Notes from the Genocide

‘On this day last year, Israel killed my grandmother, my uncle and his wife, their sons and grandchildren, and my other uncle, his wife, and their three children, and my aunt. Israel targeted the house they had fled to with three F-16 rockets.’ This is from the harrowing diary - published in Britain earlier this year - kept by a young Palestinian doctor, Ezzideen Shehab, in 2024 and 2025. Subtitled Notes from the Genocide in Gaza, Shehab’s book bears witness to the destruction everywhere around him, as well as to the intensity of his own professional and family losses. 

Ezzideen Shehab was born in 1995 and grew up in Jabalia, northern Gaza. He attended Arafat Gifted Secondary School before studying medicine at the University of Isfahan in Iran. On 2 October 2023, he returned to Gaza, where his family gathered to celebrate his qualification. Within days, he was treating casualties of the war; on 11 October, dozens of members of his extended family were killed in an Israeli airstrike. He volunteered for more than eight months at the Indonesian Hospital in northern Gaza, treating severely injured patients amid bombardment and shortages of medicines and equipment.

In December 2024, Shehab helped establish the Al-Rahma Medical Clinic, working with fellow healthcare professionals to provide free treatment in northern Gaza. Repeatedly damaged, the clinic was forced to close in July 2025. By then, he and his family had been displaced five times, their home destroyed. Alongside his medical work, he recorded his experiences and shared accounts of his patients and daily life online. In an interview with the student newspaper Honi Soit, he described medicine and writing as mutually sustaining: treating people gave him hope, while writing helped him find the clarity to continue working.

His Diary of a Young Doctor: Notes from the Genocide in Gaza was published in Australia by Readers and Writers Against the Genocide in November 2025; Scribe issued the 192-page British edition on 12 March 2026. Its dated entries combine accounts of medical work with bereavement, displacement and the struggle for food and water. The writing moves between precise observations and anguished reflection, preserving individual lives and encounters within the wider destruction. See Kill Your Darlings for a few extracts, and Googlebooks for a preview.

11 August 2024

‘Today was one of the most terrifying and exhausting days at the hospital, as we received dozens of bodies. Others were severely injured with amputations and severe burns, and there were heaps of flesh from those who could not be identified. Some patients arriving in a state that defies description. I never imagined in my life that I would witness such a scene; the pain and sorrow are overwhelming me, and the sight is beyond what any human can bear. Amidst this destruction, I felt helpless and powerless in the face of all the lives we lost. Today was a nightmare that will never be erased from my memory.’

28 August 2024

‘We are just forty-eight days away from a whole year of genocide in Gaza. Read that again: A whole year! How can the world stand idly by as a whole generation of Palestinians is erased? The clock is ticking, and with each passing day, more innocent lives are lost.’

11 October 2024

‘On this day last year, Israel killed my grandmother, my uncle and his wife, their sons and grandchildren, and my other uncle, his wife, and their three children, and my aunt. Israel targeted the house they had fled to with three F-16 rockets. They were trapped under the rubble, and the search for them continued in the hope that they might be alive for two consecutive days. Some of them, we haven’t found to this day. It was a dark day in our family’s memory. A year has passed, and I still can’t believe they are gone.’

2 April 2025

‘We have descended into a kind of existence where the sun rises not to awaken the living but to expose the damned. Our days are rituals of humiliation, long lines for water, a single container passed like a holy relic among the parched, as if thirst were a sacrament now. The water trucks hadn’t come for three days, and when at last they did, the line stretched endlessly. My brother and I waited in that dust-heavy silence, and all we could fill was one gallon - one - enough, perhaps, for a single day, if we are careful, if we are lucky.

And bread, what a tragic word. Once a symbol of life, now reduced to a memory my mother resurrects through smoke and exhaustion, kneeling at the clay oven as if begging the fire for mercy. We went looking for flour, foolishly perhaps, still possessed by the hope that something might remain. A twenty-five-kilo sack, once 25 shekels, now 400. The price of bread is now the price of despair, the cost of feeding a family now measured in the currency of cruelty. We stood there, not even angry, just hollow. Not because we were noble, but because even rage had abandoned us.

The news, when I dared to read it, was another layer of despair: a chorus of distant screams translated into headlines. And when I tried to withdraw my own money, the system - what remains of it - asked for forty percent to convert it into cash. As if desperation were something to be taxed.

Now the planes return. Their scream is no longer terrifying, it is familiar. It is the lullaby of ruin. They rip through the sky not with intent but with hunger. I feel it in my bones: tonight they will take again. And still, absurdly, we breathe. That is the miracle. That is the punishment. This is not life. This is the theatre of divine abandonment, a test with no answers, a fire with no light. And we, the scorched, keep pretending we are not ash.’

Bassompierre in London

The dashing nobleman, François de Bassompierre, a one-time favourite of King Henry IV of France who later fell out with Cardinal Richelieu, died 380 years ago today. He left behind memoirs of his life and accounts of his diplomatic missions, including an embassy to England undertaken four centuries ago this autumn. His account of that visit, translated into English in 1819, offers lively glimpses of the court of Charles I.

François de Bassompierre was born in 1579 into an aristocratic family at the Château de Haroué in Lorraine (now France). He was educated with his brothers in Bavaria and Italy, and, in 1598, was introduced to the court of Henry IV, where he became a favourite of the king. As a young man, he took part in military campaigns in Savoy in 1600 and in Hungary against the Turks in 1603. He supported Marie de’ Medici against the nobles in 1614, but sided with Louis XIII against her supporters in 1620. His service against the Huguenots earned him promotion to marshal of France in 1622, and he subsequently participated in the siege of La Rochelle in 1628. He was sent to raise troops in Switzerland when Louis XIII marched against Savoy in 1629.

Bassompierre also served as a diplomat. In 1621, he went to Madrid to settle a dispute concerning the seizure of the Valtelline forts by Spain. In 1625, he was dispatched to Switzerland, and a year later (400 years ago this autumn) to London, to negotiate over Charles I’s dismissal of the French Catholic clergy and attendants serving his wife, Henrietta Maria. Bassompierre was secretly married to Louise Marguerite, widow of François, prince de Conti, and a close friend of Marie de’ Medici. His connections with the queen mother’s faction aroused Richelieu’s suspicions, and he was imprisoned in the Bastille from 1631 until 1643, the year after the cardinal’s death. His offices were restored on his release, but he died a few years later, on 12 October 1646. Wikipedia and Encyclopaedia Britannica have further biographical information, largely drawn from the out-of-copyright 1911 edition of Encyclopædia Britannica.

Bassompierre’s memoirs, written during his imprisonment, were first published in 1665 and have been reissued many times since. Accounts of his diplomatic missions to Spain, Switzerland and England followed posthumously in 1668. The English embassy account appeared in John Wilson Croker’s translation as Memoirs of the Embassy of the Marshal de Bassompierre to the Court of England in 1626, published by John Murray in 1819. Both the French memoirs and the English translation can be read freely at Internet Archive. Here are several extracts.

