – London Pride, Noel Coward

MISS SIN: They were mostly eccentrics who didn’t realise they were eccentric – as opposed to those who tried too hard to be. I remember all the models; Ironfoot Jack with his huge cape, ‘I’m the King of the bohemians, I am.’, Joan Rhodes ‘The Mighty Mannequin’, Ernest the Astrologer, Quentin Crisp and the Countess – Eileen. They preferred to frequent the cafes – they were ‘Café Society’.

Track 8: Ripping Yarns – Wish Me Luck, Gracie Field

DARREN COFFIELD: By now, thousands of men had been trained in unarmed combat skills such as garrotting and breaking necks, many of whom wandered around London’s West End. But with no enemy to fight their pent-up emotions were often unleashed on the local female population with random acts of violence.

Track 9: The Gluepot Gang – We’ll Meet Again, Vera Lynn

DARREN COFFIELD: Mrs Henderson enjoyed providing opportunities for British artists and was proud of Britain and all it stood for in the face of fascism. Amidst the carnage of war the Windmill provided a welcome interlude of glamour and eroticism … a glimpse of flesh created long queues outside the theatre and the slogan ‘We never closed’ was appropriated to, ‘We’re never clothed’.

Track 10: Sisterhood of Sin – Thank Heaven For Little Girls, Chevalier

DARREN COFFIELD: Bohemia not only offered women creative and sexual adventure but also forbidden material and erotic experiences. However, they were not expected to create artworks from their experiences but rather become the raw material for the art of their male lovers…

Track 11: The Coach & Divorces – I’ll Be Seeing You, Billie Holiday

JOAN WYNDHAM: Tuesday, 8th May…We were all of us on the earliest morning train we could take. A crazy man in our compartment kept insisting that it was all a hoax — the war wasn’t over and we were now actually at war with the Russians! It wasn’t until the train got in and I heard the first church bells ringing that I finally knew that it was true…

Track 12: Pond Life – La Vie en Rose

DARREN COFFIELD: After the confinement of the war years there were many compelling reasons to get out of Britain. Debt didn’t seem so bad in a continental climate and life in France was much cheaper. Bohemia was full of fervent Francophiles: Olwen Vaughan, Isabel Rawsthorne, Sonia Orwell and Cyril Connolly whose novel, The Rock Pool, drifts through the flotsam and jetsam of arty types who’d adopted France as their home.

Track 13: Acid Queens – Don’t Have Any More, Mrs Moore

DARREN COFFIELD: The Colony was gender bending – a cultural and racial melting pot at a time when the mixing between different classes and races was frowned upon. Isabel [Rawsthorne] said the club was run with intelligence, for music lovers like herself … Several composers including Elisabeth Lutyens were known to tinkle the ivories. Both Isabel and Francis hated the sculptor Henry Moore and would gather around the piano for a sing along to Colin MacInnes’ parody of a Music Hall number, Don’t Have Any More, Mrs Moore, about a lady who keeps getting pregnant.

Track 14: Lost Horizon – Je Ne Regret Rien

DARREN COFFIELD: In an attempt to find a stepmother for his young son, George Orwell proposed to various young women including Elinor Bellingham Smith’s friend, Olivier Popham, who lived in the flat below. Sonia, who’d occasionally babysit for Orwell’s son, Richard, was way down the list. But when Orwell returned to Jura in the spring of 1947 to begin the second draft of Nineteen Eighty-Four, he used Sonia as the role model for Julia, the ‘girl from the fiction department’…

Track 15: The Monster Club – The Monster Mash

DARREN COFFIELD: The easy amiability of the Fitzroy Tavern had been replaced by professional jealousy and infighting. At its core was a group of individuals who collectively formed the Monster Club who met at noon each day at the Deep End of the French …

Track 16: Get Smart – All Of Me, Ella Fitzgerald

DARREN COFFIELD: Elizabeth Smart had a string of married lovers one of whom was the Scottish poet, Sydney Graham, who wrote love letters begging her not to be plagued by domestic disasters … With his ruddy drinker’s complexion, bulbous nose and sad bloodshot eyes, Sidney turned up at BBC Television Centre to give a live interview but the doorman mistook him for a tramp and refused him entry.

Track 17: Dangerous Muse – I Want To Be Loved By You, Marilyn Monroe

DARREN COFFIELD: The Debutante Season was one of the many British traditions to quickly re-established itself after the war. It began with the opening of the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition on the first Monday of May and its purpose was to introduce aristocratic women to eligible men. ‘Debs’ as they were known, were chaperoned everywhere and watched intensely. Each girl had a coming out dance and were presented at court to the King and Queen. The problem was, after the war, there weren’t that many men around.

Track 18: Queen of Heaven – Mad Dogs and Englishmen

DARREN COFFIELD: Ebbertson Hall in Yorkshire’s became the northern outpost of 1950’s bohemia. Often called ‘England’s smallest stately home’ … Here Margaret and West Fenton lived in a relaxed eighteenth-century style happily co-habiting alongside various goats, chickens, pot-bellied pigs, deer, lamas, peacocks, and a turkey called Henry

Track 19: From Beijing to Bohemia – The Last Emperor theme

DARREN COFFIELD: After spending the war years at the BBC’s Liar’s School and drinking in the Gluepot, Hetta and William Empson bought the lease on Studio House, Hampstead Hill, and let it out to Henry Moore before taking the family to China, where William taught English at University and Hetta had many adventures smoking opium and dining on boiled sheep with a Mongolian Warlord.

Track 20: Absolute Hell – Mad About the Boy, Dinah Washington

MICHAEL SOUTHGATE: Some women are romantics, they had a misguided belief that homosexuality was an illness…that if they kissed you, rather like turning a frog into a prince, they’d cure you and make you straight. To everyone’s surprise, Olwen married one of her homosexual club members, the ballet photographer, Duncan Melvin, who moved into her flat above the club. But the marriage didn’t go to plan, her husband had developed a crush on an androgynous young man, George Jamieson, who later became the first Briton to undergo sex change surgery and emerge as April Ashley.

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