An unpleasant odour of musk

‘The flesh [of Hoatzins, locally called Ciganas] has an unpleasant odour of musk combined with wet hides - a smell called by the Brazilians catinga; it is, therefore, uneatable. If it be as unpalateable to carnivorous animals as it is to man, the immunity from persecution which it would thereby enjoy would account for its existing in such great numbers throughout the country.’ This is from the much-revered natural history journals written by Henry Walter Bates - born two centuries ago today - after spending 11 years in the Amazon. His observations and research, like that of his friend Russell Wallace, supported the new theories, at the time, being put forward by Charles Darwin.

Bates was born on 8 February 1825, in Leicester, England, into a family of modest means, his father being a stocking maker. Despite limited formal education, he attended local schools and became proficient in Latin and French, which later helped him access scientific literature. At age 13, he became an apprentice to a hosier but continued pursuing a passion for entomology in his spare time. He joined the Mechanics’ Institute (which had a library), studied in his spare time and collected insects in Charnwood Forest. In 1843 he had a short paper on beetles published in the journal Zoologist. He met Wallace, a keen entomologist, who had taken a teaching post in the Leicester Collegiate School. The two men shared a passion to explore exotic lands. 

Inspired particularly by Alexander von Humboldt’s accounts of the Amazon (see Humboldt’s genius), Bates and Wallace embarked on an expedition to South America in 1848 to study the region’s biodiversity. They intended to fund their trip by collecting and selling specimens of plants and animals. Though Wallace returned to England in 1852, Bates went on to spend 11 years (1848-1859) in the Amazon, a period marked by much hardship and astonishing discoveries: during this period, he collected over 14,000 species, of which approximately 8,000 were new to science. 

On his return, Bates spent the next three years writing an account of the trip, This was published as The Naturalist on the River Amazons in 1863, and would soon become widely regarded as one of the finest accounts of natural history travels. In the work, he details his discovery of what would become named as Batesian mimicry - a phenomenon whereby harmless species evolve to imitate the warning signals of harmful species to avoid predators. The idea proved a significant contribution to the then emerging theory of natural selection.

Also in 1863, Bates married Sarah Ann Mason with whom he had several children. From 1864 onwards, he worked as assistant secretary of the Royal Geographical Society (though effectively he acted as secretary - the senior post being occupied by a noble figurehead). He sold his personal Lepidoptera collection, and began to work mostly on beetles. From 1868 to 1869 and in 1878 he was president of the Entomological Society of London. In 1871 he was elected a fellow of the Linnaean Society, and in 1881 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society. He died in 1892. Further information is available from Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, and The Natural History Museum (which today holds most of his collection).

Bates’ original 1863 work, in two volumes, can be freely read online at Internet Archive. However, much more recently, in 2020, The Natural History Museum published The Naturalist on the River Amazon: The Journals & Writings of Henry Walter Bates. According to the museum, the book includes pages from Bates’ illustrated notebooks and excerpts from, in the words of Charles Darwin, ‘the best book of natural history travels ever published’.

Most of The Naturalist on the River Amazons reads more like a memoir than a journal or diary, but there are a few dated extracts. Here are two.

29 August 1848 

‘The Mojú, a stream little inferior to the Thames in size, is connected about 20 miles from its mouth by means of a short artificial canal with a small stream, the Igarapé-mirim, which flows the opposite way into the water-system of the Tocantins. Small vessels like ours take this route in preference to the stormy passage by way of the main river, although the distance is considerably greater. We passed through the canal yesterday, and to-day have been threading our way through a labyrinth of narrow channels; their banks all clothed with the same magnificent forest; but agreeably varied by houses of planters and settlers. We passed many quite large establishments, besides one pretty little village, called Santa Anna. All these channels are washed through by the tides, - the ebb, contrary to what takes place in the short canal, setting towards the Tocantins. The water is almost tepid (77° Fahr.), and the rank vegetation all around seems reeking with moisture. The country however, as we were told, is perfectly healthy. Some of the houses are built on wooden piles driven into the mud of the swamp.

In the afternoon we reached the end of the last channel, called the Anapú, which runs for several miles between two unbroken lilies of fan-leaved palms, forming with their straight stems colossal palisades. On rounding a point of land we came in full view of the Tocantins. The event was announced by one of our Indians, who was on the look-out at the prow, shouting, “La esta o Paraná-uassú!” “Behold, the great river!” It was a grand sight - a broad expanse of dark waters dancing merrily to the breeze; the opposite shore, a narrow blue line, miles away. We went ashore on an island covered with palm-trees, to make a fire and boil our kettle for tea. I wandered a short way inland, and was astounded at the prospect. The land lay below the upper level of the daily tides, so that there was no underwood, and the ground was bare. The trees were almost all of one species of Palm, the gigantic fan-leaved Mauritia flexuosa; on the borders only was there a small number of a second kind, the equally remarkable Ubussú palm, Manicaria saccifera. The Ubussú has erect, uncut leaves, twenty-five feet long, and six feet wide, all arranged round the top of a four-feet high stem, so as to form a figure like that of a colossal shuttlecock. The fan-leaved palms, which clothed nearly the entire islet, had huge cylindrical smooth stems, three feet in diameter, and about a hundred feet high. The crowns were formed of enormous clusters of fan-shaped leaves, the stalks alone of which measured seven to ten feet in length. Nothing in the vegetable world could be more imposing than this grove of palms. There was no underwood to obstruct the view of the long perspective of towering columns. The crowns, which were densely packed together at an immense height overhead, shut out the rays of the sun; and the gloomy solitude beneath, through which the sound of our voices seemed to reverberate, could be compared to nothing so well as a solemn temple. The fruits of the two palms were scattered over the ground; those of the Ubussú adhere together by twos and threes, and have a rough, brown-coloured shell; the fruit of the Mauritia, on the contrary, is of a bright red hue, and the skin is impressed with deep crossing lines, which give it a resemblance to a quilted cricket-ball.

About midnight, the tide being favourable and the breeze strong, we crossed the river, taking it in a slanting direction, a distance of sixteen miles, and arrived at eight o’clock the following morning at Cametá. This is a town of some importance, pleasantly situated on the somewhat high terra firma of the left bank of the Tocantins. I will defer giving an account of the place till the end of this narrative of our Tocantins voyage. We lost here another of our men, who got drinking with some old companions ashore, and were obliged to start on the difficult journey up the river with two hands only, and they in a very dissatisfied humour with the prospect.

The river view from Cametá is magnificent. The town is situated, as already mentioned, on a high bank, which forms quite a considerable elevation for this fiat country, and the broad expanse of dark-green waters is studded with low, palm-clad islands, the prospect down river, however, being clear, or bounded only by a sealike horizon of water and sky. The shores are washed by the breeze-tossed waters into little bays and creeks, fringed with sandy beaches. The Tocantins has been likened, by Prince Adalbert of Prussia, who crossed its mouth in 1846, to the Ganges. It is upwards of ten miles in breadth at its mouth; opposite Cametá it is five miles broad. Mr. Burchell, the well- known English traveller, descended the river from the mining provinces of interior Brazil some years before our visit. Unfortunately, the utility of this fine stream is impaired by the numerous obstructions to its navigation in the shape of cataracts and rapids, which commence, in ascending, at about 120 miles above Cametá, as will be seen in the sequel.’

30 August 1848 

‘Arrived, in company with Senhor Laroque, an intelligent Portuguese merchant, at Vista Alegre, fifteen miles above Cameta. This was the residence of Senhor Antonio Ferreira Gomez, and was a fair sample of a Brazilian planter’s establishment in this part of the country. The buildings covered a wide space, the dwelling-house being separated from the place of business, and as both were built on low, flooded ground, the communication between the two was by means of a long wooden bridge. From the office and visitors’ apartments a wooden pier extended into the river. The whole was raised on piles above high-water mark. There was a rude mill for grinding sugar-cane, worked by bullocks, but cashaça, or rum, was the only article manufactured from the juice. Behind the buildings was a small piece of ground cleared from the forest, and planted with fruit-trees, orange, lemon, genipapa, goyava, and others; and beyond this, a broad path through a neglected plantation of coffee and cacao, led to several large sheds, where the farinha, or mandiocca meal, was manufactured.

The plantations of mandiocca are always scattered about in the forest, some of them being on islands in the middle of the river. Land being plentiful, and the plough, as well as, indeed, nearly all other agricultural implements, unknown, the same ground is not planted three years together; but a new piece of forest is cleared every alternate year, and the old clearing suffered to relapse into jungle.

