Monday, July 28, 2014

Sunset of rosy juices

Gerard Manley Hopkins, a Jesuit priest remembered largely for his innovative approach to writing poetry, was born 170 years ago today. He sometimes kept note-books, which, later in his life, became more like diaries. His diary entries are often dull (a few of them simply contain the one word, ‘Dull’!), though his daily obsession with describing the sky and the weather does lead him to wax rather lyrical. One sunset he describes, for example, as ‘of rosy juices and creams and combs.’

Hopkins, the oldest of nine children, was born on 28 July 1844, at Stratford near London into a high Anglican family. He was educated at Balliol College, Oxford, during the time of the Oxford Movement, and chose to enter the Roman Catholic church in 1866. Two years later, he became a Jesuit priest, and, famously, destroyed all the poems he had written up to that point. He spent the next years training at various Jesuit houses. It was not until 1875 that he began writing poetry again, inspired by a German ship - with nuns aboard - that sank in a storm. The Wreck of the Deutschland would become one of his most famous poems.

After being ordained in 1877, Hopkins worked with the poor in Liverpool, Manchester and Glasgow, then studied some more in London, before teaching classics at Stonyhurst College, Lancashire. In 1884, he was elected fellow of the Royal University of Ireland, and lectured in Greek and Latin at University College, Dublin. He died, aged only 44, from typhoid fever in 1889, by which time he had not published any of his poems. It was only in 1918, that a first volume of Hopkins’s poems appeared, thanks to a friend, another poet, Robert Bridges. ‘His experimental explorations,’ Wikipedia summarises, ‘in prosody (especially sprung rhythm) and his use of imagery established him as a daring innovator in a period of largely traditional verse.’ Further information is also available from The Poetry Foundation, The Victorian Web, a New York Times book review, or The London Review of Books.

Hopkins’s papers were first edited by Humphrey House in 1937, and published by Oxford University Press in one volume - The Notebooks and Papers of Gerard Manley Hopkins. It contained a journal and selections from diaries and other writings. In 1947, three more journal note-books came to light; and, in 1952, after the death of Hopkins’s last surviving brother, further papers were found, all of which led Oxford University Press to consider a new and more comprehensive edition. Humphrey House was called on to put the new edition together, but then he died, and so the task of completing the book  - The Journals and Papers of Gerard Manley Hopkins - was given to Graham Storey. It was published in 1959, and contains one chapter of about 70 pages called ‘Early Diaries (1862-6)’, and another of about 130 pages called ‘Journal (1866-75)’. Other chapters contain Hopkins’s essays and lecture notes, as well as his drawings and music.

In the early note-books, Hopkins sketches out poems, shows a playful interest in words, and often describes the clouds and sky. Most of the entries are just notes, and few of them are dated. In the later years, his journal does become more diary-like, but his interest in the sky continues unabated with many a poetical turn of phrase about the weather.

2 August 1867
‘Dull and cold; before sunset the west opened in yellow from the earth-line upwards, with a sharp edge to the blanket of clouds; then bright sunlight scattered on the trees.’

17 August 1867
‘West wind, which I heard someone describe as ‘lumpy and rolling heavy’, with a little rain on it; otherwise fine; near sunset drifts of small graceful white-rose and scaly clouds.’

17 August 1868
‘Dark, soft, and wet.’

7 January 1868
‘Fine and freezing; snow at night.’

23 January 1868
‘Dull.’

23 December 1869
‘Yesterday morning I was dreaming I was with George Simcox and was considering how to get away in time to ring the bells here which as porter I had to ring (I was made porter on the 12th of the month, I think, and had the office for a little more than two months). I knew that I was dreaming and made this odd dilemma in my dream; either I am not really with Simcox and then it does not matter what I do, or if I am, waking will carry me off without my needing to do anything - and with this I was satisfied.’

24 September 1874
‘Very bright and clear. I was with Mr. Rickaby on the hill above the house. All the landscape had a beautiful liquid cast of blue. Many-coloured smokes in the valley, grey from the Denbigh lime-kiln, yellow and lurid from two kilns perhaps on the shoulders of a hill, blue from a bonfire, and so on.

Afterwards a lovely sunset of rosy juices and creams and combs; the combs I mean scattered floating bats or rafts or racks above, the creams, the strew and bed of the sunset, passing north and south or rather north only into grey marestail and brush along the horizon to the hills. Afterwards the rosy field of the sundown turned gold and the slips and creamings in it stood out like brands, with jots of purple. A sodden twilight over the valley and foreground all below, holding the corner-hung maroon-grey diamonds of ploughfields to one keeping but allowing a certain glare in the green of the near tufts of grass.’

The Diary Junction

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Whores and rogues

‘I think I have taken my farewell of New York [. . .] I wish to be at home and yet dread the thought of returning to my native Country a Beggar. The word sounds disagreeable in my ears, but yet it is more pleasing and creditable than the epithet of Rascal and Villain, even if a large and opulent fortune was annexed to them, though one of the latter sort is in general better received, than an indigent honest man.’ This is an entry from near the end of the diary of Nicholas Cresswell, a Deryshire farmer’s son, who died 210 years ago today. As a young man, he ran off to America to seek his fortune, but after many adventures and difficulties, not least being English when the colony was fighting for independence, he returned home with his tail between his legs. He is surely only remembered today because he kept a colourful diary of his three years in America, which, more than a century later, was found by a relative and then published.

Cresswell was born in 1750, the son of a sheep farmer in Edale, Derbyshire. It is likely that he was first educated at a school established by his father, and then at Wakefield grammar school. He worked with his father, until, in 1774, he sailed on the Molly for America, to seek a better life. He kept a diary during his three year adventure - the only real source of information about Cresswell - which tells of trade with native Americans, being caught up in the War of Independence (and often vilified for his patriotism towards Britain), various travels and exploits, and his many efforts to find work.

According to the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography entry (log in required), Cresswell felt ‘increasingly desperate and under constant suspicion for his outspoken views against the patriot cause’ and so resolved to escape. ‘His acute sense of personal failure is the dominant theme of this part of his narrative. He repeatedly referred to his idleness and ill health in northern Virginia, his loneliness, heavy drinking, and mounting debts. His various schemes for quitting the province - via Bermuda, through ‘Indian Country’ to Canada where he contemplated joining the British forces, and overland to New York - all proved abortive. ‘I am now in an enemy’s country’, he lamented in October 1776, ‘forbidden to depart’.’

In early May 1777, Cresswell finally secured a passage to British-occupied New York. On arriving back in England, Cresswell tried, but failed, to gain a commission from John Murray, fourth earl of Dunmore, Virginia’s ousted royal governor. He returned to Edale, where he took up farming again, and married Mary Mellor in Wirksworth. They had six children. He died on 26 July 1804.

The Journal of Nicholas Cresswell, 1774–1777, was first published in 1924 by Jonathan Cape in London and The Dial Press in New York. In a foreword, Samuel Thornely, explained the diary’s provenance: ‘The Diary came into my possession on the death of my father, Frederick Thornely of Helsby, Cheshire. Joseph Cresswell was the youngest brother of Nicholas Cresswell and his daughter Ann married my grandfather, Samuel Thornely of Liverpool. My father, Frederick Thornely, eventually came into part of the Edale property and also Southsitch, Idridgehay, which had formerly belonged to Nicholas Cresswell. My father also came into the Nicholas Cresswell diary and on my father’s death in 1918 it came to me.’

The journal manuscript is now held by the John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Library of the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation. The full text is available through the American Memory website, while much of the book can also be previewed at Googlebooks. A commentary and extracts can be found in The Ohio Frontier: An Anthology of Early Writings, edited by Emily Foster, also available through Googlebooks. However, it is also worth noting that a new edition was published by Lexington Books in 2009 - A Man Apart: The Journal of Nicholas Cresswell, 1774 - 1781 - edited by Harold Gill and George M Curtis III. This edition contains Cresswell’s diary in an unabridged form, and reveals that Thornely had edited the text for the original publication without mentioning the fact. See an analysis of the unabridged text by Matthew C. Exline on the Liberty University website. The following extracts are from Thornely’s edition.

8 April 1774
‘Orders to be on Board to-morrow morning by Seven o’clock. Bought a Sea Bed; paid Captn. Parry my passage. Got my chest and things on Board. Understand we are to have three other passengers, but do not know who they are. Spent the afternoon on Mount Pleasant with Mr. Oaks of Sheffield. Wrote to Gustavus Bradford. Got everything ready for going so soon as the wind serves.’

9 April 1774
‘This morning got up very early and wrote to my Father. Got on Board about Nine o’clock. Set sail with a fair wind and tide in our favour; in the afternoon calm and pleasant; came to an Anchor off Ormshead. We are Four passengers, but don’t as yet know the others. All of us very merry at supper, tho’ I believe most of us Young Sailors are rather squeamish. At Eight in the evening, a Breeze sprung up; hove up the Anchor; about Ten saw the Skerry Lighthouse.’