15 October 1626
‘Thursday the 15th, on which the Earl of Britswater came with the king’s coaches to fetch me to Hampton Court; then the duke shewed me into a gallery, where the king was waiting for me, who gave me a long audience and well disputed. He put himself into a great passion, and I, without losing my respect to him, replied to him in such wise, that, at last, yielding him something, he conceded a great deal to me. I witnessed there an instance of great boldness, not to say impudence, of the Duke of Boukinkam, which was, that when he saw us the most warmed, he ran up suddenly and threw himself between the king and me, saying, “I am come to keep the peace between you two.” Upon which I took off my hat, and as long as he staid with us I would not put it on again, notwithstanding all the intreaties of the king and of himself to do so; but when he went I put it on without the king’s desiring me. When I had done, and that the duke could speak to me, he asked me why I would not put on my hat  while he was by, and that I did so, so freely, when he was gone. I answered that I had done it to do him honour, because he was not covered and that I should have been, which I could not suffer; for which he was much pleased with me, and often mentioned it in my praise. But I had also another reason for doing so, which was, that it was no longer an audience, but a private conversation, since he had interrupted us, by coming in, as a third, upon us. After my last audience was over, the king brought me through several galleries to the queen’s apartments, where he left me, and I her, after a long conversation; and I was brought back to London by the same Earl of Britswater.’

16 October 1626
‘Friday, the 16th, I was to see the Earl of Holland sick at Inhimthort. The king and queen returned to London. M. de Soubise came to see me. Afterwards the duke sent to beg of me to come to Sommerset, where we were more than two hours disputing about our business.’

17 October 1626
‘Saturday, the 17th, I went to make my bow to the queen at Withal, and to give her an account of my conference of the day before with the duke.’

18 October 1626
‘Sunday the 18th. I was visited by the secretary, Couvai, who came to speak to me from the king.’

20 October 1626
‘Tuesday, 20. Viscount Hamelton (Wenbleton) and Goring came to dine with me. After dinner I was heard at the council, and on my return the Venetian ambassador came to visit me.’

21 October 1626
‘Wednesday, 21st. I wrote a despatch to the King (of France). I was to see the queen, and afterwards to confer with the duke in Sommerset (House).’

22 October 1626
‘Thursday, 22d. I was in the morning to see the ambassador of Danemark. The duke, with the Earls of Carlile and Holland and Montaigne, came to dine with me; I  saw, en passant, the ambassador of the States on business, then I was to the queen’s, and that evening at Madame D’Estranges.’

23 October 1626
‘Friday, 23d. I was to see the Earl of Carlile and the Venetian ambassador.’

24 October 1626
‘Saturday, 24th. I was to see the queen where the king came, with whom she pick’d a quarrel. The king took me to his chamber, and talked a great deal with me, making me complaints of the queen, his wife.’

25 October 1626
‘Sunday, 25. The Earls of Pembrac and Montgomery came to see me, then I went for the duke, whom I took to the queen’s, who made his peace with her; which I had brought about with infinite trouble. The king came in afterwards, and he also was reconciled with her, and caressed her very much - thanked me for having reconciled the duke and his wife - then took me to his chamber, where he  showed me his jewels, which are very fine.’

26 October 1626
‘Monday, 26th. I was, in the morning to see the ambassador of Danemark; after dinner I went to the queen at Sommerset, and fell out with her.’

27 October 1626
‘Tuesday, 27th. The Duke, the Earls of Dorset, Carlile, Holland, Montaigu, and Goring, came to dine with me. I went afterwards to see the Earl of Pembroc and Carleton. In the evening I had a courrier from France.’

28 October 1626
‘Wednesday, 28th. I was at Withal in the morning to speak with the duke and Secretary Couvai, because the king was going to Hampton-Court. After dinner I went to see the queen at Sommerset, with whom I made it up. In the evening the duke and Earl of Holland took me to sup at Antonio Porter’s, who was entertaining Dom Augustin Fiesco, Marquis of Piennes, the Chevallier de Jars, and Gabellin. After supper we had music.’

29 October 1626
‘Thursday, 29th. In the morning I had visits from the Earl of Holland and the Earl of Carlile. After dinner I went to see the ambassador of Holland.’

30 October 1626
‘Friday, the 30th. I was to see the queen at Sommerset, and the duke at Valinfort. The resident of the king of Bohemia came to sup with me.’

31 October 1626
‘Saturday, last day of October. The ambassador of Danemark came to see me, and afterwards I came to see Madame D’Etrange.’

1 November 1626
‘Sunday, the 1st of November, and All Saints Day. I performed my devotions, and afterwards was to see the Duchess of Lennox and Secretary Couvai. A council was held to-day for my business.’

This article is a revised version of one first published on 12 October 2016.

The king of Madagascar

Maurice Benyovszky, later Count de Benyovszky, was born 280 years ago today. A gloriously romantic figure, a nobleman who fought for different countries across Europe and became involved in the American Revolution, he was also famous for his claim to have been proclaimed ruler of part of Madagascar. He sought, at various times, French, Austrian and American backing for his ambitions there. He died, killed in a skirmish with the French, when only 39; nevertheless, he left behind a journal/memoir of his colourful life.

Benyovszky (spelled in various ways) was born into a noble family on 20 September 1746 in Verbó (then within the Kingdom of Hungary, part of the Habsburg Monarchy, now Vrbové in Slovakia). His parents died when he was 14. He later became involved in a legal dispute over family inheritances, which led to him fleeing the country. Accounts of his early military career, including his claim to have served during the Seven Years’ War, are now regarded with some doubt.

In 1768 Benyovszky joined the Confederation of Bar, a Polish national movement against Russian intervention. He was captured by the Russians, interned in Kazan, and later exiled to Kamchatka, in the east of Siberia. Before long, though, he had helped organise a rebellion among fellow exiles and local supporters, seized weapons as well as a Russian vessel. He sailed through the northern Pacific Ocean, landing at Taiwan and Macau, where the party exchanged their vessel. He eventually reached France in mid-1772.

Benyovszky travelled to Madagascar in 1774, with French royal approval and a large number of volunteers, to establish a colony. He set about building a fortified settlement and hospital and establishing relations with local communities. Benyovszky later claimed that local chiefs had proclaimed him their Ampansacabe, or supreme ruler - the origin of his enduring reputation as the ‘king of Madagascar’ - although the precise nature of this acclamation has long been disputed. On returning to France, he was made a French general and awarded the Order of Saint Louis. He became friends with Benjamin Franklin, in Paris at the time, and the Polish nobleman and military commander Casimir Pulaski. However, his further proposals for Madagascar were rejected by the French, and he returned to Central Europe. There, he obtained a pardon from the Austrian Empress and Queen of Hungary, Maria Theresa, who also promoted him to the status of Count in 1778. A few years later, Emperor Joseph II gave his support to Benyovszky’s plans for Madagascar, though nothing seems to have come of this.