We stayed here two days, sleeping ashore in the apartment devoted to strangers. As usual in Brazilian houses of the middle class, we were not introduced to the female members of the family, and, indeed, saw nothing of them except at a distance. In the forest and thickets about the place we were tolerably successful in collecting, finding a number of birds and insects which do not occur at Para. I saw here, for the first time, the sky-blue Chatterer (Ampelis cotinga). It was on the topmost bough of a very lofty tree, and completely out of the reach of an ordinary fowling-piece. The beautiful light-blue colour of its plumage was plainly discernible at that distance. It is a dull, quiet bird. A much commoner species was the Cigana or Gipsy (Opisthocomus cristatus), a bird belonging to the same order, Gallinacea, as our domestic fowl. It is about the size of a pheasant; the plumage is dark brown, varied with reddish, and the head is adorned with a crest of long feathers. It is a remarkable bird in many respects. The hind toe is not placed high above the level of the other toes, as it is in the fowl-order generally, but lies on the same plane with them; the shape of the foot becomes thus suited to the purely arboreal habits of the bird, enabling it to grasp firmly the branches of trees. This is a distinguishing character of all the birds in equinoctial America which represent the fowl and pheasant tribes of the old world, and affords another proof of the adaptation of the Fauna to a forest region. The Cigana lives in considerable flocks on the lower trees and bushes bordering the streams and lagoons, and feeds on various wild fruits, especially the sour Goyava (Psidium sp.). The natives say it devours the fruit of arborescent Arums (Caladium arborescens), which grow in crowded masses around the swampy banks of lagoons. Its voice is a harsh, grating hiss; it makes the noise when alarmed, all the individuals sibilating as they fly heavily away from tree to tree, when disturbed by passing canoes. It is polygamous, like other members of the same order. It is never, however, by any chance, seen on the ground, and is nowhere domesticated. The flesh has an unpleasant odour of musk combined with wet hides - a smell called by the Brazilians catinga; it is, therefore, uneatable. If it be as unpalateable to carnivorous animals as it is to man, the immunity from persecution which it would thereby enjoy would account for its existing in such great numbers throughout the country.

A great number of the insects which we found here were different from those of Para. Species characteristic of the one locality were replaced by allied species in the other, a fact which would tend to the conclusion that the Tocantins serves, to some extent, as a barrier to migration. This was especially the case with the Papilios of the group which wear a livery of black, green, and red. P. Echelus of this group, which is so common at Para, was here absent, and its place supplied by the closely related P. Æneides. Both have the same habits, and seem to fill similar spheres in the natural economy of the two districts. Another handsome butterfly taken here was a member of the Erycinidæ family, the Alesa Prema, which is of a dazzling emerald-green colour chequered with black. I caught here a young Iguana; Iguanas, however, are extremely common everywhere throughout the country. They are especially numerous in the neighbourhood of villages, where they climb about fruit-trees overrun with creepers. The eggs, which are oblong, and about an inch and a half in length, are laid in hollow trees, and are very pleasant eating taken raw and mixed with farinha. The colour of the skin in the Iguana changes like that of the chameleon; in fact, it is called chameleon by the Portuguese. It grows to a length of five feet, and becomes enormously fat. This lizard is interesting to English readers on account of its relationship to the colossal fossil reptile of the Wealden, the Iguanodon. The Iguana is one of the stupidest animals I ever met with. The one I caught dropped helplessly from a tree just ahead of me; it turned round for a moment to have an idiotic stare at the intruder, and then set off running along the pathway. I ran after it, and it then stopped as a timid dog would do, crouching down, and permitting me to seize it by the neck and carry it off.

We lost here another of our crew; and thus, at the commencement of our voyage, had before us the prospect of being forced to return, from sheer want of hands to manage the canoe. Senhor Gomez, to whom we had brought letters of introduction from Senhor Joao Augusto Correia, a Brazilian gentleman of high standing at Para, tried what he could do to induce the canoe-men of his neighbourhood to engage with us, but it was a vain endeavour. The people of these parts seemed to be above working for wages. They are naturally indolent, and besides, have all some little business or plantation of their own, which gives them a livelihood with independence. It is difficult to obtain hands under any circumstances, but it was particularly so in our case, from being foreigners, and suspected, as was natural amongst ignorant people, of being strange in our habits. At length, our host lent us two of his slaves to help us on another stage, namely, to the village of Baiaō, where we had great hopes of having this, our urgent want, supplied by the military commandant of the district.’

Catch some of my life

James Gordon Farrell, who might have reached ninety today had he not died young in a storm accident, would have become one of the really great novelists writing in the English language today - according to a claim by Salman Rushdie widely quoted on internet sites. The editor of a collection of Farrell’s letters and ‘diary fragments’, published a few years ago by Cork University Press, argues that her book reveals Farrell’s ‘lost autobiographical voice.’ In a first entry, Farrell writes of using the diary to ‘catch some of my life’, and in another he catches a moment of inspiration, one that will lead to his best book.

Farrell was born in Liverpool on 25 January 1935 into an Anglo-Irish family. Although his family moved to County Dublin after the war, he was enrolled at Rossall boarding school in Lancashire from the age of 12, spending holidays in Ireland. After Rossall, he taught in Dublin, and also worked at a radar station in the Canadian Arctic. He entered Brasenose College, Oxford, in 1956, but contracted polio which left him partially crippled. On leaving Oxford with a low class degree, he went to live and teach in France, the setting for his first novel A Man from Elsewhere.

Thereafter, Farrell led a peripatetic life, variously in Paris, Morocco, Dublin and London. In 1966, he won a Harkness Fellowship to visit the US, and although this did not lead him, as he hoped, to study at Yale Drama School, it did provide him with the stimulus to write Troubles (about Ireland’s struggle for independence), the book that would bring him literary fame. It won the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize, and with the proceeds he went to India, the setting for his next novel on colonial power, The Siege of Krishnapur. This won the UK’s Booker Prize in 1973. A third, thematically similar, novel followed - The Singapore Grip.

In 1979, Farrell decided to move from London (where he had been based since around 1970) to the southwest of Ireland. A few months later, he was found dead, after being swept from rocks in a storm while fishing. He never married, though he had affairs, and a wide circle of literary friends. Further information can be found at Wikipedia, which quotes Salmon Rushdie as saying, in 2008, that had Farrell not died so young,‘he would today be one of the really major novelists of the English language.’ There are various other articles online about Farrell, some reporting on how Troubles won, in 2010, the Lost Booker Prize for 1970 - at The Guardian, The Daily Telegraph, and BBC. (‘Lost’ because books published in that year missed out on being considered thanks to a rule change.) A chapter on Farrell in Writing Liverpool: Essays and Interviews can be read at Googlebooks.

Farrell does not appear to have been a committed diarist, but, in 2009, Cork University Press published J. G. Farrell in his Own Words - Selected Letters and Diaries, as edited by Lavinia Greacen. Most of the book is taken up with letters, and Graecen, herself, refers to the rest as ‘diary fragments’. A review can be found online at Estudios Irlandeses.

Although the name J. G. Farrell tends to come with an austerely confident ring to it, Greacen says the ‘lost autobiographical voice’ in this book reveals him to be warm and sometimes full of self doubt. In a very short foreword, John Banville explains that he met Farrell once, a few days before he won the Booker Prize for The Siege of Krishnapur. He notes, however, that Farrell himself thought Troubles was a better book.

Here are two extracts from J. G. Farrell in his Own Words - Selected Letters and Diaries. I’ve chosen the first because it explains Farrell’s motivations for starting a diary; and the second for it records a pivotal moment in the genesis of Troubles. However, I have also chosen the second because of a link with my own life: the very same Surf Hotel on Block Island, mentioned by Farrell, was where I was taken having been expelled from my father’s island house - I never saw or spoke to him again (see my diaries).

22 December 1966
‘This is addressed to an absent third party . . . in all respects like me, but not me. Alright then, the idea of this diary is to help me to get control of my talent for writing. I hope that it will help me in the following ways:
1) That I shall bring myself face to face with things that I normally discard through sheer mental laziness.
2) That I shall be able to remember things people say that make an impression on me as well as things I read.
3) Get in the habit of discussing problems with myself.
4) Catch some of my life before I forget it. I’m appalled to think how little I can remember of my first trip to America, even though it was only ten years ago. However, avoid being garrulous or it will become a chore. Avoid self-pity and sentimentality. Avoid haranguing myself uselessly like this.

On Monday I had lunch with Mike Roemer. He was busy and somewhat harassed; I noticed for the first time how he tends to talk too loud, as if afraid that he won’t be able to assert himself if he doesn’t. He had been to see Polanski’s Cul de Sac and hadn’t liked it. I was unable to understand his reasons for not liking it. He said he thought it was badly written; that it hadn’t gone far enough if it was supposed to be black humour etc. Well, perhaps I do partly see what he means. For all that, he couldn’t convince me (he didn’t try) that it was a bad film. I still find parts of it sublime: the kitchen scene at the beginning and the visit of friends [. . .] Roemer told me had once dined with E. M. Forster and been very impressed with his modesty and simplicity. F. had only wanted to talk about films. In the course of lunch R. repeated his theory that writers use up their experience when young, then go through a middle period of hard work before they can learn to invent their own material. In return I talked to him of intuitive writers, citing Edna O’Brien as one who had gone off the rails once she had begun to think about it. [. . .] I don’t think either of us were particularly convinced by this. Nothing, anyway, will convince R. that writing is not a field in which one only succeeds by hard and ruthless work. With deep misgivings I gave him a copy of The Lung.

Reading Virginia Woolf’s diary in the train to N. Caroline to spend Christmas with Bob. Odd and curious flashes of contempt for the lower classes appear every now and then that seem sadly out of date (these are the only things that seem unusual for a person like V. W. by today’s standards).’

11 May 1967
‘Over a month since my last entry - an interval in which things went downhill at a fairly brisk pace, with the roaches multiplying in my room at the Belvedere faster than I could control them . . . In this time I took out Anita Gross a couple of times. She’s attractive, sure. But there’s something slightly wrong somewhere [. . .]

