Ladysmith by Giles Foden (1999)

Published the year after Foden’s famous debut, ‘The Last King of Scotland’, ‘Ladysmith’ is even longer, weighing in at a chunky 362 pages. He must have been working on them at the same time and this prompts the thought of considering them as two prisms or perspectives, from different periods, on their subjects – Africa, white people in Africa, colonialism and war.

Talking of dates, I realised Foden probably wanted the book to be published in 1999 as this marked the centenary of its subject, the start of the siege of Ladysmith. I wonder if the actual publication date was aligned as well i.e. in October or November. In fact one of the characters wonders whether the siege will go on for decades and his diary of it will be dug up a century hence, in 1999 (George Steevens the journalist, p.175).

Anyway, Ladysmith is a dazzling feat of imagination and bravura writing, hugely gripping, informative and entertaining. Also, it is very hard, grim and violent.

The siege of Ladysmith

The (Second) Boer War lasted from 11 October 1899 to 31 May 1902. Less than a month into the conflict Boer forces surrounded the town of Ladysmith in the colony of Natal on 2 November 1899 – occupied by British civilians, Asians and Africans and a contingent of the British army – and besieged it for 118 days, until it was relieved by British forces on 28 February 1900.

Prologue

The narrative opens not in Africa, but in late-Victorian Ireland (later on, we realise it’s about 1880). Four dramatic pages briskly describe the poverty and persecution suffered by the unnamed narrator, which drives him to join the Irish Republican Brotherhood. The underlying point is the implied connection between the Irish and the Boers, small subject peoples oppressed by the British Empire. He’s involved in a shootout with British police, escapes, is hidden by comrades in the Brotherhood, then smuggled to Liverpool, where he plans to start a new life in the colonies.

Part 1. Crossways

It quickly becomes clear that a distinguishing feature of the book is its very large cast of characters. Here’s a list of the characters who appear in the first hundred pages or so:

  • Bella Kiernan, 20, eldest daughter of…
  • Leo Kiernan, red-haired proprietor of the Royal Hotel, Ladysmith (p.19)
  • Jane Kiernan, 18, Bella’s blonde younger sister (p.24), admired by gunner Foster of the Naval Brigade (p.62)
  • Gunner Herbert Foster, likely young lad and beau to Jane Kiernan
  • Antonio Torres, barber, from Lourenço Marques in Portuguese East Africa (now named Maputo and Mozambique, respectively) which he left when his beloved Isabella Teixera da Mattos (p.93) married another man (Luís)
  • Mrs Frinton, thin, ascetic, grey-haired, God-fearing widow (p.47), most religious woman in town (p.125)
  • Mr and Mrs Star, the Ladysmith bakers (p.15)
  • Tom Barnes of the Green Horse regiment (p.20), writes long descriptive letters home to his mother and sister Lizzie, one of which includes burning down the house of an absent Boer including piano and music (pages 60 to 65)
  • four journalists: George Steevens of the Mail; Henry Nevinson of the Daily Chronicle; Donald McDonald of the Melbourne Argus; William Maud the Graphic’s special artist (pages 21 and 120); MacDonald is coarse and racist (p.75); Steevens, small and bald and scholarly, is a legend for his calm under fire (p.76); Nevinson is more the neutral 40-ish narrator type (p.78) albeit a ‘dour figure’ (p.203)
  • Atkins of the Manchester Guardian
  • Perry Barnes, Tom’s younger brother who’s followed him into the army, a farrier by trade, aboard the same ship bringing the Biographer, Winston Churchill and thousands of troops to South Africa (p.26)
  • Lieutenant Norris, Tom and Bob’s superior officer
  • the Biographer who it took me a few pages to realise is not a photographer but a pioneer of moving pictures i.e. film photography – describes the loading and sea voyage of the Dunottar Castle setting off from Southampton to Cape Town – he grew up in Birmingham and considers himself an outsider at the captain’s table full of plummy posh officers (p.26); he is so-named because he works for the Mutoscope and Biograph Company (p.56)
  • Winston Churchill, correspondent for the Morning Post (p.30)
  • General Redvers Henry Buller (p.35)
  • Muhle Maseku, wife Nandi (who Maseku married when he was 13) and young son Wellington, one of thousands in a refugee column fleeing (p.36), he is separated from his wife and boy into a group of 400 Blacks by Boers who force them to work on building fortifications; in the rush down a muddy slope after a day working in the rain he breaks his ankle
  • Marwick, kindly Englishman from the Natal Native Affairs Department (p.38)
  • General Piet Joubert, Commandant-General of the Transvaal (p.40)
  • Major Mott, the military censor (p.43) started out ‘harsh’ and, as things become intense, becomes ‘merciless’ (p.97), proud possessor of a grand sealion moustache (p.195)
  • Mohandas Gandhi, speaking at a Hindu political meeting and interviewed by the Biographer (pages 54 to 57)
  • Bob Ashmead, soldier sharing a tent with Tom Barnes (p.58)
  • Dr Sterkx, doctor in the Boer camp who looks after Muhle Maseku and his broken ankle (p.66); turns out it was his house and piano and music Tom Barnes and his troop burned down and took his wife Frannie prisoner into Ladysmith; he makes primitive crutches for Muhle who he gets to become an assistant; they watch battles from a nearby hill
  • Mr Grimble of the Ladysmith town council, local farmer and leading light in Carbineers (p.86), producer of fruit jams (p.104)
  • Archdeacon Barker (p.88)
  • Lieutenant General Sir George White, overall commander of the Ladysmith forces (p.171)

The start of the bombardment

The first shell from the surrounding Boers lands in Ladysmith on 2 November 1899. The town council debates evacuating the wounded and non-combatants. Jingos are outraged. Nevinson the journalist is developing into our eyes and ears and visits the station as the first long train of wounded and women and blacks and Indians pulls out. The telegraph line has been cut so he advertises for Blacks to be paid runners i.e. sneak through the Boer lines and get to the nearest British town in order to get his despatches sent back to London. Since they might be shot on sight the Blacks are charging £20 a journey. Nevinson hires a boy, Wellington, who’s the son of Muhle Maseku who we’ve seen being co-opted into the Boer camp then breaking his ankle. Nevinson includes not only his own despatches but letters friends want posted, including Tom’s to his mum.

Bella and Jane discuss their boyfriends, how long the siege will last, what will happen afterwards. Bella drops by the Star bakery. All food is rationed now and can only be bought with coupons. Bella pays triple the price for a loaf of bread which turns out to be adulterated and makes her sick.

General of the besieging Boers, Joubert, allows trains of wounded and non-combatants to be taken to Camp Intombi down the railway line. Jingos christen it ‘Fort Funk’ (p.106). (According to Wikipedia, the Intombi Military Hospital was some 5 kilometres (3.1 miles) outside Ladysmith and run by Major General (later Sir) David Bruce and his wife Mary. During the siege, the number of beds in the hospital camp grew from the initial 100 to a total of 1900. A total of 10,673 admissions were received and treated at Intombi.)

All classes of men are conscripted into digging defensive trenches and sangars. Torres the barber is bombed out.

Ladysmith measures not 3 miles in any direction. By 5 December 1899 some 3,500 cylinders of explosive iron have been thrown at it (p.123). Growing stress at the ceaseless barrage of incoming shells. Night-time burial parties. Food becomes scarcer. Water from the river polluted with faeces. More and more disease. British forces make a few night-time sallies and spike one Long Tom, cause of celebration. But there are others and numerous other field guns surrounding them. The constant barrage continues.

Dramatic tension

In all kinds of novels the reader experiences an element of suspense and tension as they wait to see what will happen to the characters, how the story will pan out. Well, in a war story like this, there’s a pretty obvious brutal tension involved, as you read about all of these characters, share their thoughts and feelings and perceptions and that is…which of them are going to be killed, or die of disease, or be horribly maimed?

(Lots) more narrative

Tom and Bob are practising cavalry manoeuvres when interrupted by shellfire (they’re not hurt). At the Boer camp Muhle Maseku wakens to see his son, Wellington, has been caught carrying his package of messages through Boer lines, by members of the Irish Brigade, who are kicking and beating him and about to drag him away to execute him. Muhle intervenes, hitting the leader of the Irish Brigade, John MacBride, with his crutch and is shot in the thigh for his troubles, passing out.

(Mention of John MacBride is significant, because he appeared in the prologue to the entire book set, we later learn, around 1879, a member of the small group of Irish Nationalists which includes the unnamed narrator of the prologue. The significance of all of this is explained towards the very end of the book.)

The Biographer has made it by train as far as Frere where the line has been blown up by the Boers. Churchill has gone and got himself captured when the Boer derailed an armoured train he was riding in. The other correspondents are making a fuss to get him freed.

The Biographer is an eye witness to the Battle of Colenso, 15 December 1899. He gets involved in carrying stretchers of the wounded which is where he bumps into Mohandir Gandhi who, somewhat improbably, takes the opportunity to explain that all this bloodshed has helped him crystallise his worldview of satyagraha or non-violence (p.151).

Colenso was one of the three catastrophic defeats which were dubbed Black Week (Sunday 10 December to Sunday 17 December 1899) in which some 2,800 British troops were killed, wounded or captured (p.153). Buller sends, via the new helioscope system which has been set up to replace the broken telegraph, a depressed defeatist message to Ladysmith to surrender which the town’s commander in chief, Lieutenant General Sir George White, to his credit, ignores.

We are given the text of a letter Perry Barnes writes home to his sister from the camp at Frere i.e. Buller’s camp trying to get past Colenso to relieve Ladysmith. The point is that at the end of the narrative, Foden explains that one of the sources of the novel was an actual cache of letters written by one of his forebears who was in the siege.

A shell lands on the steps of the Royal Hotel blowing off the leg of a doctor who later dies. Bella ponders the mother she never knew, Catherine, from back in Ireland.

(At which point I realised this is probably the ‘Catherine’ we see getting shot dead by British police in Ireland in the dramatic opening Prologue. And realise at the same moment that the unnamed narrator of the Prologue must have been the man now known as Leo Kiernan, Bella’s father and owner of the Royal Hotel.)

Bella and Tom have slowly become an item though Bella is wary. Novels and love, do all ‘serious’ novels have to feature a love story?

Nevinson is astonished to spot the young Zulu he had sent with his despatches bathing in the river with his mother. Wellington explains how he was caught, beaten up, the documents taken from him, read and defaced, but he was saved from execution by General Joubert who instead tasked him with returning them to Ladysmith, which Wellington did by creeping up on a sentry post and chucking the bag in then running off.

Bella finally agrees to ‘walk out’ with Tom, they walk out to the empty orchard outside town and have first sex, breathily described: ‘She rubbed against the straining tip of him’ etc (p.187). Although they get as far as him licking her through her panties, she bridles, pulls back, unzips his trousers and masturbates him till he climaxes, giggling quietly because his name is Tom, and the big guns firing on the town are nicknamed Long Toms and she is holding his Long Tom in her hand.

George Steevens has had enteric fever for weeks and Nevinson is justifiably concerned for him and his sometimes hallucinatory feverish conversation. The bored journalists have amused themselves by setting up a home-printed broadsheet called the Ladysmith Lyre whose purpose is exaggeration, rumour and amusement.

Very long description of a cricket match put together by the General, between two teams called the Colonials and the Mother Country. Both Tom and Gunner Foster do good batting, to the admiration of Bella and Jane. Tribal courtship rituals. To his irritation Leo Kiernan is compelled to be captain of the Colonials. It all builds to a climax as Bella’s dad turns out to be an improbably fine cricketer (improbable because he’s never played the game before) and the Colonials are just one run away from victory when just the one shell is lobbed at the game by the Boers on the surrounding hills. It explodes sending red hot splinters everywhere but apparently harming no-one, the final ball is played, Bella’s dad misses it but it hits young Herbert Foster who had remained in his wicket keeper’s crouch and when Tom goes up to see him, realises he is dead, killed instantly by a liver of shrapnel from the Boer shell.

Part 2. The Tower

Two days later Jane is in deep shock, shell-shocked, PTSD, shakes, catatonic, throws up, can’t answer questions. Bella cleans up the vomit, remakes the bed, puts her in, goes downstairs to the hotel bar which promptly receives two direct hits.

When she wakes up in the makeshift hospital in the town hall, she discovers both her dad and she have gashes but otherwise unhurt. Leo has sent Jane with a nurse in that day’s train to Intombi. Leo takes Bella to see the hotel which is utterly ruined. She reclaims some dirty clothes and sheets from the wreckage then her dad takes her to the network of caves along the river Klip, where bombed-out women and children are living.

Gaza

It’s unnerving to read the account of a population traumatised (and killed and mutilated) by relentless, merciless bombardment on days when, making coffee or lunch, I turn on the radio and hear more grim details of the relentless Israeli bombardment of Gaza. Even more eerie to read about the huge network of tunnels the homeless men and women of Ladysmith constructed in the soft soil alongside the river Klip, reminding me of the vast labyrinth of tunnels Hamas has are said to have created in Gaza. Rightly or wrongly I couldn’t get the contemporary resonance out of my head as I read descriptions of crying women and children surrounded by unrelenting, random death.

‘When will it end?’
‘I never thought I would see myself like this.’
‘Mummy!’
‘My God, I have no hope left in me.’ (p.231)

It was as if they’d gone back in time to a prehistoric era; it was as if they were real cave-dwellers now. (p.234)

1899. 2023. Some people think the human race changes, that ‘humanity’ is moving forwards and upwards, that we are ‘progressing’. I don’t.

More part 2

Bella is settled into a dugout cave, has sort of bed made up for her by kindly Mrs Frinton. Standing outside she notices the Portuguese barber, Torres, digging. Turns out he’s digging up unexploded munitions. When a shell comes over Torres grabs her hand and yanks her over and into the men’s tunnels. Here a rough uitlander makes an off-colour remark prompting Torres to fight him for the lady’s honour. Arguably, this section should have been called ‘The Tunnels’ as the narrative dwells on Bella’s completely changed circumstances and how poor and alone and ill and hungry she feels. It’s called The Tower because in her distracted mind she creates a shimmering tower rising above the ruined town, an image of transcendence and escape.

On Christmas Day 1899 a shell lands nearby spattering Bella with mud as she was dressing in her best blouse, she spends hours rocking on the floor in despair. Her dad arrives with a letter from Jane at the military hospital who, mercifully, has recovered.

After two weeks Bella is sent by the river cave women to get provisions from the Commissariat in town. She visits the Royal and is distraught to see it looking like it’s been abandoned for years. In the ruins she discovers the Zulu mother Nandi and Wellington the messenger boy are squatting. Nandi tugs her skirts and begs and Bella gives her some of her precious supplies.

(The degrading immiseration of once cheerful well-fed westerners also reminds me of the imprisonment of the Europeans in the Japanese internment camp in J.G. Ballard’s ‘Empire of the Sun’.)

She goes to the Town Hall to see her father, is disconcerted to see that he is sitting on the military tribunal alongside Mayor Farquhar and Major Mott, and then horrified when they drag Torres the barber before them and arraign him for spying and treason, for which the penalty in time of war is death. Tom had reported seeing someone flashing messages using a mirror from some shrubbery on the edge of town, had fired into the bushes, missed the man who disappeared, leaving fragments of a mirror of the type which Torres used to sell from his barber’s shop, and the footprint of a boot with a big V on it.

The case is not proven but he is still roughly tied up and dragged off to the Dopper Church which has been surrounded by barbed wire and turned into an ad hoc prison for suspects.

Part 2 is much much more focused on one character (Bella) than part one had been with its cast of over 40. Now it’s all about Bella’s feelings at being bombed out, realising she doesn’t like Tom who obeys orders rather than listen to her, and hates her father after he defended the xenophobic unfairness of trying Torres.

Next day she goes back into town and to the Dopper Church, where she asks the guard to fetch Torres to the barbed wire where she apologises for everything and promises to do whatever she can. Then she goes to the ruins of the Royal Hotel, climbing gingerly up the ruined staircase to the Star Room where she finds her father, white with intense strain. His revolver is on the desk. He makes her swear not to try to find him till the siege is over but stay in the caves. In a flash it came to me that Leo is the spy, the traitor, the anti-British Irish Republican Brother who is signalling information to the Boers. I bet at some crucial moment we discover Leo’s boots have a big V pattern on them.

Part 3. Amours de Voyage

Rather mercifully, the narrative leaves Bella and her agonisings about Tom, the meaning of love, her father and Torres and we’re back with Nevinson, the dour journalist. ‘Amours de voyages’ is the ironic description Nevinson gives to the final delusions of his friend Steevens as he approaches the final stages of enteric fever. Nevinson visits the sheds at the (now disused) railway station to see for himself the vast abattoir and horse-stewing factory it’s been turned into, producing revolting foods such as ‘chevril’, made from boiling horses’ bones and guts.

There’s an interlude where Foden inserts newspaper reports, and Churchill’s telegram to Britain, giving details of his daring escape from Boer captivity and wild escape by train and walking the 300 miles north to Portuguese East Africa (Mozambique).

That night the Boers mount their biggest attack, seizing part of the vital Caesar’s Camp area. Nevinson finds command headquarters in total chaos and rides out to see for himself, ending up taking refuge in a sangar of the Irish Fusiliers, during the fierce battle and on into a sudden rainstorm. The British counter-attack and take all the key positions. 500 British soldiers killed to about 800 Boers. A significant battle. By the time he gets back to the cottage he’s been sharing with the other correspondents, Nevinson feels chill and ill.

Cut to Churchill taking a boat to Durban then hastening back to Buller’s relieving force, where he is greeted and filmed by the Biographer (quite a while since we’ve heard about him). They can see the terrible guns firing down onto the town but every attempt to cross the river Tugela is repulsed by the Boers who are firmly entrenched on the other side.

A slightly delirious, impressionistic description of the disastrous attack on Spion Kop, 23 to 24 January 1900, premonition of the Somme and First World War butchery. Ends with a letter from Perry Barnes back to Lizzy describing the slaughter and blaming the useless British generals (pages 303 to 304).

Dr Sterkx comes to the Zulu Muhle Maseku whose gunshot wound to the thigh is healing, says he will help him escape from the Boer camp into Ladysmith, if he will take a message to his wife, Frannie.

Bella now spends all her time by the filthy, faeces-full river, brooding, hungry and depressed. She is slightly deliriously metaphysical, staring at the same scene till it shimmers and wobbles, until she feels like one more shape in the lifeless scene (p.307).

Torres becomes desperate stuck inside the barbed-wired church. He becomes fascinated by the Boer woman who still has her goose with her. The reader realises it’s Frannie, distraught wife of Dr Sterkx.

Thrilling description of Muhle Maseku’s escape from the Boer camp during British shelling, under cover of drifting smoke, but still they spot and trail him, taking pot shots till he abandons the obvious route down a gulley and goes up the side and over land, hiding and resting as the full moon floods the landscape with light (p.314).

Tom is depressed, with the duration of the war, with guarding the church, with his ended relationship with Bella who just gives him a hard stare and turns away. So at some cheap estaminet he pays ten shillings to go with a Malay prostitute. Pleasantly pornographic: ‘A soft warm hood of flesh began to press itself over the tip of him’. (p.318). She blows him then rides him to a climax.

On the subject of sex we learn that the Biographer and Perry have been (male, same sex) lovers for some weeks, regularly jerking each other off in the river.

Bella seeks out Nandi and asks for her help. These days Wellington doesn’t smuggle food in, he spends all his time roaming round the surrounding country looking for the sign his father said he would make. That night Wellington appears to Torres inside the church and tells him to follow him. They wriggle through a small window he’s loosened, then sneak across the empty space to the fence which has a square cut out of it. There’s a sentry box but as he watches, Torres sees a female figure approach the sentry, engage it in conversation, then kiss. It is Bella, calculatingly distracting Tom.

Torres is led by Wellington through back streets, out of town to a copse where there’s a brazier with one of the town’s many observation balloons tethered over it. In a little while Bella arrives, they climb into the basket, undo the ropes, and drift into the sky, escaping the imprisoned town.

Tom is flogged for letting Torres escape, so badly he is sent to Intombi camp, where his bloody back is tended by Jane Kiernan. Wellington Maseku brings in his wounded, badly ill father, who he found hiding in a shallow burrow he’d dug to hide from the Boers, but weak and emaciated and his leg wound badly infected. Because of all the goods Wellington smuggled into the camp, the doctors say they’ll see what they can do.

Ladysmith is relieved. The Boers pull out and head north. Buller’s relieving force enters from the south. We are shown the characters reacting differently (Mrs Frinton, of course, praying). Most vivid is MacDonald coming across Nandi weeping at the front of the ruined Royal Hotel. She’s just learned her husband died of blood loss as a result of the amputation of his leg. Perry Barnes is decapitated by one of the last, random Boer shells. The Biographer, who had been filming his lover at the moment of his gruesome death, collapses in hysterics.

Paintings and patriotic accounts record General Buller riding up to General White, dismounting and shaking his hand as the crowds cheered but no such thing happened; Buller just rode blithely by.

Part 4. The monologues of the dead

An oddity. A series of short, sometimes very short (half page), texts by various characters from the narrative, being:

  • Tom Barnes (December 1901) – the British are in the ascendant and in this letter Tom describes razing Boer farmsteads he is completely disillusioned with empire, queen and country, thinks the entire war has been a shambles
  • Mrs Sterkx (March 1902) – an unforgiving description of the concentration camps the British herded Boer women and children into, where they died by their thousands
  • Nevinson (December 1915) – reporting at the conclusion of the ill-fated Gallipoli campaign, reporting that many think Churchill should be publicly hanged for his part in promoting the campaign
  • Bobby Greenacre (January 1916) – was about to sign up and go to the war when he is bitten by an adder
  • Nevison (November 1916) – talks about his friendship with W.B. Yeats, his lover Maud Gonne who has gone off to nurse soldiers on the Western front, leaving the man she married, John MacBride who a) had led the Irish Brigade in Natal and b) took part in the famous Easter Rising in Dublin; he heard that Bella and Torres landed safely in their balloon and are presumably living somewhere
  • The Biographer (February 1931) – during the main text the Biographer was always frustrated the moving pictures alone didn’t tell the full story; here he is now doing the voiceover for a Movietone News film about Mahatma Gandhi
  • Churchill (February 1931) – speech to the West Sussex Conservatives in which he takes the time to execrate Gandhi turning up to meet the Viceroy of India dressed in peasant clothes
  • Jane (May 1933) – multiple sadnesses; she has just buried Tom, who she married; and she remembers back to discovering her father dead in the ruins of the Hotel, having shot himself with his revolver and slowly discovered that he was the spy signalling information to the Boers; thought as much; then how she tracked down Bella and Torres, discovering he sold a bauxite claim for a fortune and took Bella back to Portugal where they lived the life of the 1910s and 20s rich, spats, feather boas and fast cars
  • MacDonald (December 1938) – bumped into Bobby Greenacre who is now an eminent lawyer, a KC in Australia
  • Gandhi (August 1942) – he has been arrested for publicly stating his party will not fight the Japanese if they invade India; so he’s been incarcerated, yet again; he marvels at the way everything – he, history – are misrepresented: ‘everything is distorted and misrepresented’ – this seems a rather obvious comment about the nature of fiction itself, and maybe about Foden’s own kind of historical fiction in particular
  • Churchill (27 May 1944) – a secret cypher telegram which indicates Churchill’s vehement dislike of Gandhi right to the end
  • The Biographer (July 1945) – retired now, he reflects on how Churchill will be kicked out at the election, how his time and his romance of the British Empire is over; the British will leave India as soon as they decently can; still, Churchill’s rhetoric and determination kept the British at it for six long years; respect
  • Wellington – reflects on the Sharpeville Massacre, 21 March 1960, the enduring wickedness of the Pass Laws in South Africa’s history; Wellington is a member of the African National Congress (ANC) and in prison for burning his Pass Card in front of the press; he is being represented in court by a young Nelson Mandela; he remembers Ladysmith, the experience of being in prison, and reflects how, for people like him – South African Blacks – it has never been otherwise

Obviously deliberate that a Black African is given the last word in this story about Africa.

Foden’s multifarious styles

There were fairly frequent moments in ‘The Last King of Scotland’ when I was surprised by an oddity of Foden’s prose style, but assigned it to the narrator. But there are more here, so I’m concluding they’re part of Foden’s essential approach to language.

Formal prepositions

He has an old-fashioned way with prepositions, for example he insists on using their full formal versions, ‘upon’ instead of ‘on’, ‘whilst’ instead of ‘while’.

He is much given to the old-fashioned inversion of phrases to avoid ending a sentence with a preposition.

People were saying that the first real shots of the war had been fired at Dundee, to where a column had rashly been thrown forward. (p.45)

Flight to Intombi was now a measure of which many non-combatants availed themselves. (p.105)

In a battered hansom cab Churchill, together with Atkins of the Manchester Guardian, went up to the Mount Nelson Hotel to plan their campaign and to conduct interviews with the military staff staying in that grand residence, before leaving for East London by rail, therefrom to catch the mail packet to Natal. (p.52)

Is this meant to convey the archaic quality of late-Victorian prose, the formality of late-Victorian social life, or the stilted pompousness of this particular pair of characters? Or does Foden just regard it as a valid form of phrasing he can mix in with other far more modern, even slangy, phraseology? Whatever the motive it results in a text which is a mosaic, or mashup, of multiple tones and registers.

He has a similar fondness for an antiquated use of the word ‘so’.

The Klip took a tortuous course through the town and its environs, and the bank in parts was fairly high. It was so where he was walking… (p.119)

Wouldn’t this be more naturally be phrased as ‘it was like this where he was walking’? Is the unusual phrasing ‘It was so…’ intended to evoke Victorian phraseology, because I’m not sure it does. It reminds me more of Captain Picard’s catchphrase in Star Trek Next Generation: ‘Make it so.’ It’s a conscious style decision; Foden repeats it later:

Forced to meet this turning movement in the British attack, the Boers had had to extend their line. Churchill reported it so. (p.295)

It’s one among many odd, anomalous, unmodern turns of phrase which Foden deliberately deploys. Much earlier in the book, describing the town council debate about whether the non-combatants should leave the town:

Others, in particular those who had suffered injury to family or property from the bombardment, were all for leaving the soldiers to it and getting out from under the shadow of shell. (p.87)

‘The shadow of shell’ is an odd phrase, isn’t it? It’s not Victorian or modern, if anything it reminds me of the alliteration of Anglo-Saxon poetry.