After serving in the Austrian army during the War of the Bavarian Succession, Benyovszky turned his attention to the American colonies and the revolution there. His friend Pulaski was killed at the siege of Savannah in 1779; later accounts claimed that he died in Benyovszky’s arms, though this story is disputed by some. In 1782, Benyovszky was in North America and, with a plan to raise a body of European troops for America, was introduced to George Washington. Although initially well received, the plan failed to materialise. Back in Europe, he approached the British government to give support for an expedition to Madagascar, which was not forthcoming. With the help of Franklin, Hyacinth de Magellan and American commercial backers, he then developed another trading venture involving Madagascar.

In 1785, he arrived once again on the island, where he developed a trade settlement, Mauritania, named after himself. His activities brought him into conflict with the French authorities on Mauritius, who regarded his settlement as a threat to French interests. During a French attack in May 1786, Benyovszky was killed. Further information is available from Wikipedia and Andrew Drummond’s Benyovszky biography website.

In the early 1780s, Benyovszky gave his friend Magellan four volumes of memoirs written in French. Magellan had them translated into English and they were published for the first time in 1789. A century later, in 1893, they were published again by T. Fisher Unwin as Memoirs and Travels of Mauritius Augustus Count de Benyowsky Magnate of the Kingdoms of Hungary and Poland, one of the Chiefs of the Confederation of Poland etc. etc., with an introduction, notes and bibliography by Captain S. Pasfield Oliver. This, and earlier editions, are freely available at Internet Archive. 

The memoir starts with a biographical account of Benyovszky’s early life, written in the third person but nonetheless inspired by Benyovszky himself. Benyovszky’s journal/memoir commences in January 1770 and finishes in late 1776. Some of the narrative does read like a journal, with dated entries, but more often it reads like a memoir written in retrospect (e.g. ‘On the 6th, in the Straits, we joined a Spanish armed frigate, named the Pallas; and on the 16th of March, we arrived safely in France.’) The following extracts come from the Oliver edition.

15 October 1771
‘On the 15th, the associates met by my order. I informed them, that I was assured that a number among them were discontented with me; for which reason 1 thought proper to declare to them, that all those who were desirous of seeking their fortune elsewhere, were at liberty to quit me; and that as they had all received a retribution at my hands at the island of Formosa, I thought myself acquitted from them. I had scarcely made an end, before Mr. Stephanow loaded me with invectives, and charged me with an intention of depriving the company of their share of the advantages I was about to receive, from the knowledge I had acquired during the voyage; and that the moderation I had shewn at Formosa, in delivering my share of the presents of Prince Huapo, was merely a scheme to deprive them of greater advantages. He then excited the companions to throw off my authority, by assuring them that he would secure them a large fortune the instant they should determine to put my papers in his hands, and follow his party. The infamous plot of this wretch was nothing extraordinary; hut when I understood that he was supported by Sir. Wynbladth, my ancient Major, the companion of my exile, and my friend, I was incapable of setting bounds to my indignation, and could not avoid declaring, that their proceedings were highly disgraceful; and to confound them, I displayed their secret projects to the company, and justified my words by shewing Mr. Jackson’s letter, which convinced them that Messrs. Stephanow and Wynbladth, under pretence of serving the company, were desirous of securing the five thousand pounds to their own use. They were highly irritated, and threatened them; but Stephanow preserved a party of eleven, with whom he went to my lodgings; and while I remained in conversation with my friends, he seized my box, in which he supposed my papers were deposited. As soon as I heard of this outrage, I went to his chamber, followed by twenty associates; and as he refused to open the door, I broke it down. On my entrance he fired a pistol at me, which missed. In consequence of this attempt, I gave orders for seizing and keeping him in strict confinement; and as it was necessary likewise to secure Mr. Wynbladth, I went to his chamber; but he had retired into the garden, armed with a pair of pistols and a sabre. I determined to shut him in, being convinced that he could not get over the walls on account of their great height. This whole affair passed without the least alarm without, as the doors of the house were shut.’

16 October 1771
‘On the 16th, Mr. Wynbladth, fatigued by a continual rain, and perhaps urged by hunger, requested forgiveness, and surrendered himself to two companions I had appointed to watch him. Having thus made sure of these two turbulent men, I thought it proper they should be separated from the company; and they were therefore conducted to the castle by permission of the Governor: the officers of our company, being desirous of avenging themselves on the English emissaries, played them a trick, the whole effect of which fell upon a Jewish agent, who was severely flogged. Upon this wretch there were found minutes of proposals which he made to the companions, as follow:
1. That the English would pay to each associate one thousand piastres, in case they would serve the company, and put my papers in his hands.
2. That in case the associates refused to take the English party, the company would arrest them by force, in the name of the Empress of Russia, to deliver them up.
3. That the company would answer for obtaining the Empress’s pardon for them, if they would determine to make a voyage to Japan, and the Aleuthes Islands.

Such proceedings cannot attributed to men of sense. It was in my opinion a forgery, concerted between Mr. Stephanow and the Jew, to excite the associates against me.’

2 January 1772
‘On the 2d, I sold my vessel to a Portugueze merchant, for the sum of four thousand five hundred piastres, ready money, and as much on credit: the Governor reserved to himself the whole of the stores.’

14 January 1772
‘On the 14th, we quitted Macao, where the Governor saluted me with twenty-one guns, from the principal fortress; and, after a tedious passage, we arrived at last at the mouth of the Tigu; where we were very civilly received by a Mandarin, though he at first refused to permit us to go on shore: the sight of a purse of piastres, however, abated his severity; which was so much altered by this circumstance, that he offered permission for us to take lodgings in the fort.’

12 April 1772
‘On the 12th, we anchored at the Island of Madagascar, where I went on shore at Fort Dauphin. Some particulars of information I had received from the Governor of the isle of France, induced me to wish for more ample information, respecting this fine and extensive island; but unfortunately for this purpose, I could not prolong my stay.’

This article is a revised version of one first published on 20 September 2016.

A fool’s paradise of poetry

‘Heavens! what fortitude one needs, to become a decent writer. One runs madly through green thickets, enamoured of the bird-notes which last but a few moments; one stumbles, picks oneself up, and emerges into a barren waste; one ruminates miserably for a while, dragging desolate feet through the dust of dead dreams. And then, if one is lucky, one plunges into another fool’s paradise of “poetry”.’ This is Siegfried Sassoon, an English poet born 140 years ago today, writing lyrically about the difficulties of composing poetry. Although a brave and decorated First World War soldier, he is best remembered for his war poetry and autobiographical prose, while his extensive diaries provide an unusually immediate record of his life and wartime experiences.