A week ago I came to Block Island to stay at the Surf Hotel under the aegis of Mr and Mrs Sears. He is a fat, genial chap and she is somewhat severe with elegantly rolled white hair that makes her look like an immigrant from Versailles. [. . .] At first I found myself eating with an English couple called Porter: she is a psychiatrist, he described himself as a ‘poet’ but I didn’t question him about this and he didn’t volunteer any further information. [. . .]

I’ve covered most of the island on foot in the past week and feel much healthier for it. The weather has been a mixture of terrible storms and sunny, windy days. Last weekend the ferry was unable to make the return trip because of a storm. Now the rain has returned I think I shall return to NY tomorrow.

While here I have made yet another ‘fresh start’ on my book - partly inspired by the charred remains of the Ocean View Hotel which stands, or stood, on a cliff overlooking the old harbour where the ferry comes in. It burned down a year or so ago. “A place with a thousand rooms,” Mr Porter (the poet) said. “200 to 300” said his wife. This morning I went up to look at the remains while the sun was still shining. Old bedsprings twisted with heat; puddles of molten glass; washbowls that had fallen through to the foundations; a flight of stone steps leading up to thin air; twisted pipes; lots of nails lying everywhere and a few charred beams. I think the way the glass had collected like candlegreas under the windows impressed me most. When you picked it up it was inclined to flake away into smaller pieces in your hand. I must remember to ask someone how many storeys it had. Anyway this gave me an idea, which seems to me a good one, for the dwelling place of the family.’ [Ocean View Hotel did, in fact, provide the catalyst for the Majestic Hotel in Troubles, and give him the structure for the novel.]

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 25 January 2015.

Dipped into Bacon’s essays

Thomas Green, a man of leisure and a self-professed lover of literature, died two centuries ago today. He kept a diary for much of his life, but one focused almost exclusively on his thoughts and opinions about books he was reading. According to this diary, he was often to be found ‘dipping into’ some great work of non-fiction or other, such as Bacon’s essays.

Green was born at Monmouth in 1769. His grandfather was a wealthy Suffolk soap-boiler who had made a fortune during the reign of Queen Anne, and his father was a man of letters, a pamphleteer, and a champion of the Church of England. Green was partly educated privately, and partly at the free grammar school in Ispwich; he was admitted to Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. However, illness prevented him from taking up his university studies. Instead, he was called to the bar, and travelled the Norfolk Circuit. He married Catherine Hartcup, and they had one son.

Aged 25, Green inherited the family estate, leaving him free to live a life of leisure and reading literature. He resided in Ipswich, visiting the Continent and different parts of England from time to time. Occasionally, he wrote and published political pamphlets, and he provided contributions to The Gentleman’s Magazine. He died on 6 January 1825. Further biographical information is available from an 1834 edition of The Gentleman’s Magazine, Dictionary of National Biography 1895-1900, or Edmund Gosse’s Gossip in a Library.

Green kept a diary for most of his adult life, and he is mostly remembered because of a quirky book, based on this diary, that he published in 1810: Extracts from The Diary of a Lover of Literature (this is freely available at Internet Archive). It records his thoughts and lengthy opinions on the books he was reading, most of which were worthy, non-fiction classics. Although his selection of diary extracts in this book are confined to a five year period (1796-1800), his friend John Mitford published further extracts in The Gentleman’s Magazine between 1834 and 1843 (here and here for example).

Here are several extracts from Green’s book, starting with much of his elaborately self-effacing and wittily apologetic preface.

PREFACE
‘At length, after much hesitation, and in an evil hour perhaps, I am induced to submit to the indulgence of the Public, the idlest Work, probably, that ever was composed; but, I could wish to hope, not absolutely the most unentertaining or unprofitable.

For the errors and defects naturally incident to a composition successively exhibiting the impressions of the moment in the language which the moment prompted, and which must derive any interest it may possess from the ease and freedom with which these impressions are communicated, it would be fruitless and absurd to attempt an apology. [. . .] For faults of every other description; and for more than a due proportion of these, I feel that I am strictly accountable ; and present myself before the Audience whose attention I have presumed to engage with my babble, under an appalling sense of the responsibility which my rashness has incurred.

To the objector, who should fiercely demand, why I obtruded on the Public at all, matter confessedly so crude and so peccant, I have really little to allege which is quite satisfactory to my own mind, or which I could reasonably hope, therefore, would prove so to his: but to an offended spirit of a gentler nature, I might perhaps be allowed to intimate, that, whatever my faults may be, I have not attempted to decoy unwary Readers by an imposing Title, nor to tax their curiosity with the costly splendours of fashionable typography. It has been my earnest wish, at least, to obviate disappointment, by accommodating, as much as possible, my appearance to my pretensions. These are simple, and of easy statement. To furnish occupation, in a vacant hour, to minds imbued with a relish for literary pursuits, by suggesting topics for reflection and incentives to research, partly from an exhibition of whatever struck me as most interesting in the thoughts of others, during a miscellaneous course of reading, and partly, too, from a free and unreserved communication of the thoughts they gave rise to in my own mind - this is all that I venture to propose to the Reader as my aim in the publication of the following Extracts. [. . .]

With respect to my success in this adventure, if I am not generally very sanguine, there are certain moments - under the encouraging influence of a balmy air, bright sky, and vigorous digestion - in which I am not altogether without hope. When I advert, it is true, to the numerous faults that deform the following pages, all crowding in hideous succession before me - when I reflect on the various improvements of which the whole would be susceptible, even under my own mature revisal - above all, when I compute what brighter talents and ampler attainments might have achieved in a similar career - my heart, oppressed with the load of my infirmities, sinks in despondency within me: but when I consider, on the other hand, the wretched trash with which the Public is sometimes apparently content to be amused, my spirits, in a slight degree, revive; I cannot disguise, from myself, that I am at least entitled to equal indulgence with some of these candidates for public favour; and in the momentary elation of this ignoble triumph, am tempted to anticipate a reception, which however moderate and subdued for an illusion of the fancy, may perhaps prove ridiculously flattering compared with the actual doom that awaits me. [. . .]

The following Sheets are, of course, only a sample, though a pretty large one, of a more considerable Work: but the Purchaser of the present Volume (I hasten to add) need not be alarmed. I cannot flatter myself that the materials for a future selection, are eminently better than those from which I have thus far drawn; and with the present Extracts I am so little satisfied, on a review of them in print, that unless they should experience the most unequivocal symptoms of public favour, they are the last that will appear. An idle experiment, however unsuccessful, may be good-naturedly excused; but to persist in a piece of folly of this kind, after a fair warning that it is such, would betray an unpardonable disregard of what is due, on the occasion, both to public feeling and my own character.’

29 September 1796
‘Read the 9th Chapter of Roscoe’s Lorenzo de Medici; in which the rise (or renovation) and progress of the arts of painting, statuary, engraving, and sculpture upon gems, with the merits of the respective artists in each department, are happily delineated. The account of Michael Angelo - his giant powers - and the concussion with which his advent shook the world of genius and taste - is even sublime. Roscoe is not always exact in the choice of his expressions: for instance, he uses “instigate” in a good sense; which, where we have another appropriate term, is unpardonable: “compromise”, which properly means, the adjustment of differences by reciprocal concession, he employs, by what authority I know not, to express, the putting to hazard by implication. A catalogue of synonymes, executed with philological skill and philosophical discrimination, would be a valuable accession to English Literature.

Read, after a long interval, with much delight, the first two Books of Caesar’s Commentaries. The States of Gaul are represented as far more advanced in government and manners, than I should have expected him to find them; and it would puzzle the Directory of France, at this moment, to frame a manifesto, so neatly conceived, and so forcibly yet chastely expressed, as the reply of Ariovistus, a barbaric chief from the wilds off Germany, to the embassy of Caesar. It is interesting to trace the route of this great commander (and the similitude of names will sometimes fix it with precision) on a modern map. Nothing can exceed the ease, perspicuity, and spirit, with which this incomparable narrative is conducted.

Dipped into Boswell’s Life of Johnson. Boswell, from his open, communicative, good-humoured vanity, which leads him to display events and feelings that other men, of more judgment, though slighter pretensions, would have studiously concealed, has depressed himself below his just level in public estimation. His information is extensive; his talents far from despicable; and he seems so exactly adapted, even by his very foibles, that we might almost suppose him purposely created, to be the Chronicler of Johnson. A pleasing and instructive packet-companion might be formed, by a judicious selection from his copious repertory of Johnson’s talk.’