10 April 1774
‘Last night in attempting to get into my Hammock the hook at the foot gave way and I had like to have broke my bones with the fall, to the no small diversion of my fellow passengers. The Hammock is a hard piece of canvas suspended up to the roof of the Cabin at each end with cords.’

16 September 1774
‘This Island is one of the most windward and eastward of the West India Islands [. . .] about 20 Miles long and 12 broad, contains about 20,000 White Inhabitants and 90,000 Blacks. Exports about 20,000 Hhds of Sugar and 6000 Hhds. of Rum annually. They are supplied with the greatest part of their provisions from the Colonies and all their slaves and lumber come from there, with Horses and Livestock of all kinds. In exchange for which they give Rum, Sugar and Cotton, but very little of the last article. It is a high rocky Island and reckoned the most healthy Island in the West Indies. I suppose there is one eighth part of the land too rocky for cultivation. The roads are very bad. It is nothing uncommon to see twelve yoke of oxen to draw one Hhd. of Sugar, but their cattle are very small. Their chief produce is Sugar, Indigo, Pimento and Cotton. The Pimento grows on large Trees like small berries, the Cotton on small bushes which they plant annually. The Indigo is planted in the same manner. [. . .]

This is the chief Town in the Island and was pretty large, but a great part of it burned down in the Year 1766 and is not yet rebuilt. Here is a Good Church dedicated to St. Michael, with an Organ. The Church yard is planted round with Coco Trees which makes a pretty appearance. The houses are built of stone, but no fireplaces in them only in the Kitchen. The heat of the climate renders that unnecessary, only for cooking. Indeed it would be insupportable was it not for the Sea breeze which blows all day, and from the Land at Night. All the S.E. Part of the Island is fortified with Batteries, the windward part of the Island is fortified by nature. No Garrison or Soldiers here, only the militia which are well disciplined to keep the Negroes in awe. The Planters are in general rich, but a set of dissipating, abandoned, and cruel people. Few even of the married ones, but keep a Mulatto or Black Girl in the house or at lodgings for certain purposes. The women are not killing beauties or very engaging in their conversation, but some of them have large fortunes, which covers a multitude of imperfections. The British nation famed for humanity suffers it to be tarnished by their Creolian Subjects - the Cruelty exercised upon the Negroes is at once shocking to humanity and a disgrace to human nature. For the most trifling faults, sometimes for mere whims of their Masters, these poor wretches are tied up and whipped most unmercifully. I have seen them tied up and flogged with a twisted piece of Cowskin till there was very little signs of Life, then get a dozen with an Ebony sprout which is like a Briar. This lacerates the skin and flesh, and lets out the bruised blood, or it would mortify and kill them. Some of them die under the severity of these barbarities, others whose spirits are too great to submit to the insults and abuses they receive put an end to their own lives. If a person kills a slave he only pays his value as a fine. It is not a hanging matter. Certainly these poor beings meet with some better place on the other side the Grave, for they have a hell on earth. It appears that they are sensible of this, if one may judge from their behaviour at their funerals. Instead of weeping and wailing, they dance and sing and appear to be the happiest mortals on earth.’

19 June 1775
‘Got under way early this morning. As we sat at dinner, saw two Buffalo Bulls crossing the River. When they were about half way over four of us got into a Canoe and attacked them in the River, the rest went along shore to shoot them, as soon as they came ashore. The River was wide and we had fine diversion fighting them in the water. The man in the head of the canoe seized one of them by the tail and he towed us about the River for half an hour. We shot him eight times, let him get ashore and he ran away. Our comrades ashore very angry with us and they have a great right to be so. Passed the mouth of the Little Miamme. In great fear of the Indians. Saw a Black Wolf pursuing a Faun into the River, the Faun we caught, but the Wolf got away. My company quarrels amongst themselves, but behave well to me. Camped late in the evening.’

18 July 1775.
‘At Mr. V. Crawford’s, Jacob Creek. These rascals have wore out all the clothes I left here, so that I am now reduced to three ragged shirts, two pair linen breeches in the same condition, a hunting shirt and jacket, with one pair of stockings.’

27 July 1775
‘Went shooting and knocked down a Young Turkey. Nothing but whores and rogues in this country.’

1 August 1776
‘Refining Nitre. I have made several experiments but have hit on one that answers well, by putting the crude Nitre into a pot and fluxing it till it has the appearance of milk, then let it cool and put to every pound of Nitre three pints of water, boil it a little and sit to shoot. It made a beautiful appearance like Icicles, white as Snow and transparent as glass. From 7½ pounds of crude Nitre I have got 4½ pound pure.

News that Lord Dunmore was driven from Gwinn’s Island and the Fleet had left the Bay. I am now at a loss again. Determined to go to New York and endeavour to get to the Army.’

23 January 1777
‘Curiosity and company induced me to spend the evening at a place of no great credit. The various scenes I saw may be of great service to me sometime or other.’

12 July 1777
‘I think I have taken my farewell of New York, tho’ I promised to pay one visit more, but never intend to perform. Cannot bear the abominable hypocrite. I wish to be at Sea but hear nothing of our sailing this week. I wish to be at home and yet dread the thought of returning to my native Country a Beggar. The word sounds disagreeable in my ears, but yet it is more pleasing and creditable than the epithet of Rascal and Villain, even if a large and opulent fortune was annexed to them, though one of the latter sort is in general better received, than an indigent honest man. I am poor as Job, but not quite so patient. Will hope for better days. If I am at present plagued with poverty, my conscience does not accuse me of any extravagance or neglect of sufficient magnitude to bring me into such indigent circumstances. However, I have credit, Health, Friends and good Spirits, which is some consolation in the midst of all my distresses. Better days may come.’

13 October 1777 [last entry in the published diary]
‘There is such a sameness in my life at present it is not worth while to keep a Journal.

I am afraid it is likely to continue longer than I could wish it, as no proposals have been yet made to me concerning my future way of life. I imagine my Father expects I shall stay at home in my present dependent situation. I cannot bear it. Though at present his behaviour is very kind and in some respects indulgent, but that moroseness he observes to some of the family is very disagreeable to me. I expect something of the same sort as soon as the first gust of paternal affection subsides, but I am determined to stay with seeming patience till April next, and behave in such a manner as not to give any just offence. I call this waiting the Chapter of Accidents, something fortunate may happen. (Mem. Never to have anything to do with my Relations, I know their dispositions only too well. Some of them begin to hint at my poverty already. I must be patient and if possible, Silent.)’

The Diary Junction

Monday, July 21, 2014

London in Diaries

Last year, encouraged by a literary agent, I compiled a book called London in Diaries. Unfortunately, the agent moved on, and my subsequent efforts to find a publisher for the book came to no avail. Rather than let the work lie dormant, I am going to include, here in The Diary Review, the full text of the introduction, and, over the next few weeks, several of the chapters as well. Anyone interested in publishing London in Diaries please do get in touch!

London in Diaries: Introduction
London! One of the greatest capital cities in the world, one of the most important, one of the most visited, and one of the most cosmopolitan and dynamic. It is also a place of major historical sights, from the Tower of London to Hampton Court along the ever-restless Thames, and from St Paul’s Cathedral in the ancient City of London to the Abbey in the ancient City of Westminster. World-class entertainment is everywhere, not least in the West End and South Bank theatres; while glorious open spaces abound, whether in Regent’s Park, Kew Gardens or Hampstead Heath. Today London is as famous for the buzz of its night life, as it is for its high class shopping in Kensington, by way of Oxford Street, and Covent Garden, or for the financial power in its Square Mile. 

Of all the literary resources available to understand and, perhaps peer into, this astonishing city, its past and the lives of its people, none are as fresh or vital as diaries. Unique among historical and cultural records, they give a more immediate - in the moment - description of the city and commentary on its happenings than an autobiography or memoir. 

Diaries cannot, of course, be compared with histories which provide facts and figures in a coherent and comprehensive way, but they can highlight aspects of past times and ways, sometimes even shining a spotlight on lost charms or customs - Vauxhall Gardens, for example, or the spectacle of executions. This is especially true of the earliest diary extracts in this collection, for which some historical context is useful. The diarists - each chapter is focused on one - are arranged in a roughly chronological order, beginning with Edward VI in the mid 16th century.

It is a salient fact that those who live or have lived in the city, and thus could be expected to know it best, tend to be blind to its treasures when putting pen to their diary papers. Many of the 20th century writers considered to be great diarists have almost nothing to say about London - what seems to mark them out as good diarists is the political or social content, rather than any personal observations or descriptions about the place in which they live and work. 

Thus, throughout the five hundred years in which men and women have written diaries in London, those with the most detail of its famous and interesting sights are those written by visitors. So it is no surprise that their diaries make up a fair proportion of this book. Some of these are from elsewhere in Britain, but most are foreigners - early Continental travellers (such as Frederick of Mömpelgard and Lodewijck Huygens), diplomats (like the Persian Abul Hassan), and, more recently, North Americans (Herman Melville and Elizabeth Smart) - who are interested in, and often fascinated by, what they see and experience around them.

