Monday, 14 July 2014
The final event of our summer season approaches :(
But it's going to be a cracker!
Please note that, due to unforeseen circumstances, we will be in no.1 Salisbury Road not no.5. Just come in and head to the first floor
Monday, 30 June 2014
Thursday, 26 June 2014
Monday, 9 June 2014
Wednesday, 4 June 2014
Today, Elizabeth II will ride (or has already ridden) to the State Opening of Parliament in her brand new set of wheels: the Jubilee State Coach, made by Australian
hardcore fancoachbuilder Jim Frecklington as
a labour of love. Usually, this is not the kind of history that interests me,
and I suspect, not the kind that interests very many of us at NHL, either. But
there is something more, and something strange, about this new carriage. It
looks like most of the others: drawn by 6 horses, painted wood and lots and
lots of gold leaf. But it's also absolutely studded with fragments of
historical artefacts, ranging from the wood of HMS Victory and the Mary Rose,
buttons from Gallipoli and the Western Front, to metal from a Spitfire and part
of Newton's apple tree, to name but a few from a very long list.
|The Diamond Jubilee State Coach, or State Coach Britannia: from the outside, like any other of Elizabeth II's carriages.|
When I was sewing my baldrics (a pair of crossed sashes held together at the back and front by pieces of fabric often containing a crest or heraldic device of some sort) for my last Morris team, I enclosed bits of fabric and ribbon from my previous teams' kits into some of the joins. I see my kit as ceremonial and like to feel that I am carrying my previous history and experience as a dancer with me when I am dancing. I understand, sort of, that the same intention is present in this new coach: a rolling museum or monument to the history of Britain and the Commonwealth. My pieces of past kit are hidden in my new kit, and until now, I've never admitted to doing something so sentimental: nobody but myself even knew they were there. But the interior of Her Majesty's new carriage actually looks like a museum: the doors are inlaid with wood from all kinds of historical treasures, including famous ships, Hillary's Everest ladders, Scott's Antarctic sled, and the beams of British Cathedrals, and smaller artefacts like the buttons, a musketball from Waterloo, and a rivet from the Flying Scotsman, each item labelled.
Before I go any further, here is a selection of some of the most notable artefacts, gleaned from news reports and Mr Frecklington's website:
Wood from Newton's apple tree
A bullet from Waterloo
Metal from a Dambuster
Wood from HMS Victory
Wood from Scott's Antarctic sled
Wood from Hut 6 at Bletchley Park
Wood from the beams of every British Cathedral and palace
Wood from Edmund Hillary's Everest ladders
A piece of the Stone of Scone
A bolt from a Spitfire
A button from Gallipoli
A rivet from the Flying Scotsman
Metal from Victoria Cross cannon
Wood from the Mary Rose
Wood from the Mayflower
Wood from the Tower of London
Wood from the Ferriby boats
Wood from HMS Endeavour
A counterweight from Big Ben
Wood from the door of 10 Downing Street
Robert Baden-Powell's buttons
Wood from Shakespeare's mulberry tree
Roman and Viking timber from Bath and York
Metal fragment from Rolls Royce Silver Ghost
Material from Lords and Wimbledon
Button from the Western Front
Wood from Stephenson's Rocket
Wood from the Royal Box at Ascot
Wood from the Cutty Sark
Wood from Oxford, Cambridge, Eton and Rugby
Wood from the Glastonbury Thorn
Weapon fragment from the Battle of Hastings
Fragments relating to Darwin, Jenner and Joseph Banks
Discs containing digital copies of the Magna Carta and the Domesday Book
A compartment containing Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh
The last item warrants its own entirely separate blog post. So, a few musings about these artefacts, and a few questions, which I hope will be discussed in the comments section. Firstly, what are the implications of removing pieces of some historical objects which are very fragile, and have been so very carefully protected and restored over a period of many years, at a great cost of time and money, for use as mere decorative objects? I am thinking in particular of the Bronze Age Ferriby Boats, and the Mary Rose, which since 1982 has been subject to an intensive conservation programme. It is nothing less than pilfering pieces of national, public historical objects for use in a private collection: the coach will be upon display at the Royal Mews after today's Parliament session, but the only people who will actually be able to sit inside the coach and view this collection will be the Queen, Prince Philip or other senior Royals, and the staff who maintain the coach.
Secondly, these objects are divorced from their own narratives to be placed in this grand narrative of British and Commonwealth history. But more than that, they are reduced to decorative objects, the wood samples polished out of all recognition and forming a smooth inlaid mosaic of different coloured wood more at home on a parquet floor. Without the labels, one would not know that one varnished, polished, perfectly square piece of oak had been at the Battle of Trafalgar, another had assisted the ascent of Everest, and one more had been dragged to the Antarctic.
|Close up of nice inlaid wood effect achieved by polishing the history out of historical objects.|
Thirdly, the idea behind the collection itself, as well as being an odd concept for a mode of transport and containing some frankly bizarre inclusions (digital copy of the Magna Carta? A piece of a Rolls Royce? Baden-Powell's buttons?), is somewhat reductive. It is fetishism: it holds up these tiny objects as sacred relics, conferring yet more prestige on the Monarch as she sits encased in the rarefied field of these objects. It is cheaply emotive: buttons from Gallipoli and the Western Front, a bolt from a Spitfire, metal from the wreckage of a crashed Dambuster: the things that make Britain great.