Ornate phrasing

There are many such unorthodox or contrived phrasings, not massive in themselves, just a continual trickle of unusualness:

‘Let me explain,’ intervened Bella, in agitated fashion. (p.111)

But there were larger quarrels, ones in which such discriminations counted for naught. (p.189)

All seemed set to enjoy themselves in fair measure. (p.195)

This sounds more like Shakespeare than late-Victorian prose.

Yet, if truth be told, there were other constants… (p.214)

Is the deployment of ‘if truth be told’ an attempt to mimic late-Victorian oratory? Is it conscious pastiche or irony? Or is it Foden writing in his own style? Does his own style combine this odd range of registers, taking in modern slang, through boys’ adventure clichés, oddly formal word order, to passages of fairly contemporary psychological description and analysis?

Slang

Ladysmith above ground could get very nippy at night (p.230)

‘There must be something we can do,’ said Bella. She reached up and clasped his fingers, with the wire between them. Torres gave a dry laugh, but he did not remove his hand. ‘I cannot see how. Unless you mean to bring guns and spring me out.’ (p.262)

Use of the word ‘spring’ made me think of a 1940s film noir, or the thousands of American movies where the associates of criminals ‘spring’ them out of gaol.

Grandiloquent

But sometimes Foden’s prose is the opposite of slangy and goes beyond historic pastiche to take on a conscious pomp and circumstance, as here, where the correspondent Nevinson is meditating on the futility of war:

No wonder that the armies of the past vanish, their ancient dead only rising from the furrows of buried time to laugh, invisibly, at the very pageants of memory by which we seek to summon them. (p.286)

Grandiloquent, meaning: ‘pompous or extravagant in language, style, or manner, especially in a way that is intended to impress.’ I understand that this grand style reflects the personality of Nevinson who, as the novel progresses, becomes increasingly prone to grand reflections on history i.e Foden is capturing the style of a specific character.

Grandiloquence of a different type is deliberately deployed in the climactic scene when Ladysmith is finally relieved by British troops and you can feel Foden reaching for a different, feverish style to try and convey the emotional release of the moment, to evoke the hysteria of the crowds:

The crowd opened to let them [the liberating army] trot past, and then followed as they swung into the main street, the vanguard of an exultant avenue of humanity, each crying or laughing as the moment took them, letting go their emotions as if the siege walls had tumbled in their very breasts (p.331)

‘Very breasts’. The whole liberation scene is written like this, in a deliberately high heroic but sentimental Edwardian style, which is very noticeably different from most of the rest of the book.

Prose poetry

And sometimes into the mix Foden throws long, lyrical sentences of prose poetry. Here’s the funeral of the highly literate correspondent George Steevens who dies of enteric fever after a long delirious illness:

A soft rain was falling and, every now and then the donkey pulling the hearse let out its ghastly bray, which echoed between the silent rocks. On the way, Nevinson saw Tom Barnes and his friend, who stopped and saluted in the moonlight. This silvery pall, falling down through ragged edges of cloud, reflected on the hearse, the glass of which was covered in black and white embellishments, and on the lines of white crosses marking the graves of earlier fatalities. (p.290)

It doesn’t have the lustral mellifluousness of, say, the fairy tales of Oscar Wilde, but it is obviously a conscious effort at lyrical landscape painting.

Playful prose

Sometimes Foden indulges in wordplay, picking up on his own phraseology for the lolz:

So that day the censor escaped the unconscious wish of the correspondents – although as he had been on the lavatory at the time, it didn’t really count as a hair’s-breadth escape. Some did escape by such a measure. (p.102)

I had to read that twice before I realised the phrase ‘such a measure’ is referring back to the hair’s breadth (that the person he goes on to talk about, Bobby Greenacre, did escape death by a hair’s breadth). This picking up, echoing and playing with his own phrases occurs fairly often. The soldier Perry Barnes swears when he describes the murderous effect of the Maxim gun:

In his notebook, the correspondent marked the expletive down as a double dash. That night dashes were to the point, and points also: the searchlights at Buller’s camp and in the invested town again communicated by flashing Morse on the clouds. (p.293)

See how he picks up and plays with his own phraseology.

I’m not complaining, I’m not meaning to criticise in the negative sense. The opposite. I’m celebrating the complexity of Foden’s style. I’m trying to analyse out some of the many different lexical tricks or quirks, along with the varying registers, tones and strategies going on in Foden’s prose style, which make it sometimes odd and unpredictable, always interesting and highly readable.

Imperial politics

Strangely, there’s relatively little politics in the book. Early on there’s a set-piece argument or friendly debate, between the journalists Nevinson and Steevens, about the point of the British Empire.

Nevinson, in his youth tempted by the teachings of the anarchist Kropotkin, puts the standard liberal view that the Boer War is unnecessary and has been fomented by jingos such as Lord Milner, Cecil Rhodes and Joseph Chamberlain purely out of greed, to annex the Boer republics so Britain can get its hands on their diamonds and gold.

‘Do you really believe in that stuff any more, after wat we’ve been through these last few days? Is Empire really worth it, George, after all?’ (p.83)

And his colleague, Steevens, puts the standard riposte that the war must be won because failure, or even weakness, will inspire the hundreds of millions of other subjects of the empire to rise up and end it. Nevinson:

For if Ladysmith fell, why not Natal, the Cape, indeed why not, as subject peoples everywhere saw that it was possible, the Empire itself? (p.48)

When Nevinson points out how shabby and squalid many of the doings of the supposedly ‘noble’ Empire are in reality, Steevens is given some pithy lines about how the Empire shouldn’t be judged by any of its practical applications, but as a platonic ideal of perfect community and administration:

‘I’m with Thucydides, I’m afraid. On the Athenian Empire. It may seem wickedness to have won it…but it is certainly folly to let it go….

‘It’s the vital ideal of Empire one must hang on to – however tawdry the reality, however full of outrageous postures and cheap tricks. We’ve got to keep aiming at something beyond the truth. I suppose, at base, it is all to do with spreading light.’ (p.84)

I enjoy bits like this not because I agree with them (at all) but because it’s a point of view you never hear nowadays, drowned by today’s blanket execration of everything to do with the British Empire.

Also, reading contemporary debates about the point of an empire from the 1880s, 1890s, 1900s and so on, sheds quite a bit of light on absolutely modern issues in international affairs. Michael Ignatieff’s series of books from the 1990s wonder whether there aren’t many countries which are too poor or chaotic to run themselves and where ‘the international community’ needs to step in and run them in order to save the populations from massacre – Bosnia, Yemen, Syria, Gaza.

Obviously he’s not talking about the same kind of exploitative conquest as characterised the European empires but, to many of the peoples watching the arrival of Western armies in, for example, Iraq or Afghanistan, the subtle moral differences made by liberal commentators are irrelevant: they were just the latest waves of Western invaders and they needed to be resisted.

Twentieth century politics

The short final section four has a powerful but, I think, questionable affect. In very short order (i.e. in a hurry) we are shuffled through extremely brief descriptions of:

  • the concentration camps set up in the later stages of the Boer War
  • the First World War
  • the disastrous Gallipoli campaign
  • the Easter Rising in Dublin
  • three or four brief snippets which ask us to consider the role of Winston Churchill in twentieth century British history and the defeat of Nazi Germany in particular
  • ending with Wellington talking about the Sharpeville Massacre, the ANC, Nelson Mandela and the struggle against apartheid

This is a lot of stuff to take in and process. In my opinion, too much. As in ‘The Last King of Scotland’ only more so, it feels as if the novelistic subject matter – the focus on people, their characters, and interactions and thoughts and feelings – is swamped by the powerful associations attached to the historical events Foden describes.

Just considering the role of Winston Churchill in twentieth century British history and the defeat of Nazi Germany, in particular, but also his increasingly outdated attempts to preserve the British Empire, is a vast, simply enormous subject. Its scale and complexity completely overwhelm the thousands of fine and beautifully imagined details Foden has filled his book with (the descriptions of the fruit in Mr Grimble’s orchard spring to mind, or the cricket match, or Torres’s escape from the church, Major Mott’s sealion moustache, and hundreds of others).

This final section feels like wave after wave of overwhelming, each one eclipsing the one that went before – concentration camps, Gallipoli, the Easter Rising, Indian independence, the Second World War – the scale of each of them is too enormous and also too historical, in the sense that it’s more interested in political issues than in people.

And the last wave, the last three pages containing Wellington’s thoughts, his references to the Sharpeville Massacre and then onto the figure of Nelson Mandela, now universally acknowledged to be a secular saint, completely erases everything that went before, burying much of the fine detail so carefully depicted in the previous 350 pages, to become the abiding image and memory of the book. It’s a shame.

I can see that Foden intended these snippets to demonstrate that history doesn’t end with one event but is a continuum and that people’s lives continue way after the significant events they’ve been part of. That’s seems to me a fine and fairly traditional strategy for a novel, thousands do the same thing, tying up loose ends of characters’ afterlives. It’s the fact that Foden associates every one of these loose ends with major political events which is the dubious decision, a decision which – to repeat myself – risks swamping the subtlety and detail of much of what came before.

Christian feminism 1899

Mrs Frinton, in normal times a figure of fun (to Bella, anyway) for being an uptight old widow lecturing everyone about Our Lord, in wartime becomes reliable and solid (if still given to lectures). At one point she tells Bella all this trouble is down to men, the same everywhere:

‘They [men] are just like us, really,’ [Bella] ventured. ‘Only most of the time we don’t realise it.’
‘That’s a very new-fangled view,’ said the widow. ‘It’s not one I hold with myself. You or I wouldn’t fight – not just brawling, I mean, we wouldn’t be fighting this war. This – it’s all men, just men. Believe you me, when we get to the Good Place, we will find many more women there than men.’ (p.229)

I know plenty of feminists who would wholeheartedly agree, 123 years later.


Credit

Ladysmith by Giles Foden was published in paperback by Faber Books in 1999. References are to this Faber paperback edition.

Giles Foden reviews

Related reviews

A War of Choice: Honour, Hubris and Sacrifice: The British in Iraq by Jack Fairweather (2012)

This is an outstandingly thorough, factual and authoritative account of the British Army’s involvement in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, maybe the most comprehensive, detailed and balanced account available.

Jack Fairweather

Jack Fairweather covered the Iraq War as the Daily Telegraph‘s Baghdad and Gulf correspondent for five years. He and his team won a British Press Award for their coverage. He went on to be the Washington Post‘s Islamic World correspondent. By the time this book was published he had become a fellow at the Centre for Middle Eastern Studies.

It’s a solid work of 430 pages, consisting of 32 chapters with good maps, thorough notes, a list of key players, a useful bibliography, index and so on. Well done to the publishers, Vintage, for such a professional package.

However, something (obviously) beyond their control is that, having been published in 2012 means the narrative does not include the rise of ISIS and the chaos that ensued. Fairweather’s narrative is now over ten years out of date, a factor I’m coming to realise is vitally important when reading about this disastrous part of the world (Iraq-Iran-Afghanistan-Pakistan) and, in particular, putting the entire conflict in Afghanistan into context, given the swift collapse of the Afghan government and return to power of the Taliban in 2021.

Companion piece to Thomas Ricks’s Fiasco

Having read Fiasco, Thomas E. Ricks’s highly detailed accounts of the US decision making and planning leading up to the war, it’s fascinating to follow the same storyline from the British government point of view. For example, how the UK government made the same mistake of failing to consider or plan for the aftermath of the war, but for different reasons.

Tony Blair was the first British premier to be fully aware of modern media and how to use them. He and Alistair Campbell were all about focus groups, opinion polling and managing the news cycle and this is all short term thinking. Fixated as he and his team were on the media, they were obsessed that concrete proof the UK was planning for war shouldn’t leak out. Therefore Blair forbade the Department for International Development from officially commissioning post-invasion planning (the kind of thing it specialises in) in case someone leaked it (p.13). Similarly, Blair forbade the Army from placing orders for the kind of kit it would need for a large-scale deployment abroad (p.14). So Blair’s obsession with media management prevented him from properly, fully considering the post-conquest management of Iraq, from commissioning adequate plans for reconstruction, and from planning for the post-invasion policing by the British Army. Inexcusable.

Key points

Fairweather covers every detail, every aspect of the story, in calm, measured, authoritative chronological order. This really feels like the account to read.

1997 Tony Blair elected Prime Minister.

1998 Blair supports the Operation Desert Fox bombing campaign against Saddam. New Labour make  the first increase to the military budget after a decade of Tory cuts.

March 1999 Blair succeeds in pushing the US and NATO to intervene in Kosovo with a bombing campaign against Serbia (with mixed results; see Michael Ignatieff’s book on the subject).

April 1999 Blair makes his Chicago speech making the case for intervention/invasion of countries on a humanitarian basis if dictators are massacring their people.

The 9/11 attacks change everything. President George W. Bush immediately starts planning an attack on Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. In October 2001 US forces began their attack, supporting the Northern Alliance against the Taliban government. The Taliban overthrown by December 2001. George Bush phones Tony Blair to sound him out about attacking Saddam Hussein.

The long tortuous process whereby the US tries to bamboozle the UN Security Council into agreeing a resolution allowing the invasion, and the New Labour government began its campaign of lies and deception, resulting in the dodgy dossier of fake intelligence, cobbled-together scraps from a PhD thesis including the ludicrous claim that Saddam could launch ‘weapons of mass destruction’ in 45 minutes. It was indicative of the way New Labour were obsessed by media and presentation and paid little attention to substance.

20 March 2003 The ‘coalition’ invasion of Iraq began. During the build-up, a variety of figures in the military and civil service discovered there was no plan for what to do after the invasion. It was mainly the Americans’ fault, Bush only set up an Office for Post-War Iraq a few weeks before the invasion and ignored advice contained in documents like Tom Warrick’s ‘the Future of Iraq’ project (p.15). Reconstruction was handed to retired general Jay Garner who rang round his pals to ask if any of them knew how to rebuild a country. Planning was ‘shambolic’ (p.21).

In London, Attorney General Peter Goldsmith had to be cajoled into reluctantly agreeing that invasion was legal without a second, specific UN resolution stating as much. How much he must regret that now (p.19). Alastair Campbell bullied ministers into kowtowing to Blair’s determination to march alongside the Americans i.e. be Bush’s poodle (p.19). Claire Short, Secretary at the Department for International Development, let herself be persuaded not to quit, something she regretted ever after.

Haider Samad and Iraqi stories

It’s worth highlighting that unlike most other books I’ve read on the shambles, Fairweather goes out of his way to include the stories of actual Iraqis. The first we meet is a man named Haider Samad. We hear about his family background, his wish to marry, intertwined with the history of Shiite religion in the southern part of Iraq. Samad will volunteer to become an interpreter for the British Army with ruinous consequences for himself and his family and Fairweather will return to his story at various points during the narrative as a kind of indicator of the British occupation’s broken promises and failures.

Names

Another distinctive feature of the book is the extraordinary number of named individuals Fairweather introduces us to, on every page, and their extraordinary range. Chapter 3 opens with Major Chris Parker patrolling Basra six weeks after the successful invasion has overthrown Saddam, to his commanding officer, Brigadier Graham Binns, a Scots Dragoon Officer Captain James Fenmore, Lieutenant Colonel Nick Ashmore, paymaster Ian Jaggard-Hawkins, Lieutenant Colonel Gil Baldwin of the Queen’s Royal Dragoons, the army’s top lawyer in Iraq Lieutenant Colonel Nicholas Mercer, SAS commander Baghdad Richard Williams and hundreds and hundreds more.

On one level the book is a blizzard of individual names and stories of soldiers engaged in this or that aspect of the occupation, which is what makes his nine-page list of Dramatis personae at the end of the book invaluable.

Back to the narrative

Defence Minister Geoff Hoon made as light of the epidemic of looting which broke out in the aftermath of the invasion as Donald Rumsfeld did, claiming the looters were ‘redistributing wealth’, which was a good idea. Idiot (p.29).

The thing is, the British had invaded Basra before, back during the Great War when we were seeking to defeat the Ottoman Empire which had allied with Germany and Austria. Hence the Commonwealth War Cemetery which Sniper One Dan Mills discovered in al-Amarah and gave him a fully justified sense of ‘What are we doing back here a hundred years later’? Now, as then, after overthrowing the ruling elite, the British discovered there weren’t many capable native Iraqis to run anything, even to form a town council. Eventually, they picked on a Sunni tribal leader to run a majority Shia town, Basra, an error of judgement which, of course, immediately triggered widespread protests (p.31). Ignorance.

Fairweather details how, struggling with the number of detainees and ‘suspected terrorists’ they were being sent, British military police and soldiers came to abuse and intimidate the rapidly increasing number of ‘terrorist’ detainees, set up kangaroo courts and deliver summary justice (p.33). This led to the scandal surrounding Corporal Daniel Kenyon and colleagues who took photos of themselves abusing Iraqi prisoners at ‘Camp Breadbasket’, which leaked out, led to their arrests and trial and conviction (pages 46 to 48). The British version of the Abu Ghraib scandal. All the politicians’ claims about moral superiority of the West went up in smoke.

After less than 2 months flailing to run an office of reconstruction, Jay Garner was fired and replaced by L. Paul Bremer who was the ‘right kind’ of Republican i.e. a devout Christian and neo-conservative (p.40). He was put in charge of the newly created Coalition Provisional Authority. He was to prove a relentless, impatient workaholic who took catastrophic decisions and plunged Iraq into a civil war and vicious ethnic cleansing.

Fairweather chronicles the key role played by Douglas Feith (under secretary of Defense for Policy from July 2001 until August 2005) in persuading Bremer to completely disband the Iraqi army and remove everyone with high or mid-level membership of Saddam’s ruling Ba’ath Party from their jobs. At a stroke this threw half a million well-trained young men (the army) onto the dole queue and a hundred thousand people with managerial experience (Ba’ath) ditto. Bremer refused to listen to the argument that most Ba’ath Party members cared nothing about the party’s ideology, that being a member was simply a requirement of holding senior posts like hospital consultant or head of the power or water systems. Bremer didn’t listen. They were all fired. Chaos ensued.

From these angry men whose lives were ruined by L. Paul Bremer sprang the insurgency. Tim Cross, a British logistics expert who worked with Garner till he quit in disgust called American efforts ‘chaotic’ and a ‘shambles’ (p.41).

Britain contributed 40,000 troops to the initial invasion. By mid-summer 2003 half had returned to Blighty. General Sir Mike Jackson became head of the British Army.

September 2003 the BBC Today programme quoted an anonymous source claiming that New Labour officials ‘sexed up’ the ‘dodgy dossier’ which we went to war on, infuriating Alastair Campbell. The label was to stick to this day (p.50).

A section about the history of the Marsh Arabs, going back to the first occupation of Iraq by the British during and after the Great War. The exploits of Gertrude Bell, who crops up repeatedly in Emma Sky’s account of her time in Iraq (p.52). The Marsh Arabs’ history of independence and revolt against central authority. The disastrous way they were encouraged to rise up against Saddam by President George Bush who then failed to provide any support so that tens of thousands were slaughtered by Saddam’s forces. Then Saddam’s decade long project to drain the marshes altogether and destroy their way of life, which he had just about achieved by the time of the 2003 invasion.

Maysan was the only Iraqi province to liberate itself from Saddam’s security forces and had no intention of kowtowing to the foreign invaders. Into Maysan province, came the Third Battalion the Parachute Regiment, famous for their gung-ho approach. Fairweather quotes Patrick Bishop’s description of the paras from his book ‘3 Para’ (2007) which I’ve reviewed.

Angry protests against the occupying forces started straight away, with stones being thrown, and then the first shots being fired. It was Northern Ireland all over again, but without the half a dozen crucial elements which made Northern Ireland, in the end, manageable (itemised in Frank Ledwidge’s outstanding book on the subject). In Basra, unlike Ulster, there was a lack of clear government authority, and the lack of a reliable police force to work alongside, the lack of a shared culture and language, and the lack of enough men to do the job.

In a series of incidents which he described in great detail (‘From the rooftop Robinson shouted, “Remember lads, you’re fucking paratroopers”‘), Fairweather traces the quick degeneration of the ‘peacekeeping’ mission into a fight for survival against hostile crowds and growing numbers of highly motivated, highly armed local ‘insurgents’.

The soldiers of 1 Para were only faintly familiar with the region’s history and how it had bred a culture of suspicion of outsiders. (p.55)

Fairweather gives a detailed forensic account of the killing of six military police by an enraged crowd after they got trapped in the police station of Majar al-Kabir on 24 June (pages 55 to 63). Critics focused on the lack of equipment, specifically a satellite phone to call for help, and their insufficient ammunition. Having read Lewidge’s book, though, I understand how the soldiers had been put into a completely untenable position by the naive over-optimism of the politicians (Blair) and the failure of the army general staff either to stand up to the politicians (to say no) and then to provide adequate intelligence, adequate equipment but, above all, a clear strategy to deal with the worsening situation.

Fairweather describes the arrival of a new British civil servant, Miles Pennett, sent to work with the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) in Baghdad and the chaos he found there created by teeming hordes of graduates all fresh out of American universities and selected solely for their adherence to right-wing neo-conservative Republican values (p.69).

(In his book ‘Imperial Life in the Emerald City: Inside Baghdad’s Green Zone’ , American journalist Rajiv Chandrasekaran tells us candidates for the CPA were interviewed about their views on abortion or neo-liberal economics rather than any technical qualifications or experience whatsoever. This explains the CPA’s reputation for chaos and incompetence.)

While things fell apart in Iraq, Tony Blair flew to the States to receive a Congressional Gold Medal and make a grandstanding speech to the Congress. It shifted a complete change in the aims of the occupation. Gone was mention of the weapons of mass destruction which had so feverishly justified the invasion. Now, it turned out, the occupation was about bringing universal values of democracy, human rights and liberty to ‘the darkest corners of the earth’ (p.70).

In other words a) indistinguishable from Victorian rhetoric about civilising India or Africa which justified control and occupation; and b) bullshit, because i) quite a few ‘places’ don’t particularly want ‘democracy, human rights and liberty’, they want food and water so they don’t starve to death and, next above that, security: maintenance of law and order so it’s safe to walk the streets. That – basic security – comes a million miles before Western values and, in the event, the occupying forces in both Iraq and Afghanistan turned out to be unable to provide them.

And ii) because as explained at the start of this review, Western-style democracy was never an option for Iraq, with its complex and corrupt matrix of tribal, ethnic and religious allegiances; and never, ever a possibility in Afghanistan.

Pride comes before a fall. The day after Balir received his congressional medal the body of David Kelly, the weapons expert, was found in a wood. He had committed suicide. He had been the source for BBC journalist Andrew Gilligan’s story about the ‘sexed up’ dossier about WMDs the government used to deceive MPs into voting for the war. Hoon and Campbell had pressed for Kelly’s name to be leaked to the press in order to discredit him. It never actually was leaked but enough information was provided for the press to be able to identify him. Snared in a political mesh he could see no way out of without ruining his reputation, Kelly took his own life. Alastair Campbell was forced to resign. The New Labour government was snared in scandal (pages 70 to 73).

All this distracted from the worsening situation in Baghdad. Fairweather’s account is super-detailed. He gives precise names, careers, quotes for hundreds of the personnel deployed to the CPA in Baghdad and to run Basra Province. It was the usual cobbled-together, last minute list of candidates as had characterised the hurried creation of Jay Garner’s short-lived Office for Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance: a former director at a merchant bank was appointed finance minister, a public schoolmaster was appointed minister of education, an internet entrepreneur was made minister for trade and industry (p.67).

The advent of Sir Jeremy Greenstock, UK ambassador to the UN, now despatched to the court of Paul Bremer at the Coalition Provisional Authority and the difficulties he encountered, namely the Americans steamed ahead doing whatever they wanted to (dissolved the 500,000 strong Iraqi army, sacked 100,000 Ba’ath Party members from their jobs, delayed elections) and ignored him.

The Anglo-American relationship that Blair had gone to war to strengthen was coming under serious pressure. In fact it was increasingly difficult to find areas where British and American views matched. (p.79)

America’s disastrous early efforts to ‘train’ a new Iraqi police force, handed to Bernie Kerik, a former New York City police commissioner (p.79). Rumsfeld tries to reduce the budget required to train a new army. Fairweather strikingly calls Rumsfeld ‘a bully’ (p.80).

Typical neo con plans to privatise Iraq’s hundreds of state-own industries in one fell swoop, to be masterminded by former venture capitalist at Citicorp, Tom Foley (p.80). Chandrasekaran is very funny about the complete lunacy of this ideas and its ruinous impact on an economy already on its knees.

As a presidential election year approaches, the politicking in the US, Bush reshuffles his team.

Rumsfeld, whose grasp on the chaos he had created was tenuous, was removed (p.83)

Condoleeza Rice takes over. Arguments about the new Iraqi constitution, when it should be drawn up, who it should be drawn up by, whether or not it could form the legal basis for elections, when those elections should be held, what kind of form they take (Bremer preferred US-style electoral colleges rather than a simple poll).

By the end of 2003 Iraq fatigue had set in in London. Blair’s entire personality was built around can-do optimism and so found it difficult to cope with the relentless bad news from Iraq. And he’d lost Campbell, his key advisor and media manipulator.

By October 2003 the British administration in Basra accepted the fact that it was, in effect, an imperial occupation, and moved into Saddam’s palace. Fairweather shows us how it worked through the eyes of Sir Hilary Synnott, Regional Coordinator of the Coalition Provisional Authority in Southern Iraq from 2003 to 2004.

The problem of the UK Department for International development, populated by progressives who strongly opposed the war, and the occupation, were desperate to escape accusations of imperialism, but were entirely dependent on the military pacifying the place before they could do a stroke of ‘development’ work.

When development minister Hilary Benn and permanent undersecretary Suma Chakrabarti flew into Basra it was to discover the army commander, Major General Graeme Lamb, mired in controversy because some squaddies from the Queen’s Lancashire Regiment had just arrested seven Iraqis, took them back to base, hooded them, abused and beat and tortured them, till one of them, Baha Mousa, died (p.86). What was it Tony Blair was saying about bringing universal values of democracy, human rights and liberty to ‘the darkest corners of the earth’?

Meanwhile the other provinces of southern Iraq needed governing. Fairweather introduces us to the men selected for the job, being: Mark Etherington, former paratrooper; old Etonian Rory Stewart, whose account of his time in the role I’ve reviewed; old Etonian John Bourne; Emma Sky, former British Council worker, whose account I’ve also reviewed (p.89).