5 October 1796
‘Pursued Boswell’s Life of Johnson. Johnson’s coarse censure of Lord Chesterfield, “that he taught the morals of a whore, and the manners of a dancing master”, is as unjust as it is harsh. Indeed I have always thought the noble author of Letters to his Son, hardly dealt with by the Public; though to public opinion I have the highest deference. How stands the case? Having bred up his son to a youth of learning and virtue, and consigned him to a tutor well adapted to cultivate these qualities, he naturally wishes to render him an accomplished gentleman; and, for this purpose, undertakes, in person, a task for which none surely was so well qualified as himself. I follow the order he assigns, and that which his Letters testify he pursued. Well! but he insists eternally on such frivolous points - the graces - the graces! Because they were wanting, and the only thing wanting. Other qualities were attained, or presumed to be attained: to correct those slovenly, shy, reserved, and uncouth habits in the son, which as he advanced in life grew more conspicuous; and threatened to thwart all the parent’s fondest prospects in his child, was felt, and justly felt, by the father, to have become an imperious and urgent duty; and he accordingly labours at it with parental assiduity, an assiduity, which none but a father would have bestowed upon the subject. Had his Lordship published these Letters; as a regular System of Education, the common objection to their contents would have, had unanswerable force: viewing them however in their true light, as written privately and confidentially by a parent to his child - inculcating, as he naturally would, with the greatest earnestness, not what was the most important, but most requisite - it must surely be confessed, there never was a popular exception more unfounded. But he - I admit it: he touches upon certain topics, which, a sentiment of delicacy suggests, between a father and son had better been forborne: yet those who might hesitate to give the advice, if they are conversant with the world, and advert to circumstances, will not be disposed to think the advice itself injudicious.’

11 October 1796
‘Read Hawkesworth’s Life of Swift; of whose character and conduct but an imperfect idea is given by the narrative of Johnson. Hawkesworth is much more communicative and interesting; and the minuteness and simplicity with which he details the few, but deplorable, incidents of the four last years of Swift’s life, are highly affecting. The circumstance of his struggling to express himself, after a silence broken but once for more than a year; and, finding all his efforts ineffectual, heaving a deep sigh, quite cleaves the heart.’

12 September 1798
‘Dipped into Bacon’s Essays; so pregnant with just, original, and striking observations on every topic which is touched, that I cannot select what pleases me most. For reach of thought, variety and extent of view, sheer solid and powerful sense, and admirable sagacity, what works of man can be placed in competition with these wonderful effusions.’

6 May 1800
‘Read Gildon’s Essay, prefixed to Shakespear’s Poems; in which he largely discusses Dramatic Poetry. Poetry, he considers as an art; and he is a grand stickler for the rules of this art, which he regards, rather as the original suggestions of right reason, instructing us how to please, than the mere conclusions of experience from what has pleased: a preposterous piece of folly, nearly akin to that which attempts to solve the phaenomena of nature from the chimaeras of the fancy, instead of collecting the materials for this solution from a patient investigation of the laws by which nature is really governed in all her operations; but as a practical piece of folly, leading to consequences still more absurd. According to Gildon, all excellence flows from the observance of the rules of composition, and all deformity from their violation: to such a taste, Shakespear’s Dramas must have a most untoward aspect; yet his “wood-notes wild” occasionally extort, even from this sturdy champion of the summum jus in critical jurisprudence, an approving nod, with - “this is very well”. At the close of his Remarks on Shakespear’s Plays, he observes, that “verisimilitude in the Drama, is more essential than truth, because fact itself is sometimes so barely possible that it is almost incredible”. Hurd has caught this idea: and it is not the only instance in which I fancy I have detected him poaching on this antient and neglected manor.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 6 January 2015.

Praise from the King

‘I was invited to go to Buckingham Palace for Dinner to meet Mrs Roosevelt, the wife of the President of the United States who is over here on a visit. She is the guest of the King and Queen. [. . .] Before dinner when the King and Queen joined the party in the ante-room, the King as he shook hands with me said that he thought the Ministry of Food was doing an excellent job, and said that he and the country were grateful to me.’ This is from the diaries of Frederick James Marquis, 1st Earl of Woolton, who died 60 years ago today. The published diaries cover Woolton’s time during World War II under Churchill, first as Minister for Food and then Minister for Reconstruction. 

Woolton was born in 1883 in Salford, Lancashire, the only surviving child of a saddler. He was educated at Manchester Grammar School and the University of Manchester. He hoped to pursue an academic career in the social sciences but his wish was frustrated by his family’s financial circumstances; instead he became a mathematics teacher at Burnley Grammar School. In 1912 he married Maud Smith, and they had two children. Having been judged unfit for military service, he became a civil servant, first in the War Office, then at the Leather Control Board. At the end of the war, he became secretary of the Boot Manufacturers’ Federation, and joined the John Lewis organisation, becoming director in 1928 and chairman in 1936. 

Woolton was knighted in 1935 and was raised to the peerage in 1939 for his contribution to British industry. His career took a significant turn during World War II when, in April 1940 and despite not being affiliated to any political party, he was appointed Minister of Food. He established the rationing system, the National Food Campaign, and the introduction of free school meals and milk for children. His business acumen and communication skills earned him the affectionate public nickname of ‘Uncle Fred’. 

In 1943, Woolton was appointed Minister of Reconstruction, and then, after the war, from 1946 to 1955, he served as Chairman of the Conservative Party. His efforts in rebuilding and revitalising the party were credited with the Conservative victory in 1951. In 1956, he was further honoured when he became Earl of Woolton with the subsidiary title Viscount Walberton. After the death of his wife in 1961, Woolton married Dr Margaret Thomas, the family doctor who had cared for his first wife. He himself died on 14 December 1964. Further information is available from Wikipedia and Bodleian Archives & Manuscripts.

For two periods in his life - 1940-1945 and 1953-1960 -  Woolton kept a diary. However, there seems to be no clear explanation as to why he started to write a diary, why he stopped, nor why he restarted in 1953. Nevertheless, a selection of extracts (alongside letters, a few official papers and other official materials) were published in 2020 by Oxford University Press for The British Academy as The Diaries and Letters of Lord Woolton 1940-1945 (edited by Michael Kandiah and Judith Rowbotham). OUP says this work ‘showcases a wartime figure who has in prior academic work tended to be relegated to the sidelines, enabling an understanding of the importance of the roles undertaken by Woolton, and a better appreciation of his wartime contribution.’ A review found at The Churchill Project suggests that Diaries and Letters is ’an important and revealing addition to the scholarship of the era.’

Here are several extracts

3 February 1941

‘I took to the cabinet proposals for dealing with the milk trade . . . My proposal, in short, was to remove the minimum price for milk and let free competition have its way with the result that milk would have been cheaper.

The proposal was opposed by Mr Alexander (ex-Co-operative Society) who made a very good capitalist speech, supported bv Mr Bevin, who wanted the country to buy out all the milk people and run a nationalised milk scheme. The Labour people were quite solidly against what would have been tor the benefit of the community, in spite of the fact that they are supposed to be anxious to do something about the milk trade.

The Prime Minister asked if the little milkman would be subject to the ravages of competition. And so I withdrew the Report.

The Prime Minister had previously asked me why I had produced it, and I told him that the politicians had been trying for years to get something done about this trade, but since they now didn’t seem to want anything to be done. I wasn’t interested.’

11 March 1942

‘I made a statement in the House of Lords about the introduction ot the 85 per cent extraction flour. I did not make a long speech - merely a statement ot the whole of the facts, and said that the Government knew that it would not be popular with the people, but as it saved a considerable amount of shipping space in the year they also knew that people would accept it without complaint. The House accepted it all right, and Horder came along and spiked the guns of all the people who would complain on medical grounds, by saying that anybody who could eat bread at all could eat wheat meal with impunity as it suited all digestions. The announcement got a very good press. The country doesn’t mind what is asked of it so long as it feels that there is both reason and control.’

19 March 1942

‘I had a very bad attack of colitis in the night, and went this morning to a Privy Council meeting wondering how I would manage to stand through it. I managed but only just.

After the meeting the King took me to his room: he immediately said that I didn’t look very well, and pulled up an easy chair for me to sit in. He talked very intelligently about the food situation, and very frankly about my colleagues! He spoke of Bevin - and mentioned in passing that when he (Bevin) sat in the chair in which I was sitting he bulged all over the sides.  He said that Bevin has no understanding of the mind of the people, adding ‘Neither has the Prime Minister’ The King has been brought up to do the industrial side of the Royal job and he knows more about working men than the Minister of Labour. The King told Leathers a few days ago that the two of his Ministers of whom he always heard as really being in charge of their departments and getting their jobs done were himself and me.’

12 May 1942

‘I made a speech in the House. Lord Arnold had put down a motion about beer. He’s a bigoted teetotaller of the worst variety and made a speech which was little short of offensive. It was difficult not to adopt the same tone with him, but I tried to make a reasoned statement. I suggested to the House that at a time when we were calling for the maximum physical effort from the working-man it was unfair to deprive him of his glass of beer if he wanted it. The House was with me.’

1 June 1942

‘We had a Cabinet Meeting this evening at which I explained the proposals that we intended to put into force to reduce waste of transport and manpower in the milk industry: it’s a scheme to rationalise distribution. I had had charts prepared which had been put up in the Committee Room. I didn’t observe when I went in that they had been put up over the map of Europe that was hanging on the wall, and as soon as I sat down Winston growled at me ‘So you’re disfiguring the map of Europe now’! He was in his best form, and when I’d explained the scheme, which I did in a series of quick thumbnail sketches - which I think it took most of the Cabinet all their time to follow - if they did - and Winston pronounced it a good scheme and silenced any questioning by remarking that ‘He’d follow Lord Woolton anywhere’! There was method in it all: the Honours List is to be published next week and it was being made clear to the other Ministers that there was a reason for this selection.’