Sassoon was born at Weirleigh, near Matfield in Kent, on 8 September 1886, and educated at Marlborough College and Clare College, Cambridge. He was the second of three sons born to Alfred Ezra Sassoon, a member of a wealthy Jewish merchant family, and Theresa Thornycroft, an Anglo-Catholic. Alfred had been disinherited by his family for marrying Theresa. After leaving Cambridge without a degree, Sassoon spent nearly a decade doing very little other than hunting, socialising and writing occasional verse. On the outbreak of war, he enlisted as a cavalry trooper in the Sussex Yeomanry, but injured his arm in a riding accident in October 1914. After recovering, he was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the 3rd Battalion (Special Reserve), Royal Welch Fusiliers, and was posted to the Western Front. He was considered a reckless soldier, but was awarded the Military Cross for rescuing a wounded lance-corporal under heavy fire in May 1916.

Significantly, while in France, Sassoon met Robert Graves. They encouraged each other’s love of poetry, and Graves’s grittier style is known to have influenced Sassoon. In April 1917, Sassoon was wounded and returned to England. By then, he had grown hostile to the continuation of the war and his poetry increasingly reflected the realities of life in the trenches. The Old Huntsman, containing a substantial group of war poems, appeared in 1917, followed by Counter-Attack and Other Poems in 1918. On 15 June 1917, Sassoon completed A Soldier’s Declaration, condemning what he believed was the deliberate prolongation of the conflict. After he refused to return to duty, the statement was published in The Times and read in Parliament on 31 July. Some called for Sassoon to be court-martialled, but the Army instead sent him before a medical board, which declared him unfit for service and referred him to Craiglockhart War Hospital near Edinburgh. There he met the psychiatrist W. H. R. Rivers and the poet Wilfred Owen.

Sassoon subsequently returned to active service, first in Palestine and then in France, where in June 1918 he was accidentally shot in the head by a British sentry. After the war, he lived briefly in Oxford, but then settled in Tufton Street, Westminster, in 1919. He became literary editor of the Daily Herald, a role that brought him into contact with many literary names of the day, and became something of a literary celebrity himself. He spent the best part of two decades writing autobiographical or semi-autobiographical books, such as Memoirs of an Infantry Officer and Siegfried’s Journey. He married Hester Gatty in 1933, and they had one son before the marriage broke down and the couple separated in 1945. Sassoon lived the last years of his life in relative seclusion at Heytesbury in Wiltshire, converting to Catholicism in 1957. He died of stomach cancer on 1 September 1967, aged 80. Further information is available from Wikipedia, Poetry Foundation or Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Cambridge University Library holds what it describes as ‘the world’s richest assemblage of Sassoon’s manuscripts and archival papers’, including a run of diaries stretching from 1905 to 1959. The Cambridge Digital Library has made available images of 23 of Sassoon’s journals, focusing on the war years but covering 1915-1927 and 1931-1932. It describes Sassoon as a ‘gifted diarist’ and the journals as ‘a fascinating resource’ of First World War literature. However, the library does not provide complete transcriptions of the diary pages.

‘Unlike edited printed transcriptions,’ it says, ‘the digitisations allow the viewer to form a thorough sense of the nature of the physical documents. Sassoon wrote in a small but neat and legible hand, frequently using the notebooks from both ends. His war journals were used for a wide variety of purposes: in addition to making diary entries Sassoon drafted poetry, made pencil or ink sketches, listed members of his battalion and their fates, made notes on military briefings and diagrams of trenches, listed locations and dates of times spent at or near the Front, noted quotations, and transcribed letters. The wartime notebooks were small enough to have been carried by Sassoon in the pocket of his Army tunic, and many had enclosures such as letters tucked into the outer cover or inner pouches; some bear tangible evidence of use in the trenches, from the mud on notebook MS Add.9852/1/7 to the candlewax spilled on MS Add.9852/1/9, presumably as Sassoon sat writing in his dug-out by candlelight.’

Printed transcriptions are available in three volumes edited by Rupert Hart-Davis and published by Faber and Faber between 1981 and 1985: Diaries 1915-1918, Diaries 1920-1922 and Diaries 1923-1925 (all of which can be digitally borrowed from Internet Archive). Here are several extracts from the last of these. Hart-Davis notes, however, that most of the text of Diaries 1923-1925 was taken from ‘fair copies’ Sassoon himself made of the original diaries in 1931 and 1932. It is assumed, he says, that the originals were discarded.

This article is a revised version of one first published on 8 September 2016.

Severed heads drinking Coke

Born 90 years ago today, Eleanor Coppola emerged from the shadow of her husband, Francis Ford Coppola, to carve out a distinctive career documenting the realities of film-making. Her reputation rests not only on her films about films, but on the remarkable diary she kept during the troubled production of Apocalypse Now - a record that revealed the human cost behind cinematic ambition and set the course for much of her later work.

Eleanor Jessie Neil was born on 4 May 1936 in Los Angeles. Her father, a political cartoonist, died when she was 10, and her mother brought her up in Sunset Beach, 30 miles south of LA. After graduating in applied design from the University of California, Eleanor met Francis Ford Coppola while working as an assistant art director during the filming of Dementia 13 in 1962. They married in Las Vegas the following year. Their three children, Sofia, Roman and Gian-Carlo have followed them into the film industry. 

Eleanor, herself, has directed and/or been the cinematographer on several documentaries about the making of films. Otherwise, among her other activities, she helped manage the family winery in California, and designed for a dance company in San Francisco. She also developed an art project, Circle of Memory, ‘to inspire visitors to recall and commemorate children who are missing or dead.’ Further biographical information can be found at Wikipedia.

While Eleanor Coppola’s husband was working on Apocalypse Now, in the 1970s, with a shooting schedule in the Philippines, she kept extensive diary-like notes. These were published in 1979 by Simon & Schuster and simply called Notes, although subsequent editions were called Notes on the Making of Apocalypse Now. This book, in turn, led to a film, co-directed by Eleanor Coppola, Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse. Irene and Alan Taylor, authors of the anthology, The Assassin’s Cloak, say the diary is ‘an extraordinary record not only of making a movie but of the emotional and physical prices extracted from all who participated in it.’ Later, she published Notes on a Life, in a similar style, but with a much broader focus on her world. Further information and and extracts from Notes on the Making of Apocalypse Now can be found at SF Gate, Los Angeles Times, and The Independent.