Fairweather makes the simple but penetrating point that a certain type of posh Englishman has always ‘loved’ and identified with the Arab way of life because it echoes the primitive hierarchy and independence (for tribal leaders) which used to exist in Britain, in medieval to early modern times. They instinctively identified with the feudal setup which reminded them of their own country estates and venerable lineages.

Anyway, these Brits were handed entire provinces to run, exactly as in the high days of empire when jolly good chaps ruled provinces the size of France or more. Their efforts were so amateurish it’s funny. Adrian Weale was handed the task of organising elections in Nasariyah. He had no idea how to do this so emailed his wife, a borough councillor in Kensington and Chelsea (of course), and asked her to send him guidelines for local elections in Britain, to be adapted for Iraq. Making it up as they went along.

None of this stopped Stewart, in Maysan, having problems with the self-styled ‘Prince of the Marshes’, Abu Hatem, while Etherington, 100 miles north, appointed governor of Wasit, whose northern border touched Baghdad, was beginning to have trouble from the followers of Shia cleric Muqtada al-Sadr and his devoted followers. In a telling sentence, Fairweather says: ‘Sadr was organising faster than the British’ (p.91). Sadr established his own parallel provisional government for Iraq and declared any government created by the British or Americans illegitimate (p.91).

In November Etherington attended a conference of US business donors in Baghdad and was astonished at how out of touch the CPA was. Even the US military was surprised at being kept out of the loop by Bremer and his secretive cabal of advisers.

Back in Amara Stewart was involved in a complicated sequence of events which led to rioters looting the office of the local governor, who had been inserted into the job by the egregious Abu Hatem. British troops found it hard to contain brick-throwing mobs. Stewart reflected that his Victorian forebears believed in their mission and were committed to the long-term development of their countries. Deep down Stewart knew that wasn’t true of Britain.

2004 uprisings

All the allies had growing misgivings about the growing power of Muqtada al-Sadr. In March 2004 Bremer took the publication of a series of articles lambasting the Coalition Provisional Authority in Sadr’s newspaper, Al-Hawzat as a pretext to shut it down. On 3 April US troops arrested the editor, sparking protests. On 4 April fighting broke out in Najaf, Sadr City and Basra. Sadr’s Mahdi Army took over several points and attacked coalition soldiers, killing dozens of foreign soldiers. This was the start of the Sadr Uprising in the south of Iraq.

What made the situation ten times worse was that on 31 March gunmen ambushed four American contractors outside Falluja to the west of Baghdad, beat them to death, burned their bodies and hung them from a bridge over the river Euphrates. Footage was beamed round the world. Bush was horrified and vowed revenge.

Suddenly the occupying forces were faced with a Sunni uprising in the so-called Sunni Triangle to the West of Baghdad, and a parallel but separate uprising by violent forces loyal to Sadr in every town in the south.

Fairweather details the experience of Mark Etherington in the Cimic compound at Kut as fierce fighting breaks out between the Shia militia and the Ukrainian UN troops. Here and in all the other towns of south Iraq, the UN and CPA compounds came under intense fire. The Americans’ actions against Sadr in Baghdad effectively plunged southern Iraq into war. Etherington knew all about the catastrophic defeat of a sizeable British Army at Kut by Ottoman troops during the First World War one hundred years earlier (p.109). Fairweather gives a brilliantly vivid and nail-biting description of Etherington and his staff abandoning the compound at Kut. The same kind of thing was happening at Nasariyah under its Italian governor, Barbara Contini.

Meanwhile, the President had ordered the US army to enter the town of Fallujah and find the people responsible for the murder of the civilian contracts. This ridiculously impossible task of course led to all out war and the First Battle of Fallujah. All round the world were beamed footage of houses being destroyed, terrified civilians being rounded up, and thousands of refugees fleeing the city as the civilian casualties grew into the hundreds. All round the Arab world young men decided they had to go to Iraq to fight these genocidal invaders.

Fairweather quotes part of a George Bush speech which epitomises one of the American’s conceptual stupidities, where Bush says: ‘the American people want to know that we’re going after the bad guys’ (p.111). These simple-minded dichotomies, the binary polarities of a thousand Hollywood movies, which divide people up into the Good Guys (John Wayne, Bruce Willis) and the Bad Guys (wearing black hats), governed US policy throughout the twentieth century. This worked fine when there really were Bad Guys, like the Nazis, but not so well in societies riven with complex ethnic, religious, social and political divides, such as Vietnam or Iraq where there’s a wide variety of bad actors and it becomes impossible to figure out who the ‘good’ ones are, if any.

Obviously, in order to bring the ‘murderers to justice’ many times more US troops were killed and injured than the original 4 contractors. In the end 37 American soldiers were killed and over 600 Iraqi civilians. Huge parts of a major city were devastated. Inevitably, the supposed murderers of the contractors were never found.

Apart from the obvious security issues, it caused a political issue because the entire Sunni membership of the provisional Iraqi government which Bremer was trying to cobble together threatened to quit, and could only be made to support coalition forces with an extreme of arm-twisting and promises of money and influence.

Meanwhile, in the south of Iraq, US forces retook the CPA compounds in Kut, Amarah and Nasariyah, but the British consuls who returned to their posts had abandoned all thoughts of reconstruction and development. Not getting killed became their number one priority (p.113).

Bremer was strongly critical of the British failure to secure the south, exacerbated by negative coverage of the American butchery in Fallujah in the British press, plunging American-British relations to a new low and this led to a significant outcome. Bremer banned British representatives from the ongoing discussions with local politicians about the forthcoming constitution and elections.

Britain’s effective involvement in shaping Iraq’s political future was over. (p.114)

In late April the photos of American abuse of Iraqi prisoners at the notorious prison at Abu Ghraib to the west of Baghdad emerged. I’ve described it elsewhere. Bringing ‘universal values of democracy, human rights and liberty’ eh?

For a spell Fairweather’s text overlaps the narrative of Sergeant Dan Mills, sniper with the Princess of Wales’s Royal Regiment, in his bestselling book, Sniper One. Mills describes how, on the very first patrol on the very first morning of the very first day of their deployment, Danny and his patrol parked up outside the local headquarters of Sadr’s Mahdi Army or Jaish al-Mahdi as it was properly called, JAM as the Brits called it. Mills’s patrol did this in complete and utter ignorance of the local geography, town layout, and local sense of bitter resentment of the infidel occupiers.

The JAM attacked, using machine guns, rocket propelled grenades and mortars, and Danny and his mates found themselves in the middle of a series of intense firefights and attacks which continued on a daily basis until their eventual withdrawal from the Amarah government compound four months later.

The Americans had now surrounded al-Sadr who was holed up in the Imam Ali Shrine in the holy city of Najaf where their attempts to break in had damaged some parts of the shrine. Shia anger was off the scale. Danny and his mates and all UK forces across the south of the country had to deal with the consequences. Fairweather gives a series of absolutely gripping, vivid, terrifying eye witness accounts of the running battles and firefights which followed.

The Prince of the Marshes, Abu Hatem, threw in his lot with the Sadrists. When the Brits made a raid to capture insurgents and took prisoners back to their prison, the detainees were subject to abuse and heard screams and torture sounds from other cells. When eventually released these stories helped recruit more insurgents and incentivise existing ones into a life or death struggle against the invader. Public relations catastrophe (p.123).

Escape to Afghanistan

In January 2004 the Hutton Inquiry into David Kelly’s death acquitted the government of blame and BBC Director General Greg Dyke resigned, but much of the media accused the report of being a whitewash. Fairweather quotes cabinet colleagues who noticed the impact the strain was having on Blair’s face. Hs hair started to turn grey.

In June 2004 a NATO conference decided the US-led mission had languished because of the focus on Iraq and volunteered NATO forces to take a more active role in Afghanistan. Why? Use it or lose it. NATO had big budgets from member countries who periodically wondered why they were spending so much. This would give the organisation the sense of purpose it needed.

In London Blair and his team saw it as an opportunity to regain the initiative. In Iraq we were not only visibly losing but being sidelined in every way imaginable by the Yanks. Deployment to Afghanistan offered the British Army a chance to redeem its damaged reputation and Tony Blair a way of restoring his reputation as an international statesman.

In fact the Americans had specifically asked the Brits to relocate NATO’s Allied Rapid Reaction Corps to the south of Iraq. It was crunch time. Fairweather describes the nitty gritty of discussions, with pros and cons on both sides. But the Brits decided to cut and run. Iraq was a swamp where the Americans disrespected us. Afghanistan offered a second chance. But could we fight a war on two fronts? The decisive view was given by director of operations at the Ministry of Defence, Lieutenant General Robert Fry. He argued that troop deployments to Afghanistan would be ramped up as troops in Iraq were drawn down. This was ratified by Chief of the Defence Staff Michael Walker. They’re the men to blame.

Fairweather gives a detailed analysis of the politics around successive Defence Reviews, with the Treasury constantly trying to cut the military budget and the top brass looking for any arguments to increase it. This in turn was meshed with the bitter rivalry between Blair the international grandstander and Gordon Brown, morosely hunkered down as Chancellor of the Exchequer. So another reason for the Afghan Adventure was entirely due to Whitehall politicis, in that the deployment forced a reluctant Treasury to release more money to the Ministry of Defence.

Chapter 13

Cut to a fascinating chapter about dismal attempts to train a new Iraqi police force, told through the eyes of Brit trainer William Kearney, 12 years in the Special Branch and now manager of ArmorGroup security, one of the many contractors who worked in Iraq. Compare and contrast with the American approach which was to flood the streets with poorly trained ‘police’ provided with uniforms, guns and ammunition which they quite regularly sold onto the insurgents.

We meet up again with Iraqi Haider Samad who is working for the Brits in Basra as an interpreter and the time he was beaten to the ground by four strangers who tell him next time they’ll kill him if he carries on working for the infidel. Haider’s experience is a peg to introduce the wider issue that many, many of the new ‘police’ being recruited at such speed in order to make Western politicians happy, were themselves members of the Shia militias.

Chapter 14

Introduction to the leader of Jaish al-Mahdi in Basra, Ahmed al-Fartosi, and his aim to utterly destroy the British occupation. He was convinced the Brits wanted to extend their occupation forever because their real aim was to steal Iraq’s oil. He had spent some time in exile in Lebanon and so on return to Basra reorganised the militia along the lines of the Iranian-backed Hezbollah. That said, Fartosi was no fan of the Iranians who had fought Iraqis in a bitter eight-year-long war. Half a million Iraqis died in that war and Iran came close to capturing Basra.

Another one of Fairweather’s gripping descriptions of a firefight which broke out on 9 August in Basra between British forces and the Shia militia led by Fartosi who ambushed a patrol forcing them to take refuge in nearby houses and call for backup etc.

Amara Fairweather cuts to the similar situation in Amara where sniper Mills and his buddies were included in the 150 or so coalition troops defending the Cimic House compound from daily attacks and hourly mortar bombs. After a particular intense firefight all the Iraqi cooks and ancillary staff leave, taking as much loot with them as they could carry. Fairweather then gives his version of the siege of Cimic House, the intense battle which forms the centrepiece of Mill’s book, Sniper One (pages 155 to 158).

Soon afterwards al-Sadr caved to majority Shia opinion and called off his insurgency. The far more influential cleric Grand Ayatollah Sistani had returned to the country, gone to Najaf and seen the damage to the shrine which he, and moderate Shia opinion, blamed on Sadr. Hence his climbdown.

Fairweather switches from his intense description of combat right up to the highest level of politics and the scheming by Iraqi exile Ayad Allawi to curry favour with the Americans and get himself appointed new president of Iraq. All the accounts I’ve read describe Allawi as a plausible swindler who promised Bush and Rumsfeld whatever they wanted to hear, thus materially aiding the misconceptions and lack of planning on which the invasion was launched.

Fairweather drolly explains that this plausible chancer was put on the payroll of MI6 and ‘supplied the British government with some of the most flagrantly misleading intelligence before the war, namely the completely bogus claim that Saddam could launch weapons of mass destruction in 45 minutes (p.131). This crook had Bush and Blair’s enthusiastic personal support.

In November the Americans launched the Second Battle of Fallujah with a view to exterminating Sunni insurgents and establishing the rule of law. The battle saw some of the heaviest urban combat the American army had been involved in since the ill-fated Battle of Hue City in Vietnam in 1968. 95 American and 4 British soldiers were killed, along with up to 2,000 ‘insurgents’. Over a fifth of the city was destroyed.

2005 election A general election for the interim Iraqi parliament was held on 30 January 2005. Sunni Muslims, despite being a minority in Iraq (64% Shia, 34% Sunni, 2% Christian and other) had historically held power. Saddam and his clique were Sunnis. Now, in protest against the battle of Fallujah and the perceived bias of the occupying force towards Shias, large numbers of Sunnis boycotted the elections. This was self-defeating as it gave sweeping victory to Shia parties backed by Grand Ayatollah Sistani. Allawi’s parties polled just 14%.

Both Americans and Brits now had to deal with an ‘elected’ Iraqi government dominated by Shias who, far from being grateful to their liberators, were deeply suspicious and resentful of them.

Chapter 16

Fairweather switches focus to a new location, the south of Afghanistan, giving us a potted history of Britain’s ill-fated military adventures here during the nineteenth century, notably the swingeing defeat at the Battle of Maiwand, 27 July 1880, heaviest defeat of a Western power by an Asian power until the prolonged Ottoman siege and massacre of the British at Kut in southern Iraq in the winter of 1915/16

Cut to 2004 as the British Army staff begin to plan a deployment to Afghanistan. Now that elections had taken place, British planners and politicians looked for a way to extract the army from Iraq. The task fell to Major general Jonathon Riley who adopted the formula of the Americans: as the Iraqi police force ‘stepped up’, the British forces would ‘step down’. Sounded good but conveniently ignored the fact that the so-called ‘police’ were very poor quality, corrupt if you were lucky, at worst – during many of the clashes of the Sadr Uprising – joining the insurgents in shooting at British troops. When the police were objective and reasonably independent, they were themselves liable to attack. In the first half of 2005 350 police officers were killed in attacks on police stations and recruiting centres.

We remeet the Brits handed the challenging job of training Iraqi police, namely William Kearney and Charlie MacCartney, police mentor of the Jamiat; SIS station chief Kevin Landers. Fairweather details the process whereby all these guys come to realise that the head of the Serious Crimes Unit (SCU) Captain Jaffar, was deeply in league with the insurgents. In fact the SCU was to become a growing bugbear in the Brits’ side, and establish itself as a centre of criminality and extortion against the civilian population.

Elections are all very well but the January 2005 ones put Sadr party members into Basra’s provincial council and into the governor’s seat. But the Brits didn’t want to stir up a hornet’s nest. They were now planning to withdraw all but 1,000 British troops from Iraq by end of 2005, with a view to redeploying them to Afghanistan at the start of 2006.

How did the Brits get deployed to Helmand, right next to the historic battlefield of Maiwand, home of the fiercest, most invader-resistant traditions in all Afghanistan? Well, remember the whole thing was a NATO operation. The Canadians had lobbied hard to have overall control of the deployment to south Afghanistan and called first dibs on the biggest town, Kandahar. Considering the alternatives, the Brits learned that Helmand Province had now become the biggest single source of heroin, which would please the army’s civilian master, Tony Blair. And it was also the historical homeland of the Taliban, so combatting them would also give political brownie points to Blair, keen to rehabilitate his ailing reputation.

Chapter 17

At this point Fairweather cuts away to catch up on the career of interpreter Haider who was now working for a private security firm. His boss was William Kearney who we’ve seen trying to train the Iraqi police. Haider has saved up enough money to propose to his childhood sweetheart, Nora, whose family previously banned the match due to his lack of money.

Chapter 18

Reg Keys’s son, Tom, was one of the six military policemen murdered by the mob at Majar al-Kabir police station in June 2003. Fairweather devotes some time to chronicling Keys’s campaign to get to the bottom of his son’s death but his increasing frustration with MoD prevarication. The army board of enquiry published its findings nine months later. The families of the dead were not invited to contribute or to attend. They asked for advance copies on the eve of publication but were refused. They were given just an hour to read the 90-page report ahead of a meeting with Defence Secretary Geoff Hoons. Despicable.

Arguably the limited and obviously parti pris ‘enquiries’ into the launching of the war, the David Kelly affair and the red caps’ deaths went a long way to discrediting the entire idea of a government enquiry.

The angered parents set up a support group, Military Families Against the War (p.253). But they went further and funded Keys to stand in Tony Blair’s constituency of Sedgemoor in the 2005 general election. Fairweather gives a characteristically thorough and fascinating description of how what started as a jokey suggestion over a coffee was turned into a serious political reality, giving us lots of information about the working of modern British political parties and the media.

Just before the election Channel 4 News leaked a March 2003 memo from Attorney General Peter Goldsmith giving his opinion that he didn’t think the case for war would stand up in a court of law. Only days later a soldier in Amarah was hit by a roadside bomb and killed. The war wouldn’t leave Tony Bair alone. You broke it; you own it.

In the general election Blair’s share of the vote went from 65 to 59% and Reg won 10%. Labour’s majority in the House of Commons was cut from 200 to 66 MPs. So not a defeat. In fact pollsters considered the Iraq war a minor issue. The economy was booming and lots of people didn’t care all that much (as, arguably, most sensible people don’t care about any form of politics).

(Page 197 quote from Ibn Saud, future king of Saudi Arabia, on the irredeemably rebellious nature of the Iraqi tribes who can only be governed by ‘strong measures and military force’.)

Chapter 19. Iran

Rocky relations between the Brits in Amarah tasked with patrolling the porous border with Iran, just 50k away, and the newly elected governor, Adel Muhoder al-Maliki. More descriptions of firefights and attacks the latest troop of British soldiers come under within minutes of leaving the heavily defended Amarah air base. The point is that the incredibly brave bomb disposal officer, Captain Simon Bratcher, not only neutralised a clutch of roadside bombs but provided the first evidence that they were being supplied by Iran.

The Shia government It’s all very well organising ‘free and fair elections’ until they end up voting in people you strongly disapprove of. Two months after the January 2005 elections, Ibrahim Jaafari, the leader of Dawa, one of the two main Shia parties, was announced as the next Iraqi Prime Minister. The Interior Ministry was handed to Bayan Jabr, a former commander of a Badr Brigade i.e. one of the main Shia militias. These men continued to further Iran’s influence at every level of the Iraqi administration. The Interior Ministry was said to have set up death squads to kidnap, torture and execute former Ba’ath Party members and Sunni leaders.

Jack Straw learns of an American plan to set up death squads to ‘take out’ leading Iranian agents working in Iraq militia leaders, but vetoes it (p.. (Did they go ahead anyway?) Straw’s objections were about not upsetting the Iranians at a difficult time of negotiations with the West about Iran’s nuclear power programme. But it’s one example among hundreds of how Iraqi politics became steadily more entangled with Iranian.

Fairweather makes an interesting point. Iranian policy in Iraq often seemed contradictory – at the same time supporting the Shia-led government but also backing anti-government militias. But why shouldn’t Iran be like Western countries, with conflicting parties and factions jostling for power and implementing different, sometimes conflicting strategies? Also: why not make it a conscious strategy to back different parties and factions while it was unclear who would win (p.204). In the end, of course, Iran won.

Chapter 20. Jamiat

This was the name of the police station in Basra which had become the focal point of corruption, extortion, kidnapping, torture and militia influence. Major Rupert Jones of the newly arrived 12 Mechanised Brigade decided to do something about it and asked for a list of possibly corrupt policemen. It became an uncomfortably long list. The Brits asked for them to be removed. Nothing happened. Then they asked for Fartosi to be arrested but learned that Fartosi had been put on a ‘no lift’ list because the prime Minister didn’t want to antagonise the Sadrists on whose support his government rested.

Kidnap of two SAS officers

Then three British soldiers were killed by roadside bombs and Brigadier John Lorimer, the eighth brigade commander in Basra in two years, decided to act. On 17 September an SAS detachment infiltrated Fartosi’s home and arrested him. Two days later two SAS officers on patrol were kidnapped. Fairweather describes in detail the complex standoff which then followed as several sets of British officials ascertained that the two soldiers had been taken to the notorious Jamiat police station. When British officials went to the station they were themselves promptly arrested and detained. Negotiations involved an Iraqi judge, and an increasing battery of coalition lawyers and officers. The negotiators were themselves hustled at gunpoint to the cells where the two soldiers were being kept, as fighting broke out at the front of the police station, with Iraqi police officers who the British had spent time and money training now opening fire on British forces. British relief forces were surrounded by angry crowds throwing bricks and a succession of Warrior vehicles were set on fire.

Sergeant Long escaping from his Warrior armoured vehicle after a petrol bomb was thrown down the gun turret (source: Reuters)

Eventually the SAS men and the other Brit hostages were rescued by an attack by SAS men who were brought all the way from the regiment’s HQ at Herefordshire to help them. The political fallout was threefold. 1) Pictures of George Long on fire escaping from his Warrior tank covered the front pages of British newspapers alongside articles claiming the British softly-softly police in Basra was a shambles. 2) More specifically, it revealed that the entire concept of training the Iraqi police force which politicians from Blair downwards had put such emphasis on, was in fact a sham. 3) The Shia governor, Muhammed al-Waeli, forced to take sides, came down on the side of his Shia constituency, accused the Brits of terrorism, led a tour of the now devastated police station, and declared he would never have anything to do with the Brits again.

Fairweather is outstanding at giving detailed forensic accounts of this kind of event (compare his description of the murder of the military police at Majar al-Kabir).

Chapter 21. Helmand

7/7 suicide bombers

On 7 July 2005 four British Muslims carrying backpacks full of explosives detonated them on London Underground trains and a bus. These were the first suicide bombs on British soil. They killed 52 and injured over 700. In a pre-recorded video one of the bombers described his motivation as revenge for all the innocent Muslims the British Army was killing in Iraq and Afghanistan. So much for our invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan making Britain safer. The exact opposite.

But when news came out that the men had been trained at terrorist training camps on the Pakistan-Afghan border, government spin doctors turned it into a justification for deploying British troops to Afghanistan.

In September 2005 Lieutenant General Rob Fry, the individual most responsible for the plan to deploy to Helmand, presented John Reid with the MoD’s plans to deploy 3,150 troops, mostly drawn from the Parachute Regiment. British forces would take over an American base named Camp Bastion in the desert north-west of the province’s capital, Lashkar Gah. He promised that Taliban fighters crossing from Pakistan would be easy to identify and eliminate. ‘The senior SIS men in the room rolled their eyes’ (p.225). Brigadier Ed Butler was chosen to command the force.

Fairweather shows the gulf between the top of the army (Fry and Chief of the General Staff Sir Mike Jackson) who assured sceptical politicians that it could be managed as long as the Brits withdrew their forces from southern Iraq at the same speed that they deployed them to Helmand – and many of the officers on the ground who thought it was madness. Defence Secretary John Reid was sceptical. ‘Won’t British troops be isolated and exposed?’ he asked (p.225). Fry assured him not. Reid was right. Fry was way wrong.

Split command

Right from the start it was ballsed up. The British formed part of a NATO force commanded by the Canadians. Because the Canadian force was being commanded by a brigadier, army etiquette demanded that Butler step aside to allow a more junior officer to command his men, and so Colonel Charlie Knaggs became commander of the British deployment. This meant Butler would have to oversee operations from Kabul. Then he discovered his headquarters would not be doing the operational planning but that a staff officer from army headquarters in Northwood would be drawing up the crucial operational plan.

Crucially, Butler would only have four Chinook helicopters at his disposal, barely enough to support one offensive mission a month and, it would prove, not nearly enough to extract British soldiers from the umpteen dangerous contact situations they were going to get into.

After the Jamiat police station siege, senior officers considered advising against the deployment, realising that the situation in south Iraq was far worse than previously understood, and would entail a much slower withdrawal than planned but they never made their opposition clear enough.

Sher Mohammed Akhundzada

Before the troops arrived the Brits made another mistake. UK ambassador to Kabul, Rosalind Marsden, persuaded president Hamid Karzai, to remove the province’s long-time governor, Sher Mohammed Akhundzada. He was notorious for rape, murder and involvement in the drugs trade, so getting rid of him played to press releases about Tony Blair’s counter narcotics policy. Unfortunately, Muhammed may have been a criminal but he was the only person with the contacts and authority to keep a lid on the province. Later, he cheerfully told British officers that, removed from his position of influence and no longer able to pay them, he let his 3,000-strong fighting force defect en masse to the Taliban. At a stroke the Brits made violent conflict inevitable and created a huge opposition force. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. That motto should be carved on Tony Blair’s tombstone.

Fairweather describes the efforts of the chief planner Gordon Messenger and development experts to assess the province, their dismay at the illiteracy and corruption of the Afghan administrators and police they met, and their equal dismay at the ignorance about Helmand displayed by British politicians and army staff. The politicians had assigned the army a three-year deployment. Development expert Minna Jarvenpaa said it would take ten years, probably longer, to begin to develop such a place (p.233). Politicians didn’t want to hear. No-one listened.

Details of the deployment were announced in January 2006, just in time for a conference of Afghan donors’ which Tony Blair was chairing. John Reid declared we were going to spend three years in the south of Afghanistan, bringing peace and security and helping the locals reconstruct their country. None of this was to happen.

Gil Baldwin, head of the Post Conflict Reconstruction Unit resigned in disgust, saying it beggared belief that Britain was preparing to go into Afghanistan even worse prepared then it had been for Iraq (p.234).

Chapter 22

Introduces us to the first soldiers to deploy to Afghanistan including Will Pike and Harvey Pynn of the Third Parachute regiment, 3 Para. This part of the narrative exactly matches the account of 3 Para’s time in Helmand (April to October 2006) given by Patrick Bishop in his rip-roaring soldier’s eye view of endless firefights in ‘3 Para’.

Fairweather repeats the surprising fact that, of the 3,500 British troops being deployed, all but 600 were support staff, engineers, cooks, drivers, quartermasters, ammunition handlers and so on. Governor Daoud wanted the Brits to deploy to protect towns in the north of the province from the Taliban. Butler was reluctant but agreed to support local Afghan army units. Development consultant Minna Jarvenpaa knew the tribal situation around Sangin was complicated with the town divided between two tribes, and both involved in rival drug operations.