9 June 1942

‘In the afternoon I went to the House to address an All-Party meeting of members on the work of the Ministry. I took charts with me, and did the thumbnail sketch technique on them. They were very impressed and indicated their approval of the way we were doing the job.’

13 July 1942

‘We had a Cabinet meeting in the evening. There has been a secret debate about the shipping position, and the press has been urging that more information about the state of our shipping should should be given. The cabinet decided that an impartial statement should be made. It to be that no information would be given! Doesn’t sound very impartial to me.

We also discussed the probable food situation in Europe after the war, and everybody seemed very concerned about how we should feed the starving nations of Europe. Winston was very downright: he realised that there could be no question of the immediate removal of rationing restrictions on food, but said that he felt the people to be considered first were the people who had sweated and toiled to win the war, and that if we had worked and endured as we should have to, in order to gain the victory over the Nazis, both for ourselves and for the other European countries, he felt that we were the first people to be considered so far as food was concerned. I think he’s right, but we can’t leave the other countries to starve because we’ve won the war. It’s going to be a problem.’

28 July 1942

‘Mabane had his first debate in the House of Commons as Parliamentary Secretary to the Ministry of Food and I went to listen to it. He did very well, and there was really very little raised that was of any importance. On the whole the House is pleased with the conduct of the Ministry of Food - although one of its late parliamentary secretaries - Boothby, who was sacked from it - did his best to be difficult.’

18 August 1942

‘I had a talk with Kingsley Wood, who told me that he thought I’d done my job as Minister of food, and he wanted me to tell Winston this, and look for fresh worlds to conquer, he told me again how well he considered the food problem had been managed, and told me that he thought I ought to hold very high office in the Government.’

24 October 1942

‘I was invited to go to Buckingham Palace for Dinner to meet Mrs Roosevelt, the wife of the President of the United States who is over here on a visit. She is the guest of the King and Queen.

It was a small party - the King and Queen, and Mrs Roosevelt, Hardinge, the King’s private secretary and his wife, and Lascelles, one of the assistant private secretaries, and his wife, Ernest Bevin and myself.

Before dinner when the King and Queen joined the party in the ante-room, the King as he shook hands with me said that he thought the Ministry of Food was doing an excellent job, and said that he and the country were grateful to me

I sat next to the Queen, whilst Mrs R. sat on the King’s right-hand with Bevin next to her. The Queen was charming - as she always is - and I had a long conversation with her, chiefly about religion. We were agreed that the only thing that is going to bring England - and the other countries - back to real peace is a re-awakening of a spiritual sense. We talked much about this and I felt that I was sermonising, and begged her pardon adding that she might have thought the Archbishop of Canterbury was talking to her, except, of course, that I felt he would have discussed banking, not religion.’

28 October 1942

‘I dined with Harriman at his flat. Harriman was in a most pessimistic mood about the provision of shipping: said that we were going to be extremely hard put to it and he thought that British agriculture ought to be altered: that we ought to grow more wheat in this country and less feeding-stuffs for animals, thereby saving shipping, both on the importation of wheat and on the importation of meat, since, if we grow less animal feeding stuffs we should have to slaughter our cattle.

I refused lo be drawn into the conversation saying that I thought the only way in which I could possibly get on with Mr Hudson [Minister of Agriculture] was if we each minded our own business.’

The Gordon Riots

‘The people meet accordingly 40 or 50000 and marched through the City to the house of Lords & Commons, burned L.Fs Chappell Warwick St D° and 20 of the Rabbell behaved very ill at my door took refuge in Mr Davitts house untill they were gone’. This is from the diary of William Mawhood, a London draper and Catholic, on the day that the Gordon Riots began. The riots emerged out of widescale protest against the Papists Act 1778 - this was intended to reduce official discrimination against British Catholics. The diary is said to be of particular value for its first hand account of ‘the extent to which Catholics of the period were able to take part in civic and cultural life’.

Mahwood was born to a successful draper and his wife in London on 8 December 1724, the youngest of three surviving children. He was educated at the English College, St Omer, France. He followed his father into the drapery profession, inheriting a shop and house in London. He married Dorothy Kroger, daughter of a brewer, in 1751. The couple had six children that survived into adulthood. The family also owned some 35 acres of land in Finchley.

Mawhood was appointed surveyor of the highways for Finchley for the years 1772 and 1773, supervising the road repairs carried out by local men as required by act of parliament. The Mahwoods were recent converts to catholicism, and worshipped at St Bartholomew’s, Smithfield, though there is no record of them suffering discrimination of any sort. They did, however, get caught up in the anti-Catholic Gordon Riots of 1780, with damage to their property, while, at the same time, providing a safe house in Finchley for Bishop Challoner.

Mawhood’s final years were not without their problems. While stricken with palsy and bedridden, his daughter Maria - a nun at the English convent in Bruges - was forced to seek refuge in London in 1790. In 1796, his son Charles threatened to take out a commission of lunacy against him; and his elder son William John continued to request financial assistance. The Finchley estate was sold in 1793, and Mawhood moved into a house in Portman Place, Paddington. He died there in 1797, and was buried in St Bartholomew’s. A little more information can be gleaned from Wikipedia or the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (log-in required).

Mahwood kept diaries from the age of 40, amassing 49 notebooks (4,000 pages and half a million words).  The first entry is dated 14 July 1764, and the last 18 October 1790. Although the early notebooks are largely filled with business memoranda, he gradually got into the habit of adding notes of a personal or family interest. A selection from these diaries was published by the Catholic Record Society in 1956 - Selections from the Diary Note-books of William Mawhood, Woollen-draper of London, for the Years 1764-1790. According to the ODNB: ‘The diary of William Mawhood is of particular value for its evidence of the daily life of a Catholic family of the ‘middling sort’, and of the extent to which Catholics of the period were able to take part in civic and cultural life.’ The full work can be read online at Issuu. Here are several extracts.

1 June 1780

‘Mr Read my Presser gave me a hand Bill of Lord George for the people to meet in St Georges feilds at 10 O’Ck’

2 June 1780

‘the people meet accordingly 40 or 50000 and marched through the City to the house of Lords & Commons, burned L.Fs Chappell Warwick St D° and 20 of the Rabbell behaved very ill at my door took refuge in Mr Davitts house untill they were gone’

3 June 1780

‘Mr Fazakerley called before breakfast says L.Fs is burnt down &c &c Self went with Mr Pellett found it true Called & See Mr Brown Sacerdos & See Bishop Chaloner and Mr Bolton who had called on me this Morn that Bishop Chanoler might come to Finchly. I offered him my house which he Accepted, hired William to drive me, sent him at 12 O’Ck on horseback to Finchley with a Letter to Mrs Mawhood that the Bishop would come in the Afternoon. She Dory and Lucy came to Tea, after all Except Son Chas went back to Finchly, found the Bishop there he came in Lady Strutton [Stourton] Chariot’

4 June 1780

‘The Bishop said &c at Breakfast Mr Lamb Agent called walked over the Garding &c says times will mend and we shall be redressed, he stayed over an hour, Son Chas came on horseback after Dinner Vespers &c. Mumford and Chas wrode out Son Chas sent for Town, 7 O’Ck’

5 June 1780

‘Set off for Town at 1/2 past 6 O’Ck called Mrs Hanne’s for 2 Shirts for Bishop found the house Shut knocked several times Nobody at home Called then on Mr Brown all Except Mr Nicolas gone away and moved all their goods, Mr Brown Boye took me to a Mr Lee of Harpur St where Mr Lindow and Rice are but both out Mr Brown’s boy says Moorfields is burned down &c he came at 9 O’Ck says poor Mr Lindow walks aboute the Room as if out if his Sences brought Lining for my Visiter, who was much affected with these times, at 7 O’Ck received a Letter Express from Son Chas by Robinson’s Horsler that it was strongly reported my House would be fired by Lord G. Gordons Blew cockade Banditti, Mrs Mawhood and Self Set of in our Coach arrived at Lord G. Germains office for assistance, neither Ld Germain nor Mr De Gray there the Messenger advised me to the War office went there neither Mr Jenkinson or Lewis there See a Clerk all most the top of the house but he said no assistance could be given me unless Signed by a Justice of the peace but said in case of distress I must send to the Tower or The Savoue [Savoy] Barracks came home with Mr Atkins who informed me he Expected Maberlys house would be that night levelled for his assistance and taking a person at the Sardinian Embasadors, found it difficult getting through the Streets being the Kings birthday, Stopt a Long lane being fearfull of coming directly to my house Mr Atkins went brought word all was safe we then went home found Cap. Thornton Edwards Coldwell and my familly in the utmost fears, being (by then) advised to quit the house. Got Mr Gaisford and a Gard from Robinson’s and arrived Mrs Mawhood and Self at Finchley at 11 O’Ck gave the Gard 2/6. Gaisford Sleept at Finchley, everyone robd on the road but ourselves’