That said, it does fall to those living in London (such as the funeral provisioner Henry Machyn, Samuel Pepys, the painter Benjamin Haydon, or the teenager Ellen Buxton) to reveal much of interest about their city, and life therein, almost often in passing, by reporting daily routines, or noticing a special event or some change in the environment or society around them. The 20th century’s two world wars are an exception in that circumstances were so extraordinary that Londoners themselves (like the two journalists Malcolm Macdonagh and Charles Graves) did write far more expansively in diaries about the city itself and what was happening to it.

Another difference between diaries and other textual resources is that, though literary types are more likely to have kept diaries, literary talent has never been a fixed prerequisite for diary writing, nor either for preservation of diaries. The extracts herein not only evoke a kaleidoscopic view of the city across time and space, but do so from many different viewpoints - with contributions from royalty and commoners, rich and poor, merchants and artists, young and old. Indeed, though London is the focus, the raison d’être of this book, it is also about the people who have found themselves in the city, for one reason or another, and have bothered, again for whatever reason, to write about it, there and then. For this reason, each chapter opens with a short and pertinent biography for each diarist, helping to provide some context for the selection of extracts that follows. (Full details of their sources, as well as other published and online references, can be found at the back of the book.)

Historical background
London is around 2,000 years old, having originally been peopled by the Romans who called it Londinium, for no reason we can be sure of today. It became the capital of their British territory with a population rising to over 50,000, but was abandoned when they left. The Anglo-Saxons tentatively began settling in the area, adapting its name variously, to Lundenwic or Lundenburgh at different times. They built the first St Paul’s Cathedral, and, under repeated attack from Vikings, repaired the Roman walls for defence.

The Normans famously brought with them fortress know-how. On arriving in London, William the Conquerer immediately set about building a stronghold of wood. It was soon replaced by a much stronger structure, the White Tower or Tower of London. For centuries it protected the city, and for more centuries it became a foreboding symbol of power and punishment, though, surprisingly, it also housed exotic animals. Today, it’s for tourists who come to see the Beefeaters and the Crown Jewels.

Two miles west as the crow flies, or nearer three along the river, lies Westminster Abbey. Although the Anglo-Saxons had a place of worship on the site, as well as a palace close by, both were much rebuilt by the Normans. William the Conqueror was, according to documentation, the first King to be crowned in the Abbey, since when there have been 37 more coronations. For the next few hundred years, London and Westminster co-existed, uneasily at times, the former more of a centre of commerce with its evolving trade guilds and livery companies, and the latter the nation’s royal, religious and political centre. Although connected by a road called The Strand, traffic between the two cities was common via the Thames. William Caxton, it is worth a note in passing, set up his first printing press in Westminster, in 1476, before moving to London.

Henry VIII looms large in English history, and the impact of his break with Rome and Catholicism had a profound effect on London. Until the break, London life was dominated by religion, its churches, monasteries and religious houses. After the dissolution, though, in the 1530s, when much property changed hands, trade started to boom, not least through the business of new companies established by Royal Charters, like those wishing to trade with the Levant, and Muscovy.

The earliest diaries 
It is from this period - the 16th century - that we have today the first surviving diaries written in England. Japanese culture, though, produced the oldest texts generally classified as diaries, from the 9th century; and European - Italian mostly - diaries emerge in the 15th century. Perhaps the oldest English diary is that by Sir Richard Torkington, published in the 1880s as Ye Oldest Diarie of Englysshe Travell: being the narrative of the pilgrimage by Torkington to Jerusalem in 1517. The earliest bona fide diary that tells us anything about London was written a few decades later, and, astonishingly, it was kept by a teenager, none other than Henry VIII’s successor as King, Edward VI - sometimes dubbed the Boy King.

Having been crowned at the age of nine, Edward VI’s reign lasted only six years before he died, probably of TB. Historians believe the period of regency rule, led initially by Edward’s uncle, Edward Seymour, saw important developments in the English Reformation, though subsequently under Edward’s successor, the Catholic Mary, Protestant changes were stalled. Edward’s diary entries - written at the suggestion of a tutor - are usually succinct and often newsy. He writes about the coming of ‘the sweat’ into London, of visiting ambassadors being taken to watch the baiting of bears and bulls, and about the trial of his uncle. He also records a large protest against the ‘unreasonable prices of thinges’ in London, and that, unless the craftsmen mend their ways, he will ‘call in their liberties’ and appoint officers to look into the situation.

While Edward VI was still on the throne, a far humbler man - an undertaker and supplier of funeral trappings - was also starting to keep a diary, one that would, in time, ensure he was remembered (where otherwise he might not have been), and would, in fact, mark him out as one of the great early British diarists. Henry Machyn began his diary in 1550, describing - very colourfully - the rich funerals and processions of his business. Of Edward VI’s funeral he wrote: ‘And at his burying was the greatest moan made for him of his death as ever was heard or seen.’

But Machyn lived in turbulent and changing times, and before long, he found himself writing also about extraordinary public events - royal pageants, trials, and hangings (such as Seymour’s). He is the earliest writer to leave a description of the Lord Mayor’s show; and he also details several coronations and subsequent celebrations: ‘all the churches in London did ring, and at night did make bonfires and set tables in the street and did eat and drink and made merry for the new Queen Elizabeth.’

The first of the foreign diaries in this collection is by a young man, Frederick, soon to become the Duke of Württemberg, who visited London in 1592. His passion to become a Garter Knight is intriguing, as is the knowledge that he is an ancestor of the current Mayor of London, Boris Johnson. Also, Shakespeare satirised him specifically and Germans in general in his play The Merry Wives of Windsor. Frederick’s diary has much to say about London - ‘a very populous city, so that one can scarcely pass along the streets, on account of the throng’ - and its women, who wear velvet even though they’ve no bread at home. And it is thanks to him - rather than Edward VI for example - that we have a first hand, at-the-time, description of the baiting of bulls and bears.

Revolution and restoration
More than half a century later, the Elizabethan period is long over, as are Guy Fawkes’ plot, the sailing of the Pilgrim Fathers for America, and the reign of James I. Charles I’s reign has brought religious strife and civil war, leading to his beheading and the defeat of his son in battle by Oliver Cromwell. It is 1652, when Lodewijck Huygens, a young Dutchman travels to London. Cromwell has not yet been named 1st Lord Protector of the Land, but the city is clearly a changed place. Huygens tells his diary about how he followed the route taken by Charles I from his home to his execution, and how St James’s Park was now full of Cromwell’s bucks and roes. While noting signs of decay in the city, he also mentions nearby villages, Clapham, Islington (famous for the good cakes) and Chelsea (a pleasant little village where the gentle class retire in summer).

Two diarists that today are considered among the best and most important that ever lived were both 17th century Londoners - Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn. They themselves were of very different characters, as shown in their diaries, but they were friends, and Evelyn was particularly attentive to Pepys when he fell out of favour for a short while and was imprisoned in the Tower.

‘A wonder what will be the fashion after the plague is done, as to periwiggs, for nobody will dare to buy any haire, for fear of the infection.’ This is Samuel Pepys who, as a young man, was appointed to the Navy Board, and soon showed precocious talent, eventually rising to become Chief Secretary to the Admiralty. He met and conversed with Charles II on the vessel that brought him back from exile in May 1660. Earlier that same year, Pepys had begun to write a diary. For ten years, he wrote with great detail, intelligence and flair about his life, and in doing so could not help but paint a portrait of the city in which he lived and in which he was such an important personage, and provide an extraordinary record of the Restoration period. His diary is also hugely important for its descriptions of how the plague and the Great Fire devastated London, and these entries make up the bulk of his contribution here. The diary, though, is full to bursting with his myriad daily movements, whether concerned with family, politicking, theatre or philandering, and with a wide interest in everything going on around him.

John Evelyn’s diary is a more sober, largely less personal, work. His entries are often brief and factual, though when his son Richard dies aged 5, he writes for several pages about the precocious boy’s achievements and concludes with ‘Here ends the joy of my life, and for which I go even mourning to the grave.’ But what Evelyn generally lacks in colour and depth, he makes up for with perseverance: his diary, starting in 1641, goes on for over 60 years, encompassing more than half a century of London’s history. He was involved in the planning and rebuilding of London after the Great Fire, and his diary shows an interest in development of new squares, houses and gardens: ‘Dined at my Lord Treasurer’s, the Earl of Southampton, in Bloomsbury, where he was building a noble square or piazza, a little town.’

Dudley Ryder, by contrast to Evelyn and Pepys, is far less well known. He was the son of a Hackney draper, but studied law, entered politics, and ended up Attorney General. His diary, 1715-1716, gives a lively account of London’s coffee houses and spas, as well as its executions. His florid description of a frozen Thames seems reminiscent of much more recent literature.