In May 2006 Daoud sent the British commander, Charlie Knaggs, a desperate message that the district centre in the town of Naw Zad was being attacked by Taliban forces. A force of Paras is despatched, who were later replaced by Gurkhas. Soon Daoud was asking British troops to protect other towns and the Americans asked them to bolster the small force protecting the important Kajaki Dam. Step by step the Brits were forced into abandoning the initial plan of securing a relatively small area bounded by Camp Bastion, Geresh and Lashkar Gah in the south, and instead found their forces scattered thinly across half a dozen outposts which came under increasingly fierce attack.

Far from being a gentle peacekeeping and reconstruction exercise, the deployment was turning into a full scale war against the Taliban. Fairweather is brilliant at conveying the complex political cross-currents which led to the decisions, and the shambolic last-minute way they were carried out.

Will Pike led the deployment to the northern outpost of Sangin. As the Paras set about fortifying the district centre a delegation of town elders came and asked them to leave. They knew the Taliban would attack. They knew it would develop into a siege of attrition. They knew their town would be badly damaged. They were right on all three counts, but Pike had to turn them down. So much for listening to the locals, democracy etc. Instead of peace, the Brits brought war and destruction wherever they went.

Days later the Sangin district centre was hit, 3 killed 3 badly injured. If Butler had been in Camp Bastion maybe he’d have changed his mind but he was in Kabul where his job had evolved into trying to manage Governor Daoud and his master, Afghan president Karzai. So he overruled his junior officers’ concerns and the troops remained in Sangin in what developed into a relentless, daily barrage from the surrounding Taliban.

Already it was clear the critics had been right: a) the deployment to Afghanistan was too small; b) it had truckled to political pressure and spread its forces too thinly; c) it wasn’t going to be a peacekeeping deployment but a full-on conflict.

Chapter 23. Counterinsurgency in Iraq

Fairweather’s account of the revolution in military doctrine brought about by General David Petraeus who tries to re-orient the US Army approach from a ‘capture and kill the bad guys’ approach to a more imaginative deployment of counterinsurgency doctrine. The Americans referred to the British Army’s experience in the Malaya ’emergency’ i.e. how it handled an insurgency by revolutionary communist guerrillas. The main thing is to shift the goal from capturing or killing insurgents to winning over the general population by ensuring security. This shift in thinking is the central theme of Thomas E Ricks’s two books, Fiasco and The Gamble.

I believed all this until I read Frank Ledwidge’s devastating book, Losing Small Wars. There he points out two fundamental factors which the counterinsurgency proponents didn’t take into account. In Malaya, as later in Northern Ireland, a) there was one government whose fundamental legitimacy the majority of the population didn’t question; and there was b) an effective, impartial, well trained police force. Neither of these factors was present in Iraq or Afghanistan. On the contrary the ‘governments’ of both countries were deeply contested by large parts of the population, were widely seen as corrupt and parti pris; and the police forces in both countries were bywords for corruption and backsliding i.e. running away or turning their guns on their supposed Western allies whenever it came to a fight.

As the redeployment to Helmand began to be thought through, officers in Basra came under pressure to speed up the process of handing over responsibility to the Iraqi police and army. Only problem being, they were often corrupt and ineffective. Didn’t matter:

The army leadership was preparing to dispense with its commitment to create a competent Iraqi security force in the name of political expediency. (p.251)

Security in Basra was collapsing. The News of the World published a video of British soldiers beating detainees which triggered 48 rocket and mortars fired at the Abu Naji camp. Sectarian strife increased. A Sunni cleric was killed and new corpses turned up every day.

In January 2006 a further round of elections were held. Now, after weeks of horse trading, following the elections, Shia politician Nouri al-Maliki was finally appointed Prime Minister. He hated the British. British forces had arrested his grandfather in a 1920 Shia uprising. He saw the British presence as a continuation of its old imperial ambitions. On his first visit to Basra he told the British authorities he didn’t want to meet them.

Fairweather gives an illuminating account of the Ministry of Defence and army’s notorious problems with commissioning the right kit and equipment. While the army spent hundreds of millions on hi-tech, computerised gewgaws to fight the next world war, it neglected basic transport vehicles solid enough to resist improvised explosive devices.

Six month rotations ensured that just as each set of officers and men was coming to know the people and the job, it was rotated back to the UK and a completely new set came in. These were often led by a commanding officer determined to ignore everything his predecessor had done and implement his own pet theories. This was a recipe for inconsistency and incoherence. Fairweather cites the replacement of the bullish General Shireff with the scholarly General Jonathan Shaw in January 2007 (p.302).

He has an upsetting passage about post-traumatic stress disorder and the inadequate care the army takes of its psychiatrically damaged veterans. American studies suggest that 15% of veterans will suffer PTSD (p.256). The poor care for the physically wounded veterans at the Selly Oak hospital in Birmingham caused a scandal in the media (p.281). The scandal was to lead to the establishment of the extremely successful Help for Heroes charity (note, p.393).

The entire policy of withdrawing from south Iraq in order to redeploy to Afghanistan was thrown into doubt when the Brits handed over the main base in Muthanna province to the local security services then, a few days later, a crowd of several hundred assembled and stormed the base, the Iraqi security forces melting away as they were wont to do, whereupon the mob stripped the base of all the expensive equipment, looting all the arms and equipment the Americans had stocked it with. Farce (p.270).

In August British forces handed over Camp Abu Naji outside Amarah to local security forces. Within an hour word had spread, a few hours later a mob had assembled, and a few hours after that the crowd entered the base and comprehensively sacked and looted it. After spending £80 million trying to reconstruct the province the British were leaving it in the worst possible state. A ‘debacle’ and ‘fiasco’, the loss of Abu Naji brought the British army’s reputation among the Americans to a new low.

6 September 2006

The dreadful day when four Paras defending the Kajaki Dam in Helmand got caught in a minefield, one fatality, three terrible injuries and the heroism of Chinook pilot Mark Hammond who flew sorties not only to the dam, but to Sangin and Musa Qaleh, too (p.275). In fact it was only a week later that the elders of Musa Qaleh came to Butler and brokered a ceasefire deal between him and the Taliban. Both sides would withdraw and fighting would cease. An eerie quiet descended over the battletorn town which had been badly damaged during 6 months of fighting. The British talked about reconstruction but brought only destruction.

Meanwhile in Basra new commander, Genera Richard Shireff proposed a bold new plan of increasing his force and embarking on a policy of clearing the city neighbourhood by neighbourhood of the JAM, handing it over to Iraqi police to hold and then civilian experts to deliver high impact development projects. Of course none of this ever happened. He could never get enough British troops and the Iraqi police were useless. After some civilian contractors were killed Margaret Beckett ordered the entire DFID contingent to leave Basra Palace base and be evacuated to Kuwait.

Back to the story of Haider the interpreter. He has married his sweetheart, Nora, and had a baby. Now he is thunderstruck to be told by his sympathetic boss, William Kearney, that the security firm is pulling out of Basra. Haider is going to lose his job and become more exposed to the JAM thugs who want to kill him for working with the infidel.

Chapter 28 The Surge, 2007

General Petraeus and retired general Jack Keane lobbied and persuaded president Bush not to quit and withdraw from a ruined Iraq but to take a gamble and increase troop numbers, by 30,000, the famous ‘surge’. General Casey was replaced by Petraeus as commander in chief.

The so-called Surge coincided with the so-called Sunni Awakening which was when Sunni tribes finally sickened of being threatened and dominated by al Qaeda militias. Delicate negotiations persuaded many Sunni tribes to accept American money and support to take on the terrorist group.

Baghdad had now become the epicentre of the civil war between Sunni and Shia, with mass ethnic cleansing, 200 deaths a week, and concrete walls separating ethnic neighbourhoods. Fairweather mentions the role of British civilian and pacifist Emma Sky as an unlikely adviser to hulking American general Ray Ordieno (pages 292 to 296).

Detailed description of the negotiations initiated by British General Graeme Lamb and James Simonds to convert Sunni militia leader Abu Azzam over to the Coalition side, with a mixture of flattery, promises of jobs and money for his 1,000-strong militia. The central achievement of Emma Sky in making friends with a female member of Maliki’s cabinet, Basima al-Jadiri and from then onwards keeping lines of communication open between the coalition commander and stroppy Maliki (p.298).

The Brits had been working through the latter half of 2006 towards finally withdrawing from Basra, deceiving themselves about the readiness of the Iraqi security forces to take over, or that Shireff’s policy of clearing neighbourhoods was working. But just as the withdrawal began to be implemented the Americans were embarking on the exact opposite policy, bringing in more troops as part of their Surge. In this context British policy looked more than ever like running away.

The British were under pressure to look tough and so undertook daring missions, including seizing Jaish al-Mahdi leaders. At the same time they sought interlocutors to negotiate a peace with. Most important was to be the leader of Jaish al-Mahdi in Basra, Ahmed al-Fartosi, who they had arrested and imprisoned three years before, and whose arrest led to the reprisal kidnapping of the two SAS men.

The British made him a simple offer: call off militia attacks and in return the British would cease patrolling the city and release his imprisoned cadres on cohorts. The clincher was telling Fartosi he had to take the deal in order to get his men freed and enrolled in the security services before Iranian agents and politicians took over. Fartosi was Shia, fanatical Shia, he had taken money and arms from Iran – but drew the line at letting Iran take over his patch.

These are the kinds of subtleties or complexities created by ethnic, religious, tribal, warlord and gangland allegiances which the coalition failed to get to terms with. Emma Sky is described trying to persuade Ray Ordieno that he needed to stop lumping all opposition groups as al Qaeda or Ba’athists or ‘insurgents’ and learn to distinguish between them. Only then could the coalition figure out what they wanted and even start to find negotiated, political solutions to the chaos.

June 2007

Gordon Brown became Prime Minister after Tony Blair stepped down as Labour Party leader. According to Fairweather everyone in Whitehall and the military knew that Brown regarded Iraq as Blair’s folly and had no interest in throwing good money after bad. He wanted all British troops withdrawn as soon as reasonably possible. As always, politics. When the army staff told Brown cutting and running would infuriate the Americans Brown said ‘good’. In Britain, and further afield (in the European countries which were always against the war) it would draw a stark line between Brown and his predecessor, and win him kudos for standing up to the Yanks. Army planners at the British military command centre in Northwood drew up five withdrawal scenarios. Brown unhesitatingly chose the quickest (p.315).

Some top brass thought a rapid withdrawal would make the British public question the sacrifice made so far. But in the three months during which Blair had extended the British occupation to mollify the Americans, 11 more British soldiers had been killed. The opposite line was that the British had fought shoulder to shoulder with the Americans for four bloody years and enough was enough.

The Brits released Fartosi’s deputy, other detainees and complied with their side of the bargain to halt all patrols in Basra. However violent attacks continued, with relentless bombarding of the British HQ in Basra Palace. American command in Baghdad gave the British senior officers who came to explain their withdrawal timetable short shrift. As the Brits claimed that Basra’s police force was ready to enforce security, American officers laughed.

In August 2007 the deal with Fartosi began and he was given a small office in the the base prison complete with phone and fax machine. From here he organised a complete ceasefire and an uneasy calm fell over Basra. On 3 September the British commander handed over security governance to the Iraqi government general assigned the job, and 600 soldiers left Basra Palace in a convoy of Warriors, armoured cars, lorries piled high with office furniture. They drove the ten miles to Basra airport. The idea is a residual force would stay there for up to a year to continue to train Iraqi army and police force. The JAM militia held wild celebrations at the ‘liberation’ of their city.

Story of Haider the interpreter, continued

Since the start of the year a number of interpreters had been executed by the militias. Terrifying story of him attending his brother-in-law’s wedding procession of twenty or so cars when it was intercepted by trucks with no plates, armed men leapt out, ran across to the car which contained Haider and his wife but grabbed Nora’s cousin by mistake, hauled him out of the car, threw him in the trucks, and roared off while the women screamed and wept. Next day the cousin’s corpse is found with a scrap of paper telling Haider to ring a mobile phone number. Haider’s wife’s uncle, Ali, arranges for him to flee to Iran with a fake passport and a little money. Then the militiamen kidnap Ali and call Haider, saying he must return or Ali will be murdered.

Haider makes a plan, to return to Basra, collect his family and go to the British base. Gordon Brown had announced a fast track visa process for Iraqi interpreters. He takes a minivan cab and collects his wife, mother, sister and three brothers but when they get to the British base, security won’t let them through.

Anyway, it turns into a real odyssey. They walk to a gas station where an old geezer has a taxi. Haider tells them they’re refugees and the old guy takes them home and lets them sleep in his apartment. But next morning he starts getting suspicious. Haider’s contact inside the British base tells him the precise paperwork he needs, but it involves getting an old style Iraqi passport which will take ages.

Haider has a brainwave and rings up a doctor he knew at medical school. Reluctantly, the doctor agrees to house them all in a spare room in his clinic, knowing he’s risking reprisals from the militia. Haider has a phone so he rings his old boss and friend William Kearney. Kearney jumps into action ringing round contacts to get Haider’s paperwork approved asap. He commissions a journalist to write a piece about the plight of interpreters and he even – and at this point we start to realise why we’ve been hearing so much about this poor man – arranges for Haider to do an interview with Radio 4’s Today programme, from the spare room at the clinic where he’s in hiding. Atmosphere of Anne Frank’s loft. Every time they heard footsteps in the corridor they froze in fear.

There are more hurdles to jump through, judges to be bribed, paperwork to be secured, relations pressed into running round the city getting the right documents. After a week they take another cab to the British base but Haider is now told that his brothers and sister aren’t eligible. He loses his rag.

When the British had needed him he had risked his life, but when he needed their help all he got was red tape. (p.326)

And now, 16 years later, the same treatment dished out to Afghan interpreters fleeing the Taliban. What a disgraceful, disgusting country Britain is.

Abandoning Basra

So the British abandoned Basra and the Shia militia took over, quickly intimidating the Iraqi police into staying in their stations, while black hooded armed men patrolled the streets, hitting women who weren’t properly covered and embarking on a campaign of murder and extortion. The Iraqi Way. A British officer, Colonel Andy Bristow, helps the new Iraqi governor of Basra, General Mohan al-Faraji, but quickly realises the deal with Fartosi to allow us to leave in peace, effectively undermined the police i.e. bankrupted the whole reason for us being there in the first place. When Mohan found out the British had gone behind his back to do a deal with the head of the militia to release back onto the streets over 1,000 criminal detainees, he was apoplectic.

It was just the sort of double-dealing the British were infamous for during their colonial days. (p.330)

On 31 December 2007 Fartosi himself was finally released from prison and within days (January 2008) war broke out between Jaish al-Mahdi and Mohan’s police force. The British base itself came under sustained mortar attack. The deal with Fartosi had failed. Not only that but the situation in Helmand was deteriorating, Ceasefires with local Taliban commanders had failed and the fighting was fiercer than ever. The army desperately needed to move its Basra forces to Helmand.

Fairweather then gives a typically detailed account of the way the new advisor to General Mohan, the Brit Colonel Richard Iron, conceives a plan to deliver a US-style surge but just to Basra. As mentor to Mohan he is outside the British chain of command and so a) gets Mohan to present it as a request to the Basra commander, something the Brits are meant to help with, b) schmoozes with the Americans in Baghdad who love it. Petraeus is won over and the Yanks begin making plans to send troops to help the meagre British presence from the air base.

BUT. At one of these co-ordination meetings everyone is stunned to learn that Prime Minister Nouri al-Malaki, having been briefed about it some weeks before, has taken the bull by the horns, and ordered his own surge in Basra, using native Iraqi troops!

Long story short: the Iraqi army took on the Jaish al-Mahdi in Basra and won! Over 6,000 Iraqi troops marched on Basra and Maliki himself flew in to supervise. To begin with it was chaos, with Iraqi units disintegrating or being blown to pieces by the heavily armed and motivated JAMsters. But the Americans couldn’t allow this to fail and so diverted troops and planes south to join the fight. The British administrator on the ground was humiliatingly denied entrance to meetings between Maliki and the American commander in chief. Maliki blamed the British for letting Basra sink to this level. The American military no longer trusted the Brits to do anything. Anyway, bureaucracy and reluctance to overturn the withdrawal plans meant only a handful of British officers were available. The Iraqis and Americans got on without them. National embarrassment. Humiliation.

Meanwhile Mohan was sacked and a new Iraqi commander put in place. American General Flynn told British brigade headquarters he’d flown in to stop the Brits failing again. Fairweather calls it ‘a damning indictment’ and laments ‘Britain’s battered reputation’. The senior British officers hung their heads in shame (p.337).

Then, to everyone’s surprise, there was a ceasefire. Unknown to the Brits or Yanks Maliki had sent delegations to the Iranian city of Qom to ask al-Sadr and the commander of the Iranian al-Quds Force to broker a ceasefire. Maliki knew that the Iranians had a vested interest in seeing him re-elected, as a moderate Shia Prime Minister, whereas defeat in Basra risked plunging the south into chaos and also triggering a resurgence of Sunni resistance. On balance it was in Iranian interests to rein in their proxies. So The message came back to Fartosi to cease fire. The guns fell silent. The Jaish al-Mahdi forces disappeared. Fartosi and other notorious leaders left Iraq altogether.

A few days later Iraqi forces occupied all the Jaish al-Mahdi strongholds. The insurgency in Basra was over and it had nothing to do with the Brits or the Americans but backroom deals between Middle Eastern players. In an ironic way it was a triumph because it showed that normal Middle Eastern politics, with all its corruption and sectarian horsetrading, had been restored.

But there was nothing the British C-in-C, Brigadier Julian Free, could do ‘to restore American faith in British competence’ (p.339).

Epilogue: summer 2011

In Fairweather’s view the retaking of Basra was a watershed. The Iraqi army then retook Amara (where Sergeant Danny Mills and his sniper platoon had such a torrid time in 2006) and routed Jaish al-Mahdi from Baghdad.

In the January 2009 provincial elections Maliki’s party defeated Sadrist politicians (i.e. politicians loyal to Muqtada al-Sadr). Maybe it was even some kind of democracy. A very corrupt form of democracy, Iraq sits on the fourth largest oil reserves in the world. Fortunes are made by politicians with fingers in the pie. Leaked documents and other evidence show the Iraqi police force settling back into old Saddam methods of arbitrary arrest and gruesome torture.

In Iraq’s March 2010 elections the slippery old chancer Ayad Allawi won the popular vote, with the backing of Saudi Arabia, because he is a Sunni Muslim. (On a simple geopolitical level, Iraqi politics are riddled with the rivalry between Sunni Saudi Arabia to the south and Shia Iran to the east). However, in the backroom horsetrading Iran leaned on Muqtada al-Sadr to get his supporters to support Maliki who therefore re-emerged as Prime Minister in November 2010 (serving till 2014).

Through the summer of 2009 the British troops left Basra airbase. In total more than 120,000 British soldiers served in Iraq. As many as 15% of them might be expected to suffer mental illness as a consequence i.e. 18,000. 179 British personnel died, 5,970 were injured. Best guesses are that in the region of 100,000 Iraqis lost their lives.

Fairweather’s figures are that the war cost roughly £1 billion a year, total about £8 billion. Fairweather injects a political note (remember he wrote for the Daily Telegraph, what is now a very right-wing newspaper):

As schools go unbuilt in the UK, hospitals close, and tens of thousands of teachers, nurses, soldiers and policemen lose their jobs, the Iraq war has become a symbol of the profligacy and waste of the New Labour government. (p.344)

As to Afghanistan, in 2009 the Americans were forced to intervene as the British, yet again, lost control of the situation, sending a surge of 30,000 US troops to retake the province from the resurgent Taliban. The economy is still dirt poor. And there is no educated middle class to provide administrators and politicians.

As of summer 2011, 374 British service personnel had died in Helmand, 1,608 had been injured, 493 seriously. More than 10,000 Afghans had died. Gordon Brown estimated the war cost Britain £10 billion.

And Haider the interpreter, the Iraqi who Fairweather uses as a kind of barometer of Britain’s failing efforts in Basra? At the time of writing he lived in Hull, in accommodation provided by the British government, with his wife and two children. He’d like to return to Iraq but is still scared to.

The blame

As you’d expect, Fairweather holds Tony Blair chiefly to account for committing Britain to two wars it couldn’t win – but he’s harsher on the army. Senior generals gave consistently poor advice and the army as a whole was guilty of institutional failings, most importantly it’s continually over-optimistic predictions, its wrong assessments of the situation in both Iraq and Afghanistan, its insistence it could carry out both deployments with what quickly became clear were inadequate men and resources. In both places they ignored the well-informed warnings of experts in the field.

Most tellingly, senior officials at the MoD and armed services have come to see war as a way of maintaining their budgets. Fairweather wonders if the fact that this is the only way the MoD can secure adequate funding explains why Britain’s armed forces have been in conflict almost continuously for the past 15 years.

Short-termism. All kinds of delusions led planners to think a 3-year deployment to Helmand would be enough. The average length of a counter-insurgency campaign is 14 years. Proper state building takes even longer. Either commit, or don’t intervene.

Summary

This is an outstanding chronological history of Britain’s deployment to Iraq and Afghanistan. Fairweather not only explains the complex political and financial realities at work in the British government and the fraught relationship with our American ‘allies’, but switches scene and focus with extraordinary confidence.

He gives what must surely be definitive accounts of specific firefights and battles (his 5 pages describing the murder of the six military police is exemplary) but he is just as confident describing conversations between the top power players, be they Yanks like Rumsfeld, Rice and Bremer, or Brits like Blair, Brown and Campbell.

And his narrative introduces us to an extraordinarily wide range of named individuals through whose stories and eyes we get really insider insights into every aspect of the situation, from Brits appalled at decisions in Whitehall or the chaos of the CPA, through the civilian governors struggling to control their provinces, to the experiences of scores of officers and men involved in fierce firefights on the ground.

It’s a panoramic, encyclopedic account. It really is outstanding.


P.S. A study in ignorance

Seen from another angle, this excellent book a study in several types of stupidity and ignorance.

The obvious, easy-to-see kind of ignorance, is how everyone involved in the planning and implementation of the quick invasion of Iraq in March 2003 and then the painfully slow, ineffective ‘reconstruction’ of the ruined country, had poor-to-zero grasp of the reality of Iraqi society, politics and culture. That was obvious to anyone with a brain before the war started, and became obvious to people without a brain, eventually even to the American neoconservatives who had planned and launched the war, as the years went by and their efforts became evermore expensive and futile.

The less obvious kind of ignorance is a fundamental premise of this blog and my worldview, which is that we don’t understand our own society or our selves. In his 2015 book, ‘The Soul of the Marionette’, John Gray explains that there will never be true artificial intelligence because nobody understands what human intelligence is. Sure, we can define and measure numerous aspects of intelligence like solving complex maths problems or winning at chess, but the full package of what makes a human being human, the complex interplay of calculation, hunch, guesswork, emotion and intuition – nobody understands it, how it works, let alone how it is produced by the brain.

So if we don’t understand what intelligence is, how can we artificially create it? We may be able to produce computer programs which solve problems faster than any human, and are able to teach themselves better and better techniques etc, and can answer any question plausibly, but it will never be anything like human intelligence, and those who think so are fools.

Same with democracy. Simpletons like George W Bush and Tony Blair thought all you had to do was overthrow a dictator and organise some cobbled-together elections, and you’d have yourself a functioning democracy. What this imbecile level of naivety shows is not so much that neither of them had a clue about Arab or Muslim societies, and about Iraq in particular (which they didn’t, and which this book demonstrates at humiliating and embarrassing length) – what it showed is they hadn’t a clue about how our own democratic societies work.

1. The civic basis of democracy

They didn’t have a clue about their own political evolution: about the very long history, the centuries-long evolution, through trial and error and revolutions and civil wars, and the taming of religion and the controlling of aristocracies and oligarchies, and the campaigns of working class parties and trade unions and then the long struggle for women’s suffrage – which lie behind the present form of the far-from-perfect, so-called ‘democracies’ which operate in the USA and UK.

2. The Christian basis of democracy

And that’s without going into the huge part of the story derived from religion: the slow evolution of Christianity with its emphasis on the value of the individual, through the overthrow of Catholic ideology at the Reformation, and the Protestant Revolution which ushered in new ideas about the individual, about individual agency, responsibility, rights and duties, which had to be painfully thrashed out during centuries of civil war and political turmoil, the overthrow of kings, the grudging allowance of limited forms of religious tolerance in Britain the late 17th century, which struggled against the odds throughout the 18th and inspired the American revolutionaries to their clear statement of principles in the American constitution. There’s no evidence of this kind of huge, conceptual, long-term evolution taking place in the political-religious ideology of modern Islam. The opposite: reactionary forms of Islam have been on the rise throughout the Middle East since the Iranian revolution of 1979.

3. The economic basis of democracy

And all that is without going into the economic history which lies behind our democratic societies, whose development paralleled the political, religious and philosophical strands. Modern progressives are keen to attribute the rise of the West to ruthless exploitation, to the profits from the Atlantic slave trade and the rapacity of European imperialism. The older, traditional school of history attributed ‘the rise of the West’ to a huge range of intellectual inventions, from the establishment of the Bank of England and a national debt, through the invention of copyright and business law which created incentives for innovators and inventors, to the inventors themselves who devised the seed drill or the steam engine among thousands of other world-changing technologies (ideas handily summarised in Niall Ferguson’s Civilization: The West and the Rest).

However you combine these and other elements to explain ‘the Rise of the West’, there’s no denying that Britain, most of the other European nations, and then America and Japan, represent a level of legal, social and technological achievement which far outranks the other 180 or so nations on earth.

Neo-con delusions

Now do you get a sense of the depth of the ignorance of the American neo-cons and their poodle, Tony? They thought overthrowing a dictator and getting his dazed population to line up at voting booths would be it, job done, creation of ‘democracy’. They thought creating an unstable government and holding a few phoney elections amounted to ‘nation building’ and stood any chance at all of transforming Iraq in a few short months into a beacon of peace, plenty and democracy for the rest of the Middle East to follow.

That’s what George Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Douglas Feith and their supporters thought would happen. Surely the word ‘imbecile’ isn’t forceful enough to describe this level of fatuous ignorance – not only about what Iraqi society was like, but about what makes their own country tick – about what makes the 20 or so developed western nations what they are, and why this unique religious, philosophical, legal, cultural, social, economic and technological history can’t just be bundled up into vacuum packs, flown into a developing country in the holds of Hercules transport planes and handed out to cheering crowds like bottled water. What morons!


Credit

A War of Choice: Honour, Hubris and Sacrifice: The British in Iraq by Jack Fairweather was published by Jonathan Cape in 2012. References are to the 2012 paperback edition.

