Arts, Books, Britain, History, Society

Book Review: Hearts And Minds

SUFFRAGISTS–SUFFRAGETTES

Smashed windows, lobbed bombs and underhand tactics. A fascinating new book in this 100th year of the suffragette movement casts new light on the bitter rivalry between the women who fought for the vote. The war between the sisters.

A USEFUL mnemonic for remembering the difference between suffragists and suffragettes is ‘Millicent: non-militant’.

Millicent Fawcett and her suffragist crowd were the peaceful ones who trundled around Britain in horse-drawn caravans, waved embroidered banners, dropped leaflets from hot-air balloons and used the art of gentle persuasion.

The suffragette Pankhurst and her troupe were the ones who went around smashing shop windows, bombing pillar-boxes and slashing paintings in the National Gallery.

Jane Robinson’s lively new book on the subject, published in this 100th anniversary year of the Representation of The People Act of 1918 – that, at last gave women the vote – is an excellent source of reading for fleshing out those spare bits of general knowledge.

Suffragists, Robinson tells us, were rude about suffragettes, calling them a “dictatorship movement of the sort that drives democracy out”. Suffragettes were rude and curt back, saying that suffragists were “staid, so willing to wait, so incorrigibly leisurely”.

The author of this book brings all these straight-backed Edwardian ladies to life, telling the story of the centrepiece of the suffragist movement: the Great Pilgrimage of 1913, in which thousands of suffragists walked all the way to London from far-flung corners of Britain for a mass rally of 50,000 in Hyde Park.

The aim was to drive the world’s attention (and that of stubborn prime minister Herbert Asquith) to the growing swell of opinion in favour of the women’s vote – and to prove women had the ability to turn the world upside down without violence.

 

THEIR peaceful protest proved to be the prototype for others, from the Jarrow march of 1936 to the Greenham Common peace camp of the 1980s.

Did the pilgrimage do any good? Well, trying to get Asquith to change his mind was like banging your head against a brick wall, and it would take a four-year World War to bring about the Act of Parliament for which the campaigners yearned.

But it was their suffragist training that gave women the confidence to step into men’s jobs when the war started; and by their war efforts in factories and hospitals they “worked out their own salvation”, as Asquith himself put it.

On a sunny morning in June 1913, the Great Pilgrimage began – the Watling Street Pilgrims setting off first, for their five-week walk from Carlisle.

It was thanks to a sensible piece of sartorial advice for the pilgrims – that skirt hems should be taken up four inches to prevent them getting caked in mud – that skirt lengths began their slow progression up the leg from that moment on.

Some pilgrims wore their smart new Burberry raincoats (“airy, light and porous … the ideal coat for the Pilgrimage”, according to Burberry’s own advertisement). Lady Rochdale, carrying her rolled umbrella, strode out side-by-side with Emily Murgatroyd, a weaver at a cotton mill since the age of ten. In those class-ridden days, this pilgrimage was the first coming-together of women from all walks of life – though the wealthier ones did enjoy the luxury of posting their dirty laundry home and picking up parcels of nice clean blouses en route.

The Land’s End Pilgrims started next, then the Great North Road Pilgrims, then the North Wales Pilgrims, and so on, until the Brighton and Kentish Pilgrims stepped out in the final week, all fixing their compasses on Hyde Park.

One of the less literate pilgrims spelled “suffrage” wrong in her diary – “sufferage”. Robinson coins this spelling mistake as a useful word to describe how some of them suffered for their cause. Vast swathes of the public couldn’t tell a ‘gist from a ‘gette, and classed them all as “pantomime villains” who deserved to be beaten up or pelted with rotten tomatoes, stones and rubbish.

In Birkenhead the Pilgrims were pelted with coal – not by disaffected men, but by women and children, reminding us that there was vociferous female as well as male “antis”, who believed that women should shut up and (as one poem went) be satisfied with “The right to brighten earthly homes / With pleasant smiles and gentle tones”.

To a woman, they picked themselves up, dusted themselves down, rearranged their sashes, and started all over again. They wore body armour in the form of pieces of cardboard which they moulded to the body in the bath and then allowed to dry, so they fitted snugly. The more “sufferage” they endured, the stronger their sense of sisterhood grew.

 

LUCKILY, there were just as many kind and supportive locals across the country who gave them hot baths, as well as crumpets for tea and beds for the night. By the day of the Hyde Park rally on July 26, the atmosphere in London was celebratory.