I think that I have saved the best bit for last. Under the seats (gold silk brocade from Sudbury, with armrests made from the rails of the Royal Yacht Britannia - they even flip up to access heating and electric window controls), there are two wooden cases, containing 60 gold-plated canisters. Canisters for her Majesty to add to her collection of historical artefacts. Should ERII actually wish to continue collecting these historical offcuts, what should she consider filling her golden specimen jars with? Alongside bits of palaces and Oxford, Cambridge, Eton and Rugby, maybe she should include some social history: after all, the concept of the carriage is to tell the history of Britain through objects.
|Golden film pots for Her Majesty's further collections. Perhaps Prince Phillip will buy her some World Cup Stickers?|
Now that the carriage contains a chip of the Stone of Scone, let's hope it has central locking and an immobiliser fitted.
Posted by Katie at 11:48
Wednesday, 7 May 2014
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
It was with a weary sense of familiarity that I read the recent news from South Warwickshire concerning proposals to introduce charges for medical appliances such as crutches, walking sticks and neck braces. Sue Lear, presenting to twenty elected patient representatives on behalf of the GP-led Clincal Commissioning Group, asked
Would it be reasonable to ask people to contribute to the cost of orthotics, aids and appliances? If so, which items and how could we agree this? If so, what criteria should be applied, eg low-cost items below a specified threshold?
While the “tentative” cost-saving suggestion brought widespread criticism from sources as diverse as the general secretary of the TUC, the chief executive of Disability Rights UK, and the British Medical Association, I cannot help but see it as merely another stage in the undermining of the ideals of the welfare state and its consequent accelerating dismantling. It of course raises practical as well as ethical questions. How will the new system decide who ‘deserves’ free appliances, and how will those not deemed worthy raise the necessary cash? Are we not already seeing these issues with the hated ATOS healthcare scheme, or the depressingly rapid rise of charitable Food Banks? Medical appliances, of course, have not always been provided by the state; looking at how these problems were 'solved' in the past may provide a hint of what could, unfortunately, happen in the future.
The Manchester Surgical Aid Society (MSAS) provides a neat case study. Formed in 1897 to provide the poor and working classes with medical appliances, its funds were raised through a combination of middle-class philanthropic subscription and recipient contribution. The MSAS epitomised what Gareth Stedman Jones has termed ‘the deformation of the gift’, a process of charitable giving symbolising individual sacrifice and superiority on the behalf of the donator, and a consequent moral obligation on the behalf of the receiver. As an expression of the liberal individualist politics that permeated definitions of citizenship in the nineteenth century, helping the worker to overcome a physically dehabilitating illness encouraged a return to work, an avoidance of debt, and accordingly a cementing of ‘good citizenship.’ Concurrently, it was a manifestation of the benefactors own moral responsibility and claim to being a good citizen. In the welfare politics of the nineteenth century, in other words, there was rarely such a thing as a free crutch.
As the purpose and power of both local and national governments increased, beginning especially with the Liberal social reforms in the Edwardian years, welfare organisations were increasingly supported with money from the public purse. For the MSAS this support was vital since, in the 1920s, its committee had begun to complain of a budget deficiency caused by high prices, increased unemployment, and a supposedly receding ‘spirit of giving’. Despite financial difficulties its services remained vital to local people, with no public provision of medical appliances in the city. Claimants to the Society grew; in its infancy in 1899 it helped 117 cases, by 1914 this figure had grown to 499, and in 1934 it hit a peak of 702. While the MSAS helped the majority of applicants to its funds, some claims were rejected, middle-class philanthropy implying not only moral obligation, but also a separation of the deserving and non-deserving.
In the 1940s the tides of change began to swell, and the public provision of healthcare increased. Though the recent work of historians like James McKay and Matthew Hilton is certainly correct in highlighting the longevity and vitality of voluntary associations in the ‘mixed economy of welfare’, some organisations undeniably found their services redundant. By 1945 the number of applications to the MSAS had dwindled to 315, due mostly to the supply of appliances for schoolchildren by the Manchester Education Committee under the provisions of the 1944 Education Act. In 1947 the Society celebrated its half-century, but recognised that, with the National Health Service Act of 1946, its future was ‘rather an unknown quantity’. After the act became operational in July 1948, the Society received only five applications, making it ‘quite plain that practically all needs are now met from public funds.’ This being so, the Society disbanded, declaring ‘another instance of private enterprise in the voluntary field blazing a trail, and handing over to the State when the work has proved its worth.’
The rise and fall of the MSAS tells a common story of the shifts in the political culture of citizenship and welfare in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In terms of the welfare state and the new social democracy, the provision of (at least some) free medical appliances was a universal social and legal right bestowed due to the individual’s membership in the nation-state. As Stedman Jones argued, the moral and social results of ‘the gift’ had depended on a personal relationship between the giver and receiver; de-personalised, it lost its elements of voluntary sacrifice, prestige, subordination, and obligation. While the MSAS helped many, though not all, of applicants, it did so, a cynic may argue, with an ulterior motive of social control. With the potential decline of the NHS, is this really a position to which we want to return?