Related links

New world disorder reviews

Radical Joe: A life of Joseph Chamberlain by Denis Judd (1977)

‘The great problem of our civilisation is still unsolved. We have to account for and grapple with the mass of misery and destitution in our midst, co-existent as it is with the evidence for abundant wealth and teeming prosperity.’
(Joseph Chamberlain in 1885, quoted on page 122)

Joe Chamberlain was to become the only politician in British history to split two parties and destroy two governments of which he was a member.
(The Edwardians by Roy Hattersley, page 105)

Joseph Chamberlain (1836 to 1914) shot like a charismatic meteor across the late-Victorian and Edwardian political scene.

Chamberlain made his name as a Liberal reforming mayor of Birmingham, where he cleared the slums and introduced municipal control of gas, water and electricity supplies, rousing loyal support and bating entrenched interests with his fire-breathing, radical oratory. He entered the House of Commons in 1876 at the relatively advanced age of 39, as a Liberal Party MP for his home turf, Birmingham. He rose quickly and after just 4 years the Liberal leader, Gladstone, gave him a cabinet position as President of the Board of Trade in 1880.

What is enjoyable and interesting about Judd’s biography is he takes you right into the nitty-gritty of the local administration of a dirty, polluted but relentlessly growing late-Victorian city like Birmingham, and then into the knotty detail of Chamberlain’s Parliamentary career. He gives you a powerful sense of how difficult it is to get into any position of power, how challenging it is to formulate meaningful policies, and then of the struggle to co-opt support and create coalitions ready to take on often very entrenched interests, if you want to change and improve things.

Reforming acts

Take, for example, the acts Chamberlain supervised as President of the Board of Trade, 1880 to 1885:

  • a Grain Cargoes Bill for the safer stowing of cargoes
  • a Seaman’s Wages Bill for fairer wages
  • an Electric Lighting Bill which enabled municipalities to set up electricity supplies either themselves or through private companies
  • a Bankruptcy Bill which created a body of official receivers in order to investigate and speed up bankruptcies, where necessary
  • a Merchant Shipping Bill designed to stop owners sending to sea unworthy ships, known as ‘coffin ships’, in the expectancy that they would sink and the owners claim the insurance money; due to the resistance of big business, the Bill failed (pages 106 to 108)

Radical Joe

Although Chamberlain rose to prominence as a crusading, reforming mayor of Birmingham, the opening chapter of the book details the surprising fact that he was born and bred in London, first in semi-rural Camberwell, then in smart Canonbury. His father was a successful merchant with a shop in Cheapside and Chamberlain didn’t go to university but left his private school at 18 and went to work for his father’s firm. It was only when a business opportunity arose in Birmingham, to invest in a new firm being set up to exploit a new technique to mass manufacture pointed screws, that his father dispatched him to England’s second city to look into the opportunity.

Chamberlain was by all accounts an extremely effective businessman or, as his enemies put it, relentless and ruthless. But he was from the start interested in local politics, active as a counsellor and then elected mayor in 1873 where he set new standards for slum clearance, clean water and sewage facilities etc. With the same ruthless efficiency he had brought to business, Chamberlain now embarked on a systematic programme of municipal improvement; this included the building of branch and central libraries, raising money for the art gallery and other public collections to be augmented, founding public swimming pools, new parks and gardens.

Judd liberally quotes from Chamberlain’s speeches and letters which are very enjoyable, pithy, clear and forceful. (Many contemporaries testified to what Beatrice Potter called his ‘energy and personal magnetism… [that he possessed] masculine force in a superlative degree.’ p.76.)

These letters, articles and speeches show how, right from the start of his career, Chamberlain really understood the misery and poverty of many in Victorian cities. Take this excerpt from an article in The Fortnightly Review, the Liberal periodical edited by his friend and political ally, John Morley:

We are compelled occasionally to turn aside from the contemplation of our virtues and intelligence and wealth, to recognise the fact that we have in our midst a vast population more ignorant than the barbarians whom we profess to convert, more miserable than the most wretched in other countries to whom we attempt from time to time to carry succour and relief. (p.72)

And he had, right from the start, a firm belief in the ability of local and national government to physically improve the environment of the poor and, by so doing, significantly improve their lives, as expressed in a speech he gave when opening Highgate Park in Birmingham:

‘It is simply nonsense to wonder at the want of refinement of our people when no opportunity is given to innocent enjoyment. We are too apt to forget that the ugliness of our ordinary English existence has a bad influence on us.’ (quoted page 67)

It was this kind of straight-talking support of the poor, and his acts and bills which aggressively took on entrenched interests, which quickly earned him the reputation as a radical, a socialist or even a communist, although Judd makes clear he was neither. Chamberlain is quoted in numerous contexts clarifying that he thought the improvement of the lot of the poor was not only a moral good in itself but was a form of social insurance which would ensure the ongoing survival of the wealthy, propertied classes, classes which he never seriously threatened (p.117).

Nonetheless the accusation that he was a fire-breathing republican led to much popular entertainment, for example the rash of humorous cartoons when he was obliged to kiss the Queen-Empress Victoria’s hand upon taking his Cabinet post (p.102).

In July 1885 Chamberlain wrote the preface to a pamphlet titled the ‘Radical Programme’, the first campaign handbook in British political history. The Programme proposed: free elementary education; land reform including measures to help people buy land, taxes on unoccupied or unused land, provision of allotments and smallholdings by local authorities; higher rates for big landed estates; progressive income tax on land owned; an increase in direct as opposed to indirect tax; encouragement of local government and housing schemes; as well as free public education, the disestablishment of the Church of England, universal male suffrage, and more protection for trade unions.

He also proposed to separate the goal of free education for every child from the religious question. His policy was rejected by groups on all sides, who continued to use education as a political weapon, including the National Liberal Federation, Nonconformists, Catholics, and the Church of England-supporting establishment.

The Radical Programme earned the scorn of Whigs and Conservatives alike. Chamberlain had written to his friend, John Morley, that with Radical solidarity ‘we will utterly destroy the Whigs, and have a Radical government before many years are out.’ But in the event nothing came of it. Gladstone’s Liberal government was defeated on an amendment to its budget and Gladstone resigned, to be replaced by a minority administration led by Lord Salisbury (who had replaced Benjamin Disraeli as leader of the Conservative Party when Disraeli died in 1881; Salisbury led the party from the House of Lords, with a deputy in the Commons, still a possibility in those days).

Insults and abuse

Chamberlain established from the start of his career a reputation for plain speaking which sometimes overstepped the boundaries of decorum. Before he’d even been elected as an MP, soon after being nominated to stand, he rashly denounced the then-Prime Minister Disraeli, as ‘a man who never told the truth except by accident; a man who went down to the House of Commons and flung at the British Parliament the first lie that entered his head.’ (p.75). He was quickly forced to apologise.

During the intense period of manoeuvring between the various factions of both the Liberal and Conservative Parties which led up to the 1884 Reform Act, Chamberlain notoriously declared in a speech that Salisbury was ‘himself the spokesman of a class – a class to which he himself belongs, who toil not neither do they spin’ (p.118). In response, Salisbury branded Chamberlain a ‘Sicilian bandit’ and his deputy in the Commons, Stafford Northcote, called him ‘Jack Cade’.

1. Home Rule

Chamberlain’s first big contribution to history was to split the Liberal Party in 1886 over Home Rule for Ireland. In early 1886 a new Liberal administration was elected and Gladstone made widely known his determination to push through a bill permitting home rule for the Irish. Chamberlain vehemently objected, on the basis that it would weaken the power of the British House of Commons and introduce fractures into the foundations of the wider British Empire. Chamberlain’s alternative was a plan for a federal system for not only Ireland but Scotland too, which would create an Irish devolved administration with powers over internal affairs. It was a masterpiece of compromise which satisfied none of the parties involved.

After a lot of manoeuvring, Chamberlain led a group which came to be called the Liberal Unionists out of the Liberal Party proper and into independent existence, thus severely weakening Gladstone’s Liberal government. There then followed years of complex machinations, but the Unionists, by their very nature, came into closer tactical alliances with the Conservative Party and eventually merged with them.

2. Liberal Imperialism

Chamberlain’s second massive contribution was to become the cheerleader for British Imperialism during the peak of jingoistic enthusiasm from the mid 1890s to the middle Edwardian years. (The British Empire didn’t reach its geographic peak until after the Great War when Britain awarded itself various colonies belonging to the defeated Germans and also adopted ‘mandates’ in the Middle East.)

Secretary of State for the Colonies

When a Conservative government was returned after the 1895 general election with the help of Chamberlain’s bloc of 50 or so Liberal Unionists, the new leader, Lord Salisbury, offered Chamberlain a cabinet position. To many people’s surprise, Chamberlain turned down more senior departments and chose the Colonial Office, becoming Secretary of State for the Colonies, an office he held for the next eight years.

It is fascinating to read about how the British Empire was actually administered. In modern cultural discourse it is dismissed as one big evil monolith but, of course, it was a lot more complicated than that, run, like most British affairs, in a ramshackle, amateurish way. The Indian Empire was run by a separate office, the Secretary of State for India and, anyway, Chamberlain never showed much interest in it. His responsibility was for 11 self-governing colonies of white settlement with a European population of 11 million, and a jumble of crown colonies, protectorates and chartered territories, with a population of around 40 million (p.187).

Chamberlain’s Liberal Imperialism was an extension of the Radical reforming approach he’d brought to Birmingham. He thought that by wise investment, the disparate territories clumped together as ‘the Empire’ could be made more economically efficient and productive, its people educated and provided better jobs, housing, amenities, infrastructure and so on. He was a hard-working and diligent colonial secretary (notably unlike many of his predecessors) but his tenure is remembered for two policies which were out and out failures.

1. The Boer War

Chamberlain encouraged the ill-fated and derided Jameson Raid of December to January 1895, a force of 500 British soldiers led into the Boer-held Transvaal in expectation that the large number of British labourers working in its gold mines would rise up, join them, and together the Brits would seize government from the properly constituted Boer government. Not only was this a shameful attempt at a coup, but a shambles and dismal failure. How much exactly Chamberlain a) knew about it b) encouraged the conspirators, is unclear to this day, but the fact that establishing his role was one of the aims of the subsequent British government enquiry shows there was widespread belief that he was involved.

His continued support of the parties who wanted to take on and conquer the Boer republics (the Transvaal and the Orange Free State) so as to absorb them into an unambiguously British country of South Africa, meant that when the Boer War commenced in October 1899, many critics saw it as ‘Joe’s War’. Thus his name became associated with the military disasters of the first six months of the war, with the humiliating failure to end it, with its long drawn-out two years of guerrilla fighting, with the shameful policy of rounding up Boar farmers’ wives and families into concentration camps which were so appallingly run (by the shambolic British army) hat some 28,000 died of hunger and disease. Not a good look for someone who had once been a radical, reforming politician, always on the side of the poor.

What makes the Boer War all the more of a pitiful shambles was that, within a few years, the Boers were restored to full power over their own republics. It need never have been fought at all.

2. Tariff reform

As to tariff reform, Judd details the complexities of Chamberlain’s decisions, first to commit himself wholeheartedly to trying to create a tariff or customs union between the nations of the empire, and secondly, once he’d made this decision, the very complicated negotiations with Arthur Balfour, who had taken over leadership of the Conservative Party in 1902 and which led Chamberlain, ultimately, to resign from the Conservative cabinet and to set up a well-funded and well-organised national campaign for tariff reform.

And then shows in sad detail how it was doomed, for at least two reasons. Chamberlain, like plenty of other British politicians, businessmen and commentators, had realised that British business was being out-performed by its international rivals, America and Germany. His solution was to unite the white imperial nations – Britain, Canada, Australia, New Zealand – into a customs union to encourage mutual trade and create a powerful economic and agricultural bloc which could hold its own against competitors. The only problems were:

a) Economic reality

  • Experts showed him that trade between the colonies and Britain had been steadily declining i.e. we did more trade with the rest of the world and that percentage was increasing.
  • There was no getting round the fact that, if we imposed extra tariffs on goods entering the union from outside, that would increase the cost of food, seeing as most of the UK’s foodstuffs were imported. Hence the slogan developed by the Liberal opposition, ‘Big loaf, little loaf’, meaning big loaf under the Liberals, little loaf under the tariff reforming Tories.

So Chamberlain was forced to abandon hard facts in preference for rhetoric about the Empire as a civilising force and the power of the Anglo-Saxon peoples when united, and so on. Although he started from Radical roots, he ended up sounding as pompous as the windiest Conservative. And this kind of rhetoric about the great British Empire and the great Anglo-Saxon peoples was extremely popular, his movement distributed posters and banners and badges and placards, and held countless meetings, and was widely supported by leading newspapers of the time. It was wildly popular and it was a complete failure.

b) Political reality

Unfortunately, the other ‘white’ colonies, or the dominions to give them their technical name, weren’t all that interested in Chamberlain’s rhetoric. A meeting was held of all the leaders in London at the time of Queen Victoria’s jubilee (1887), another one was held (in Ottowa) in 1894, then Chamberlain organised another one in 1897 and arranged for them to be held at regular intervals thereafter. And so they were: 1902, 1907, 1911, 1917, 1918, 1921 and so on, being replaced, after the Second World War, by the Commonwealth Prime Ministers meeting.

But at those early meetings Chamberlain was disappointed to discover that the colonial governments were very hard bargainers indeed, cared nothing for his imperialist rhetoric, and were only prepared to negotiate tough deals in their own advantage.

The 1906 Liberal landslide

Balfour’s Conservative government was plainly running out of steam during 1905, and Chamberlain’s aggressive tariff reform campaign did it a lot of damage by attacking Balfour’s refusal to commit to it wholeheartedly. The election held in January 1906 was a devastating defeat for the Conservative and Unionist Party, leaving them with the fewest seats in the party’s history (156), and the Liberal Party with a record landslide victory which kept them in government till the middle of the Great War.

Summary

So it’s a fascinating story, fascinating in the detail of Chamberlain’s youth and young business success, and how he parlayed that into a dazzlingly successful career in local politics leading to him becoming the superstar mayor of Britain’s second city. Fascinating to learn how, when he entered Parliament then government, he continued his radical approach with bills and acts designed to help the poor and exploited. And then fascinating to watch the distortion of these early principles when he came to apply them as Colonial Secretary, the man who had once been feared as a communist revolutionary ending up encouraging the Boer War and trying to create an entirely impractical policy of imperial union which ended up dividing the nation.

When I picked up this book second hand I didn’t realise it was quite so old (1977). Partly because it comes from the era before critical theory became widespread in the humanities, it is a wonderfully readable account, short on politically correct carping and long on a sympathetic understanding of the Unitarian, non-conformist origins of the Chamberlain family. The older reader such as myself is perfectly capable of recognising the racism and the sexism prevalent throughout the age and  often found in Chamberlain’s attitudes, without having it made the centre of the account to the neglect of the other important aspects of his political theory and practice. The sympathetic way Judd handles Chamberlain’s non-conformist origins makes it all the more poignant when we read the letters in which he confessed to close friends how the death of his wife in childbirth had made him question and then completely reject his native religion.

The art of the possible

More interestingly, like the Richard Shannon book I read recently only more so, Judd’s account takes you deep into the nitty-gritty of real, actual politics, which is the art of the possible and how this, in practice, comes down to endless number-crunching – how policy-makers are mainly concerned with: a) how many people will vote for them at a general election; b) what number of MPs they will gain; and then c) how to mobilise these numbers in order to get actual bills passed into law.

(It was, apparently, Bismarck who said that: ‘Politics is the art of the possible, the attainable — the art of the next best’.)

It is eye-opening to read so many accounts of the back-room horse-trading and negotiations, of the creation of coalitions, of the offers and counter-offers and endless behind-the-scenes negotiations which were required to get even the simplest piece of legislation passed through Parliament.

It makes you realise the immense distance between, on the one hand, the grand and rousing rhetoric of politicians’ speeches and articles and party manifestos and the broad hopes of commentators and critics on the Left or Right for sweeping social change, for Noble Principles and Grand Visions – and, on the other hand, the extremely cramped and narrow room for manoeuvre most actual governments and politicians in power have to operate within.

Immersing yourself in the clotted realities of the politics of this faraway era, and studying Chamberlain’s brilliant but ultimately frustrated career, really helps you understand why politics so consistently results in disappointment. It suggests that the high hopes of all commentators, of both left and right, are always going to be disappointed.

Remember the high hopes which greeted the election of Tony Blair and New Labour in 1997? How is he regarded now? Remember the high hopes of Gordon Brown’s supporters that, when he assumed the leadership, we would finally have a proper democratic socialist government. How did that pan out? Remember the Liberals going into coalition with the Conservatives telling their supporters how it would allow them to implement lovely Liberal policies? How did that end up for them?

And then the past five years of Brexit mayhem, 2016 to 2021, including the hilarious decision of Theresa May’s advisers to go for a snap general election in April 2017, promising it would lead to ‘strong and stable’ leadership? But which in fact led to a hung parliament in which she was entirely dependent on the support of the tiny Democratic Unionist Party to stay in power? And then faced a series of no confidence votes until she was replaced by Boris Johnson, the same Boris Johnson who sacked all his moderate MPs and bulldozed through the worst possible Brexit deal, which we will all now have to live with for a generation?

Politics = disappointment.

In fact it was in an essay precisely about Joseph Chamberlain that Enoch Powell MP wrote his often-quoted judgement:

‘All political lives, unless they are cut off in midstream at a happy juncture, end in failure, because that is the nature of politics and of human affairs.’

So Chamberlain is not just disappointing politician but, in Powell’s view, the epitome of the politician who had all the gifts, who worked hard, who had deeply held principles and yet…whose political career fizzled out in failure and disappointment.

Two divorces

The book features two high-profile divorces from the period.

Dilke and the Crawford divorce

Sir Charles Wentworth Dilke, Second Baronet (1843 to 1911) was an English Liberal, Radical politician and good friend of Chamberlain’s. He helped the passage of the Third Reform Act and supported laws giving the municipal franchise to women, legalising labour unions, improving working conditions and limiting working hours, as well as being one of the earliest campaigners for universal schooling. In July 1886 the MP Donald Crawford sued his wife, Virginia, for divorce, citing Dilke. At the trial in February 1886, the judge found in Crawford’s favour.

Two months later, determined to clear his name, Dilke reopened the case but was subject to a withering cross-examination from which he emerged much worse off. Virginia alleged that Dilke had introduced her to every type of French vice and even that he had introduced a serving girl into their bed. The result was that Dilke’s name became a byword for lurid sexual scandal and he became the butt of music-hall songs. Dilke lost his seat in the 1886 general election, the Queen demanded he be stripped of his membership of the Privy Council and his career as a high-flying politician was over.

What is, in a way, most striking about the whole story is that modern historians now think Dilke was actually having a long-term affair with Virginia’s mother, and it was this fact which made so many of his answers during the cross-examination evasive or contradictory – and that he knew the family in the first place because his younger brother, Ashton, was married to one of the other Crawford daughters. In other words, Dilke was accused of having an affair with his brother’s wife’s married sister, but made a hash of denying it because he was in fact having an affair with his brother’s wife’s mother! (p.142)

Parnell and the O’Shea divorce

Charles Stewart Parnell (1846 to 1891) was an Irish nationalist politician who was Leader of the Home Rule League from 1880 to 1882, then leader of its successor, the Irish Parliamentary Party, from 1882 to 1891.

It is vital to an understanding of the politics of the period to realise just how much the issue of Irish Home Rule dominated British politics from, say, 1880 right up to the outbreak of the Great War, and the fact that the bloc of 80 or so Irish MPs who sat in the House of Commons often held the balance of power. Parnell rose to become leader of this bloc and the decisive figure in Irish nationalism, the man who Gladstone and all English politicians had to negotiate with.

Parnell was at the peak of his power when, in December 1889, one of his most loyal lieutenants, Captain William O’Shea, sued his wife, Katharine O’Shea, for divorce and named Parnell as co-respondent. In fact, political society had known that O’Shea and his wife had been separated for years and that Parnell was her lover. In 1886 he moved into her home in Eltham and had three children with her (!). Political leaders knew all about the situation and accepted it; Mrs O’Shea even acted as liaison in 1885 with Gladstone during proposals for the First Home Rule Bill. However, the wider public, and the devoted members of Parnell’s Irish Parliamentary Party knew nothing.

Parnell assured his followers that he had nothing to hide and would be exonerated in the divorce proceedings, and loyal supporters, not only in Ireland but in faraway America, held meetings, passed resolutions, created posters and leaflets and bullishly supported their Chief. So it came as a devastating shock to all these people, many if not most of them devout Catholics, when the full details of Parnell’s living in sin with a married woman came out in the divorce case in November 1890. Supporters were dumbfounded and heart-broken. The Catholic hierarchy in Ireland condemned him. Gladstone, as always having to cater to the very strong non-conformist faction of the Liberal Party, was also forced to abandon Parnell as his negotiating partner.

The crunch came at a committee meeting in Whitehall where senior figures in his party tried to expel him, he refused to go, and so the majority of anti-Parnellites left to form the Irish National Federation. The bitterness of the split tore Ireland apart, set back the cause of Irish independence by decades, and resonated well into the next century. (p.145)

The record from Parnell to Matt Hancock shows that: a) politicians are just normal people like you and me, with messy complicated private lives, and b) how rubbish British society, or political and media society, has always been at dealing with fairly straightforward relations between the sexes i.e. how scandalous the Press still find the crushingly banal idea of a politician having an affair. Who cares.


Credit

Radical Joe: A life of Joseph Chamberlain by Denis Judd was published by Hamish Hamilton in 1977. All references are to the 1993 University of Wales Press paperback edition.

Related reviews

Image of the Artist @ the Royal Academy

This tiny little display is next door to the current ‘Souls Grown Deep like the Rivers’ show – not worth making a pilgrimage to the Royal Academy just for itself, but worth popping into if you’re in the building (as is the small Emma Stibbon display which is right next to it). No rush: it’s on till the end of the year.

It’s a display of eight self-portraits by current and recent Royal Academicians from the last 50 years. They are (in alphabetical order) Anthony Green, Chantal Joffe, Hew Locke, Sidney Nolan, Patrick Procktor, Paula Rego, Gillian Wearing and Clare Woods.

Obviously the genre of the self-portrait raises multiple, many-levelled issues of intention, agency and identity: Who am I? How do I depict myself? How much do I compromise what I see with the medium I’m using? How much am I influenced, consciously or unconsciously, by the vast tradition pressing down on me? How do I escape the weight of the past and develop my own voice and vision?

Here are the pictures in question, along with selected facts from the curators’ wall labels. Which ones do you like, and why?

Anthony Green – The Artist (1976)

The Artist, 1976 by Anthony Green RA © Royal Academy of Arts

Green’s humorous creations, cartoony paintings made in imaginative shapes, used to appear every year in the summer exhibition (he passed away in February of this year). Looking closely you realise there’s a whole narrative going on: for a start the curators tell us the thing is in the shape of a crown, which I didn’t immediately ‘get’. Spotlights shine down from the top right onto a full-length, fully clothed portrait of the artist standing on a sort of stage in front of a yellow stage curtain. And on the left are the stalls of a theatre, full of serried ranks of more self-portraits. The general idea is: Who is the artist performing for, creating for? Himself, copies f himself, clones of himself? I like Green’s works well enough when I see them but, well…

Chantal Joffe – Looking towards Bexhill (2016)

Looking Towards Bexhill, 2016 by Chantal Joffe © The Artist

Here’s Joffe and her daughter on the beach at St Leonard’s-on-sea. According to the curators, the image catches a girl on the cusp of adolescence, turning away from her mother. Joffe is quoted as saying, the more intense the emotion, the more she is driven to simplify the image. Personally I find this a disturbing and upsetting painting. The lack of any effort to convey sand, sea or sky repels me, but not as much as the faces. Eyes are what we look at in the people that we meet or look at and both sets of eyes here are distorted and bent and speak very loudly of physical deformity and/or mental illness.

Hew Locke – Chevalier (2007)

Chevalier by Hew Locke © The Artist

This is one of a series of eleven life-sized photographs from the series ‘How Do You Want Me?’ in which the artist adopts menacing personas. Here he is a sort of surrealist knight in an image saturated with colour and collages of unlikely images, not least the halo of machine guns and daggers which surrounds him. Locke says the series title ‘How Do You Want Me?’ is a satirical reference to the way the art world voraciously consumes the ‘latest thing’, especially the exotic or strange and – by implication – Black artists. So it’s by way of showing two fingers to the art world. Fair enough, but this rational explanation gets nowhere near conveying the over-coloured demented collage with a sword-wielding maniac at the centre.

Sidney Nolan – Self-portrait in Youth (1986)

Self-portrait in Youth, 18 April 1986 by Sir Sidney Nolan © Royal Academy of Arts

Nolan’s dates are 1917 to 1992 i.e. he’s one of the older artists here. This may or may not be reflected in the fact that this is pretty much the weirdest and most abstract work here. According to the curators, as a young man Nolan worked with spray paint in a factory and, later in his career, returned to spray paint as a medium. The heavily distorted image and bars of colour down the left, in one mode make me think of raves and acid and hard-edged psychedelic drugs i.e. a positive image. But then, really looking at the head and deep damage that’s been done to it, the radioactive degrading of the image, make me think of Francis Bacon and all his heads turning into meat or screams. Scary.

Patrick Procktor – Self-portrait (1991)

Self-Portrait, 1991 by Patrick Procktor © The Artist’s Estate

I like stylised paintings but I don’t warm to this one. According to the curators he’s holding a thick paintbrush loaded with white paint in his right hand. I thought it was a mirror or a mobile phone glinting in the sun. I ought to like the plain orange background but I don’t. The curators think this is a very ‘intellectual’ image because he’s glancing up at the frame of the picture i.e. investigating the limits of art etc. The asymmetry of his face, the unevenness of his eyes, speaks to me of mental illness and unhappiness.

Paula Rego – Self portrait (1994)

Self Portrait, 1994 by Paula Rego © Ostrich Arts Ltd. Courtesy Ostrich Arts Ltd and Victoria Miro

The curators point out how many artist’s self-portraits capture the artist holding a palette and brush and looking at the viewer in a pose which captures the moment of creation, as if we are there, with them, in that moment. They also shrewdly point out how the two most completed parts of this sketchy image are the face/eyes which see and the arm/hand which creates – as if the two most important parts of the act of creation are fuller, wholer, more complete, than the rest of the body, which fades away into irrelevance. So it’s an image about artistic force and power.