The 18th century - most of it under the rule of one King George or another, the so-called Georgian Period - was a time of unprecedented growth for London, with its population more or less doubling. In 1700, Hugh Clout’s History of London suggests, an observer in the dome gallery of St Paul’s could have seen London in its entirety, with fields, farms and hill-top villages (Hampstead and Highgate) in the distance. By the early 1800s the edges of London would have been far more difficult to discern, since the built-up area was twice as large, ribbons of development had sprung up along transport routes, and many a remaining field was marked out for building. Smog from coal burning was also starting to be a major problem affecting visibility, and, presumably, health. Despite a fast growing and affluent middle class, this London was still a fairly dark, primitive and unsanitary place, without main drains, water supply, lighting, or public transport, fire or police services. Crime and prostitution were rife. Given the ongoing high death rate, the city’s rapid expansion was driven largely by immigration from elsewhere in Britain.

Indeed, around the middle of the century, in 1762, one young Scottish man, as precocious as Pepys and as literate, arrived in the city. Shortly after settling down, he writes in his diary, ‘It is very curious to think that I have now been in London several weeks without ever enjoying the delightful sex, although I am surrounded with numbers of free-hearted ladies of all kinds.’ This is James Boswell who would go on to write one of the world’s most admired biographies, that of his friend Samuel Johnson. The biography came after Boswell had published an earlier book about Johnson, a diary of their travels together in the Hebrides, which was a commercial success. Intriguingly, all of Boswell’s diaries, with the exception of the Hebrides journal, remained lost, and were only discovered in the 1920s in a Dublin castle. Yale University published a first volume of these in 1950 - Boswell’s London Journal - and since then has brought out a dozen or so more.

What visitors saw
Until the 19th century, women writers (that we know of today) are a rarity - that said, The Book of Margery Kempe written in the early 15th century is considered to be the first autobiography in the English language. There are very few surviving diaries written by women prior to the 1800s. The earliest of these - by Margaret Hoby, Anne Clifford and Elizabeth Freke - are important, but have little to offer in the context of a book about London. Thus it falls to a German visitor, Sophie von La Roche, a novelist, to give the earliest female perspective on London in this collection. With a curious mind and an observant eye, she writes about everything she sees and experiences - not least, a pastry-cook’s shop, a Moorish funeral, the ‘hateful’ Tower, outdoor dancing at Sadler’s Wells, the inside of a master saddlers’ workshop, and the need to eat oysters because she is in London.

Abul Hassan came to London in 1809, and was the first Persian envoy to do so in 200 years. He was tall, dark and handsome, wore rich silken robes, and had a very large beard. During his eight months stay he became something of a society celebrity - even the royal family gave parties in his honour. His diary, though somewhat formal, is rich in detail about the city. It also has an intriguing naive quality in that much of what he saw was very different from his familiar Persian world, as in this extract written after he’d seen some rioting in the streets: ‘I was utterly amazed! If such a situation had lasted for several days in one of Iran’s cities, 2,000 or more people would have been executed by now.’

Early 19th century London certainly made a deep impression on another visitor, this time a young man from Sheffield who, at the end of his visit, waxed lyrical: ‘And now, London, I must bid thee “Farewell.” Thou art the centre of Good and Evil, of Virtue and Vice! How many and how various are the characters which inhabit thy walls! How magnificent thy palaces! How mean thy cottages! How miserable some, how happy others!’ Thomas Asline Ward might have been completely forgotten today, but for the fact that his diary was published in a local paper in instalments, and then in book form. His visit to London only takes up a small part of the published diary, but his youthful descriptions, especially of the once-famous Vauxhall Gardens, are alight with city excitement.

Anne Chalmers was a little younger than Ward on her visit to London, three decades later, but her enthusiasm for the city has a more serious edge. She visits ‘the ventilator’, in the House of Commons, where ladies can hear the speakers, and attends an anti-slavery rally. Her diary, like Ward’s, reminds us of places now long forgotten, such as the Colosseum, near Regent’s Park, built to house the world’s largest painting, and also, incidentally, gives advice to those asking for beer in London.

Benjamin Haydon, like Boswell before him, was a man who needed female company, and saw London as a city of opportunities: ‘I felt this morning an almost irresistible inclination to go down to Greenwich and have [a] delicious tumble with the Girls over the hills.’ He was a painter with a significant talent, but his allegiance to 18th century trends, especially historical subjects, meant he was swimming against the Romantic tide, one which would make household names of William Blake and J. M. W. Turner. Chronic financial difficulties compounded his artistic frustrations, and he rarely managed to live within his means, especially after he had married and had children. His story is a sad one, but his characterful diary - initially published in five volumes - is superb because it not only tells us much about the man, but also gives picturesque insights into city life, whether the art and literary scene, or the trials of a day out with his family.

Riches and poverty
Whereas London had already seen rapid expansion for centuries, the 1800s saw explosive growth, with the city’s population increasing from, very approximately, one million at the start of the century to more than six times that at the end. By the 1830s, it was considered to be the largest city in the world in terms of population (a ranking it retained until the 1920s), and was the centre of a global empire, the world’s foremost trading and financial powerhouse. The wealth financed all kinds of changes, the building of suburbs, the construction of railways, sewers, water systems, schools. But it was also a magnet for immigration not only from other parts of Britain, but from the Empire; and this immigration only served to enhance the rich-poor divide, and the presence of slums - as so well depicted in the novels of Charles Dickens.

Any hint of London slums or the poverty therein is not to be found in Queen Victoria’s diaries. She ascended the throne aged only 18, and remained sovereign for over 60 years. For much of this time, she kept a diary, contained in over 100 manuscript volumes, extracts of which have been published. In reference to London, her diary is at its best when she writes about big occasions - her coronation, the Great Exhibition and jubilee celebrations. Although formal in style, it is splendid to have such a person, such a celebrity at the centre of the nation’s attention, telling us what her day has been like.

Herman Melville visited London in 1849 to try and find a publisher for his new book White-Jacket, about the American naval service and, in particular, the ills of flogging. Although his most famous novel, Moby Dick, would follow in 1852, he was already a well-known author. Melville spent a lot of time in and around The Strand, where he loved exploring the second-hand bookshops. Not one to mince his words he wrote in his diary that the Lord Mayor’s Show was a ‘most bloated pomp’, and described a coffee he bought in a Temple bar as ‘villainous’. He was, though, excited by the public execution of the husband and wife murderers, the Mannings, an event that Dickens also attended.

A simpler, more charming view of Victorian London comes from the teenager, Ellen Buxton, brought up in Leytonstone, by Wanstead Flats, just south of Epping Forest. Her father worked at the family brewery in Spitalfields; but both her grandfathers were important Quaker characters, one a noted anti-slavery campaigner, and the other brother to the prison reformer, Elizabeth Fry. Ellen’s teenage diary is unaffected, and illustrated throughout with delightful sketches of people and places. Though short on emotion, the writing comes alive when she’s outdoors, watching Prince Albert lay a foundation stone, fishing with her father in Carshalton, or visiting an institution such as the Mint or the ‘Christal Palace’ rose exhibition.

The beautiful Thames
The feature of London most often mentioned in these diaries - in all but a handful - is the Thames. Throughout the city’s history, of course, it was far more important, far more busy than it is today. Apart from Ryder’s florid description of the frozen river, another diarist describes a frost market, the kind that regularly appeared when the water froze. Others mention a watermill that supplied water, a pub landlady drowning herself, the burning of a bankside warehouse, and the mighty disturbance of the water after the falling of bombs.

Of all the writers in this collection, though, it is Thomas Cobden-Sanderson whose diary shows the most romantic relationship with the river. ‘How superbly beautiful the river is at this moment! There is a high wind blowing the surface into innumerable ripples, each of which catches instantly and reflects a dazzling gleam from the sun.’ A book-binder, printer, and close associate of William Morris, he operated his business close by the Thames in Hammersmith. Towards the end of his life, he was so troubled by the idea that, after his death, his partner would misuse a special typeface they had together employed for years - Doves Type - that he secretly went night after night to a river bridge to drop and drown every last block of the type. He confesses all to his exquisitely written diary.

Cobden-Sanderson was very much a socialist, in keeping with the ideology of Morris’s Arts and Crafts Movement. Indeed, his wife was imprisoned as a suffragette at one time. Yet his diary, perhaps, reveals him as more of a spiritual than a political man. Not so another socialist, the Northern writer Arnold Bennett. Both Cobden-Sanderson and Bennett take us into the 20th century, but Bennett’s diary is far punchier, richer in detail about what’s happening in the streets of London. ‘Never since I first came to London,’ he writes in 1897, ‘has the West End been so crowded with sightseers, so congested by the business of pleasure.’ Though his novels, full of gritty realism, had gone out of fashion by the 1920s his literary journalism was much sought after, and his diaries by that time were full of famous London names.

The 20th century and wars
‘I want to see the Docks and Dockland, to enter East End public-houses and opium-dens, to speak to Chinamen and Lascars: I want a first-rate, first-hand knowledge of London, of London men, London women. I was tingling with anticipation yesterday and then I grew tired and fretful and morose, crawled back like a weevil into my nut.’ This is Bruce Frederick Cummings, better known as Barbellion and only remembered today because of his unique diary - published as The Journal of a Disappointed Man. He worked in the British Museum’s department of Natural History, but died very young of multiple sclerosis. His diary displays an extraordinary mind, sharp yet often frustrated with himself or the world around him. It is also funny, as when he describes a morning at Petticoat Lane market.