In her book, Coppola explains that she went with her husband and their three children to the Philippines in March 1976, where they rented a large house in Manila for the five-month scheduled shooting of Apocalypse Now. The film was conceived as an action/adventure structured on Joseph Conrad’s novel Heart of Darkness, but rather than Africa in the 1800s, the film was set on a river in Vietnam during the late sixties. The story concerns a Captain Willard who is given an assignment to go on a classified mission up a river in Vietnam, cross into Cambodia and assassinate Colonel Kurtz, a Green Beret colonel who has apparently gone insane and is conducting the war by his own rules. When Willard finally arrives at his destination, he has been changed by the experience of making the journey. Coppola concludes her introduction by saying: ‘Many of the people who worked on the film were also changed.’

Notes can be digitally borrowed online at Internet Archive. Here are several extracts.

24 June 1976

‘Napa. Yesterday Mike and Arlene saw two hours of rushes, and when they called to ask us if we would like anything from the city, Arlene said she thought the acting was kind of tentative. Francis went into a tailspin. He felt totally defeated. He has spent $7 million, and months of grueling production, and they didn’t say, “Hey, you’ve got some fantastic stuff there.” He really got into a black depression. As I see it, Francis has ninety hours of film, and no chunk can give you an idea of what fifteen minutes’ worth of moments he is going to select from it. What you finally see on the screen does not give the slightest clue of what was left out. For someone to just look at an arbitrary piece is meaningless. Francis felt hopeless and scared. We slept outside on the lawn. It was a beautiful night, so clear with stars. Francis tossed and turned most of the night, having nightmares. We woke up at dawn; there was a crescent of new moon rising near the horizon in the pinkish light. Francis said he had had a dream about how to finish the script, but now that he was awake it wasn’t really any good. Francis talked to Brando on the phone yesterday.’

15 October 1976

‘Thirty-eight takes, and Francis said it was never the way he wanted it. The people who were playing the severed heads sat in their boxes, buried in the ground, from eight in the morning till six at night. All day they were there in the hot sun, with smoke blowing on them. Between takes they were covered with umbrellas. They got out for lunch, but the rest of the time they were there in place.

During one take, Dennis Hopper backed up and stepped right at a girl’s cheek and collapsed part of the container she was in, nearly stepping on her face. The mud on both sides of the dolly track was deep and people kept slipping. Dennis and Fred Forrest both fell during takes. The sound man had someone hold on to his belt in the back and stabilize him as he followed the actors, so that he wouldn’t fall with the boom.

It was one of those days where the dry ice mist, or the orange smoke, or the performance, or the light, or something just never came together for a take that Francis was satisfied with.

At one point I was sitting there looking around. The severed heads were drinking Cokes. The Ifugao children were putting chunks of dry ice in film cans and making the lids pop off. Some Ifugao girls were picking lice out of each other’s hair. One girl had a wrapped skirt, bare breasts and pink plastic hair rollers. A man sitting down in his loincloth held up the fringed ends neatly so they wouldn’t get in the mud. The man with the boa constrictor was giving it a drink of water. Alex was talking about the fake blood . . . “It’s thirty-five dollars a gallon and they’re really using a lot today.” Special effects ran out of orange smoke and had to use red. My favorite old Ifugao priest wasn’t in costume today; he had on a loincloth and beige print, nylon jersey sport shirt. He came up close to the steps to take a look at the fake severed heads. They say his tribe were headhunters as recently as five years ago. Angelo had a tuna sandwich he was passing around, and people were saying, “You know how long its been since I had a tuna sandwich?” ’

17 October 1976

‘Pagsanjan. I shot an interview with Dennis Hopper. One of the things he said that interested me the most was that he thought filmmaking was in the same phase of development that art was during the cathedral-building period. When they built those great cathedrals in Europe, they employed stonemasons, engineers, fresco painters, etc., and created the work through the combined talents of many. By the nineteenth century, art evolved to the point where the major work of the day was being done by individual artists working alone at an easel. Dennis was making the point that now film-making involves the talents of many departments and perhaps eventually major films will be made by one person with a video port-a-pack.’

4 November 1978

‘Napa. Yesterday I went with Francis to a screening of the last half of the film to see some changes he was working on with the editors. I hadn’t seen any footage since June. There is no question in my mind, beyond all my personal feelings and connections, it is an extraordinary work. It feels like Francis’s level of desperation and fear is shrinking. The lawyers and United Artists are starting to talk more optimistically about the financial situation. There is still more work to do in the final sequence at Kurtz Compound, but each cut seems to improve, get closer.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 4 May 2016.

Of Napoleon, and a turtle

Sir Neil Campbell, a British army officer who rose to become a colonial governor, was born 250 years ago today. He is largely remembered for a detailed and informative diary he kept while in charge of Napoleon Bonaparte during his exile on the island of Elba. That diary, first published in 1869, is the only extant diary left by Campbell, however a biographical memoir by his nephew, mentions another journal, and provides a single extract from it, about the capturing of a turtle at sea.

Campbell was born on 1 May 1776. His father was described as a ‘Highland gentleman of ancient lineage, and fair landed estate’. After being nurtured in his ‘wild ancestral home’, he began his army career by joining the 6th West India Regiment in 1797. After three years service in West Indies, he returned to England and was promoted to lieutenant, and then to major. He returned to the West Indies, to Jamaica, in 1807, and then, after a sojourn in England for health reasons, journeyed again to the West Indies in 1808, this time being appointed Deputy-Adjutant-General to the Forces in the Windward and Leeward Islands. He was present at the captures, from the French, of Martinique and Guadeloupe.

During the Peninsular War, Campbell was appointed colonel of the 16th Portuguese infantry, but in 1814, he was severely wounded at Fère-Champenoise in France. Later, the same year he was chosen to accompany Napoleon from Fontainebleau to Elba (where he had been exiled under the terms of the Treaty of Fontainebleau) with express orders from the British Foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereigh, that he was in no way to act as his jailer, but rather to allow the ex French emperor to take control of the island as a sovereign prince. Although, Campbell’s instructions also implied that he should not remain in Elba longer than necessary, he did promise to stay, at Napoleon’s request, until the termination of the congress of Vienna (which aimed to provide a long-term peace plan for Europe). It is thought that his presence on the island put the English naval captains off their guard, and thus enabled Napoleon to escape rather easily.

Campbell went on to serve at the battle of Waterloo, and during the occupation of France, from 1815 to 1818, he commanded the Hanseatic Legion, consisting of 3,000 volunteers. In 1825, he was appointed major-general, applied for a staff appointment, and was given the governorship of Sierra Leone, reaching the colony in May 1826. The following year, however, he died of a fever. Further information is available online from Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900 or Wikipedia.

Campbell is largely remembered today because of a diary he kept while in charge of the force escorting Napoleon to exile on Elba, and while remaining with him there - until his escape. The diary - published in 1869 by John Murray and freely available at Internet Archive - is titled: Napoleon at Fontainebleau and Elba being A Journal of Occurrences in 1814-1815 with Notes of Conversations by the late Major-General Sir Neil Campbell C. B. With a Memoir of the Life and Services of that Officer, By his Nephew Archibald Neil Campbell Maclachlan M. A.. The book, as the title implies, contains a biographical memoir about Campbell, rather formally written, as well as the journal kept by Campbell himself for a year from April 1814 to March 1815. The latter, in particular, is a valuable first hand account of Napoleon during his exile on Elba.