Gillian Wearing – Me as a Ghost (2015)

Me as a Ghost by Gillian Wearing (2015) © The Artist

Apparently Wearing has ‘explored’ her identity with numerous self portraits playing with format and genre. The smoke is meant to be a reference to her place of birth, industrial Birmingham but made me think of a genii appearing from a lamp. The t short slogan, ‘HEAVY METAL’ is a reference to the disproportionate number of heavy metal rock bands who haled from Birmingham. The artist and curators may think of this as an experimental investigation of issues of identity and mortality, but it also looks very much like the cover of a certain kind of album depicting a rock chick fan of the band.

Clare Woods – Life with the Lions (2020)

Life with the Lions by Clare Woods (2020) © The Artist

Apparently this painting is based on a photograph of the artist’s cat climbing over her, something which just about makes sense once it’s pointed out but I didn’t guess beforehand. Maybe I have a morbid imagination but I read it as the image of someone’s fact (blonde hair, eyes and nose) horribly melting into a great white blancmange. As paintings of cats go, it’s not a classic, is it? Neither is the mood exactly typical of most cat lovers: Woods explains that the title is from the Billy Bragg song of the same name, which captures the feeling of being present but detached, ‘a feeling of suffocation by responsibilities and expectations.’ All this puts into words the very negative response I had to this image. The glutinous melting effect is achieved by mixing thick oil paint directly onto the aluminium surface of the base, which maybe accounts for the powerful feeling of being asphyxiated.

Personal tastes

Personally, I like the Wearing and Rego, in that order. Wearing because it’s a photo/image which looks like a rock poster, could be on a billboard or a poster on the tube i.e which is very assimilable, not least because it makes her look very attractive in a rock chick kind of way.

The Rego I like because I like charcoal sketches, particularly if they’re unfinished (hence my veneration of Degas). I also like the strong female vibe, the aura of strength and indomitability about it. The obvious feature is the dark eyes which are about twice the size of an ordinary adult’s eyes. Decades ago I read some pop science which pointed out that the eyes are proportionately larger in babies than in adults and that, therefore, we humans are programmed to feel soft and sentimental and attracted by large eyes i.e. in order to warm to, and protect, babies. Obvious evolutionary advantage.

This apparently explains why we feel warmly towards Disney cartoons, from Mickey through hundreds of cartoon characters to Nemo or Frozen – they all have disproportionately large eyes and trigger a soppy sentimental feeling; certainly disarms our adult cynicism. If anything, the Rego portrait inverts the convention, because she looks not soft but spooky – not threatening exactly, but lowering and damaged. And the stumpy muscular right arm gives the image a dwarfish, freakish atmosphere, too. Don’t Look Now.

Reynolds

There’s a twist in the tail. This miniature display takes up only part of The Collection Gallery, the narrow corridor-shaped space at the start of the gallery. At the end of this corridor you can see the start of a completely separate exhibition, which is a selection of highlights from the Royal Academy’s Old Master collection, grand mythological themes, Biblical paintings and Renaissance statues. But the first work in that, completely separate display, is a portrait of Sir Joshua Reynolds, founder and first President of the Royal Academy. So when you look away from the eight self-portraits I’ve just discussed, your eye passes over the lovely image of Reynolds at the end of the corridor.

Self-portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds (1770 to 1780) © Photo: Royal Academy of Arts, London

The point is, the Reynolds portrait is clearly head and shoulders (pun intended) better than the eight works in this little display. It has class and dignity and gravitas. It reminds me of the umpteen histories of art which try and put into words the revolution in visual technology which the development of oil painting during the Renaissance brought about; how artists used the new medium of oil to portray depth and scale of subject, with true perspective etc, but then went on, as the centuries progressed, to focus on the conjuring of light and shade, in particular of dark shadow, to convey psychological and spiritual depths unlike any art which had gone before (Leonardo, Rembrandt).

In this picture Reynolds is clearly channelling Rembrandt and the sophisticated Old Master tradition of strong contrasts of light and shade which came to be referred to as chiaroscuro. It has a human dignity and depth and sensitivity which none of the eight modern images come close to matching.


Related links

More Royal Academy reviews

A Brief Revolution @ the Photographers’ Gallery

The Architectural Review is a monthly international architectural magazine. It was founded in London in 1896 and does what its title suggests, covering all aspects of the built environment.

Manplan

Just over 50 years ago, in 8 issues from September 1969 to September 1970, the Review ran a series of eight specially commissioned reports on the state of architecture at the end of the 1960s. It was to review not just architecture in the narrow sense but the entire state of town planning, in an age when old Victorian slums were being torn down to make way for gleaming new towns made of high-rise towers, medium-rise blocks characterised by lifts and concrete walkways, subways under sweeping new ring roads, nicely laid-out grassed areas and so on.

The Review’s editors called the series of articles ‘Manplan’ and hired leading photojournalists and street photographers to address a set of eight themes, being:

  1. Frustration
  2. Travel and communication (‘Society is its contacts’)
  3. Town Workshop
  4. Education (‘The continuing community’)
  5. Religion
  6. Health and Welfare
  7. Local government
  8. Housing

The result was a series of brilliant photos shot on a 35mm camera in a spirit of photo-reportage – vivid and dramatic black-and-white works which captured a nation in the midst of great social, cultural and environmental change. To the horror of some of its contributors and readers, the magazine turned its back on large-format, heroic photography of buildings and their details, instead embracing a grainy, 35mm black-and-white reportage aesthetic, where people were as, if not more, important than the places. In the words of The Royal Institute of British Architects, publishers of the Architecture Review:

The aim was to propose an alternative and more holistic approach to urban planning, which would look at all basic human needs as a whole. The photographs illustrating the issues were created in the spirit of photo reportage and often featured people inhabiting the spaces studied by the survey, thereby shifting the focus from the architecture itself to the human element within the built environment.

So it was intended to be polemical stuff. The photographers were:

  • Ian Berry
  • Tony Ray-Jones
  • Tim Street-Porter
  • Patrick Ward

Altogether the Architectural Review published about 80 photographs. Just 16 are on display here, but every single one of them is a masterpiece; there’s no slack. Each one is a densely packed, highly charged vignette. This exhibition isn’t big but it is packed with social history, with memories and nostalgia for a time within the living memory of many but feeling evermore distant.

Design and layout

On a separate wall is a display of the actual copies of the magazine which the photo-essays appeared in, along with the words and designs of ‘Manplan’ editor Tim Rock and designers Michael Reid and Peter Baistow. This section goes into detail about how the photographs were processed, reproduced and printed (using ‘special matt black ink’) along with analysis of the layout and typography. All a bit over my head but interesting for students of design.

The photographs

Private terraced houses on the Old Kent Road opposite Camelot Street Estate, London by Tony Ray-Jones (1970) part of ‘Manplan 8: Housing’, in Architectural Review, September 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive / RIBA Collections

Housing at New Ash Green, Kent by Tony Ray-Jones (1970), part of ‘Manplan 8: Housing’, in Architectural Review, September 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive / RIBA Collections

Low-rise housing, Tavy Bridge, Thamesmead, Greenwich, London, 1970 by Tony Ray-Jones, part of ‘Manplan 8: Housing’, in Architectural Review, September 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive/RIBA Collections

Classroom windows in a school in Wales, 1969 by unknown photographer, part of ‘Manplan 4: The continuing community (education)’, in Architectural Review, January 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive / RIBA Collections

High-rise flats and multi-storey car park, Birmingham, 1970 by Peter Baistow, part of ‘Manplan 5: Religion’, in Architectural Review, March 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive / RIBA Collections

Chatsworth Street school and high-rise housing block overlooking the cleared site, Liverpool, 1969 by Tom Smith, part of ‘Manplan 4: The Continuing Community (education)’ in Architectural Review, January 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive / RIBA Collections

Salvation Army officers picnicking on the steps of the figure group Asia by J H Foley, Albert Memorial, Kensington Gardens, London, 1969 by Peter Baistow, part of ‘Manplan 5: Religion’, in Architectural Review, March 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive/RIBA Collections

Unidentified primary school, 1969 by unknown photographer, part of ‘Manplan 4: The continuing community (education)’, in Architectural Review, January 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive / RIBA Collections

Thamesmead film

To one side of the 16 framed photos on the wall, is a TV monitor showing a film from around the same time (in fact the year before the project, 1968). So far as I can tell it’s not directly connected with RIBA or the Manplan project except for the slender link that one of the 80 Manplan photos happens to cover the same subject as the film, namely the new estate being built at Thamesmead.  So it wasn’t directly related to the Manplan project but gives context to the kind of architectural and town planning thinking which was going on at the time of the Manplan project.

Directed by Jack Saward, this 25-minute public education film gives an overview of the history and construction of Thamesmead, a sort of new model suburb built down the River Thames from London on the site of the old Royal Arsenal, a site that extended over Plumstead Marshes and Erith Marshes.

Alas, to quote the introduction to the video on YouTube:

The ambition is commendable but it didn’t quite work in practise, with Thamesmead becoming a notoriously problematic estate and its architects perceived as exhibiting many of the faults of post-war planning, with communities being tinkered with from above like a real-life experiment. This is where utopia meets authoritarianism.

Hard to believe, but the planners that designed the place provided insufficient transport links with London, no way of crossing the Thames for 5 or 6 miles in either direction and – best of all – an almost complete lack of shopping facilities and banks. Lots of pretty little lakes but…nowhere to buy food. According to the label in the exhibition, the estate ‘was soon plagued by social problems caused by lack of facilities and public transport’.

The half-built estate won an unwanted fame when American film director Stanley Kubrick used parts of it as the setting for his notoriously violent 1971 movie, A Clockwork Orange, a vision of an alienated, dystopian society. Here’s the photo of it taken by the brilliant Tony Ray-Jones which provides a sort of coincidental link between the Manplan series and the film.

Thamesmead under construction, Greenwich, London, 1970 by Tony Ray-Jones in ‘Manplan 8: Housing’, Architectural Review, September 1970. Courtesy Architectural Press Archive / RIBA Collections

Which do you prefer? Which do you think is telling the truth, the film or the photo?

The Robert Elwall Photographs Collection

All the materials for the Manplan exhibition, photos and old copies of the AR magazine, come from the Robert Elwall Photographs Collection. This comprises around 1.5 million images from the earliest days of photography to the present day. The collection includes photographic archives of individual architects and practices, travel and topographic images from across the world, press photographs from major architectural journals, and large bodies of work by some of the best known architectural photographers of the 20th century. The collection includes prints, negatives, slides, transparencies, photographically illustrated books and digital files. It is itself part of the larger Royal Institute of British Architects collections.

Conclusion

Flicking through some of the text on the walls is a dispiriting experience. These 1970 writers were raging against the soulless design of modern cities, the daily struggle of commuting to work on overcrowded public transport, against air pollution, excess traffic and the destruction of the environment, against the dominance of the car over human-friendly spaces, against the dehumanising effects of modern technology, against social inequality and the lack of social housing, against the prioritising of profit over people.

It’s as if, 53 years later, nothing has changed except we all have smart phones to share our frustration about how things obstinately carry on being rubbish. The Manplan writers’ rage and frustration is captured by this, the last entry in the exhibition.

Double page spread from Manplan 1. ‘Frustration’

It’s a copy of the original magazine, open to a double page spread showing a traditional Pearly King and Queen standing in front of the typically sterile, barren waste ground surrounding a clutch of looming, threatening tower blocks. Up in the top right is a text reading: ‘The richness of East End life is replaced by monotony and inhumanity.’

Yep. that’s the world I grew up into and which punk rock, with its angry nihilism, was a direct response to. Eternal shame on England’s architects and town planners.


Related links

More Photographers’ Gallery reviews

Put Out More Flags by Evelyn Waugh (1942)

‘[A uniform] is the best possible disguise for a man of intelligence. No one ever suspects a soldier of taking a serious interest in the war.’
(Colonel Plum to Basil Seal in Put Out More Flags, page 150)

Background

In his preface to the 1966 edition, Waugh tells us Put Out More Flags was the only book he wrote for pleasure and it shows. It isn’t exactly a comic masterpiece like Decline and Fall or Scoop, it isn’t a scandalous portrait of a generation like Vile Bodies, it isn’t scarred by a devastatingly bleak conclusion like Black Mischief or A Handful of Dust. Instead it is suffused by a warm, deep sense of English patriotism, embodied in a surprisingly buoyant good humour, occasionally rising to real laugh-out-loud comedy.

Waugh wrote Put Out More Flags on a troopship back from Crete after the island fell to the Nazis in 1941. He had been serving in the army for two years (experiences which would be transmuted into the wonderful Sword of Honour trilogy). Now, as the ship sailed slowly around the entire coast of Africa, he had time on his hands, so he took advantage of the enforced idleness and wrote all day every day,  completing the first draft in just a month.

Subject

The narrative covers the period of the Phoney War or what some humourists called the Bore War, between Britain’s declaration of war on Nazi Germany on 3 September 1939 and the sudden German attack on France in June 1940, a long nine months during which we were technically at war but there was no direct attack on Britain. The narrative is divided into four simply named sections, Autumn, Winter, Spring, with a brief epilogue, Summer.

The return of Basil Seal

In part, Waugh wanted to find out what had happened to the characters he’d created in his previous novels. As Waugh himself puts it:

The characters about whom I had written in the previous decade came to life for me. I was anxious to know how they had been doing since I last heard of them, and I followed them with no preconceived plan, not knowing where I should find them from one page to the next.

The narrative opens with Basil Seal, the dashing scapegrace who was at the centre of Black Mischief, because Waugh obviously realised he could use Basil as an entry point to different aspects of English life.

1. Thus we hear for the first time about Basil’s extended family and in particular his sister, Barbara Sothill, who lives at a classic Waugh country house, Malfrey, beside a lovely village in a lovely part of the Midlands, somewhere. This allows Waugh to do lovely descriptions of the countryside and repeat the rather sentimentalised vision of the English country squire he had deployed in A Handful of Dust.

But the house now wears a mournful aspect: Barbara’s servants have mostly gone off to work in factories, and her husband, Freddy, has rejoined his reserve regiment. To her own surprise, Barbara has  become the billeting officer for her district, that’s to say she has responsibility for finding accommodation for evacuees from the nearest city (Birmingham) among the local villages. This is played for laughs as Barbara, previously a welcome sight to friends and neighbours, now becomes a scourge, the arrival of her car in the drive now the prelude to requests to the tremendous inconvenience of putting up ghastly working class families or children.

2. Basil’s mistress is Angela Lyne. In what develops into an interesting and moving storyline, we watch Angela hurry back from the South of France immediately after war is declared, back to a service flat in Mayfair and then… then something happens. She holes up in her bedroom and becomes addicted to listening to the news on the radio and… takes to drinking, takes to asking her maid for a drink early in the morning and then… takes to wearing dark glasses, at home, during the day, even with the curtains drawn. It’s a really interesting portrait of someone badly undermined by the declaration of war, someone thrown off their game, made ill by uncontrolled thoughts.

Insofar as Angela was once a luminary of London high society she is also a kind of entrée into that world, occasionally leaving her seclusion to attend a party given by the egregious Lady Metroland, no matter how peripherally, in every Waugh novel since Decline and Fall.

Also, Angela has a husband, Cedric Lyne. They’re in their later thirties now and it is very sympathetically handled, the way Cedric was initially upset when his wife began an affair with Basil, thinking it would all blow over, accepted it was going to last a bit longer, and only slowly realised Basil was in the fact the love of her life. They remain married because, well, the fuss my dear, of getting divorced. So disruptive. More importantly, being a ‘divorced woman’ would close society doors to her, and being in society is her life, and so she persuades Cedric not to divorce her but to continue living on at the family place in the country where he has poured the energy which should have gone into being the head of a happy family into, instead, collecting, importing and installing grottos from around southern Europe.

3. Thirdly there is Basil’s mother, the rather formidable Lady Seal, on first name terms with the Prime Minister, a type of the grand old lady of London society, who is endlessly fussing and fretting about her errant son.

Sir Joseph Mainwaring

Sir Joseph is a minor character who provides great amusement. He is an old friend of Basil’s mother. He enjoys her company but dreads the conversations they have to have about her scapegrace son’s future. As soon as war is declared Lady Seal conceives the ambition to get Basil into ‘a good regiment’. For people like her the war isn’t so much a thing to be fought and lost – or their assumption is simply that England, being in the right, will win – it is about having the right sort of war.

Thus she persuades a very reluctant Sir Joseph to invite Basil for lunch at his gentlemen’s club, the Travellers, with the aim of introducing him to the Lieutenant-Colonel of a (fictional) regiment, ‘the Bombardiers’ who, as Waugh goes on to say with typical bitchiness, is ‘-an officer whom Sir Joseph wrongly believed to have a liking for him’.

Basil’s luncheons at the Travellers’ with Sir Joseph Mainwaring had for years formed a series of monuments in his downward path. There had been the luncheons of his four major debt settlements, the luncheon of his political candidature, the luncheons of his two respectable professions, the luncheon of the threatened divorce of Angela Lyne, the Luncheon of the Stolen Emeralds, the Luncheon of the Knuckledusters, the Luncheon of Freddy’s Last Cheque – each would provide both theme and title for a work of popular fiction.

The lunch with the Lieutenant-Colonel is a predictable and amusing disaster, Basil turning up unshaven and unkempt, and making a disastrous impression. He follows this up with a visit to the L-C in his office which goes even worse, with the old boy almost choking with fury at Basil taking for granted that he will be quickly promoted and able to leave the boring old Bombardiers behind. He barely escapes the old boy’s office without a serious shouting-at.

So much for Sir Joseph. After this abortive attempt to help Basil, he settles down to become a bit character, pompous possessor of ‘a peppercorn lightness of soul, a deep unimpressionable frivolity’, occasionally wheeled on to give opinions and predictions about the war which are consistently and hilariously wide of the mark.

A theory of gossip

A word about gossip. Waugh loved gossip. If his novels weren’t enough of an indication, we have Waugh’s extensive letters and diaries which show what a tremendous party animal, socialiser, snob and social climber he was. From private school through Oxford and on into London’s society and literary circles, it was very important to Waugh to cultivate friends in the right places, be au courant with the young party set, and hobnob with the finest titles he could manage.

So far, so biographical. The point I want to make is the distinctive effect this has on his fiction. This is that no matter what happens to the main characters, Waugh always shows us its impact on ‘society’, on other people gossiping and commenting about them. There are always two levels: the level of the main events happening to the central protagonists; and then a fog of rumour and gossip about them.

In A Handful of Dust an entire extra layer is added to the narrative by the way Waugh describes not only the central tragedy of the accidental death of little John Andrew, but the way every step of Tony Last’s response is reported, repeated, commented on and analysed by outsiders, people not directly connected, people in London’s endless parties who get the facts wrong, twist the facts, and end up making Tony the bad guy in his divorce with Brenda in which, as we the readers see and know, he is utterly innocent.

Although the word ‘gossip’ sounds trivial, I think the way Waugh deploys it in most of his novels reflects a profound truth about human life. Gossip is, in fact, how most of us are perceived in society – not as the brave, clever, hard-working people we think ourselves to be, but as other people see us: the cranky one who’s always getting into arguments, the boring one who always sits in the corner, the scruffy one who always arrives late, who got drunk and did something embarrassing at the Christmas party, and so on.

Most of us live our lives very much for-ourselves and only occasionally overhear what other people really think about us. And when it happens, it is without exception profoundly disturbing to overhear friends or work colleagues everso casually dismissing you, reducing you to a few crude strokes of caricature, to the punchline to a few unrepresentative anecdotes. ‘But I’m more than that,’ you want to protest, ‘I am all these wonderful feelings and perceptions and thoughts and intuitions!’ Not to other people, you aren’t. To other people you’re the one who’s rubbish at telling jokes, gets drunk and argumentative at parties, and broke the office photocopier. A ridiculous caricature.

Lots of people rattle off John Donne’s quote about ‘No man is an island’, but it would be far more accurate to say no person can escape the comments, jokes, criticism, and behind-their-back sniggering of family, friends and work colleagues. No one.

Waugh’s fiction brilliantly conveys this sense that, despite our fondest illusions, we may like to think of ourselves as people-for-ourselves but can never escape mostly being people-for-others. The mistreatment of Tony Last in Handful of Dust, the way his behaviour is misrepresented and traduced by everyone else in the story, even his own servants, is probably the epitome of this vision of humans trapped in a web of other people’s commentary, but it is present in all Waugh’s novels – the notion that all human lives are lived on two levels: first, the actual events themselves and the feelings and motivations of the main actors; and then the limitless way all these fine feelings and high motivations are eclipsed by the superficial rush to judgement of hundreds of strangers who don’t the know the first thing about you but gleefully repeat the most malicious distortions of what you said or did.

Most of the time Waugh plays it for laughs but sometimes to bring out the intense bitterness his characters feel at society’s misunderstanding and judging them (as in Handful of Dust). That’s one it its strengths, as an approach to fiction, this deployment of ‘society’ as a kind of permanent chorus on the action, is that it can be either comic or tragic, as required. But it is always there. Not the fashionable ‘Other’ of sociology and literary theory, much worse: the others, the potentially endless ranks of people who don’t give a toss about you or, if they think about you at all, it’s as a monster, a bully, an oaf, or a fat figure of fun.

In the deftness with which he captures this often overlooked aspect of society, I think Waugh is more profoundly realistic than many more supposedly ‘serious’ novelists.

In this book this aspect of society is epitomised by the incident of Angela at the cinema. As mentioned above, the once supremely confident and renowned Mrs Angela Lyne undergoes a sort of breakdown, taking to her bed, obsessively listening to the radio news and drinking. Her only escape is now and then to totter down the road to the pictures.

One of the recurring characters, Peter Pastmaster, son of Lady Metroland, has a) joined the army b) decided he ought to get married so, in a comically frivolous way, is dating three of the most eligible young heiresses in London. One evening he’s taking one of them, Molly Meadowes, to the pictures and they come across Angela making a fuss because she can’t get the kind of ticket she wants, down at the front. As Peter and Molly push through the queue to get to her, Angela trips and sits down with a bump and the commissionaires are starting to make a fuss. So they pick her up, call a cab, and take her back to her flat, leaving her in the hands of her maid, Grainger.

And then – and this is the point in mentioning it – Waugh shows us how this fairly simple event gets quickly blown up by society gossip into a legend about a roaring drunk Angela getting into a fight with the commissionaire and cabby before being rescued by Peter. Nothing goes ungossiped about. Nobody can escape their life being pawed and prodded and simplified and ridiculed.

(There’s also something profoundly psychologically true in the way that the little escapade of helping drunk Mrs Lyne back to her flat brings Molly and Peter together. Molly thinks it’s sweet the way naive Peter doesn’t even realise Angela is drunk. And she is touched by his genuine chivalry and concern. And so she decides to marry him, a fact Peter proudly announces to his mother, Lady Metroland, later the same evening.)

Left wing intellectuals

So the book reintroduces us to a number of recurring characters from the previous novels, but there are also some new developments. One is a departure for Waugh, a comic description of left-wing bohemians. This is the social set revolving around the fiery painter Poppet Green. A bit like in Vile Bodies Waugh establishes the speech patterns or the recurring topics of conversation in Poppet’s circle so that he can drop snippets of their conversation into larger chapters; so he can cut away to brief dialogue between Poppet and comrades for a quick page before cutting away to something else, having established their tell-tale topics of conversation.

We generally know we’re in that milieu because Poppet and all her friends talk endlessly about communism, and the proletariat, and Russia, are very quick to throw the accusation of ‘fascist’ about (how nothing changes in the ‘progressive’ mind) but above all, how they obsess about the two noted communist poets and best friends, Parsnip and Pimpernell. This pair and their fierce and urgent poetry are seen as the ne plus ultra of the proletarian pose in the arts, literature, specifically poetry.

It helps if you know that Parsnip and Pimpernell are Waugh’s (very effective) comic nicknames for the poet W.H. Auden and his best friend, the playwright Christopher Isherwood. For the entire decade of the 1930s Auden’s thrillingly modern poetry had dominated the world of literature, capturing everything, describing everything, making all political issues more burning and urgent with his brilliantly modern tone of voice and imagery of factories and cars and planes and skyscrapers.

However, just as his reputation was at its height, and just as the political world they had described so well finally reached the crisis they had predicted for so long, with the outbreak of war against international fascism…that’s the moment when Auden and Isherwood, in real life, decided to leave England and emigrate to America (in January 1939). And so, in this fictionalised caricature of events, the great debate which rages among Poppet Green and her friends, is whether Parsnip and Pimpernell were right to abandon their country in its time of need… or did they do the right thing, by staying loyal to their muses and their ART?

The name of the poet Parsnip, casually mentioned, reopened the great Parsnip-Pimpernell controversy which was torturing Poppet Green and her friends. It was a problem which, not unlike the Schleswig-Holstein question of the preceding century, seemed to admit of no logical solution for, in simple terms, the postulates were self-contradictory. Parsnip and Pimpernell, as friends and collaborators, were inseparable; on that all agreed. But Parsnip’s art flourished best in England, even an embattled England, while Pimpernell’s needed the peaceful and fecund soil of the United States. The complementary qualities which, many believed, made them together equal to one poet, now threatened the dissolution of partnership.

In the five novels and four travel books up to this point, Waugh had shown himself a master of depicting the English upper classes partying in Mayfair or at home in their delightful country houses. Describing the rougher, avowedly left-wing and ‘radical’ world of bohemia and the arts is a notable departure of milieu but one he brings off very well. Poppet and her creatures’ endless internecine bickering over ideology and the ‘correct’ line to take is very funny in itself and shows the reader just how little changes in the harshly judgemental and accusatory progressive mindset.

Ambrose Silk

A doyen, a leading figure in this world, although older than many of the others and not as politically engaged as the young firebrands, is the gay, Jewish aesthete Ambrose Silk. The novel contains a number of new characters, but Silk is the one, standout, major new character. He is a great creation and joins Basil as the other major protagonist of the story.

For Ambrose has depths. He is unhappy. He feels like a man out of time. He is an aesthete. He should have been born in the age of Oscar (Wilde) and Aubrey (Beardsley). He goes along with the fashionable political chatter of Poppet Green and her salon of fashionable communists, but feels alienated from them.