10 May 1785

‘at breakfast I spoke before them all that Chas should stay to his Sister, So youre all to be Old Maids, and I an Old bacheldor for my father will not give us more than Maria had &c &c I told the Girles that I wished them not to give Eares to his nonsince as he wanted Everything himself that my design was to Settle everyone on an Equal footing provided they married with my approbation, to which the Girles were satisfied, Chas left us abruptly and said he would speak to me when I came down into the Shop: he did so. and his discource displeased me much, I attacked him aboute the Maid Servt and his familiarities which he acknowledgd but denied that he had any camel knowledge of her he said if he married all his Attention should be to his Wife, and that he would still have his own will so far as not to do what I ordered, if he thought otherwise than I did, he said would go and speak to the Bishop I told him he had better leave the affair to me that I was to call by Appointment as next Sunday, but least I should trick him just before dinner he did call on the Bishop, and at his return he called me into the Counting house and told me the Bishop said his Neice’s affections were fixt on some other person Dory and Bett drank Tea with Mr & Mrs Lynch Chas behaved as usual, but rather grave he Stayed at home the Even’

4 July 1785

‘Mr Creighton called At 12 o’Ck and said he had been at Burfords several days and that he had heard Son Wm Ship is arrived at Halifax, he dined with us altho he wished to be Excused because Mr Jno Burford was in Town, and he had promissed to dine there, therefore he went away as soon as he had Dined and said he would call to drinking Tea at 5 o’Ck but as I mentioned that Dory Bett and Lucy was to Drink Tea at Mrs Coxs highgate he then said hed calld on tuesday when he should See the Ladies I told him I should be in town toMorrow on which he again promised to call at 5 this day; at 1/2 past 4 Mr Burford Servant called with their and Mr Creightons Compliments but that as Burfords dined so late he could not come, at 1/4 after 8 Burfords and Creighton all came by our house on horseback with their great Dog and another, and as I happened to open our gate at that instant our Dog Popp flew on theirs and their Dog Bitt popp on his Leg Mr and Mrs Burfords make no Appology but Creighton rode up to the gate and did, I cut him very short saying my Dog was to blaim and shut the gate’

I pray increase my estate

Robert Woodford, a Northamptonshire lawyer, died all of 370 years ago today. He would surely have been forgotten had it not been for one of his diaries surviving down the centuries through the family, and then finding its way to an Oxford University archive. In print for the first time in 2012, its publisher makes some grand claims: the diary provides a ‘unique insight into the puritan psyche and way of life’; and it is ‘a fascinating source for the study of opposition to the Personal Rule of Charles I’.

Robert Woodford was born in 1606 in Northamptonshire, and educated at Brixworth School. He became a provincial lawyer, and married Hannah Haunch in 1635. They had many children, only a few of whom survived childhood. In 1636, he was elected steward of Northampton. He died on 15 November 1654. There is very little further biographical information available online about Woodford, except at Stephen Butt’s Woodforde family website.

However, Woodford is remembered today because he kept a diary which was passed down through the family for centuries. In 1970, Oliver Heighes Woodforde donated it to New College, Oxford. The diary begins in August 1637 and ends in August 1641, and appears to be the sole survivor of several other, possibly four-year, diaries. It contains 588 pages with approximately 89,000 words. The Diary of Robert Woodford 1637-1641, edited by John Fielding (Camden Fifth Series, Volume 42), was published by Cambridge University Press for The Royal Historical Society in 2012. However, it’s a bit pricey at over £50!

Here is the publisher’s blurb: ‘Woodford’s diary, here published in full for the first time with an introduction, provides a unique insight into the puritan psyche and way of life. Woodford is remarkable for the consistency of his worldview, interpreting all experience through the spectacles of godly predestinarianism. His journal is a fascinating source for the study of opposition to the Personal Rule of Charles I and its importance in the formation of Civil War allegiance, demonstrating that the Popish Plot version of politics, held by parliamentary opposition leaders in the 1620s, had by the 1630s been adopted by provincial people from the lower classes. Woodford went further than some of his contemporaries in taking the view that, even before the outbreak of the Bishops’ Wars, government policies had discredited episcopacy and cast grave doubt on the king's religious soundness. Conversely, he regarded parliament as the seat of virtue and potential saviour of the nation.’

A note inside the diary states: ‘who ever finds this booke (if lost) I pray be sparinge in looking into it, & send it to Robte Woodford at Northampton.’

20 August 1637 [first entry]
‘I prayed alone and I and my deare wife prayed in private this morninge to beseech the Lord for his blessing uppon the sacrament of Baptisme to our poore child this that the inward grace might goe a longe with the outward signe &, and that the Lord would make it an Instrument of some service to him in his Church in time to come and a Comfort to us the parents and surely the Lord hath heard us in m[er]cye we prayed not to be hindred in our sanctifcacon of his Sabath this day & to order Conveniences &. Mr ffisher preached in the morninge, but my hart somewhat heavy Lord p[ar]don my dulnes.’

26 September 1637
‘I would give some present to new Mr Maior but want some money. Lord I pray thee increase my estate in thy due time for the Lords sake Amen.’

10 October 1637
‘my wives breasts sore still with chopping [cracks in skin]. I pray unto the Lord for cure in his time my Clyent Some came to me with this P[ro]vidence’

16 October 1637
‘I was with Mr Bullivant at the George & dranke some wormewood beare, & with Mr Rushworth I was very ill after I had supped oh Lord p[ar]don my fayling & make me very watchfull for the Lords sake Amen.’

7 June 1638
‘The small pox are much in London, but the sicknesse at a very Low ebbe blessed be god though they come hether from many p[ar]tes of the Country that are infected.’

8 June 1638
‘The towne very full of people. Mr Robins fayles to pay me money.’

9 June 1638
‘The Lord doth graciously carry me on through diffcultyes: he is with me in the fire & in the water blessed be his name.’

23 October 1638
‘my deare child is still very sick, but the Lord is able to recover her, I now pr[e]pare for my Journey into the Country to morrow, & prayed for my Comfortable arrival at North[amp]ton & for favor in the eyes of the Maior & Bayleifes there & for presrvacon from the devouringe pestilence’

According to the Woodforde family website: ‘Many members of the Woodforde family have written about their history, from Robert Woodforde in Leicestershire in the 15th Century to the owner of this website in the 21st Century, constituting over five hundred year's of literary work. [. . .] Almost every generation has left diaries. These include Robert Woodforde, the 17th Century puritan of Northamptonshire, his son Dr Samuel Woodforde the Divine and founder of the Royal Society, and of course the Revd James Woodforde [author of Diary of a Country Parson].’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 15 November 2014.

Amply rewarded

It is 80 years since the death of Princess Beatrice, a constant companion to her mother Queen Victoria while she was alive, and a great great grandmother to the current King of Spain, Felipe VI. Beatrice did not keep a diary herself, as far as I know, but Queen Victoria was a committed diarist: very soon after Beatrice’s birth, the Queen wrote of being ‘amply rewarded’ for the ‘very long wearisome time’. Moreover, it was Beatrice who edited Queen Victoria’s journals, a huge task that took her decades to complete, and she did so faithfully to the letter of her mother’s instructions. Towards the end of her life, Beatrice also translated into English, and edited, diaries kept by her German great grandmother.

Beatrice, the fifth daughter and youngest of nine children born to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, was born at Buckingham Palace in 1857. The birth caused controversy, according to Matthew Dennison, author of The Last Princess: The Devoted Life of Queen Victoria’s Youngest Daughter (see review at The Guardian website), when it was announced that Queen Victoria would seek relief from the pains of delivery through the use of chloroform - the practice being dangerous to mother and child and frowned upon by the Church of England and the medical authorities. Two weeks after the birth (on 29 April), Queen Victoria wrote in her journal (freely available online here) about her newborn:

‘Till today I have been prevented from writing in my Journal, & I resume it today with feelings of the deepest, gratitude towards an All Merciful Father in Heaven who has preserved me, & restored me almost completely to health & strength. I have felt better & stronger this time, than I have ever done before. How I also thank God for granting us such a dear, pretty girl, which I so much wished for! She came into the world at 2 o’clock on the 14th, having caused me a very long wearisome time. I was amply rewarded, & forgot all I had gone through, when I heard dearest Albert say “it is a very fine child, & a girl!” & it was as inexpressible joy to me. My beloved ones love and devotion, & the way he helped in so many little ways, was unbounded. Mrs Lilley being old, & having been so ill last year, I had an assistant monthly Nurse, Mrs Innocent to help her. Dr Lucock & Dr Snow attended me. After I had some sleep, Mama & Feodore came in for a moment to see me. Albert had to go at 4 to the Council, & wished dear Aunt Gloucester. He brought Vicky in, to wish me good night - We have to settled that the Baby should be named, Beatrice>, Victoria, Feodore>. Beatrice, is a lovely name, meaning Blessed, & was borne by 3 English Princesses. Dear Mama, Vicky & Fritz & Feodore, are to be the sponsors. - Have done remarkably well all the time. - After the first days saw all the Children, & Vicky has often been reading to me, Mama, & Feodore, also constantly coming in & out. [. . .]

Occupied in choosing various things including little caps, &c - for the dear little new born one, who is such a pretty plump, flourishing child, promising to be very like Arthur, with fine large blue eyes, marked nose, pretty little mouth & very fine skin.’