The First World War affected the life of everyone in London, not least Cobden-Sanderson, Bennett and Barbellion, though often their diary references to it are in passing. Michael Macdonagh, by contrast, kept a diary that was almost entirely about the war and the affect it was having on London and its people. Macdonagh was a journalist with The Times, and thus writing publicly about London news, yet his diary is a far more personal testimony to, what he called, ‘the drama of the life of the greatest civil community of the world in its direct relation to the Great War’. Not only is Macdonagh present for important political events, in Parliament or at the Lord Mayor’s banquet for example, but he is out tramping the street every day reporting faithfully in his diary what he sees, hears and feels. At the war’s end, he is in Parliament Square: ‘I had heard Big Ben proclaim War’ and after four years of silence, ‘I was now to hear him welcoming Peace.’

The Canadian writer Elizabeth Smart is best remembered for her novel of poetic prose - considered a classic of the genre - By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept. The book draws heavily on the passionate affair she had with the British poet George Barker. In 1943, by when she already had two children by Barker, she moved to live in London; there she had two more children fathered by him, but brought them all up alone, as a single mother. Two volumes of her diaries were published shortly after her death in the 1980s, and these reveal how her style deteriorated over the decades: from bright, cheerful, extravagant writing, full of external observations, to brief notes focused on her internal preoccupations. Thus, though, she was living in London, there is very little about the city in her later diaries. However, her early ones, when she was still travelling and passed through London, contain lovely, evocative passages about the city, such as one about Hyde Park which begins as follows: ‘I did the only right and inevitable thing to do when the sky is singingly blue and the sun is showing up the nakedness of London and everything is sunshining and smelling of new-forgotten damp earth and crocuses - I went out.’

All too soon after the terrible first war, came another, and with it Britain’s militarisation to defend against German aggression. The country - but especially its capital - suffered more years of bombing, rationing and general hardship. There are many published diaries specifically about the Second World War, and even today, more than 65 years later, newly found or edited war diaries are popular publishing ventures. Only a small proportion of WW2 diaries, though, have much to say about London itself. In addition, there are many unpublished diaries, not least those held by Mass Observation, and those archived by the BBC for its WW2 People’s War website.

Two Second World War diaries are included in this collection, one published, though not very well known, and one unpublished, from the Mass Observation archive. Charles Graves, like Michael Macdonagh, was a journalist, more of a columnist than a reporter, and he moved in higher social circles than Macdonagh, but he too decided to keep a personal diary, with publication in mind, of the war years. An early entry reads: ‘As I lay in bed it occurred to me that the Londoner’s ears are now accustomed to distinguish immediately sixteen different noises caused by the blitz;’ and then he lists them. Against official orders, which expressively prohibited Home Guard personnel from keeping diaries, he wrote often about his own Home Guard activities - ‘My mob were supposed to be German parachutists landing in Regent’s Park’. And, Graves didn’t let his work or volunteering stop him from flitting to The Ritz or a cricket match at Lords.

Responding to Mass Observation’s call for volunteers to provide diaries and other written material about the war, Marielle Bennett submitted a series of manuscripts covering various months of 1939, 1941 and 1942. These typed diaries reveal a more mundane life, perhaps, than that lived by Graves, but no less interesting for that. On reading her diary, one feels very close to Bennett, as though one is there with her making curtains out of black satin, hearing Chamberlain’s speech through a window on a neighbour’s wireless, noticing how little meat one gets with a 1/6 luncheon at Maison Lyons, having great trouble finding an air-raid suit she likes, and being frustrated that she no longer wants to go to the cinema because all the films are ‘only slightly covered propaganda’.

The 1960s and modern nature
Noel Coward, born in the last years of Queen Victoria’s reign in Teddington, was one of the greatest show business personalities of the 20th century. His playwriting and performing fame grew steadily in London during and after the First World War, and before long he was as popular in New York as in London. His published diaries only begin in the 1940s, and cover all the years to his death in 1973. Though his popularity in London waxed and waned, by the post-war years he was still putting on highly successful West End hits, and starring in films such as Around the World in 80 Days and Our Man in Havana. His diaries reveal a constantly hectic schedule with London home only for a few weeks or so once or twice a year. Nevertheless, a few extracts give a grand sense of the London theatre world, such as when he is describing a night at the Palladium, or hobnobbing with royalty.

It is the start of the 1960s, and Kate Paul is just out of her teens and excited about life and art and going to live in London. ‘In Chelsea,’ she writes, ‘it’s the vogue to wear dark glasses at the dead of night and to shave the head bald.’ She loves the city’s galleries, and spends a lot of time at the Troubadour cafe in Earls Court, a London institution for decades (though not of Palladium grandeur). But reality doesn’t take long to set in, and her self-published diary soon reveals dissatisfaction and depression, often caused by her work, flat-mates or boyfriends. She feeds her depression by reading Barbellion’s diary, and goes so far as to seek out some presence of him at the Natural History Museum.

‘Sunlit cool autumnal day. Writing this diary on my way to St Mary’s in a taxi that cruises down Oxford Street alongside a lovely lad on a bike. Today London is a joy.’ This is the extraordinary film-maker Derek Jarman who, having been diagnosed with HIV in the mid-1980s, moved to live on shingle flats near the coast in Kent, and also began keeping a diary of his daily life. A first volume - Modern Nature - was published while he was still alive, and is very readable, full of wistful recollections about his youth and 60s London. Though still drawn back to the city often enough, at this time, for work or pleasure (the above quote is the last extract in Modern Nature), he is disillusioned with the film world, and is finding more fulfilment in his garden and the natural world around him in Kent.

Finally, as a way of bookending this journey through London in Diaries, I am including extracts from my own diary, all chosen for giving at least a flavour of the London in which I was growing up and maturing as an adult. Although I no longer live in the city, it has been home for at least half my life; and I was born in the long-since closed New End Hospital, Hampstead. My diary-writing habit, of nearly 50 years, began with a five-year diary given me for Christmas in 1962. I was ten, and living in a flat on Fitzjohns Avenue (mentioned by Marielle Bennett in her diary). The following summer, my parents moved out of London, and I didn’t return as a resident until I’d finished university. Chance found me renting a room in Earl’s Court, drinking coffee in the Troubadour (like Kate Paul), and, after much travelling, returning to live in Kilburn, near enough Hampstead to explore and enjoy the Heath (though in very different ways from Derek Jarman). Also in my diaries are London markets, theatres, squats, carnivals, bingo halls, and stories of clowning antics. The last diary extract of all describes Millennium New Year’s Eve and Day when my 12 year old son, Adam, and I endeavoured to walk the streets of central London and shake hands with a thousand people - we called it ‘The Day of the Thousand Handshakes’.

Thus, this collage or kaleidoscope of London through time and space, is uniquely patterned and coloured by the internal voices of those living in, or just passing through, its fascinating history and culture.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Thanks to my Diego

Frida Kahlo, one of the most fascinating and colourful artists of the 20th century, died 60 years ago today. Physically afflicted from an early age, she suffered much in the years before her death, often illustrating her pain and distress in a notebook, with colourful artworks and poetical texts. There is also much in the book about her love for the famous Mexican muralist, Diego Rivera. However, even though there are very few dated entries, nor are there any facts about her day-to-day life, the notebook was very successful published - an exact copy, with notes and translations - as The Diary of Frida Kahlo.

Kahlo was born on the outskirts of Mexico City in 1907. Her father was a painter/photographer of German background whose family had originated in Romania. Aged six, Frida was struck down with polio, which permanently disfigured one leg. She studied at a National Preparatory School, which is where she first came in contact with the artist, Diego Rivera, who had been commissioned to paint a mural in the school’s auditorium.

In 1925, Frida Kahlo was involved in a serious bus accident, which left her further physically troubled for the rest of her life, but it was while recovering from this that she began to paint. A friend introduced her to Mexico City’s artistic set; and in 1929 she married Diego River, by then an internationally famous muralist. Their relationship was difficult, each one having numerous affairs, although they were always very supportive of each other as artists.

Diego and Kahlo, both active Communists, befriended Leon Trotsky after he fled to Mexico, having been sentenced to death by Joseph Stalin. Kahlo, famously, also had an affair with him. Kahlo and Diego were divorced in 1939, but a year later they remarried, their relationship continuing in the same troubled way. They both broke with Trotsky, who was assassinated in 1940, to become supporters of Stalin.

Kahlo spent the last years of her life suffering from various ailments, not least gangrene which led to her having a leg amputated at the knee. She died on 13 July 1954, aged only 47. The official cause of death was cited as a pulmonary embolism, though some have suspected she might have died of an accidental or deliberate drug overdose. Further information is readily available online from Wikipedia, Washington Monthly, or the Frida Kahlo official website.