According to Ravenhall Books, which brought out a modern edition of Campbell’s diary in 2004: ‘It records events as Napoleon builds an empire in miniature on Elba and it keeps an eye on the coming and going of agents and would-be assassins. Frank and enlightening it also reveals much about the personality of Napoleon and of the tensions and subterfuge within the exiled community as Napoleon devises and implements his plans for an escape.’ Here are several extracts from the original 1869 publication.

5 May 1814
‘From daylight to breakfast at 10 P.M. Napoleon was on foot, inspecting the castles, storehouses, and magazines.

At 2 P.M.. he went into the interior on horseback, a distance of two leagues, and examined various country-houses.’

6 May 1814
‘At 7 A.M. he crossed the harbour in Captain Usher’s boat, proceeded on horseback across the island to Rio, and examined the mines, then ascended a number of hills and mountain-tops upon which there are ruins. After a ‘Te Deum’ in a chapel, we had breakfast. On our return we re-embarked in Captain Usher’s boat, but, instead of returning direct. Napoleon visited the watering place, the height opposite the citadel on which he proposes to establish a sea-battery, and a rock at the mouth of the harbour on which he also thinks of placing a tower.

In talking at dinner of his intention to take possession of a small island without inhabitants, which is about ten miles off the coast of Elba, Napoleon said, ‘Toute l’Europe dira que j’ai fait une conquête déjà.” He laughed at this.

Already he has all his plans in agitation; such as to convey water from the mountains to the city, to prepare a country-house, a house in Porto Ferrajo for himself, and another for the Princess Pauline, a stable for 150 horses, a lazaretto for vessels to perform quarantine, a depot for the salt, and another for the nets belonging to the fishery of the tunny.’

7 May 1814
‘From 5 to 10 A.M. Napoleon visited other parts of the town and fortifications on foot, then embarked in boats, and visited the different storehouses round the harbour.

In making the excursions into the country, yesterday and the day before, he was accompanied by a dozen officers. A captain of gendarmes and one of his Fourriers de Palais always rode in front; and, on two occasions, a sergeant’s party of gendarmes-à-pied went on about an English mile before.

On taking our places in the boat, some of us, following Bertrand’s example, kept off our hats; on which he told us to put them on, adding, ‘Nous sommes ici ensemble en soldat!’

The fishery of the tunny is carried on by the richest inhabitant of the island. This person, by his own industry, has, out of a state of extreme poverty, amassed a fortune. He employs a great proportion of the poor, and has much influence. The removal of the stores by Napoleon to a very inferior building, merely for the convenience of his horses, is likely to cause disgust; but this shows how little Napoleon permits reflection to check his desires.’

8 May 1814
‘Before landing from the frigate, Napoleon requested that a party of fifty marines might accompany him to remain on shore. This intention was afterwards changed; and one officer of marines and two sergeants, to act as orderlies, together with a lieutenant of the navy, were sent.

One of the sergeants, selected by himself, sleeps outside the door of his bedchamber, upon a mattrass, with his clothes on, and a sword at his side. A valet de chambre occupies another mattrass at the same place. If he lies down during the day, the sergeant is called to remain in the antechamber.’

22 May 1814
‘Napoleon told me that he had taken Malta by a coup de main; that the inhabitants were so intimidated ‘par le nom de ces républicains, mangeurs d’hommes,’ that they all took refuge within the fortifications, with cattle and every living animal in the island. This created so much confusion and dismay, that they were incapable of opposition.

He requested me to write to the consul at Algiers, to secure the respect due to his flag, agreeably to the treaty.’

23 May 1814
‘I have received a letter from the Admiral, dated Genoa, May 19, in which he states that he had sent transports to Savona for the Guards of Napoleon. He expects to be off this place in a few days, on his voyage to Sicily, with Lord William Bentinck on board. I shall take that opportunity of waiting upon them, to give every information in my power, and to obtain the advantage of their counsel.’

26 May 1814
‘This morning, at 6 A.M., Napoleon went quite unexpectedly on board of the French frigate ‘Dryade,’ and the crew hailed him with cries of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ This, I am told, placed the captain in a very awkward situation. It was not a visit to the captain personally, for he had anchored on the preceding afternoon, and then Napoleon declined seeing him, when he waited upon him, until the following morning at 10 a.m. So that it was certainly done to try the disposition of the Navy, and to keep up a recollection of him in France.

Napoleon also visited the British frigate ‘Undaunted,’ and made a speech to the crew. He thanked them for the good-will with which they had performed their duties during the voyage, said that he felt himself under obligations to them for the period he had been on board, which he had passed so happily, and that he wished them every success and happiness. He sent them, in the course of the day, 1,000 bottles of wine and 1,000 dollars, and presented Captain Usher with a box containing his portrait set in diamonds. Napoleon speaks most gratefully to everyone of the facilities which have been granted to him by the British Government; and to myself personally he constantly expresses the sense he entertains of the superior qualities which the British nation possesses over every other.

Five British transports arrived here this morning from Savona, with about 750 volunteers of Napoleon’s Guards, his horses, and baggage.

To-day I informed General Bertrand that, in case either Napoleon himself or others might ascribe any underhand motive to my remaining here, I was ready to quit the island at once, should such be his wish; that I had only remained after the other Commissioners in order to procure for him those facilities which he had requested, through me, from the British Admiral.

After repeating my conversation to Napoleon, General Bertrand was directed to assure me that my remaining with him after the departure of the other Commissioners was indispensable for his protection and security, in obedience to Lord Castlereagh’s instructions; that even after the arrival of his troops and baggage, there was another article of the treaty not fulfilled, although guaranteed by the Allied Sovereigns, and the execution of which depended entirely upon His Britannic Majesty’s ships in the Mediterranean, viz. the security of his flag against insult from the powers of Barbary; that it would be necessary for me to communicate with the Consul at Algiers and the Admiral, as soon as possible, for that object. I requested that he would address the application to me in writing, and stated that I would prolong my stay in the hope of receiving further instructions from Lord Castlereagh, not having heard from his lordship since I left Fontainebleau.’

13 March 1815
‘About one in the morning a person with a lanthorn entered my room very silently, and told me that the prefect requested to see me immediately. In order to avoid all noise and observation, he led me by a back way, and through a stable, into the house. I found the Count in a state of extreme dismay, and occupied with his secretary. I sincerely participated in his feelings on hearing from him the intelligence he had just received from Aix and Valence, viz., that Napoleon had entered Grenoble upon the 7th at 8 p.m., and that General Marchand, with the staff and most of the officers, had retired. It may be inferred from this that the rest and the private soldiers have betrayed their duty.