* Thanks to the New History Lab, a wonderful organisation that I was privileged enough to be a part of while undertaking a doctorate at the University of Leicester, for letting me use their blog. I more frequently blog at http://www.historicalpageants.ac.uk/blog/ and tweet at https://twitter.com/TomHulme87 *
Posted by Tom Hulme at 16:27
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
When planning a research trip to an archive, there are a number of things to consider; how much it will cost, how to get there, how long to spend there, etc. etc. Once the opening times and dates have been checked and a date set, at no point does it occur that the archive could close. However, this is exactly what happened to me in October 2013.
The focus of my PhD is Anglo-American relations and as part of this I had to visit the archives of two presidents (Eisenhower and Kennedy) and the National Archives II. This visit took over six months to prepare, with emails going back and forth sorting out dates, what I would want to look at and what would be required of me. Unfortunately no-one mentioned the upcoming budget and the implications of its failure to pass. And so, this is how I found myself in a hotel room watching the news for three instead of in an archive finding the key piece of evidence for my thesis.
Nothing I can say can describe how it felt to be in this situation. It was made worse by the fact that the three archives were in three different states, so I was reminded of the cost and the effort every time I checked out of a hotel and checked into another flight to another destination. I visited Boston, Kansas and Washington on my four week trip and spent only one of those weeks in an archive. I am currently preparing for a second trip out to Boston and Kansas and I cannot say I am looking forward to it at all.
I didn’t spend all of my time in my hotel. After the first day or so, when I realised that there was not going to be any quick remedy I tried my best to make the most of it. I visited some sights I would not have otherwise seen and I am beginning to be grateful of that opportunity. However these visits were tinged with regret and anger and so are my memories, for now at least. I saw witches in Salem and an old Cow Town, straight out of a Western (complete with a gunfight) in Kansas but that wasn’t what I went for. I was lost without my work, I couldn’t do anything while I was away and all the time I knew it would have a damaging effect on my thesis. I wasn’t on holiday, I was here to work and I couldn’t. In reality I didn’t really see Salem or Wichita, my mind wasn’t really there, I was desperate to check the news and find out if anything had happened yet even though I had begun to lose hope.
What did happen while I was there that did have a positive impact on my work, was the experience of American politics in action. It baffled me that a budget could be stalled like this when its effects were so wide reaching. I had no idea that if a budget didn’t pass, funding stopped. Museums, libraries and monuments all shut, federally funded national parks were forced to close even if there were people camping there and government workers didn’t get paid and wouldn’t be until the budget was agreed..
Then I began to think about the reaction of the Americans to the issues raised by the shutdown. Rallies were held in Washington, where chants of "Impeach Obama" rang out and confederate flags were flown, but not for reason I would have expected. These rallies protested the closure of monuments and national parks, claiming it was the unconstitutional for Government to keep the people away from its history and its landmarks.
I also heard about the corrupting influence of liberal thinking on America and the alarm over America moving towards becoming a Socialist state. All of this seemed vaguely familiar. All of this happened in 1909 with Lloyd George and his "People's Budget." The way to survive a Government shutdown, therefore is to keep calm and remember that it's all happened before and it will all happen again, that’s the pain and the joy of being a historian.
Written by Claire Melland, a third year PhD student at Leicester
Posted by Joe Harley at 09:26
Wednesday, 19 March 2014
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
I, like many other PhD students, am wracked with nerves when it comes to any supervisory meeting that falls on my calendar. It seems quite bizarre really considering not a whole lot can happen. But that is the question we ask ourselves: what’s the worst that can happen? Will my supervisors tell me to pack up all my books and folders and never return? Will they breathe fire? Or, will they tell me everything I have written is absolutely awful and ask why I ever bothered to do a PhD in the first place? All these questions may seem a bit over the top but after having conversations with friends who are in the same boat, I don’t seem to be far off the mark. But, what we should ask ourselves is; what’s the worst that can happen? Most likely a few remarks that hit below the belt followed by a few tearful drinks down the pub in my experience. And those remarks aren’t always as bad as you might think. They are guidance disguised in a red pen.
One piece of advice that I was given at the very start of this long and arduous journey is that I shouldn’t take criticism personally. It is a very hard thing not to do because you have poured your blood, sweat and tears into your work and have tried your best but the corrections keep on coming. Your work is not a reflection of who you are as a person but rather your intellectual ability which is being moulded into an academic mind.
I find that the PhD Comics help in times of crisis because somehow they manage to sum up all the frustrations and panic that the average PhD student feels in times of stress. I am very tempted to get their t shirt that says “Don’t bother me I’m a grad student” and put it on my office door so my supervisors know I’m hard at work when really I’m writing a blog post or playing with Refworks. Perhaps there should also be a t shirt saying “Don’t take it personally- it’s just a thesis”. I think that it may not be as popular but don’t worry, I won’t take it personally!
PhD Comics can be found here: www.phdcomics.com
Posted by Jennie Brosnan at 10:30