Although the Louvre bought one of her canvases in 1939, for many years Kahlo was mostly remembered as Riviera’s wife. Only towards the end of the 1970s and in the early 1980s, with the flourishing of a new artistic style in Mexico known as Neomexicanismo, did her reputation develop internationally; and with it came much widespread public interest in her art and her life. Today, Kahlo is considered one of the 20th century’s most important female artists. She only produced about 200 canvases, largely still lifes and portraits of herself, family and friends, all of which can be viewed online.

From 1944 until her death, Khalo kept a journal of sorts, a notebook rich in illustrations and poetry, but with very few actual dated written entries. It was locked away for more than 40 years, but in 1995, Bloomsbury published The Diary of Frida Kahlo - An Intimate Self-Portrait which included an exact copy of all 170 pages, an introduction by the world famous author, Carlos Fuentes, transcriptions into English, and a commentary on the pages by art historian Sarah M. Lowe. At the time, the book was expensive, selling for £25, but second hand copies of the original book and new copies of a recent re-print can be bought for half the price today. The full text and pictures are freely available online, for the time being, thanks to the American Buddha Online Library. Extracts are also available at the Silencing the Bell blog.

In his 1995 introduction to The Diary, Fuentes says: ‘. . . [Kahlo’s] Diary now shows us: her joy, her fun, her fantastic imagination. The Diary is her lifeline to the world. When she saw herself, she painted and she painted because she was alone and she was the subject she knew best. But when she saw the world, she wrote, paradoxically, her Diary, a painted Diary which makes us realize that no matter how interior her work was, it was always uncannily close to the proximate, material world of animals, fruits, plants, earths, skies.’

And he ends: ‘In the measure that her hope was her art and her art was her heaven, the Diary is Kahlo’s greatest attempt to bridge the pain of their body with the glory, humor, fertility, and outwardness of the world. She painted her interior being, her solitude, as few artists have done. The Diary connects her to the world through a magnificent and mysterious consciousness that “we direct ourselves towards ourselves through millions of beings - stones - bird creatures - star beings - microbe beings - sources of ourselves.”

She will never close her eyes. For as she says here, to each and everyone of us, “I am writing to you with my eyes.” ’

Whereas Fuentes’s introduction provides a literary eulogy for Kahlo’s diary, Lowe’s essay provides a more down-to-earth, comparative analysis, and starts by defining it as a ‘journal intime’: ‘Reading through Frida Kahlo’s diary is unquestionably an act of transgression, an undertaking inevitably charged with an element of voyeurism. Her journal is a deeply private expression of her feelings, and was never intended to be viewed publicly. As such, Kahlo’s diary belongs to the genre of the journal intime, a private record written by a woman for herself.

The impulses and purposes of a diary are perplexing and sometimes paradoxical. Is it really an autobiography or is the text transformed when it comes to light? Does it retain its integrity when read by another or published? How should a woman’s private journal be read, and by extension, what can be learned about Kahlo by reading her diary?

Throughout history, diarists, both men and women, have chronicled their lives framed by their times or by particular historical events. In contrast, the predominant subject of the journal intime, and Kahlo’s own diary specifically, is the self.  Kahlo’s motivation has less to do with communication than with negotiating her relationship to her self, and thus the conundrum - why write if no one else will see the text? - is in part answered.’

Lowe also analyses how the diary shows Kahlo recording her physical deterioration: ‘Kahlo kept this diary for the last ten years of her life, and it documents her physical decline. Dated pages are sporadic, and thus it is difficult to discern the chronology. But an awful progression - regression - is unmistakable, as Kahlo faces the loneliness and terror of her illnesses. [. . .] Kahlo’s chronic pain, however, and her encasement in orthopedic corsets and plaster casts for months at a time, the trophic ulcers she suffered on her right foot (which led to its amputation shortly before her death), and the roughly thirty-five operations she is said to have undergone may have been caused by a congenital malformation of her spine, a condition called spina bifida. Her diary chronicles her quest for cures, her resigning herself to the dictates of her medical advisers, and her often stoic response to their failures.

Part of Kahlo’s preoccupation with the details of her infirmities springs from her youthful interest in physiology and biology. Before her fateful accident, Kahlo was taking science courses as prerequisites for becoming a doctor; even as she convalesced, the thought of combining her interest in art and science by becoming a scientific illustrator came to her. Indeed, these studies provided Kahlo with potent visual analogies and metaphors, which she marshaled in her paintings and used throughout her diary: internal organs and processes were often seen outside her body, while she used x-ray vision to picture her broken bones and spine. Of all her biological and botanical metaphors, Kahlo made the most effective use of roots and veins, tendrils and nerves, all routes for transmitting nourishment or pain.

Despite the pain and anguish Kahlo freely and openly expressed in her diary, her unquenchable thirst for life reveals itself. Her wit and alegria, her sense of irony and black humor all emerge here. [. . .] The self-portrait we find in the diary makes more human “la gran ocultadora” of her paintings, and replaces the implacable mask with intimate - at times horrifying details of affliction and despair. But Kahlo also shows her great strength, the resolve only intense suffering confers. “Anguish and pain,” she writes, “pleasure and death are no more than a process”. Kahlo’s diary dramatically and explicitly conveys this process, and is a testimony to her vigilant recording, in words and pictures, of her inexorable path toward death.’

Here are two extracts (the translation reproduces faithfully the line structure of the original even though the original line breaks often come at the edge of the page).

‘Today Wednesday 22 of January 1947
You rain on me - I sky you
You’re the fineness, childhood,
life - my love - little boy - old man
mother and center - blue - tender-
ness - I hand you my
universe and you live me
It is you whom I love today.
= I love you with all my loves
I'll give you the forest
with a little house in it
with all the good things there are in
my construction, you'll live
joyfully - I want
you to live joyfully. Although
I always give you my
absurd solitude and the monot-
ony of a whole
diversity of loves -
Will you? Today I'm loving
the beginnings and you love
your mother.’


‘Yesterday, the seventh of May
1953 as I fell
on the flagstones
I got a needle stuck in
my ass (dog’s arse).
They brought me
immediately to the hospital
in an ambulance.
suffering awful pains
and screaming all the
way from home to the British
Hospital - they took
an X ray - several
and located the needle and
they are going to take it out one
of these days with a magnet.
Thanks to my Diego
the love of my life
thanks to the Doctors’


The Diary Junction

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Diary briefs


To Fight Alongside Friends - HarperCollins, Amazon, Andrew Lownie

Notes from a Colored Girl - University of South Carolina Press, Baltimore Sun

Diary evidence in Australian murder trial - The Courier Mail

Wife documents unending misery of dying husband - Mlive

Diaries of playwright Priscilla Dewey Houghton - Radcliffe Institute

Diaries of Kiwi photographer Guy Mannering - The Press

Sketchbook diary of a 9 year old girl - Winnipeg Free Press

Unpublished diary of Gallipoli battle - Chichester Observer

Diary of an unmarried Williston woman - Burlington Free Press

Life Interrupted: Personal Diaries from World War I State Library of New South WalesThe Sydney Morning Herald

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Only Tanya is left

The diary of the teenager Tanya Savicheva has to be one of the most poignant documents left behind by the Second World War, no matter that it is also, probably, the shortest diary of any significance on record. Tanya, who died 70 years ago today, lived through part of the Siege of Leningrad and watched her family members die one by one around her, recording each death on a page of her notebook.

Tanya was born in Gdov, Russia, near the border with Estonia, in January 1930, the youngest child of a baker and seamstress. Her father died when Tanya was six, leaving her mother with five children. The family planned to spend the summer of 1941 in the countryside, but the Axis invasion of the Soviet Union in June disrupted their plans, so most of them decided to stay in Leningrad.

As a former capital of Russia, and militarily important as a main base for the Soviet Baltic fleet, Leningrad was a prime target for the German army. A siege of the city started on 8 September 1941, when the last road to the city was severed, and it was not lifted fully until 27 January 1944 - making it one of the longest and most destructive sieges in history.

All of Tanya’s family worked to support the Soviet army, even Tanya, then only 11, dug trenches and put out firebombs. One of Tanya’s sisters, Nina, went to work, and never returned leaving the family thinking she was dead. Tanya was given a small notebook in memory of Nina, and, after a while, she used it sparingly to record the deaths of her family members, including one sister (Jenya) and one brother (Leka).

By March 1942, Tanya was the only one of the family left. She was discovered, barely alive, by special nursing missions who went through the streets of Leningrad. Along with more than 100 other children, in a similar state, she was transported to Shatki, a village in the Gorkovskaya region. There the villagers tried to look after the children; though most survived, Tanya eventually succombed to tuberculosis, and died on 1 July 1944.

Tanya never learned that some of her family survived. Nina, in fact, had been saved and transported away from the front line. She returned, with the siege over, in 1945, to her house, where she found, amidst bare walls and complete ruin, Tanya’s notebook. Tanya’s brother Misha also survived having suffered severe injuries at the war.

See Wikipedia, the Russian Orthodox Church website, the History in an Hour website, or Russiapedia, for more information.