This state of affairs is so serious, that I determined to go off immediately to Nice, in order to convey the earliest intimation of these melancholy circumstances to Lord William Bentinck at Genoa. I shall also report to him my observation as to the bad disposition of the troops at Antibes, and the little reliance that can be placed upon the regular army, so that he may prepare for the worst.

No actual disposition has been made by the Piedmontese for the passage of the long bridge over the Var, which separates them from Antibes.

Set off from Draguignan at 3 A.M., and arrived at Nice at 5 P.M. At 10 P.M. went on board of H.M.S. ‘Partridge’ at Villa Franca, but it blew so hard that she could not with safety attempt to beat out.

Lord Sunderland has arrived from Marseilles. There it is universally believed that  the English had favoured Napoleon’s return, and the people are furious against us.  the same idea also prevails everywhere in the South of France and in Piedmont. A newspaper of Turin, just arrived at Nice, states positively this to be the case!’

14 March 1815
‘Sailed out of Villa Franca at 6 A.M., and arrived at Genoa at 8 P.M.’

15 March 1815
‘Wrote Lord Burgbersh with news from Draguignan of the 13th inst., and mentioned a report of Napoleon having entered Lyons.

Madame Mère, as I am informed, states that Napoleon had three deputations from France before he consented to quit Elba.’

18 March 1815
‘H.M.S. ‘Aboukir’ sailed for Leghorn.’

19 March 1815
‘H.M.S. ‘Partridge’ left Genoa for Leghorn and Sicily.’

20 March 1815
‘Left Genoa. During the night robbed of my watch and between fifty and sixty guineas by brigands near Novi.’

21 March 1815
‘4 P.M. at Milan.’

22 March 1815
‘7 A.M. Domo d’Ossola. 7 P.M. Left the Simplon.’

23 March 1815
‘11 A.M. Sion. Carriage-wheel broke. 8 P.M. Vevay.’

24 March 1815
‘Midday, Morat. Overtook Mr. Perry, the courier, who had left Genoa the morning before me.’

25 March 1815
‘11 A.M. Basle. 7 P.M. Fribourg.’

26 March 1815
‘2 P.M. Rastadt. 5 P.M. Carlsruhe.’

27 March 1815
‘3 A.M. Manheim. Passed the Rhine.’

28 March 1815
‘10 A.M. Lisère; passed the Moselle in a flat.

4 P.M. Treves. At midnight, Luxembourg. Stopped four hours to pass through the fortress.’

29 March 1815
‘4 A.M. Left Luxembourg.’

30 March 1815
‘6 P.M. Brussels. Remained three hours.’

31 March 1815
‘6 P.M. Ostend. Sailed at 8 P.M. in H. M. brig ‘Rosario,’ Captain Peak.’

1 April 1815 [Last entry in published diary.]
‘9 A.M. Landed at Deal, and at 9 P.M. arrived in London. Next day had interviews with Lord Castlereagh, and with H. R. H. the Prince Regent at Carlton House.’

It is worth noting that in the biographical memoir section of the book, there is mention of another journal kept by Campbell during his journey to the Windward and Leeward Islands in 1808. Here is what the memoir says about that journal, including an extract from it (although I can find no further information about this journal anywhere else).

‘A Journal kept by him during the voyage, and illustrated by plans and drawings, relates the usual incidents on board a troopship of that period, sailing from Woolwich to Barbadoes, and passing by Porto Santo, Madeira, and Teneriffe. The ‘Creole’ mounted twelve six-pounders and two nine-pounders; had a crew of twenty-four men, including master and mate; and carried, besides Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell and his servant, a detachment of Artillery, consisting of five officers and forty-six men. At the Downs she joined company with 150 sail, many of them transports destined for Spain; but soon after, weighing anchor from thence, the convoy was caught by a tremendous gale, which effectually dispersed it, and blew over several of the vessels - the ‘Creole’ among them - to the French coast near Boulogne, though with no ultimate loss. On November 2nd, off Lymington, a detachment of Foreign Artillery, consisting of one sergeant and twenty-sis men, was taken in.

On the 4th the ‘Creole’ passed through a fleet of light transports beating up Channel. ‘These are probably,’ Colonel Campbell notes, ‘the ships returning from France, after landing the French troops agreeably to the Convention of Cintra.’ ‘On the 18th, the day being a dead calm, the boat was lowered to pursue a turtle, which was spied 800 yards from the ship. Two hands rowed, I took the helm, and the master sat in the bow of the boat ready to seize him. As he seemed to be asleep upon the surface of the water, we approached him with as little noise as possible. When the boat almost touched him, the mate suddenly grasped him by one of his fore-fins, and tossed him into the boat. The exploit being witnessed from the ship, we were welcomed by a loud cheer in exultation of our success. The appearance of the ship with all its sails set, indolently bending from one side to another, her deck and sides crowded with men, the sea clear and smooth as glass, and the delightful warmth of the day, were truly beautiful and cheering to our spirits. There was no small anxiety to view the prize - sailors and soldiers, women and children, all crowding about us to satisfy their curiosity. The turtle was laid on his back upon the deck, to the joy of every one. In course of the evening we made three attempts after other turtle, but none of them succeeded. They were not asleep, and, when we approached within a few yards, lifted up their heads, surveyed us, and disappeared.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 1 May 2016.

Life in Richmond under siege

The American diarist Emma Mordecai died 120 years ago today, leaving behind a rare and detailed civilian record of life in the Confederate capital during the final year of the Civil War. Written in Richmond as military pressure tightened around the city, her diary captures both the routines of domestic life and the growing strain of conflict, offering a contemporaneous account of a society under siege.

Mordecai was born in 1812 in Richmond into a prominent Jewish mercantile family long established in the city. Her father, Samuel Mordecai, was a successful merchant, and the family occupied a respected position within Richmond society. She received a solid education for a woman of her background and remained closely tied to her extended family throughout her life, never marrying and instead living within a network of siblings and relations whose fortunes were intertwined with those of the breakaway Confederacy states.

During the American Civil War, Mordecai remained in Richmond, then the Confederate capital, and experienced the conflict at close quarters. Her household life was shaped by wartime shortages, the presence of enslaved servants, and the constant proximity of military activity. Like many in her social circle, she supported the Confederate cause, and her perspective was conditioned by both her class position and her investment in the South’s social order.

After the war, Mordecai continued to live in Richmond, adjusting to the profound social and economic changes brought by defeat and emancipation. In later life she copied out and preserved her wartime diary, producing a fair version in 1886. She died on 8 April 1906. Further information is available from Wikipedia and the Jewish Women’s’ Archive.