From the gates at all four corners of the park, thousands of pilgrims poured in. Seventy-eight speakers stood up on platforms, announcing that the “tide had turned”. An hour later, bugles sounded, and the resolution was proposed: “This meeting demands a Government measure for the enfranchisement of women.” It was passed unanimously.

A page later, Asquith’s pompously anticlimactic reply to the suffragists’ post-rally letter demanding that he take notice will have many readers banging their heads against a brick wall. “I feel bound to warn you,” he wrote, “that I do not see my way to add anything material to what I have lately said in the House of Commons as to the intentions and policy of the Government.” In other words, “Nice try, but no cigar.”

The suffragettes continued with their usual business of window-smashing and raiding Downing Street – all of which, the suffragists believed, did more harm than good to “the cause”, blackening the reputation of campaigners. Everyone was so busy smashing things up or not smashing things up that none of them noticed that “the war to end all wars” was creeping up behind them.

During that cataclysm of a war, women really proved their worth. By 1915, the slogans on their banners had changed to: “Shells Made by a Wife may Save a Husband’s Life”. And indeed they did.

Suffragists and suffragettes alike did astonishingly demanding war work, including running hospitals on the Western Front.

The great suffragist Katherine Harley – who had come up with the idea of the Great Pilgrimage – was killed in 1917 by a shell while caring for refugees in Serbia.

“We can’t give these suffragists and their militant sisters much in return,” Robinson writes, “except a promise to use the vote they fought so hard to win and, wherever it’s necessary, to keep on fighting.”

– Hearts And Minds by Jane Robinson is published by Doubleday for £20

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Arts, Australia, Books, Britain, History, Maritime

Book Review: The Bounty Mutiny & The Founding of Australia

PARADISE IN CHAINS

Mutinous Mary’s miracle on the high seas follows that of Captain Bligh who survived one of history’s most perilous voyages, a Cornish woman transported Down Under was inspired to do the same.

MOST of us know the story of Captain Bligh and the mutiny on HMS Bounty from the Hollywood movies, variously starring Charles Laughton, Trevor Howard and Anthony Hopkins, through which Bligh became a byword for shipboard tyranny.

In contrast, few have heard of the female convict Mary Bryant, transported Down Under in 1787. But, as Diana Preston’s vivid, continuously compelling book reveals, there are intriguing links between Bligh and Bryant.

Preston’s revisiting of the mutiny is rich in detail. Bligh’s orders were to sail to the Pacific island of Tahiti, gather breadfruit seedlings and take them to the West Indies to grow food for plantation slaves.

His troubles began when he arrived in Tahiti, that “fabled paradise of plenty and pleasure”.

European visitors had, from the time of the island’s discovery, been both delighted and scandalised by what they found there, and sex-starved sailors had rejoiced in what seemed like Tahitian free love.

The Bounty’s men were no different, and they were unsurprisingly reluctant to leave at the end of their five-month layover, but Bligh hauled them back to the ship.

Once they had left Tahiti, relationships on board the Bounty rapidly deteriorated. Bligh’s outbursts of temper and foulmouthed ranting undermined the men’s already low morale.

 

PARTICULARLY distressed by what he saw as his unfair treatment was Master’s Mate Fletcher Christian who, within weeks, could take it no longer.

On April 28, 1789, he and fellow mutineers took over the ship. “You have treated me like a dog all voyage,” he told Bligh. “I am determined to suffer it no longer.”

Bligh and 18 men loyal to him were ordered into an open boat 23ft long and 6ft 9in at its widest – and left to the mercies of the sea.

What followed was more extraordinary than the mutiny itself. Bligh decided to head for Timor, 3,600 miles away in the Dutch East Indies. All the men agreed to a daily ration of one ounce of bread and a quarter-pint of water, which Bligh measured out using scales and weights improvised from two coconut shells and pistol balls (which can still be seen in the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, London).

Unsurprisingly, these rations caused pains in the lower bowels and constipation. “Most of us 18 days without an evacuation,” noted Bligh in his sea journal.

Despite the hardships, Bligh successfully navigated his tiny boat to its destination. Six weeks later, it arrived in the Dutch harbour of Kupang and Bligh hoisted a Union Jack he had fashioned from signal flags. All but one man had survived.

In Britain two years earlier, as the Bounty was setting sail in search of breadfruit, the first plans for criminals to be exiled Down Under were drawn up.

When the First Fleet of 11 ships sailed from Portsmouth for New South Wales, there were more than 700 convicts on board. The oldest was an 82-year-old rag-and-bone woman convicted of perjury; the youngest was nine-year-old John Hudson, whose chimney-sweep master had pushed him through the skylight of a house to steal from it.