Today, Tanya’s diary is in the Museum of the History of St Petersburg, and a copy is at the Piskaryovskoye Memorial Cemetery (where around half a million people, who died during the siege, are buried in mass graves). There is some suggestion that the diary might have been presented by Allied prosecutors at the Nuremberg Trials, though there appears to be no proof of this. It contains just a few pages, with a few words on each page, as follows (translation according to Wikipedia).

‘Jenya died on 28th Dec. at 12.00 PM 1941’

‘Grandma died on 25th Jan., 3 PM 1942’

‘Leka died on 17th March at 5 AM 1942’

‘Uncle Vasya died on 13th Apr. at 2 o’clock after midnight 1942’

‘Uncle Lesha on 10th May at 4 PM 1942’

‘Mom on 13th May at 7.30 AM 1942’

‘Savichevs died.’

‘Everyone died.’

‘Only Tanya is left.’

Saturday, June 28, 2014

The Archduke’s travels

The Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated a century ago today by Serbian extremists. It was one of the most infamous acts in history since it led directly to the start of the First World War. What is much less well known, however, is that some years earlier the Archduke had undertaken a 10 month-long journey round the world, and kept a fascinating - if sometimes verbose - diary of his travels, expressing delight, for example, at seeing flying fish at sea, or moaning about uncomfortable London cabs in Sydney.

Franz Ferdinand was born in Graz, Austria, in 1863, the oldest son of Archduke Karl Ludwig, the younger brother of Austro-Hungarian Emperor Franz Joseph. He was given the title Archduke of Austria-Este from birth. He began his military career at 12 years of age, rising quickly through the ranks, to be appointed a major general aged 31. Later, as heir-presumptive to the elderly emperor, he was inspector general of all Austria-Hungary’s armed forces.

In 1889, Crown Prince Rudolf (Emperor Franz Joseph’s son, and cousin to Franz Ferdinand) committed suicide, leaving Ludwig in line to inherit the throne. Ludwig immediately renounced the throne in favour of his son, Franz Ferdinand, and died soon after. Franz Ferdinand, however, had fallen in love with a woman, Countess Sophie Chotek, who was not considered eligible to marry a member of the Imperial House of Habsburg. After much negotiation and petitioning, the marriage, which took place in 1900, was allowed, but only under certain conditions: their descendants (they had three children) would have no succession rights to the throne; nor would Sophie share her husband’s rank, title, or privileges.

In this period of European history, Austria-Hungary was an empire full of tensions not only between the regions and their Hapsburg rulers, but between various ethnic groups at odds over religion and politics. Franz Ferdinand is known to have worried about these tensions, and the prospect of the empire disintegrating, and to have considered ideas for allowing the regions more say in government, and more autonomy. But he was not much liked by the people - his public persona is said to have been cold, sharped-tongued and short-tempered - and his political plans were no more popular among the ruling elites.

According to Wikipedia’s biography, Franz Ferdinand advocated a careful approach towards Serbia - repeatedly opposing hardliners in Vienna - warning that harsh treatment of the Serbs would bring Austria-Hungary into open conflict with Russia, to the ruin of both Empires. On Sunday, 28 June 1914, on a visit to Sarajevo, the capital of the Austro-Hungarian province of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Franz Ferdinand and Sophie were shot dead by Gavrilo Princip, one of a group of Serbian assassins. Another of the group had tried, earlier in the day, to bomb the Archduke’s motorcade, but that assassination attempt had failed. The group had been coordinated by Danilo Ilić, a Bosnian Serb, whose political objective was to break off Austria-Hungary’s south-Slav provinces so they could be combined into a Yugoslavia.

The assassination gave the Vienna hardliners an opportunity to move against Serbia and its fight for independence: Austria-Hungary demanded impossible reparations, and, failing to receive them, declared war on Serbia. The complex web of alliances in Europe, then, was activated as Russia declared war on Austria-Hungary, Germany declared war on Russia, and France and Britain declared war on Germany and Austria-Hungary. Thus did begin - on 28 July 1914 - World War I.

More information on the Archduke can be found at Wikipedia, and Bio. Wikipedia has a long entry about the assassination itself, and First World War has video footage of the Archduke arriving at the town hall in Sarajevo. See also media articles today: The Guardian, Washington Post, The Telegraph, BBC.

In late 1892 and 1893, Franz Ferdinand traveled around the world, partly, it is recorded, for medical reasons: the journey served both as a cover and as a means to recover. Science was the journey’s official purpose and Franz Ferdinand traveled under the alias of Count of Hohenberg on the torpedo ram cruiser Kaiserin Elisabeth. He was accompanied by over 400 people, ranging from a navy chaplain to a royal treasurer. Throughout the ten months of the journey, he kept a daily diary - often in considerable detail - and wrote more than 2,000 pages. The diary was published in two volumes in 1896 as Tagebuch Meiner Reise Um Die Erde, 1892-1893. It was reprinted in 2012 (copies available through Amazon, for example). The original 19th century volumes, though, can also be bought on Abebooks, at a price.

Franz Ferdinand’s diary was never translated into English. However, in 2013, Der Spiegel ran an informative article on the newly reprinted two volumes, and an English version of the article is available online. Much information about the Antipodean part of the Archduke’s journey and diary is also available thanks to Weekend Australian Magazine. In Vienna, the Welt Museum is celebrating the centenary of Franz Ferdinand’s death with a major exhibition on the Archduke’s journey based on his diaries.

Most significantly, the full text of Franz Ferdinand’s diary is being made freely available online and in English thanks to an unknown translator and editor (although he/she does provide an email address for contact). The editor states: ‘I invite you, Dear Reader, to follow Franz Ferdinand’s world tour of 1893, day by day, in a new translation into English. This is a work in progress and help is welcome.’

The Franz Ferdinand’s World Tour website is simple and easy to use, with information on the people who accompanied the Archduke, the ship he travelled in, and a chronological list of days with the date, the place, and a link to the diary’s entry for that day.

In the Archduke’s own preface to the 1896 publication, he wrote: ‘To collect all the thousands of impressions that assailed me and to remember in old age what I cherished as a young man, I wrote daily notes from its beginning of the voyage on. In this, I was also thinking about those who had remained at home. They who could not experience directly the incomparable allures were - if only in weak form - to find a means to participate indirectly in this journey across the world by my offer of my recollections. Thus, I offer my beloved ones and my friends my diary. It contains sights, experiences, thoughts, lessons and hopes to find a level of interest among those for whom it is intended to the extent that it induces affection and friendship.’

Here are a couple of extracts, the first a shorter entry characteristic of those made at sea, and the second, a longer entry from Franz Ferdinand’s first day in Sydney, which is more typical of the lengthy notes he made when visiting places on land.

3 April 1893
‘The sky was very cloudy and a rainsquall was pouring down in heavy drops, drumming against the deck but quickly evaporate in the heat. Church service was therefore held in the battery.

Still during the morning appeared the Sayer islands, Salang island off the Panga peninsula, in the afternoon the Brothers islands became visible. All these small islands seem to be of volcanic origin, viewed through a spyglass, and thickly covered with tropical vegetation.

During the day we observed tide rips or stream currents that are very common in the Strait of Malacca; these are wave movements that are caused by counter-currents that move in stripes across the otherwise quiet sea and make the steering much more difficult as they cause the ship to drift from its course. I might compare these currents to a quickly flowing watercourse in a sea that flings out foaming, dancing waves at the surface.

An outstanding number of flying fishes, large schools of dolphins as well as fish similar to tuna were mingling. The latter ones pursued, jumping out of the water, smaller fish while these in turn were followed by large birds similar to common dabs that I could not determine more precisely.

The evening was tepid and mild, so that I whiled away an hour on the bridge before I went to sleep, fanned by the the cool evening air, lost in the view of the southern starry sky which I consider by the way inferior in diversity, beauty and splendor of the zodiacs to the northern sky.’

16 May 1893
‘The youngest continent would not receive the sons of the old world in bad weather. As I arrived on deck at half past 6 o’clock, I found the sky clear and serene. The sun was just rising. The sea had calmed down to some degree. Various seagulls and sea swallows as well as large guillemots or penguins were swarming around our ship which was approaching the entrance to Sydney, Port Jackson. The day was gorgeous but the temperature was so low that we were well advised to wear warm coats. From afar we could see the two white shining capes or peninsulas - Outer North and South Head - through which the approach to the harbor leads. These peninsulas descend steeply into the sea with sharp rocky faces and cliffs. Splashing, the waves break against the shore. Hundreds of crag martins and common swifts were tweeting and circling above their nesting places. On Outer South Head is a light house. The entrance is rich in flashy direction obelisks. On a small steamboat the pilot was approaching toward us to take the position of our our old captain from Port Kennedy.

All the harbors that I have yet seen are surpassed in the beauty of its scenery by Sydney - a view shared also by the other gentlemen who saw it for the first time.

Despite many enthusiastic descriptions of Port Jackson we have received, the scenery that opened up before our eyes still surprised us and our astonishment and admiration grew minute by minute.