From birth, Beatrice became a favoured child of her parents. Through much of her childhood she was referred to as ‘Baby’. Queen Victoria came to rely on her increasingly, for emotional and practical support, especially after the deaths of her mother and then of Albert in 1861, and from 1871 when the last of Beatrice’s older sisters married. At times, the Queen even dictated her private journal to Beatrice. Despite her mother’s reluctance to let Beatrice go, she did, eventually, in 1885, agree to her marrying Prince Henry of Battenberg, a morganatic descendant of the Grand Ducal House of Hesse, on the condition that the couple made their home with the Queen.

Beatrice and Henry had four children between 1886 and 1891, but Henry found domestic/royal life too monotonous and yearned for more employment. The Queen made him governor of the Isle of Wight in 1889, and, in time, consented to him joining an expedition fighting in the Fourth Anglo-Ashanti war (in present day Ghana). However, he contracted Malaria, and died in 1896. Beatrice continued to serve her mother, who gave her Henry’s job as Isle of White governor, as well as apartments of her own at Kensington Palace. On the death of the Queen in 1901, Beatrice was devastated; and, thereafter, not being close to her brother, the new King Edward VII, she played less of a role in public affairs

The marriage of Beatrice’s daughter, Princess Ena, to King Alfonso XIII of Spain in 1906 caused some controversy as it entailed her converting to Catholicism, against the wishes of Edward VII. The marriage, moreover, was to transmit Beatrice’s haemophilia gene to the Spanish dynasty. Felipe IV, who succeeded to the Spanish throne in June 1914, is her great great grandson. In 1917, George V’s policy of divesting the royal family of its German associations led the family to change its name of Battenberg to Mountbatten. Beatrice died on 26 October 1944; further biographical information is available at Wikipedia, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (log-in required) or The Royal Forums.

Queen Victoria left all her private journals to Beatrice, with instructions to edit or destroy any passages which appeared unsuitable for posterity. This involved her in transcribing the journals in her own hand, into 111 volumes, and destroying most of the originals. A few extracts from the diaries were published in the Queen’s lifetime - see The crown hurt me - and, in 2012, the Royal Family published 40,000 pages of the diary online as part of Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations - see Victoria’s diaries online. Wikipedia has a separate entry for Queen Victoria’s diaries, although the fullest and most accurate information is on the Queen Victoria Journal website itself. Although, there are, in fact, four different versions of the journal, three of these versions only cover a few years, and it is Princess Beatrice’s 111 hand-written volumes that provide the vast bulk of what remains of Queen Victoria’s diaries. Thus, it is Beatrice who must have edited the above extract about her own birth!

Towards the end of her life Beatrice turned her hand to another ancestor’s diaries, those kept by Queen Victoria’s maternal grandmother, Augusta, duchess of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld. She translated these from the German, and they were published in 1941 by John Murray as In Napoleonic Days. Here is part of Beatrice’s own introduction to the book, and a few extracts, including the first and the last two, from Augusta’s diary as edited by Beatrice.

‘The King having kindly given me his permission to translate for publication some extracts from my Great-Grandmother’s Diary, I hope this small effort and venture of mine may be of some interest to the public and ultimately benefit the funds of various War Charities. [. . .] Her original diary is in the family archives in Windsor Castle and, so far, the extracts from it have only been printed in German for private circulation. The curious similarity between the days of the Napoleonic wars and our own times has led me to think this Diary might appeal to some readers, interested in that period. The record is very simply told and contains many references to the Duchess’s family and the part they played in her life, but these could not be easily eliminated without spoiling the impression given by her graphic descriptions of the times in which she lived, in the Germany of that day so very different from present-day Germany.’

2 April 1806
‘The moon shines cold and bright in a cloudless sky. The mild breath of Spring has given way to cold biting east winds. It seems as if nature has allied itself with humanity to destroy all thoughts of happiness. There are nothing but storms in the atmosphere and amongst men. Poor Germany, what will thy fate yet be, given over to the caprices of a despot, who recognises no law but his own will, who sets no limit to his own lust for power, and to whom all means are justifiable to gratify this passion.

Soon to be under the yoke of an arrogant, grasping people, what future can my poor devastated country expect, she who once in olden days, defied the Roman Eagle! When the short shameful war broke out, I foresaw a dark future, but now that war has ended so disastrously my heart is filled with a nameless dread. Slowly and heavily the storm is creeping over Saxony. I wonder where I shall finish these entries and in what place I shall lay my weary head to rest, after life’s storms have passed over me?’

15 August 1806
‘At last the terrible blow has fallen which wrecks the German Constitution! Francis II has laid down the German Imperial Crown. In spite of the flaws of the old regime it surely is better than what we are going to be given in its stead. The ancient national oak, with its mouldering trunk and weather-beaten branches in which Wotan’s eagle has for 1000 years had its eyrie, cannot be expected to stem the present tide of events.’

28 September 1806
‘A false rumour last night that a French Cavalry Brigade was approaching, caused great distress in the town and deprived us of sleep. It was “much ado about nothing.” But I wonder if these disturbers of the peace may not some day unexpectedly descend on us?’

10 October 1806
‘Merciful God, what terrible times we have lived through! The grim memories of these days of bloodshed will never leave me. Already at [half past eight] my niece sent for me. Her corner room overlooked on the one side Wladbergen, through which the road from Coburg passes. On the left, shots were falling at intervals, as well as in and around the little village of Garnsdorf, at the foot of the hills, where the Prussian Jagers were posted. The ground above the forest was also being occasionally shelled. Prussien Batteries were stationed in the fields near the high road to Rudolstadt, and on the road itself, Fusiliers.

Towards 8 o’clock Prince Louis Ferdinand arrived on the scene, rapidly followed by Horse Artillery and 2 Saxon Infantry Regiments. In the distance their fine band could be heard, and lastly our brace Saxon Hussars came by, at a quick trot.

Prince Louis Ferdinand accompanied by his ADCs reviewed all the Troops, his brave, debonnaire appearance creating a general sense of confidence.

One could see the enemy coming down the hills, and hear the tramping of the Infantry and the sound of bugles. The whole scene of bloodshed lay spread out before us. The fire of Prussian Battery was incessant, but the French guns seldom came into action. Their Cavalry emerged from the forest and streamed along in a never-ending and terrifying procession.’

1 October 1821
‘I must somehow have caught a chill on my drive back from Ebersdorf, and feel very unwell. I have such pains in my limbs, that I am afraid I must be feverish.’

3 October 1821
‘I had such pains in my head and palpitations of the heart this morning that I could not help being alarmed about myself, but it passed off, and we were able to lunch in the little Casino at the foot of the old tower, the Ebersdorf family joining us.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 26 October 2014

Voyage to Lisbon

Two hundred and seventy years ago today, Henry Fielding, celebrated author and justice of the peace in London, died in Lisbon where he had journeyed in search of cures for his ailments. He was not a diarist by nature, but on the way to Lisbon, he decided to keep a journal. This was published posthumously and, apart from showing off his literary skill, it paints an ‘extraordinarily vivid picture of the tortuous slowness of 18th-century sea travel’.

Fielding was born in Somerset in 1707, into a well-connected family, but when he was three the family moved to Dorset. He was educated at Eton, leaving at 17 to take up the life of a gentleman. After an abortive elopement, and writing a play, he went to study at Leiden University, only to return to London when his father’s funds ran out. Settling in London, he became a successful playwright.

Fielding’s satirical style of writing, however, drew the wrath of the Prime Minister, Sir Robert Walpole, who engineered a law - the Theatrical Licensing Act - designed to put a stop to his plays. Subsequently, Fielding gave up on the theatre, and studied law. He married Charlotte Craddock in 1734, after another elopement, and they had several children, although only one survived to adulthood (but then died at the age of 23).

Fielding’s legal practice never took off, but he continued to write, contributing satires to journals. A publisher took up a novel he had written, Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded, and another Joseph Andrews. In 1743, Fielding published three volumes of Miscellanies, works old and new, but, disappointed with his income from sales, he gave up writing for a couple of years.  He was often crippled with gout; and Charlotte, too, fell ill, and died in 1744. Three years later, he married her former maid, Mary Daniel, who was pregnant. They had two sons that survived childhood.

Fielding was in the habit of starting up satirical magazines, and by 1748 one of these had found favour with the government - for propaganda purposes. As a consequence of being in political favour, he was appointed justice of the peace for Westminster and Middlesex, with his own courthouse and residence. Historians say he brought great dignity to the post, and, in fact, was one of the best magistrates to serve in 18th century London. It was he that formed the famous police corps, the Bow Street Runners, to deal with street crime.

In 1749, Fielding published The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, and it would be his most famous work, and become considered one of the great English novels (see The Guardian for example). Here is Encyclopaedia Britannica’s assessment: ‘With its great comic gusto, vast gallery of characters, and contrasted scenes of high and low life in London and the provinces, it has always been the most popular of his works. The reading of this work is essential both for an understanding of 18th century England and for its revelations of the generosity and charity of Fielding’s view of humanity.’ Moreover, it says, ‘this work presents an extraordinarily vivid picture of the tortuous slowness of 18th-century sea travel, the horrors of contemporary medicine, the caprices of arbitrary power as seen in the conduct of customs officers and other petty officials, and, above all, his indomitable courage and cheerfulness when almost completely helpless, for he could scarcely walk and had to be carried on and off ship.’ 