But then, he feels alienated from everyone. When he finds himself in the kind of fashionable society party he feels just as ill at ease. He gets a comedy job at the Ministry of Information, in the religious department of all places, and, as an atheist Jew, feels out of place among his caricature Catholic, Anglican and nonconformist colleagues.

And Ambrose is clinically paranoid, a prey to fluttery ‘persecution mania’ (p.174). Just as Waugh shows us Sir Joseph Mainwaring on a number of social occasions making wildly inaccurate predictions about international affairs (for example, that Italy is biding its time before allying with Britain and France), so Waugh shows us a series of scenes in which Ambrose anxiously asks the people he’s with whether they think that, if the Nazis win and invade Britain, they’ll come for Jews like him? And ‘communists’ like him? And intellectuals like him? And homosexuals like him?

On all these occasions Waugh goes deep into Ambrose’s thoughts, giving us almost stream of consciousness depictions of his anxiety and alienation, something he rarely does. Most of his characters just act and talk and we see them only from outside. This dwelling on Ambrose’s inner world is most unusual. It sounds like this:

The party left the restaurant and stood in an untidy group on the pavement, unable to make up their minds who was going with whom, in what direction, for what purpose. Ambrose bade them good-bye and hurried away, with his absurd, light step and his heavy heart. Two soldiers outside a public-house made rude noises as he passed. ‘I’ll tell your sergeant-major of you,’ he said gaily, almost gallantly, and flounced down the street. I should like to be one of them, he thought. I should like to go with them and drink beer and make rude noises at passing aesthetes. What does world revolution hold in store for me? Will it make me any nearer them? Shall I walk differently, speak differently, be less bored with Poppet Green and her friends? Here is the war, offering a new deal for everyone; I alone bear the weight of my singularity.

Ambrose’s magazine

Out of this swirl of emotions and worries, Ambrose conceives the idea of publishing a literary magazine. But isn’t this the worst possible timing, people ask, just as a war is breaking out? No darling, Ambrose explains, it is exactly the right time for a magazine which will preserve all that is best in our civilisation. So he persuades the niche and not very successful publishers of his previous books to back him, being Rampole and Bentley. His magazine will breathe the same rarefied atmosphere as the famous Yellow Book and will be called the Ivory Tower.

There is comedy in the way, over the next few weeks, it becomes clear that almost all the articles in the magazine will be written by Basil himself. His publisher says this will spark criticism, he needs to think up some noms de plums to give the sense of a variety of contributors and so he comes up with some ludicrous names:

Ambrose rather let himself go on names. ‘Hucklebury Squib’, ‘Bartholomew Grass’, ‘Tom Barebones-Abraham’.

Above all, Basil realises the magazine will give him an outlet to express his great, romantic (homosexual) love for a good-looking German boy he met and had an affair with only last year, a youth named Hans. He quickly pens a 50-page hymn to the young man’s virility and good looks and vitality. Tragically, although Hans was a keen member of the Nazi Brownshirts, when it was discovered that he was (like Ambrose) Jewish he was swiftly arrest, disgraced and taken away to a concentration camp,  while Ambrose was forced to flee Germany in fear of his life (shades of Christopher Isherwood’s Berlin memoirs).

The memoir will, Ambrose breathlessly tells his friends, be titled ‘Monument to a Spartan’ and he shows his friend Basil a copy.

Basil’s scams

Back to Basil for a moment. In the winter section, having signally failed to join the army he goes to Malfrey to stay with his sister. She’s grateful for the company and they soon fall back into the nicknames and games rough and tumble they shared as small children.

The Connollys

Basil gets involved with his sister’s role as evacuating officer and soon discovers there is one particular set of orphaned kids from Birmingham who no-one will touch, the Connolly children:

There was Doris, ripely pubescent, aged by her own varied accounts anything from ten years to eighteen. An early and ingenious attempt to have her certified as an adult was frustrated by an inspecting doctor who put her at about fifteen. Doris had dark, black bobbed hair, a large mouth and dark pig’s eyes. There was something of the Esquimaux about her head, but her colouring was ruddy and her manner more vivacious than is common among that respectable race. Her figure was stocky, her bust prodigious, and her gait, derived from the cinematograph, was designed to be alluring.

Micky, her junior by the length of a rather stiff sentence for house-breaking, was of lighter build; a scrawny, scowling little boy; a child of few words and those, for the most part, foul.

Marlene was presumed to be a year younger. But for Micky’s violent denials she might have been taken for his twin. She was the offspring of unusually prolonged coincident periods of liberty in the lives of her parents which the sociologist must deplore, for Marlene was simple. An appeal to have her certified imbecile was disallowed by the same inspecting doctor, who expressed an opinion that country life might work wonders with the child.

There the three had stood, on the eve of the war, in Malfrey Parish Hall, one leering, one lowering, and one drooling, as unprepossessing a family as could be found in the kingdom.

It should be added that Marlene pees and poos everywhere, indiscriminately. Well, to cut a long story short, after some attempts at trying to park these delinquents with decent folk, Basil has a brainwave. Potential hosts take against them so quickly and totally that one of them offers him money to take them back. Bingo! He realises they are a money-making proposition. And so Basil gets hold of Barbara’s address book and embarks on a campaign of parking the revolting children with the sweetest, nicest, kindest people he can find – almost all of whom ring up within a few days, sometimes a few hours, begging to have them taken off their hands. How much? asks Basil, and start to turn a tidy profit.

What makes it that much more realistic and funny is that flirtatious Doris takes a massive shine to Basil and wants to follow him everywhere and be with him all the time. Basil is a rascal and they soon come to an understanding, namely he is nice to Doris provided she controls her horrible siblings and then obeys orders to play up the second he’s left them with an innocent family.

Meanwhile, as a kind of side order, Basil comes across a nubile recently married young woman whose husband has gone off to join his regiment, is all sad and lonely and so… being the charmer he is, starts an affair with her.

The Ministry of Information and the Ambrose scam

From time to time he travels up to London and hangs around the Ministry of Information, located in Senate House, Bloomsbury (where George Orwell worked, where John Wyndham worked, where half London’s unemployed writers hung around hoping to get a gig, and where Ambrose Silk incongruously gets a job in the Religious Department).

A fluent liar he bluffs his way past security telling them he works for (the non-existent) M.I.13. Utterly at random he is distracted by a very good-looking young woman and follows her down corridors and into the office of one Colonel Plum. He resolves to get a job here, purely and solely to see if he can seduce Susie the sexy secretary, but to do so he finds himself having an impromptu interview with the Colonel in charge of this little unit.

In this absurd interview, Colonel Plum makes it clear he needs to track down and, ideally arrest, enemies of the state. Basil reflects on Poppet Green and her circle of left-wing bohemians, and quickly ad libs:

‘I know some very dangerous communists,’ said Basil.
‘I wonder if they’re on our files. We’ll look in a minute. We aren’t doing much about communists at the moment. The politicians are shy of them for some reason. But we keep an eye on them, on the side, of course. I can’t pay you much for communists.’

What the colonel can pay for is fascists, does Basil know any fascists, he’ll make him a captain in the Marines if he can hand over some fascists? Basil thinks again and has a characteristic brainwave. Ambrose and his essay about beautiful German youth, Hans, a member of the Hitler Youth! Basil tells the colonel he may be onto something, he’ll report back in a few days.

Basil goes his ways, which involve dropping into the office of the Ivory Tower. There are some proofs of the first edition lying around and also a passport, from an Irish priest of all things, a Father Flanagan, S.J., Professor of Dublin University. He wants to visit the Maginot Line in his capacity of correspondent for some Catholic paper and, in the usual chaotic way of the ministry, his application along with his passport have found their way to the religious department of the Ministry of Information, where Ambrose pretends to work. On a whim, Basil nicks it, like he steals so many other random bits and bobs, never knowing when they’ll come in handy or he can flog them for a little cash in hand.

Anyway, he rifles through the proofs and rereads Ambroise’s stirring essay about Hans again. When Ambrose returns to the office, Basil tells him it’s a masterpiece, except for the ending, the bit where the hero is dragged off kicking and screaming to a Nazi concentration camp. Reads like pure propaganda, Basil says, the worst kind of yellow press melodrama, ruins the artistic integrity of the whole.

Ambrose, permanently nervous and paranoid, takes Basil at his word and cuts the final pages of his memoir thus, unintentionally, converting it into a hymn to Nazi youth. A few days later, once it’s printed, Basil triumphantly re-enters Colonel Plum’s office and throws on his desk a copy of Ivory Tower open at the Nazi essay.

The Colonel is delighted, all the more so since the magazine is so obviously a hotbed of Nazi sympathisers, this Hucklebury Squib, Bartholomew Grass and Tom Barebones-Abraham, yes he’s going to arrest the lot of them!

Only as he overhears the Colonel phoning up the police and Special Branch to plan a dawn raid on the magazine’s offices does it dawn on Basil, for the first time, that he might have overdone it a little. It is worth remembering that Basil is prepared to betray one of his closest ‘friends’ and a number of other utterly innocent people (the publishers Rampole and Bentley) purely so that he can get the promised job of captain in Marines and maybe sleep with Susie, ideally both. Basil is charming, funny, and utterly amoral which sounds funny but boils down to the fact that he is a scumbag.

Waugh milks the unfolding disaster for all the comedy he can. Officials interview Mr Bentley, the younger of the two publishers and, seeing the way the land lies, he agrees to co-operate fully and, in a funny scene, proceeds to give detailed descriptions of the magazine’s other contributors, Hucklebury Squib, Bartholomew Grass and Tom Barebones-Abraham, people we know to be utterly fictional but the cops don’t.

In a comic scene written in a deliberately arch knowing style, Waugh describes the arrest of the older partner in the publishing firm, Mr Rampole, his bewilderment at the accusations, his trial, conviction and sending to prison, Brixton Prison to be precise, up the road from me as I write, where, with typically Waughian whimsy, he turns out to be quite comfortable, discovers a taste for reading light literature and gains face, especially with the prison padre, from personally knowing several of the authors. ‘He was happier than he could remember ever having been.’ Waugh likes throwing his characters in prison; remember how half the cast of Decline and Fall end up in chokey and the way Paul Pennyfeather, also, rather enjoys its solitude, the lack of distractions, the luxury of reading all day long. Waugh’s vision of prison makes it sound like a cross between a monastery and a rarefied college library.

So what about Ambrose Silk, the man Basil has told Colonel Plum is at the centre of this dangerous Nazi conspiracy? Basil doesn’t let him be arrested like the publishers but has another brainwave / elaborate scam up his sleeve.

Remember the passport of the Irish priest he pinched in Ambrose’s office? Turns out to be a vital prop or peg for the plot because. For late the night of the arrests Basil bursts into Ambrose’s flat and tells the half-awake wretch that the authorities are coming to arrest him (Ambrose doesn’t need much persuading and doesn’t put up any resistance because, as has been amply emphasised throughout the book, he is a quivering jelly of paranoid fear that ‘they’ are out to get him). Basil persuades him his best course of action is to flee to Ireland in the guise of this Jesuit priest, Father Flanagan and he has brought along ‘a clerical collar, a black clerical vest ornamented with a double line of jet buttons, and an Irish passport’. He hustles Ambrose out of his flat, down the stairs and they are at Euston station waiting for the train to Holyhead in 15 minutes.

‘But what about my flat and my things?’ wails Ambrose at which point Basil has another, simple brainwave. ‘I’ll move in,’ he tells Ambrose,’ and look after everything for you.’ ‘Oh you are so kind,’ smiles Ambrose, in a moment which exemplifies Waugh’s technique of comic and malicious irony. So Ambrose keeps his hat pulled low over his head and tells the rosary beads Basil has provided and catches the train to Holyhead and the ferry to Ireland and then travels as far west as he can in order to escape the pursuing ‘authorities’ In the event he finds a room in a remote village on the west coast, settles in with his minimal belongings and finally finds himself with the peace and time on his hands to write the Great Book he’s been meditating for so long. He, also, rather like Rampole, has found an unexpected peace amid the beautiful Irish scenery.

And thus Basil takes over Ambrose’s luxurious flat which is a far more fitting scene for his seduction of Susie, which proceeds like a dream, especially after he wangles her a promotion at the Ministry, and soon she has moved in with him, the latest in a long line of conquests. In a typical detail which is both funny and heartless, Basil sets Susie to work with needle and silk and embroidery scissors, unpicking the As from the monograms on Ambrose’s crêpe-de-chine underclothes and substituting in their place a letter B for Basil.

Schoolboy japes

The book’s two highpoints are Basil’s scams, the Connolly scam in part one, and the Ambrose scam at the end of part three. From my descriptions you can see how both are really schoolboy japes, species of practical joke. they rank up there with the premise of Scoop, i.e the mistaken identity of William Boot, or the practical joke which launches his entire novel-writing career, the debagging and dunking in a college fountain of Paul Pennyfeather, for which it is Pennyfeather and not the hooligans who assaulted him who are punished. Waugh’s world is one where innocence is always abused and honour is traduced (as poor Tony Last is traduced in Handful of Dust). Clever people play practical jokes on dim people, and Fate plays practical jokes on everyone.

The war

Oh, the Second World War, that one? Well there is comedy or satire in the way that almost all the characters think about the Second World War as an opportunity and worry about whether they will have ‘a good war.’ (An example of a ‘good war’ is that of Rex Mottram, summarised in Brideshead Revisited: ‘His life, so far as he made it known, began in the war, where he had got a good M.C. serving with the Canadians and had ended as A.D.C. to a popular general’. That’s the way to do it: win a medal and get promoted.)

In a brisk, business-like way the older characters remembers friends or brothers or cousins who did damn well in the First War and worry about getting themselves or their sons into the new one as quickly as possible, but only in a ‘good’ regiment, of course, old boy.

Hence Basil’s half-hearted attempts to wangle a commission in the Bombardiers, and the more effective efforts of younger characters lie Peter Pastmaster and Alastair Trumpington to join ‘special forces’.

Sad Angela is visited in her London flat be her sad husband, Cedric, bringing their little boy Nigel.  He’s been allowed out of boarding school to come and see his Daddy. Daddy takes him shopping and buys him a model bomber which the other chaps at his school will think ‘absolutely ripping’. It is a sad interview between two utterly estranged people.

We then follow Cedric as he rejoins his regiment and is dispatched on the ill-equipped and ill-organised British expedition to Norway, which had been invaded by the Germans in April 1940. The narrative gives two extended passages describing Cedric’s experiences: first in the chaotic night-time loading of ships in British port, in which Cedric struggles against a welter of contradictory orders and timings (i.e. symbolic of the generally shambolic nature of the British campaign); and then a very long passage  right at the end of the book describing actual fighting in Norway, where Cedric is ordered to liaise between British units which have become split up by the German advance.

This scene is not remotely funny, but a kind of quintessence of Waugh’s bitter sense of futility. Two things are notable: in terms of content Cedric is dispatched to run across open ground to find A company and tell them to withdraw in the face of the German advance. Waugh is careful to tell us the A company have, in fact, already realised this and packed up and withdrawn; which is to say that Cedric’s brave run across country to their last know position is absolutely unnecessary. Second thing is that, in a very Waugh kind of way, his brave run through a hail of bullets is not described in itself, but through the dialogue of the Colonel and adjutant who watch him through binoculars i.e. the event is commentated on, viewed from a distance, detached, bleakly distant, alienated.

And then Cedric takes a bullet through the head and dies instantly.

Epilogue: tying up loose ends

At which point the narrative cuts away, as so many Waugh narratives cut, exit, leaving a scene briskly and brutally, the more devastating the event, the more brutal the cut.

The last short section is titled Epilogue: Summer. Waugh conveys the calamitous fall of France in June 1940 through the idiotic eyes of Sir Joseph Mainwaring, a useless fuddy-duddy from the old times. The Chamberlain government falls on a vote of confidence and is replaced by the government of national unity led by Churchill (10 May).

I haven’t mentioned at all two second string characters who recur throughout the novel, Alistair and Sonia Trumpington. You might remember Basil finding himself round this couple’s apartment at the start and end of Black Mischief. Here they are revived to form a comic commentary on the main action, with the comic conceit that, after Alistair has joined his regiment, Sonia ups sticks and follows him round the country as he is regularly posted, as soldiers are, to barracks all round the UK. Here, in the final paragraphs his regiment comes to rest on the south coast, tasked with coastal defence, mining the beaches, setting up rolls of barbed wire and machine gun emplacements. And in the evenings, when he has liberty, Alistair spends a few fleeting hours with his loving Sonia who is now pregnant. Ominous times to become pregnant.

But Alistair shares his boyish excitement that Peter Pastmaster and some of the other chaps are setting up new, small, mobile units to be called ‘commandos’. They carry knives and knuckledusters and rope-souled silent shoes and are parachuted behind enemy lines to assassinate VIPs and cause mayhem. He is everso excited!

Basil marries the newly widowed Angela. The jaded, sophistiqué tone of their conversation reprises all those dialogues from Vile Bodies a decade earlier.

‘I shall be a terrible husband.’
‘Yes, darling, don’t I know it.’

Brief mention of Ambrose, holed up in a tiny village on the far west coast of Ireland. It is not enough. He feels the urge to wander in his Jewish soul. Maybe Waugh is setting him up to reappear in a sequel.

We see Rampole in his prison cell, ‘happier than he could remember ever having been.’

Peter Pastmaster is at Bratt’s (Waugh’s ubiquitous fictional gentleman’s club) drawing up a list of officers to join his new unit. They include Basil, ‘a tough nut’.

Cut back to Basil telling Angela he’s going to join a new unit. It will be a lovely new ‘racket’ for the spring. Pulling the wool over old Colonel Plum’s eyes at the Ministry of Information was fun at the time, but:

‘Besides, you know, that racket was all very well in the winter, when there wasn’t any real war. It won’t do now. There’s only one serious occupation for a chap now, that’s killing Germans. I have an idea I shall rather enjoy it.’

The final word is given to Lady Seal, lunching with Sir Joseph. When she mentions Basil’s name his heart, as always sinks. Only this time it is not to beg yet another favour; it is to inform him that Basil has joined a new unit, all by himself, under his own steam. For once Sir Joseph smiles with genuine happiness. For once he says something unarguably true:

‘There’s a new spirit abroad,’ he said. ‘I see it on every side.’

So despite a hundred pages satirising, mocking and ridiculing the English social and military establishment, the novel ends on a resoundingly, if somewhat unexpectedly, patriotic note.

Summary

In Waugh’s oeuvre, it’s easy to overlook Putting Out More Flags because it doesn’t have the defined central protagonist and unified action of most of the other novels. But it does contain some of the best comic scenes in all the pre-war books and in the figure of Basil Seal his most monstrous trickster.  Alongside other more interesting themes, namely the semi-serious, paranoid self-pity of Ambrose Silk and the darker story of Angela Lyne’s strange descent into drunken loneliness, themes which give it a deeper, richer flavour.

If someone who’d never read him asked you to recommend a Waugh novel, I think I’d recommend this or Scoop, probably Scoop because it is more timeless in its satire on the press in general and foreign correspondents in particular, but Put Out More Flags runs it a close second for ripe comedy laced with evocative period observations, for the standout characters of Basil the Rascal and Ambrose the Sensitive Victim, but also for that thread of despair and futility which is always glinting at the edge of any Waugh story.


Credit

Put Out More Flags by Evelyn Waugh was published by Chapman and Hall in 1938. All references are to the 1983 Penguin paperback edition.

Related link

Evelyn Waugh reviews

‘We must return to the Present,’ Ambrose said prophetically.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Bentley. ‘Why?’

Austerity Britain: A World to Build 1945–48 by David Kynaston (2007)

David Kynaston (b.1951) has written about 16 history books on broadly three topics: cricket, the City of London, and Britain after the Second World War. His post-war histories (to date; the plan is to take them up to 1979) have been published as three volumes, each of which – rather confusingly – contains two ‘books’:

Should one review the portmanteau volume – Austerity Britain (692 pages long in its current Bloomsbury paperback edition) – or the two ‘books’ it contains? I’ve chosen the latter option, because each of the ‘books’ is so dense and packed with information that they require separate posts.

Approach

What makes the books so delightful and addictive is that they are an oral history. Rather than the stats and graphs of an economic history, or the acts and votes of a political history, or the treaties and negotiations of a diplomatic history, Kynaston’s account quotes at length from diaries, letters, journals and accounts kept by the widest range of people alive during the period, as they react to events large and small, national, international and parochial.

Fairly regularly he stops to consider this or that ‘issue’ – rationing, nationalisation, town planning – in what you might call the traditional historical way, describing key publications or speeches in that area. But then he swiftly returns to the more gossipy main stream of his approach, to quote housewives, workers, local officials.

The result is to be led through the key events and debates of the period, but to see it overwhelmingly in human terms, in the words of the people who shed and led debate but also the reactions of the ordinary man and woman in the street.

Some of the voices

The Famous

  • Neil Kinnock, future leader of the Labour Party, aged 3 when the war ends in 1945
  • Patrick Stewart, 5, moved along by a policeman for singing outside a polling booth in 1945
  • Bill Wyman, bassist with the Rolling Stones, starts grammar school, 8
  • Glenda Jackson, aged 9 when the war ends, starts grammar school in 1947
  • Alan Bennett, 11, spent VE Day in Guildford
  • Kenneth Tynan, drama critic to be, now Birmingham schoolboy, 18
  • Humphrey Lyttleton, 24
  • ultra-royalist James Lees-Milne, diarist, architectural historian, worked for the National Trust, 36
  • Cyril Connolly, editor of Horizon literary magazine, 41
  • Noel Coward, playwright, aged 45
  • J.B. Priestley, novelist and radio broadcaster, 50
  • J.R.R. Tolkien, 53, commenting on the insanity of the atom bomb
  • Harold Nicholson, British diplomat, author, diarist and politician, 58
  • Violet Bonham Carter, Baroness Asquith of Yarnbury, politician and diarist, 58

There are hundreds more but this gives a flavour. Kinnock is quoted as remembering the prefab house his parents moved into. Bill Wyman remembers how going to grammar school in 1947 cut him off from his working class roots, though the boys at his new school teased him for being poor. Lees-Milne is very posh and quoted liberally throughout with his generally negative reactions to the Labour government.

Connolly, as a magazine editor and essayist, wrote reams of material, but Kynaston quotes him, fascinatingly, commenting on the way the great wall of left-wing / communist solidarity among artists, writers, poets and so on during the 1930s simply evaporated after the war and had quite disappeared by 1947. The problem was that they finally had a ‘socialist’ government and there wasn’t a man or woman in ‘the movement’ who wasn’t bitterly disappointed at the reality (p.235). The same sentiment is expressed by George Orwell, who in his long essay, The Lion and the Unicorn (1942), wrote confidently about the general public’s swing to the Left and the notion of central planning but, by 1946, had become disillusioned (pp.45, 173).

All this was exacerbated by the Berlin Airlift, the coup in Czechoslovakia, and the general start of the Cold War. I hadn’t realised that this led to actual legislation banning car carrying communists from public office, with the ruin of many a career.

There are also extensive quotes from key players in politics, from the diaries or letters or speeches of men like Clement Attlee (Labour Prime Minister), Hugh Gaitskell (Minister of Fuel and Power), Aneurin Bevan (Minister of Health overseeing the creation of the National Health Service), Ernest Bevin (Foreign Secretary who oversaw the independence of India, Israel etc), Herbert Morrison (Deputy Prime Minister), Stafford Cripps (Chancellor of the Exchequer).

Slowly you get a feel for their personalities, achievements and disagreements. Around them swim all kinds of minor figures, private secretaries, and MPs, and policy makers such as Michael Young, who wrote Labour’s 1945 manifesto (Let Us Face The Future), coined the term meritocracy and went on to play a key role in setting up the Consumer Association and the Open University.

The Obscure

Kynaston takes his lead from Mass Observation, set up in 1937 by three Cambridge graduates, anthropologist Tom Harrisson, poet Charles Madge and filmmaker Humphrey Jennings. Mass Observation aimed to:

record everyday life in Britain through a panel of around 500 untrained volunteer observers who either maintained diaries or replied to open-ended questionnaires (known as directives). They also paid investigators to anonymously record people’s conversation and behaviour at work, on the street and at various public occasions including public meetings and sporting and religious events. (Wikipedia)

Kynaston relies heavily on material from the M-O archive now held at the University of Sussex. This takes many forms. M-O carried out tailored surveys on specific issues throwing up statistical results of the numbers in favour or against particular policies. Their contributors often reported on conversations overheard on the street, on the buses or tube, at the theatre etc. And other contributors kept detailed diaries. The most famous of these was Nella Last (1889-1968), who wrote over two million words about everything she died, heard and observed, from 1939 to 1966, making her one of the single largest contributors to M-O.

But Kynaston quotes from a large number of other diarists and recorders, including:

  • Michael Burns, grew up in Tolworth
  • Lawrence Daly, coalminer
  • Alice ‘Judy’ Haines, a young married mother of two living in Chingford
  • Anthony Heap, a middle-aged local government officer from St Pancras
  • Mary King, retired teacher
  • Gladys Langford, deserted by her husband, living alone in the Woodstock Hotel
  • Ernest Loftus, headmaster of Barking Abbey School
  • Edith Palmer, ex-pat’s daughter, late-20s, arriving in England from Kenya
  • Mrs Michael Pleydell-Bouverie who spent three years on behalf of the Daily Mail speaking to ‘the Women of Britain’ about homes and housing
  • Kenneth Preston, a middle-aged English teacher at Keighley Grammar School
  • Marian Raynham, a housewife from Surbiton
  • Henry St John, son of a sweetshop owner, living in Bristol
  • Sir Raymond Streat, head of the Cotton Board
  • Rose Uttin, housewife from Wembley
  • Mrs Madge Waller

Post-war issues

So what do these people comment on and discuss? A huge array of issues and problems which faced Britain right from the moment war ended (Victory in Europe 8 May 1945, Victory in Japan and the final end of the war, 15 August). As stated, Kynaston is not a conventional historian of diplomacy or economics. Issues appear insofar as they impinged on the minds of his huge cast of Britons. None of them are pursued in detail and, after 300 pages, I realised that he rarely comes to a conclusion about any of them. Instead we are presented with a variety of opinions, from top politicians and expert down to housewives and coalminers – and then he moves on.