Having passed through the outlying mountains the ship enters into a narrow channel turns hard towards Southwest - and now there lies a delightful sound in front of us. In the distance the sea of houses of Sydney are glittering, to the right and left small bays are open, surrounded by green hills covered with trees and countless villas and country homes whose gardens were filled with splendid flowers in the calendar autumnal colors. Overall it creates an extremely lively and serene view. The bays are populated with steam boats, yachts and boats of all kinds whose passengers wave greetings to the entering “Elisabeth”. Truly, Australia could not have offered us a more welcoming reception! We saw this as a good sign for our stay which we were looking forward to in a very good mood.

The fine clear cool air that refreshed us contributed in no small part to the great first impression - doubly welcome after the sweltering humid heat of Java that flags both mind and body.

Our joyful mood was even more increased by the German consul general Pelldram, who also represented Austria-Hungary here at the moment and had come to greet us and handed us three messages at the same time.

The whole force of the sanitary police regulations which is applied especially against ships coming from Batavia we had to endure too. First we had to anchor in Watson Bay for the health assessment - a stay we did not have to regret due to the delightful surrounding landscape.

After we had been given permission to proceed, “Elisabeth” continued the journey alongside the picturesque bay shore whose ledges were crowned by small forts and batteries - which seemed to me of subordinate fortification value. We then passed Garden Island with its arsenal and the navy yard of the Australian war fleet as well as Woolloomooloo Bay and then moored at a buoy amidst the warships of the Australian squadron at Farm Cove between Lady Macquarie’s Chair and Fort Macquarie.

The coastal defense is undertaken by the ships of the British navy stationed in Australian waters, the Australian Auxiliary Squadron and of warships in the service of the colony. According to the Australasian Naval Force Act of 1887 the Australian colonies pay an annual contribution of 1,092,000 fl. in Austrian currency to the British government for it to provide the Australian Auxiliary Squadron. Furthermore the construction costs borne by the British government for the ships of this squadron carries an interest of 5 percent paid by the colonies but the overall annual interest is not allowed to surpass 420.000 fl. in Austrian currency. This Auxiliary Squadron consists of 5 fast cruisers and 2 torpedo cannon boats and is commanded by a British Rear Admiral who also is in command of the squadron of the ships of the British navy stationed in Australian waters. This squadron consists of 1 armored ship, 3 cruisers, 3 cannon boats and 1 steam yacht; its main station is Sydney. The war fleet owned by the Australian colonies consists in total of 1 armored ship, 2 cruisers, 4 cannon boats, 13 torpedo boats, 2 torpedo barges and 7 steam boats; the majority of theses ships belongs to Victoria and Queensland, while New Zealand does not own any warship.

Next to us was moored the proud British ship of the admiral, the armored cruiser “Orlando“, with 5600 t; next to it followed the cruiser “Royalist” and the cruiser “Mildura” of the Australian Auxiliary Squadron besides the cannon boat “Boomerang” and the cannon boat “Paluma” owned by the colony of Queensland which is used at shared cost by the colony and the British government to map the coast. On these ships our anthem rang out accompanied by the sound of the guns.

In a short time appeared Lieutenant Governor Sir F. M. Darley, accompanied by his adjutant and cabinet secretary, and soon afterward the commander of the royal squadron, Rear Admiral Bowden-Smith, as well as the mayor of Sydney, Mr. Manning, came on board to greet me. The governor himself had been recalled to England after only two years of service. His successor is bound to arrive soon. Numerous compatriots namely Istrians and Dalmatians who are doing business in Sydney came on board of “Elisabeth” to look for and find friends and acquaintances.

Dispositions for the next few days were quickly made. Then a boat brought me on land to set foot on the soil of the colony of New South Wales and visit its capital, the oldest city of Australia.

Sydney, which lies on the South coast of Jackson Bay that cuts deeply into the land, is situated on a couple of hills - imposing by the number and size of its buildings - and then by and by blends into villa settlements and the green of the landscape. Founded in 1788 as the seat of the penal colony of New South Wales, Sydney - originally Port Jackson, then named in honor of the secretary of state Viscount Sydney - has grown tremendously namely during the last few years. The population increase of Sydney is best illustrated by the following numbers: In 1800 Sydney had barely 2600 inhabitants, in 1861 95.596, in 1881 already 237.300, on 31 December 1892 including the suburbs already 411.710 inhabitants.

As an important trading and industrial center Sydney owes its rise mostly to the safety and size of its harbor which handles more than three quarters of the total imports and more than half the exports of the colony of New South Wales. In the year 1892 2960 ships with 2,804.549 t entered here and 3067 ships with 2,842.635 t departed; the imports of the colony represented in this year a total value of 249,318.312 fl. in Austrian currency, the exports one of 263,666.964 fl. in Austrian currency.

The boat landed below Government House at Fort Macquarie where the road led along a quay to the city. On this quay there was a very busy life as the large steamers of the Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company as well as those of the Messageries maritimes are moored and are next to the warehouses of many floors in which wool bales and hides were loaded in and out without interruption. Viewed from the quay the two main streets and main traffic veins of Sydney, George Street und Pitt Street, cross the center of the city running parallel from North to South. Even though many streets are arranged in a grid, this monotonous regularity of modern city design is not much noticed as Sydney is situated on hills which continuously changes the scenery of the streets.

Among the many public buildings of Sydney all built in stone I mention the most remarkable: the university, a colossal building with a grandiose hall in Gothic style which rises at the North end of the beautiful Victoria Park, the cathedral and the newly built Catholic Church of Maria, the splendid Town Hall, the palatial post office with its colonnades and a large tower, the museum next to Hyde Park and finally the parliament.

Pretty houses, many with balconies and verandas, and shops on the ground floor where European goods are sold, line the macadamized streets where a busy crowd is going here and there. The streets are highly urban and still very cozy and friendly. Not the least because the visitor thinks to be in a European city as he sees but white faces, among them especially beautiful women and girls - an agreeable view after the colored and in our opinion not very attractive physiognomy of the natives of the countries we had recently visited.

The streets are very busy which is easy to understand in the case of Sydney as an important trading place. The only thing I find fault with is that they have introduced London cabs that are very uncomfortable for its passengers.

The acquisitions we had to do were fully made in the European manner. The transactions went smoothly and quickly and we appreciated not having to search and haggle for hours as in Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore and Batavia.

Then I paid a visit to the Lieutenant Governor in Government House built in Tudor style and distinguished in its interior by its noble calm elegance of its furnishings. Sir F. M. Darley speaks German fairly well which eased the conversation very much. He showed me the garden of the palace which offers a delicious view of the harbor and Mossmans Bay opposite it with its villa quater of St. Leonard. The garden is well kept and contains a rich collection of Australian tree and bush species.

The next visit was devoted to - I suffer from museum addiction - the museum housed in an imposing building and distinguished by the richness, correct arrangement and good conservation of its objects. As I was first interested in the especially Australian species, I turned towards the mammals to study namely the strange class of marsupials. Among the well stuffed animals were represented various kangaroo and wallaby species, from the giant kangaroo to the lovely rock wallaby (Petrogale penicillata), oppossums, the flying squirrels, various species of quoll and possums, the Australian koala, wombat, dugong, the wild dog dingo or warragal and the platypus.

The bird world of Australia is completely represented. Noteworthy are: the New Dutch cassowary or emu; the rare lyrebird; the numerous species of intensely colored cockatoo and parrots, as well as the group of swamp and water fowl which included many species of which I was unaware. Australia seems to be poor in predator birds and chicken species according to the survey presented in the museum while the order of the pigeons has beautiful specimens. One well stuffed specimen of every bird species is presented in a glass cabinet. Thousands of bird bodies, however, are kept in chests to serve as exchange objects from time to time.

The museum possesses too a rich collection of corals and shells, of beetles and butterflies and finally an ethnographic one of objects from the continent and the islands of Australia which I intended to see during a second visit.

In the mean time, the clock struck five, a time where the streets of Sydney are filled with the vivid traffic as the inhabitants of this city tend to go out into the open air at that time.

Following this example we ambled in Hyde Park and in George Street until it was time for the table d’hôte at the Australian Hotel which I intended to attend.

This giant building six floors high resembles in construction, dimensions and installations the English and American hotels but with the agreeably appreciated difference that one did not have to rely only upon English cooking of roast beef and anodyne vegetables but was well supplied with food and drink. The table d’hôte reunited in a large hall a large company. The gentlemen were, according to English custom, wearing dress coats, the ladies even in mostly low-cut festive dresses. Not much laudable can be said about the dinner music performed by some artists who elicited awful sounds out of their instruments.

As the operetta theater that it was said offered good performances was closed and a circus had just left Sydney the day before, there were only two entertainment locations for us who had been deprived of “artistic” divertissement for a long time - the two music halls “Tivoli” and “Alhambra” in which popular singers, among them also Negroes, and female dancers produced themselves in front of the audience that applauded in the manner of the land by shrill whistling and was not particularly distinguished. The audience consisted mostly of workers, sailors and small business men.’