Fielding’s health continued to deteriorate, and in 1754 he set off by ship to Portugal in search of a better climate for his ailments, but he died in Lisbon two months after arriving, on 8 October. Further information is available from Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, or Stephen Basdeo's website.

Fielding was not a diarist by nature, apparently, but near the end of his life he kept a diary during the voyage to Lisbon. This was first published, posthumously, in 1755, as The Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon, but has since been republished and reprinted. Various versions are freely available to read online at Internet Archive.

According to Encyclopaedia Britannica, ‘this work presents an extraordinarily vivid picture of the tortuous slowness of 18th-century sea travel, the horrors of contemporary medicine, the caprices of arbitrary power as seen in the conduct of customs officials, and, above all, [Fielding’s] indomitable courage and cheerfulness when almost completely helpless, for he could scarcely walk and had to be carried on and off ship.’ Here are several extracts, including the very last words in his diary (7 August).

28 June 1754
‘By way of prevention, therefore, I this day sent for my friend Mr. Hunter, the great surgeon and anatomist of Covent-garden; and, though my belly was not yet very full and tight, let out ten quarts of water, the young sea-surgeon attending the operation, not as a performer, but as a student.

I was now eased of the greatest apprehension which I had from the length of the passage; and I told the captain, I was become indifferent as to the time of his sailing. He expressed much satisfaction in this declaration, and at hearing from me, that I found myself, since my tapping, much lighter and better. In this, I believe, he was sincere; for he was, as we shall have occasion to observe more than once, a very good-natured man; and as he was a very brave one too, I found that the heroic constancy, with which I had born an operation that is attended with scarce any degree of pain, had not a little raised me in his esteem. That he might adhere, therefore, in the most religious and rigorous manner to his word, he ordered his ship to fall down to Gravesend on Sunday morning, and there to wait his arrival.’

30 June 1754
‘Nothing worth notice pass’d till that morning, when my poor wife, after passing a night in the utmost torments of the tooth-ach, resolved to have it drawn. I dispatched, therefore, a servant into Wapping, to bring, in haste, the best toothdrawer he could find. He soon found out a female of great eminence in the art; but when he brought her to the boat, at the water-side, they were informed that the ship was gone; for, indeed, she had set out a few minutes after his quitting her; nor did the pilot, who well knew the errand on which I had sent my servant, think fit to wait a moment for his return, or to give me any notice of his setting out.

But of all the petty bashaws, or turbulent tyrants I ever beheld, this sourfaced pilot was the worst tempered; for, during the time that he had the guidance of the ship, which was till we arrived in the Downs, he complied with no one’s desires, nor did he give a civil word, or, indeed, a civil look to any on board.

The toothdrawer, who, as I said before, was one of great eminence among her neighbours, refused to follow the ship; so that my man made himself the best of his way, and, with some difficulty, came up with us before we were got under full sail; for, after that, as we had both wind and tide with us, he would have found it impossible to overtake the ship, till she was come to an anchor at Gravesend.

The morning was fair and bright, and we had a passage thither, I think, as pleasant as can be conceived; for, take it with all its advantages, particularly the number of fine ships you are always sure of seeing by the way, there is nothing to equal it in all the rivers of the worid. The yards of Deptford and of Woolwich are noble sights; and give us a just idea of the great perfection to which we are arrived in building those floating castles, and the figure which we may always make in Europe among the other maritime powers. That of Woolwich, at least, very strongly imprinted this idea on my mind; for, there was now on the stocks there the Royal Anne, supposed to be the largest ship ever built, and which contains ten carriage guns more than had ever yet equipped a first rate. [. . .]

Besides the ships in the docks, we saw many on the water: the yachts are sights of great parade, and the. king’s body yacht is, I believe, unequalled in any country, for convenience as well as magnificence; both which are consulted in building and equipping her with the most exquisite art and workmanship.

We saw likewise several Indiamen just returned from their voyage. These are, I believe, the largest and finest vessels which are any where employed in commercial affairs. The colliers, likewise, which are very numerous, and even assemble in fleets, are ships of great bulk; and, if we descend to those used in the American, African, and European trades, and pass through those which visit our own coasts, to the small craft that ly between Chatham and the Tower, the whole forms a most pleasing object to the eye, as well as highly warming to the heart of an Englishman, who has any degree of love for his country, or can recognize any effect of the patriot in his constitution.

Lastly, the Royal Hospital of Greenwich, which presents so delightful a front to the water, and doth such honour at once to its builder and the nation, to the great skill and ingenuity of the one, and to the no less sensible gratitude of the other, very properly closes the account of this scene; which may well appear romantic to those who have not themselves seen, that, in this one instance, truth and reality are capable, perhaps, of exceeding the power of fiction. [. . .]

Sailing in the manner I have just mentioned, is a pleasure rather unknown, or unthought of, than rejected by those who have experienced it; unless, perhaps, the apprehension of danger, or sea-sickness, may be supposed, by the timorous and delicate, to make too large deductions. [. . .] This, however, was my present case; for the ease and lightness which I felt from my tapping, the gaiety of the morning, the pleasant sailing with wind and tide, and the many agreeable objects with which I was constantly entertained during the whole way, were all suppressed and overcome by the single consideration of my wife’s pain, which continued incessantly to torment her till we came to an anchor, when I dispatched a messenger in great haste, for the best reputed operator in Gravesend.

A surgeon of some eminence now appeared, who did not decline tooth-drawing, tho’ he certainly would have been offended with the appellation of tooth-drawer, no less than his brethren, the members of that venerable body, would be with that of barber, since the late separation between those long united companies, by which, if the surgeons have gained much, the barbers are supposed to have lost very little.

This able and careful person (for so I sincerely believe he is) after examining the guilty tooth, declared, that it was such a rotten shell, and so placed at the very remotest end of the upper jaw, where it was, in a manner, covered and secured by a large, fine, firm tooth, that he despaired of his power of drawing it. [. . .] I came over to his side, and assisted him in prevailing on my wife (for it was no easy matter) to resolve on keeping her tooth a little longer, and to apply to palliatives only for relief. These were opium applied to the tooth, and blisters behind the ears.’

5 August 1754
‘In the night at twelve, our ship having received previous visits from all the necessary parties, took the advantage of the tide, and having sailed up to Lisbon, cast anchor there, in a calm, and a moonshiny night, which made the passage incredibly pleasant to the women, who remained three hours enjoying it, whilst I was left to the cooler transports of enjoying their pleasures at second-hand; and yet, cooler as they may be, whoever is totally ignorant of such sensation, is, at the same time, void of all ideas of friendship.’

7 August 1754
‘Lisbon, before which we now lay at anchor, is said to be built on the same number of hills with old Rome; but these do not all appear to the water; on the contrary, one sees from thence one vast high hill and rock, with buildings arising above one another, and that in so steep and almost perpendicular a manner, that they all seem to have but one foundation.

As the houses, convents, churches, &c. are large, and all built with white stone, they look very beautiful at a distance; but as you approach nearer, and find them to want every kind of ornament, all idea of beauty vanishes at once.

While I was surveying the prospect of this city, which bears so little resemblance to any other that I have ever seen, a reflection occurred to me, that if a man was suddenly to be removed from Palmyra hither, and should take a view of no other city, in how glorious a light would the ancient architecture appear to him? and what desolation and destruction of arts and sciences would he conclude had happened between the several areas of these cities?

I had now waited full three hours upon deck, for the return of my man, whom I had sent to bespeak a good dinner (a thing which had been long unknown to me) on shore, and then to bring a Lisbon chaise with him to the sea-shore; but, it seems, the impertinence of the providore was not yet brought to a conclusion. At three o’clock, when I was from emptiness rather faint than hungry, my man returned, and told me, there was a new law lately made, that no passenger should set his foot on shore without a special order from the providore; and that he himself would have been sent to prison for disobeying it, had he not been protected as the servant of the captain. He informed me likewise, that the captain had been very industrious to get this order, but that it was then the providore’s hour of sleep, a time when no man, except the king himself, durst disturb him.

To avoid prolixity, tho’ in a part of my narrative which may be more agreeable to my reader than it was to me, the providore having at last finished his nap, dispatched this absurd matter of form, and gave me leave to come, or rather to be carried, on shore.

What it was that gave the first hint of this strange law is not easy to guess. Possibly, in the infancy of their defection, and before their government could be well established, they were willing to guard against the bare possibility of surprize, of the success of which bare possibility the Trojan horse will remain for ever on record, as a great and memorable example. Now the Portuguese have no walls to secure them, and a vessel of two or three hundred tons will contain a much larger body of troops than could be concealed in that famous machine, tho’ Virgil tells us (somewhat hyperbolically, I believe) that it was as big as a mountain.

About seven in the evening I got into a chaise on shore, and was driven through the nastiest city in the world, tho’ at the same time one of the most populous, to a kind of coffee-house, which is very pleasantly situated on the brow of a hill, about a mile from the city, and hath a very fine prospect of the river Tajo from Lisbon to the sea.

Here we regaled ourselves with a good supper, for which we were as well charged, as if the bill had been made on the Bath road, between Newbury and London.
And now we could joyfully say,  “Egressi optata Troes potiuntur arena.”
Therefore in the words of Horace,
“ -–– hic Fines chartaeque viaeque.” ’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 8 October 2014.