Domestic affairs

  • Rationing
  • The General Election 5 July 1945
  • The Labour government’s attempts to:
    • nationalise industry
    • set up a National Health Service (launched, after much struggles with the doctors, on 5 July 1948)
  • The housing crisis
  • Education  (everyone accepted the 11-plus, the division between grammar and technical schools, and nobody touched the public schools which were [and are], according to Kynaston, ‘the single most important source of political, social and economic privilege’, p.153)

International affairs

  • Surrender of Germany, suicide of Hitler
  • Atom bombs dropped on Japan
  • Berlin Blockade and airlift
  • June 1947 Marshall Plan
  • February 1948 communist coup in Czechoslovakia

But most of the people Kynaston quotes have little or no interest in international affairs. After initial relief that the war is over, and then shock at the revelation of the atom bomb, most people sink back into their customary indifference to international affairs (and to politics generally).

Britain might as well not have an empire at all. The independence of Israel and India/Pakistan are not mentioned. Decades ago I read the comment by the Trinidadian historian C.L.R. James, that the tragedy of the British was that all their history took place abroad – by which he meant in the empire.

One of the biggest aspects of the book is the way the British Empire is almost completely absent from it. The people Kynaston quotes are struggling to make ends meet, to find somewhere to live, find a job, and then find food to eat. He quotes a survey of 2,000 adults made in 1948 which revealed that only 49% could name a single British colony. The majority of those surveyed could not name a single British colony.

And so, since so few people knew or cared about the empire, Kynaston devotes much space to popular radio programmes (Woman’s Hour, first broadcast on 7 October 1946 on the BBC’s Light Programme, the popular comedy It’s That Man Again), to the very slow spread of television (only 50,000 sets in 1945). There is more about the Grand National than there is about Gandhi, more about Stanley Matthews (the footballer) than Stalin.

In this book nobody travels abroad (nobody can afford it) but plenty of people have a summer holiday at Margate or Morecambe or at Billy Butlin’s new holiday camps (first one at Skegness in 1936).

Kynaston gives us the results of the key test matches and FA Cup Finals for 1945, 46, and 47, as well as the Epsom Derby, and reports from greyhound races and boxing matches – while all kinds of high-minded middle-class commentators lament that the average working man seems more interested in a pint, a packet of fags and the sports results than he does about the Iron Curtain.

The intellectuals and the masses

This reflects what, for me, is the main impression of the book, which is the enormous divide between the relatively small educated liberal intelligentsia – the policy makers and politicians and thinkers and writers and architects and planners – and the vast majority of the population, still very working class, often illiterate or, as Kynaston puts it:

the profound cultural mismatch between progressive activators and the millions acted upon (p.267)

Kynaston shows how all of the 1945 Labour government’s policies were not just controversial but opposed by large number of people, even the working people the Labour Party claimed to represent. For example, efforts to pass laws guaranteeing the trade unions representatives on boards of the new nationalised industries (a policy followed in Germany) were rejected by the unions. Why? Because they preferred to negotiate wages from a position of freedom and strength (p.229) It was a mindset which, arguably, crippled British industry for generations.

Similarly, it is fascinating to read how many ordinary people (not just the usual suspects, Tory MPs and toff writers), really hard core working class people, were suspicious of, or actively against, the welfare state, the new system of national insurance and the National Health Service.

The gaping chasm between well-meaning left-leaning university-educated intellectuals and ‘the masses’ is probably best demonstrated in the area of housing. Vast amounts of Britain’s housing stock was destroyed by German bombing. But a fair percentage of what survived was desperately rundown slums, particularly in the industrial cities – London’s East End, Manchester, Birmingham, Glasgow and so on contained acres of slums, houses with no running water, gas or electricity, millions of people living with no indoor toilet.

The chasm comes about when the planners and architects put their heads together to solve the problem. There was debate and argument at all levels, but roughly speaking, people wanted houses with a little garden of their own, and the planners wanted to put them in blocks of flats. People wanted their bombed out city centres to be restored to how they were before the war. Urban planners and go-ahead young architects wanted, on the contrary, to demolish what old buildings were left, and create sweeping new town centres, dominated by pedestrian precincts and car parks, surrounded by ring roads. As he writes of the brave new plan devised to demolish and rebuild central Plymouth:

There was little or no local consultation, with all objections overruled. (p.36)

The opening of the book is devoted to arguments about how to rebuild Britain and, through the thicket of specific details about new schemes for Plymouth or Hull, one gets a really clear feel for the divide between those who know best what the people want, and the people themselves – not least, of course, because Kynaston’s whole book is devoted to the people’s voices. He quotes one of the founders of Mass Observation, Tom Harrison:

worried most by the way that planners and others associated with the matter talked as if they were winning over the general public when they were only winning over each other. He had never met any group of people who ‘scratched each other’s backs’ more than planners did. (p.47)

In Bristol the local retail association organised a poll which showed that only 400 were in favour of the new Broadmead shopping centre, while 13,000 opposed it. The planners ignored this and all other opposition, and went ahead and built it.

This Great Divide, this sense of a mass population profoundly alienated from their lords and masters, grows as the book progresses from the May 1945 General Election through to its end point, 5 July 1948, the day the National Health Service was inaugurated. Intellectuals at the time were agonisingly aware of it. Various papers and reports guesstimated that ‘the thinking minority’ ranged from 20% down to a mere 5% of the population (p.55). How could they break out of their bubble to really engage with the great unwashed (an expression coined around 1830 by the novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton)?

Ronald

Maybe the single biggest surprise is the couple of pages devoted to the four months spent by American actor, Ronald Reagan at Elstree Studios making a war movie called The Hasty Heart (pp.314-315). Reagan was appalled by the filthy London smogs and rundown hotels, and – although he went out of his way to praise the director and all the other technicians he worked with – it was a grim first-hand sight of socialism in action which, in his view, amounted to stoppages dictated by the militant trade unions, six-hour queues at hospitals, gaunt impoverished passersby and mile after mile of slate-roofed council houses in the rain.

So far so anecdotal: but Kynaston goes on to say that Reagan himself, writing twenty years later in the 1970s, pointed to this trip to Britain – to seeing the ‘natural’ economic order of free markets replaced by rationing and state interference at every level, and the resulting lack of all basic facilities in a culture dominated by the petty tyrannies of trade union shop stewards and local government officials – as a defining moment in his journey to the Right.

So that, considering Reagan’s centrality to world politics during the 1980s and the role he played in the collapse of the Soviet Union, of communism, and even of full-blooded socialism as a viable political programme, there’s a case for saying that these few months in rainy Hertfordshire changed the history of the world.

General impoverishment

Kynaston devotes pages to political debates about Marshall Aid, about the end of Lend-Lease, about the currency crisis and devaluation of sterling, and so on.

But by far the biggest and most enduring subject of the book is RATIONING, the rationing of food and clothing, which not only continued after the war, but got worse, a lot worse. From the poshest in the land down to a variety of housewives, Kynaston’s quotes convey the sheer numbing crushing effect of days and months and year after year of shortages of meat, bacon, milk, sugar, butter, even of bread.

Demobbed soldiers, or visitors from abroad (including the American playwright Tennessee Williams), or British children arriving in Britain back from the colonies (Cliff Richard arriving from India in 1948, aged 8) all noticed how pale and underfed the population looked. For years after the war the gas supply was weak and the electricity was turned off at certain times of day. Witnesses like Harold Nicholson testify that even in the best London clubs, the food came in minuscule portions and was barely edible.

And then in February 1948 the population was afflicted by the coldest winter of the 20th century. Young Roy Hattersley remembers sledging down the middle of usually busy streets (p.199) but thousands of the elderly and the infirm died. And millions had to dig a path from their back doors to their outside toilets.

There are thousands of wonderful anecdotes, gems and insights throughout the book – but the predominating image is of impoverishment and endurance.

The queue for rationed food - symbol of post-war Britain

The queue for rationed food – symbol of post-war Britain

P.S. Obscure novelists

A lot of the people Kynaston quotes are, inevitably, writers, a self-selecting cohort since he is himself a writer dealing with written records which ‘writers’ dominate.

Your ears prick up at the famous ones (Graham Greene, Noel Coward, Doris Lessing) but he also introduces us to a cocktail party of less well-known writers from the period, a list which has the effect o making you realise how selective ‘literary history’ is, picking out the half dozen ‘serious’ writers from each era or decade, and letting plenty of other authors drop into obscurity.

It is one of the many many pleasures of the book to come across forgotten authors he mentions, and google them and toy with tracking down and reading their (mostly forgotten) works:

  • Ruby Mildred Ayres b.1881 – one of the most popular and prolific romantic novelists of the twentieth century
  • Ethel M. Dell b.1881 – author of over 30 popular romance novels
  • Naomi Jacob b.1884 – author and actress
  • Ivy Compton-Burnett b.1884 – novelist
  • Angela Thirkell b.1890 – author of a series of 19 novels set in Home Counties ‘Barsetshire’
  • James Lansdale Hodson b.1891 – journalist and novelist
  • Sylvia Townsend Warner b.1893 – novelist and poet
  • Elizabeth Bowen b.1899 – Irish novelist and short story writer
  • Mollie Panter-Downes b.1906 – novelist and writer of Letters from England for the New Yorker magazine
  • Pamela Hansford Johnson, Baroness Snow b.1912 – novelist, playwright, poet, literary and social critic
  • Denton Welch b.1915 – writer and painter
  • Sid Chaplin b.1916 coal miner who wrote novels about mining communities in the North-East
  • Joan Wyndham b.1921 – rose to literary prominence late in life through the diaries she had kept about her romantic adventures during the Second World War

Related links

The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle (1927)

This is the final collection of twelve Sherlock Holmes short stories, published in the trusty Strand Magazine between October 1921 and April 1927. Incredible that the character associated with London pea-soupers, hansom cabs, gas lamps and Jack the Ripper, should live on into the Jazz Age and see the publication of Ulysses and The Great Gatsby, the Russian Civil War, the rise of Mussolini, the General Strike and talking movies. As Conan Doyle writes in the preface to this final collection:

He began his adventures in the very heart of the later Victorian era, carried it through the all-too-short reign of Edward, and has managed to hold his own little niche even in these feverish days. (Preface)

Cruelty and violence

But, possibly as a sign of the traumas the world had passed through viz. the Great War, the collapse of Europe’s land empires, and the tempestuous Bolshevik Revolution, the stories are notably crueller and harsher than previous ones.

  • A handsome man has acid thrown in his face.
  • A man finds himself among half-beasts and catches leprosy.
  • Holmes is severely beaten and repeatedly threatened.
  • When he seizes the diamond from Count Negretto Sylvius he holds a pistol to his head, more the act of a Philip Marlowe than the debonaire Holmes.
  • A boy infects his baby brother with incurable poison.
  • A woman shoots herself in the head.
  • A man takes medicine which turns him into a half ape.
  • A maniac traps his wife and lover in a gas chamber.
  • A deadly jellyfish kills its victims by flailing their backs to a bloody pulp.
  • A lion rips a beautiful woman’s face off.

Animal imagery

And the greater cruelty and violence of the stories is reflected in the much more frequent comparison of humans to animals:

  • ‘When one tries to rise above Nature one is liable to fall below it. The highest type of man may revert to the animal if he leaves the straight road of destiny.’
  • The Baron has little waxed tips of hair under his nose, like an insect.
  • How a beastman could have laid his vile paws upon such a being of the beyond I cannot imagine. You may have noticed how extremes call to each other, the spiritual to the animal, the cave-man to the angel. You never saw a worse case than this.
  • It seemed that none of them could speak English, but the situation wanted clearing up, for the creature with the big head was growing furiously angry, and, uttering wild-beast cries
  • A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of the master criminal.
  • ‘You cruel beast! You monster!’ she cried.
  • From keeping beasts in a cage, the woman seemed, by some retribution of fate, to have become herself a beast in a cage.
  • Ruffian, bully, beast – it was all written on that heavy-jowled face.
  • Holmes sprang at his throat like a tiger and twisted his face towards the ground.
  • I tell you, Mr Holmes. this man collects women, and takes a pride in his collection. as some men collect moths or butterflies.
  • ‘And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?’ ‘

    Yes, and he’s a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton the boxer. Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Count has used him. Sam’s not a shark. He is a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he is flopping about in my net all the same.’

  • If I had said that a mad bull had arrived it would give a clearer impression of what occurred. The door had flown open and a huge negro had burst into the room.
  • She entered with ungainly struggle like some huge awkward chicken, torn, squawking, out of its coop.
  • ‘I see. You’ve tested them before.’ ‘They are good hounds who run silent.’ ‘Such hounds have a way sooner or later of biting the hand that feeds them.’
  • There have been no advertisements in the agony columns. You know that I miss nothing there. They are my favourite covert for putting up a bird, and I would never have overlooked such a cock pheasant as that.’
  •  With his dressing-gown flapping on each side of him, he looked like some huge bat glued against the side of his own house, a great square dark patch upon the moonlit wall.
  • In all our adventures I do not know that I have ever seen a more strange sight than this impassive and still dignified figure crouching frog-like upon the ground and goading to a wilder exhibition of passion the maddened hound, which ramped and raged in front of him, by all manner of ingenious and calculated cruelty.
  • It was a dreadful face – a human pig, or rather a human wild boar, for it was formidable in its bestiality. One could imagine that vile mouth champing and foaming in its rage, and one could conceive those small, vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as they looked forth upon the world. Ruffian, bully, beast – it was all written on that heavy-jowled face.
  • … the other, a small rat-faced man with a disagreeably furtive manner.
  • ‘For myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I have always known that if my sister were to die my creditors would be on to my estate like a flock of vultures.’
  • He clawed into the air with his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for the instant he looked like some horrible bird of prey. In a flash we got a glimpse of the real Josiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with a soul as distorted as his body.

And the fact that one story is about a vampire and another about a scientist who turns himself into an ape-man clinches the sense of the ab-human, of the human mutating into the Gothic creature or beast, which permeates the stories. Humans permanently poised on the edge of bestial violence.

The Strand Magazine, vol. 73, April 1927

The Strand Magazine, vol. 73, April 1927

Sex and seduction

There’s more sex, more overtly referred to, than in the earlier stories.

  • Baron Grüner is a smooth-talking seducer of women; the Illustrious Client hinges on Holmes purloining the Baron’s ‘Lust Diary’.
  • Similarly, the gorgeous Isadora Klein has seduced numerous young men, used them and then discarded them, and the case hinges (once again) on a text which records her sexual escapades, this time a roman a clef written by her lover.
  • Maria Gibson is jealous enough of her husband’s relationship with the maid to kill herself.
  • Professor Presbury is besotted enough with a young woman he’s met to experiment with a dangerous youth serum.
  • Leonardo the circus acrobat has ‘the self-satisfied smile of the man of many conquests’.

It is difficult to cast your mind back to the Victorian stories where the sex element is simply absent; where there is no reference to sex whatsoever, at any point; where men drop dead of heart attacks at the mere thought of their reputations being besmirched, where women are prepared to plunge their country into war rather than have their husband read an old billet-doux (The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plan).

This is the most obvious way that, despite the way the tales are still ostensibly set in the late ’90s or early noughties – in fact the post-War Holmes is operating in a new era with new conventions,

Anglo good, foreign bad

Foreigners are generally bad, such as the smooth Baron Grüner:

  • The fellow is, as you may have heard, extraordinarily handsome, with a most fascinating manner. a gentle voice and that air of romance and mystery which means so much to a woman. He is said to have the whole sex at his mercy and to have made ample use of the fact… His European reputation for beauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not more than of middle size, but was built upon graceful and active lines. His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorous eyes which might easily hold an irresistible fascination for women. His hair and moustache were raven black, the latter short, pointed, and carefully waxed. His features were regular and pleasing, save only his straight, thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer’s mouth it was there – a cruel, hard gash in the face, compressed, inexorable, and terrible.
  • Isadora Klein was, of course, the celebrated beauty. There was never a woman to touch her. She is pure Spanish, the real blood of the masterful Conquistadors… She rose from a settee as we entered: tall, queenly, a perfect figure, a lovely mask-like face, with two wonderful Spanish eyes which looked murder at us both.
  • It was as if the air of Italy had got into his blood and brought with it the old cruel Italian spirit.
  • This gentleman married some five years ago a Peruvian lady the daughter of a Peruvian merchant, whom he had met in
    connection with the importation of nitrates. The lady was very beautiful, but the fact of her foreign birth and of her alien religion always caused a separation of interests and of feelings between husband and wife.
  • ‘She was a creature of the tropics, a Brazilian by birth, as no doubt you know.’ ‘No, it had escaped me.’ ‘Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A child of the sun and of passion.’
  • He was looked upon as an oddity by the students, and would have been their butt, but there was some strange outlandish blood in the man, which showed itself not only in his coal-black eyes and swarthy face but also in occasional outbreaks of temper, which could only be described as ferocious.

But, thankfully, in contrast to the beast-people and dastardly foreigners, there are plenty of fine upstanding, Anglo-Saxon chaps (and the occasional chapess):

  • Mr James M. Dodd, a big, fresh, sunburned, upstanding Briton.
  • ‘I have found out who our client is,’ I cried, bursting with my great news. ‘Why, Holmes, it is—‘ ‘It is a loyal friend and a chivalrous gentleman,’ said Holmes.
  • ‘He had the fighting blood in him, so it is no wonder he volunteered. There was not a finer lad in the regiment!’
  • “Of course I remembered him,” said I as I laid down the letter. “Big Bob Ferguson, the finest three-quarter Richmond ever had. He was always a good-natured chap.’
  • Our new visitor, a bright, handsome girl of a conventional English type, smiled back at Holmes as she seated herself beside Mr Bennett.
  • Stackhurst himself was a well-known rowing Blue in his day, and an excellent all-round scholar.
  • Fitzroy McPherson was the science master, a fine upstanding young fellow…
  • ‘Forgive what is past, Murdoch. We shall understand each other better in the future.’ They passed out together with their arms linked in friendly fashion.
  • Who could have imagined that so rare a flower would grow from such a root and in such an atmosphere?.. I could not look upon her perfect clear-cut face, with all the soft freshness of the downlands in her delicate colouring, without realizing that no young man would cross her path unscathed.

High society and superlatives

These stories continue the trend of hobnobbing with the rich and famous – giving the reader a flattering Downton Abbeyesque feeling that they are rubbing shoulders with the glamorous, rich and aristocratic. If not actual aristocrats, the adversaries are generally men and women at the top of their field.

  • It is hinted that the illustrious client in the first story is the Prince of Wales.
  • All the doctors are the most eminent in their field – Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon, Sir James Saunders the great dermatologist
  • The soldiers are all medal-winning heroes – Colonel Emsworth the Crimean V. C.
  • Ronder, of course, was a household word. He was the rival of Wombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen of his day.
  • ‘There are the Shoscombe spaniels,’ said I. ‘You hear of them at every dog show. The most exclusive breed in England.’
  • ‘That is a colt you are running?’ ‘The best in England, Mr Holmes.’
  • And the Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary come calling in person about the Mazarin stone!

The stories

The Adventure of the Illustrious Client (1924)

Set in 1902, in Kingston.

The dapper Sir James Damery visits on behalf of an anonymous client who wishes to prevent sweet and gullible Miss Violet Merville from marrying the Austrian Baron Adelbert Gruner, not only a cad to women but probably a murderer. While Watson is distracting the Baron with the offer of a rare Chinese antiquity, Holmes sneaks in the back and purloins the notebook the Baron keeps of all his conquests. There is little or no deduction involved. What is involved is shocking violence as a) Holmes is badly beaten up by two of the Baron’s men b) the Baron has vitriol thrown in his face by an embittered lover, Kitty Winter. The Wikipedia entry on vitriol-throwing says the French press coined the word La Vitrioleuse after a wave of 16 vitriol attacks in 1879, all of them crimes of passion. In 1894 the French artist Eugene Grasset (1841 to 1917) created a haunting lithograph title La Vitioleuse.

La Vitrioleuse by Eugene Grasset, 1894 (Wikimedia Commons)

La Vitrioleuse by Eugene Grasset (1894)

The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier (1926)

Set in 1903, near Bedford.

First ever Holmes story narrated by Holmes himself. Fine upstanding soldier James Dodd fought side by side with good man Godfrey Emsworth, son of the famous Crimean VC. Rumoured to be wounded but then disappeared and family are strangely cagey about him. Holmes goes to Tuxbury Old Park and quickly deduces that the missing soldier has in fact contracted leprosy in South Africa and is hiding from the world with his family’s help

The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone (1921)

Set in 1903, in Harrow Weald.

First use of 3rd person narrator. Holmes has a mannekin of himself in the window to distract his watchers. By adroitly swapping places with it he persuades Count Negretto Sylvius to take out the stolen £100K jewel to show to his accomplice at which Holmes simply swipes it. Baker Street.

The Adventure of the Three Gables (1906)

Set in 1903.

Steve Dixie, a black boxer bursts in to warn Holmes off Harrow Weald which is a coincidence because he’s just had a letter from Mary Maberley who lives there. Off we go to meet her and hear her story, that an agent suddenly offered her a fortune for her house and everything in it. Through various clues Holmes deduces the involvement of the imperious Spanish beauty Isadora Klein who has dallied with half the men in London, including Mary Maberley’s dead son. Turns out he wrote a novel dramatising Isadora’s wicked ways and she suspected it was in his luggage, hence the offer for the house and all its contents.

The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire (1924)

Set in 1896, in Ryder Street, St James’s (London).

Good solid rugger player Bob Ferguson comes to Holmes stricken: after some suspicions he caught his wife at the throat of his little baby, and she turned with blood on her lips! then ran off weeping to her rooms and won’t emerge. On a visit to the rundown house Holmes quickly sees the lie of the land: the 15 year old son of the first wife is deadly jealous of the new baby by the second, Peruvian, wife and had nipped it with an south American arrow tipped with poison. The wife was gallantly sucking it out only to be completely mis-accused. The prescription for 15 year old Jacky is a year at sea! Near Horsham.

The Adventure of the Three Garridebs (1924)

Set 1902.

An American named Garrideb reluctantly appears before Holmes after an English eccentric with a vast collection of bric-a-brac named Garridenb has messaged him. His irritation and worn English clothes belie his cock and bull story about a multi-millionaire American back in Kansas named Garrideb who bequeathed his millions to whoever could find three Garridebs in the world. He claims to have found the third one in Birmingham and packs the eccentric off to meet him but, of course, Holmes and Watson stake out the now empty house where they reveal the first Garrideb to be none other than ‘Killer’ Evans from Chicago, who’d killed a confederate in London and served five years for it during which time the eccentric Garrideb moved into his flat, thus blocking access to the forger’s kit in the basement.

The Problem of Thor Bridge (1922)

Set in 1900, near Winchester, Hampshire.

Mr Neil Gibson, the Gold King, the richest gold magnate in the world, marries a Brazilian lady and settles in England but as her looks fade they argue a lot, and he becomes attached to his children’s maid, Miss Grace Dunbar. The wife Maria is found shot dead and the gun is found in Grace’s wardrobe. What could be simpler? Holmes deduces from the way the little bridge over the lake is chipped, that the wife planted a copy of the gun to implicate the maid, and then shot herself with a gun tied to a weighted string dangling into the lake!

The story is notable within the Sherlock Holmes canon for the initial reference to a tin dispatch box, located within the vaults of the Cox and Co. Bank at Charing Cross in London, where Dr Watson is said to keep the papers concerning some of Holmes’ unsolved or unfinished cases.

The Adventure of the Creeping Man (1923)

Set 1903 in Camford i.e. a fictional version of Cambridge.

Mr Trevor Bennett comes to Holmes with a problem. He is Professor Presbury’s personal secretary engaged to the professor’s only daughter, Edith. After a trip to Prague the professor has been behaving strangely, with a new vigour but also, on some nights, loping around the house and climbing the walls! Holmes shows he has been taking an experimental youth serum extracted from apes in Madagascar.

The Adventure of the Lion’s Mane (1926)

Set in 1907, on the Sussex coast.

One of the last of Holmes’s adventures and the second one to be narrated by Holmes himself! In his retirement on the South Downs cases still follow him. One of the teachers at the nearby ? academy is found stumbling up the cliffs from an early morning swim on the beach, his back horribly flailed and bloody. There is an interlude while speculation about his murderer implicates his rival in love for a nearby maiden. Only for Holmes to suddenly remember the same marks are made by a rare tropical giant jellyfish, but not before the chief suspect is himself stung almost to death.

The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger (1927)

Set in 1896, in Brixton.

The veiled lodger is the wife of the world famous circus owner ? He was a tyrant and sadist who whipped her. Her lover Leonardo the strong man cooked up a plan to stave the tyrant’s head in with a club with spikes in it to replicate a lion’s paw and release the lion they fed every day. The murder went ahead but, unfortunately the lion was maddened by the smell of blood and turned on Mrs, ripping her face off while the coward Leonardo ran off. She feels free to tell her story now she’s read that Leonardo is dead. And she has lived in retirement hiding behind a veil ever since. Holmes gallantly talks her out of committing suicide.

The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place (1927)

Set in 1902, in Berkshire.

Head trainer John Mason from Shoscombe Old Place, a racing stable in Berkshire, comes to Holmes about his master, Sir Robert Norberton. Mason thinks he has gone mad. The stables are actually owned by Norberton’s sister, Lady Beatrice, and the old man has huge debts. He is staking everything on the next race featuring his colt. Meanwhile, Mason lists various odd events which capture Holmes’s attention:

  • Lady B has stopped greeting her favourite horse
  • Sir Robert has become increasingly angry and stressed
  • in a fit of anger he gave Lady B’s dog away to the local publican
  • he’s been seen going into the local church crypt at night to meet a stranger
  • and then burnt human bones are found in the furnace at Shoscombe!

Holmes deduces that Lady B has actually died, but Sir Robert is maintaining the fiction that she’s alive to prevent his creditors seizing the estate before his horse can win the Derby. Which it does, and with his huge winnings he pays off his debts.

The Adventure of the Retired Colourman (1926)

Set 1898 in Lewisham, south London.

Holmes is hired by a retired supplier of artistic materials, Josiah Amberley, to look into his wife’s disappearance. She has left with a neighbour, Dr Ray Ernest, taking a sizeable quantity of cash and securities. Amberley wants the two tracked down. Holmes deduces that Amberley himself did away with the couple, locking them in his strong room and gassing them and then throwing them down a disused well. Holmes prevents Amberley committing suicide, predicting he will end up in Broadmoor not swinging from a rope.

Town versus country

Despite Holmes’s association with pea-souper fogs and so on, only four of these 12 stories actually take place in London. All the rest are located in the countryside.


Related links

Related reviews