Maid Elizabeth Beckford had taken several pounds of Gloucester cheese from her mistress’s larder. Thomas Chaddick had appropriated 12 cucumbers from a kitchen garden.

Compared to these petty thieves, Mary Broad was a major criminal. She had been a highway robber and was sentenced to death, but this was commuted to transportation.

By the time she set off for New South Wales, Mary was pregnant – probably by one of her guards. During the voyage, she gave birth to a girl and took up with William Bryant, a fisherman convicted of smuggling. They married once they arrived in what was then called New Holland.

Conditions in the new colony were hellish. Deprivation and disease were everywhere, and punishments were severe.

William Bryant and his wife seem to have decided that anything was preferable to remaining in New Holland. They may well have heard of Bligh’s extraordinary journey from a passing Dutch ship captain and were inspired to steal a boat.

Together with their children (they now had two) and seven other convicts, they made their bid for freedom. Heading like Bligh to the Dutch East Indies, they travelled 3,254 nautical miles along Australia’s eastern seaboard, westward through the feared Torres Strait and across the largely uncharted Arafura Sea. Whenever they ventured on shore, they were threatened by hostile natives. They faced seas “running mountains high” and lived in dread “that our boat would be staved to pieces and every soul perish”.

 

SIXTY-NINE days later, they arrived in Kupang, where they claimed to be the survivors of a shipwrecked whaler. Their true story eventually emerged and they were taken back to Britain, coincidentally on board the same ship as some of the Bounty mutineers who had been captured while enjoying more sex and sunshine in Tahiti.

Both the open-boat voyage made by Bligh and his men and the one by Mary Bryant and her companions rank among the most remarkable in maritime history.

Bligh’s subsequent career included service under Lord Nelson and a spell as Governor of New South Wales, during which he faced another mutiny.

Mary Bryant’s case was taken up by distinguished men, including Dr Johnson’s biographer James Boswell. She was given a free pardon in 1793 and returned to her native Cornwall, where she is assumed to have died some time before the end of the century.

In telling these tales in parallel, Preston provides a fresh perspective on both the endlessly fascinating saga of the Bounty and the early history of Australia.

– ‘Paradise In Chains: The Bounty Mutiny and The Founding of Australia’ by Diana Preston is published by Bloomsbury for £25

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Arts, Books, Britain, History, Second World War

Book Review: ‘Secret Pigeon Service’

REVIEW

Intro: How our intrepid pigeons went to war to send back Nazi plans to Churchill – and why, despite top brass doubters, dropping them behind enemy lines wasn’t so bird-brained after all.

GORDON COREA tells a true story that is likely to make you gasp on every page. Once this book has been read you’ll never look at a pigeon disdainfully again. In fact, you might even feel the urge to go straight to Trafalgar Square to pay homage to the species. Some readers might find themselves muttering, again and again, the World War II expression: ‘It’s too fantastic.’

This is the story of the bravery and single-mindedness of both humans and pigeons. It throws light on all kind of facets of World War II, from the realities of life inside occupied Europe and the canny evils of the Nazi regime, to the well-meaning, but blundering, chaos of the British intelligence system, and the generosity and charm of the British pigeon-fancying fraternity.

The most astonishing thing of all, on which the story is based, is that homing pigeons (columba livia, to use their Latin name) can fly back to their home loft in any suburban location, from an unknown field in the middle of Belgium, in six-and-a-half hours. Exactly how they find their way is still a bit of a mystery to scientists.

But when reading this book, you’re constantly thinking about what it must be like to be a pigeon on its own in a gale above the churning North Sea, miles from both shores. It knows only that it must get home and has no idea that it’s carrying vital intelligence written on a tiny square of rice paper rolled up inside a cylinder attached to its ankle.

Pigeons had been used in warfare before – they were sent out in balloons during the Siege of Paris, and in World War I they flew 15 or 20 miles across the front lines.

But this cross-Channel scheme was of a whole new order. It needed an eccentric to dream up such a plan, and in this case the visionary eccentric was an alcoholic veteran spy called Rex Pearson, who was at a loose end after being sacked from his intelligence job in Switzerland.

He saw the potential of dropping pigeons in cages, with tiny parachutes, from planes flying 30,000 feet above gardens in occupied Belgium and Holland.

The cages would contain a questionnaire in Dutch, Flemish and French, a pencil, and a small bag of pigeon feed. MI6 were sceptical of the idea, seeing this as an ‘outmoded’ method of warfare. As Corera punningly quips: ‘Pigeons were low down the pecking order of intelligence requirements.’

 

BUT Pearson persisted, and the Army eventually gave permission for a small ‘Special Section (Carrier Pigeon)’ team to start Operation Columba from the bowels of the War Office, where the eccentrics in charge had a ‘Heil den Fuhrer!’ poster of Hitler on the wall, for reasons of dark humour it can only be assumed.

No Frederick Forsyth thriller could be as gripping as this real-life story. With his pigeon-like instinct for homing in on an individual human story, the author leads us to a small farmhouse deep inside occupied Belgium, and to the Debaillie family. In July 1941, they found one of the Columba’s parachuted pigeons in their back garden.

What should they do? If they were caught sending messages to Britain, their lives would be in danger.

Corera utilises ‘parable of the sower’ cadences to sum up what happened to dropped pigeons: some were lost in planes shot down; some were handed in to the police, some fell straight into enemy hands, some were eaten by hungry locals, and some were taken by hawks.

Every now and then, however, a pigeon came into the hands of true ‘patriots’ willing to take the risk of sending a message back to Britain. It’s painful to relate the stark statistic that out of 16,554 birds dropped between 1941 and 1944, only one in ten made it home.

But this one did. The message, on both sides of a four-inch-square piece of rice paper, is reproduced in the book. It was known as ‘Message 37’, sent by the Debaillie family’s small band of patriots who called themselves ‘Leopold Vindictive’.

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Carrier pigeons were trained by soldiers to send messages back home.

This message was a thing of such lovingly detailed beauty, revealing the exact positions of German military installations, that it was shown to Winston Churchill, who hailed it as symbolic of the spirit of resistance alive inside occupied Europe.

The man who created the message was a bearded priest called Father Joseph Raskin who, as the book progresses, becomes more and more of a saint – almost a Dietrich Bonhoeffer figure.

Corera (a fully trained investigative journalist) visited and interviewed the descendants of the Debaillie family, and we can see a photograph of them holding the pigeon just before they released it with its message attached.

They knew the pigeon arrived safely because, listening illegally to their radio set, they heard the BBC’s coded message: ‘Leopold Vindictive, the key fits the lock, and the bird is in the lion’s cage.’

If only the whole book were a catalogue of mini-successes like that one. But thanks to a mixture of human error, spies who lost heart, and the refusal of rival sections of the British intelligence service to speak to one another, the story all too soon turns into one of missed opportunities and failed missions.

Raskin was desperate to repeat this message-sending, but he waited in vain for more pigeons.

Some did land, but they were too far away to be found.

Raskin’s desperation was so acute that he took many risks, joining up with other Belgian spy networks so that when the Germans arrested one spy they were easily able to ‘roll up’ the whole network – including Raskin.

The scene where this happens makes almost unbearable reading. Nevertheless, Operation Columba grew in stature as the war went on, and MI6 grudgingly admitted how useful homing pigeons could be. Hundreds of Allied lives were saved by pigeon-borne intelligence.

British pigeon-fanciers from Ipswich to Plymouth who gave up their pigeons for war use were heroes, but the pigeons were the greatest heroes of all.

Take 11-month-old Billy, for instance, who, when his bomber crew crash-landed in France in 1942, delivered his message the next day in a state of collapse. He had flown through a gale-driven snowstorm back to the RAF station in Lincolnshire.

As well as human double-agents, there were pigeon double-agents. Germans put their pigeons into Columba cages so that message intended for London found their way to a German loft, thus exposing ‘traitors’.

Patriots became terrified of ‘Gestapo pigeons’ posing as British birds. Germans, in turn, became terrified of British ‘phoney pigeons’ disguised as German pigeons, with German rings on them.

These would be sent to Britain with a German agent and then fly home to their British loft, bearing useful intelligence.

And wait for the American pigeons, who started arriving in ships in 1942. Handsome well-fed American pigeons started cross-breeding with scrawnier British pigeons, just as handsome GIs did with British girls.

The Americans developed the useful ‘pigeon bra’, which made it easier for soldiers parachuted into foreign fields to carry birds on their person.

For an agent parachuting into occupied Europe, it was a great comfort to release your pigeon and watch it fly off homewards with a message that you’d landed safely.

Corera’s gripping book is an intoxicating mixture of comedy and high seriousness.

A warning: it contains a moment of horrific Nazi violence, or, as they would call it, ‘justice’, that you won’t forget.

– Secret Pigeon Service by Gordon Corera is published by William Collins for £20

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