Mordecai’s diary covers the period from April 1864 to May 1865, one of the most intense phases of the war in Virginia, including the siege conditions in Richmond and the city’s eventual fall. The entries vary considerably in length, from brief factual notes to extended passages running to several hundred words. Alongside records of weather, household routines, and visits, Mordecai develops fuller scenes - in hospitals, on the roads, and in the surrounding countryside - combining close observation with moments of personal reflection and judgement, particularly as the pressures of war intensify.

The manuscript survived among the Mordecai family papers and was preserved in archival collections before attracting sustained scholarly attention. A full edition, The Civil War Diary of Emma Mordecai, was published by New York University Press in 2024, edited by Dianne Ashton with Melissa R. Klapper, and accompanied by a substantial scholarly introduction situating the text within the history of the Civil War and American Jewish life.

The path to publication was unusually prolonged. Ashton, a specialist in American Jewish history, had worked on the project for more than a decade and left behind a substantial draft on her death in 2022. Her colleague Melissa R. Klapper took on the task of completing the manuscript, drawing on Ashton’s research while updating the scholarship and preparing the diary for press. The project had already been committed to publication, and Klapper described finishing it as an effort to ensure that years of work did not ‘disappear’. More about the book can be found here, and some pages can sampled at Googlebooks. Moreover, a few of the diary extracts can be found in a pdf thanks to the Rosenbach Museum.

28 May 1864

‘A most beautiful morning, took a sweet little ramble in the woods about Laurel Branch, after breakfast. Got honeysuckle, laurel, lupin & other flowers. Grape vines not quite in bloom yet. How tranquil it was in the wooded pasture, where the cows look as if they would tire themselves with grazing, so uncommonly luxuriant is the growth of grass & clover in the woods around. The negro boys who mind them are happy, careless little beings - as free as Robin Hood’s men “under the green wood tree”. How much better off will they be in the North? Our ruthless invaders do full as much injury to the poor negroes, as to their owners. Spent the day in quiet, grateful rest. It turned very cool and rained in the afternoon. Ate the first strawberries - a few out of the Garden, & some that Fanny Young sent George, but ladies have brought me some to the Hospital all the week.’

29 May 1864

‘Another most beautiful day; so cool as to make our wood fires quite acceptable if not necessary. Rose & Gusta went to church. George & I staid at home, he reading & I writing all the morning, a very long letter to Peggy Mordecai in Raleigh, in answer to one from her rec’d yesterday. When Rose came from Church, she told us that Lee’s Army is very near Richmond. There has been a Cavalry skirmish at Atlee’s Station, about six miles from here. Ewell’s wagon train was passing Mr. Stuart’s, for hours yesterday, going down on the Meadow - Bridge road. The Battle grounds of 1861 seem to be selected by Grant for his next failure, & Genl. Lee is arranging to meet him in his new position. Hear that much of our artillery is in Atlee’s Station, & we may see Willie & John here at any moment. Had an excellent dinner of nice fried chicken, asparagus, boiled onions & rice, with a dessert of cool clauber. After dinner George drove Rose and me in to see Lawrence Young & take buttermilk to the Hospital. I carried my favorite patient, Mr. Horton, of Georgia, a breast of chicken, & a slice of bread & butter. Found him less well than when I left him Friday. He ate part of it, & seemed to relish it, but has little appetite. He has much to contend with. Has lost his left foot, and was severely wounded in the right leg. Poor fellow! so brave & so handsome! - with his white forehead, soft chestnut hair, clear steel blue eyes - strait nose & expressive mouth.

Lawrence Young is not thought to be improving. His surgeon, Dr. Montague (who afterwards married Rosa Young - Lawrence’s sister, with whom he fell in love around her brother’s cot], thinks his condition very discouraging. George saw his wound, & thinks it looks dreadfully. He is said to be the idol of his mother. Several of the men had died since I was there on Friday - all were hopeless cases. Many ladies visited the Hospital this P.M. One brought a large basket of strawberries & dispensed them. The poor invalids enjoy them much. On our way to town we saw several families moving with their servants, cattle, horses, and sheep &c to take refuge within the lines of fortification, as we returned, some were preparing to camp out a common, near the road. Ladies & children seated round a camp - fire, while their carts, wagons and a carriage were drawn up round them, with counterpanes arranged so as to make a sort of tent. Families east of the turnpike, (we are a mile to the west of it) have sent everything they can dispense with, to the City, for safety.’

30 May 1864

‘Beautiful, cool morning, cars not running yet on Fredsbg. Rd. Gusta went in with her uncle John, to school. I could not get to the Hospital. Took a walk in the woods after breakfast. Sewed all the morning mending clothes. Rose felt poorly & lay down most of the time. A perfectly quiet day. No sounds of War. After dinner read a little & took a long nap. Got up & dressed. Mrs. Young sent a large bowl of strawberries, and in the cool of the evening, walked over with the children. Gusta could not get home from school. Willie came about 8 o’clock from Mechanicsville, having ridden ten miles since sunset. He constant expression of his countenance. He had no one to attend to him except at stated periods. No one to keep off the swarming flies, or to answer the many urgent requirements of such a sufferer. Comfortless & perhaps without any one’s knowing it, he will die. The sisters do not allow any outsiders to remain with a patient but 15 minutes, so I had to leave him after this short time. I shall probably not find him there when I go again. I have prayed for him - May God pardon and take him to Himself.’

10 June 1864

‘I had intended visiting the Hospitals to day, but on consulting my Heb. Calendar, I found it was the 1st day of Pentecost, so I remained at home to observe the day as well as I could by reading the services, and reminding myself of my peculiar duties as an Inheritor of law given to us by Him who said “I, the Lord, change not”. Blind & foolish are those children of Israel, who persuade themselves that the laws given to them by the Unchanging One, for them & their descendants to observe forever, are not binding on them. I omitted to mention yesterday that Willie took us by surprise yesterday at Westbrook. He came home & finding we were at his uncle’s he dressed himself decently & went over. Rose sent for Gusta who was still in town, & Mary Chiles, with whom she was staying, came out with her to stay until Monday. Willie spent the night at home, & returned to camp after breakfast. A wagon train camped in the woods in front of the house today - the headquarter train of Stuart’s, now Hampton’s Cavalry. Horses are constantly passing on their way to & from the horse - recruiting camp up the river.’

Everyone complains

‘Everyone complains about the scarcity of food supplies, but all are firmly determined to hold out. The distribution of food must be still further restricted. As a result, many shops are deserted. On a trip through Potsdamerstrasse from Potsdamer Platz to Bülowstrasse today I counted not less than eighty-seven shops advertised for rent.’ These words were written 110 years ago today by Hans Peter Hanssen, a Danish politician from Schleswig, in a diary he kept during the First World War. It now provide a valuable contemporary account of conditions in wartime Germany and of the political campaign Hanssen led to incorporate Northern Schleswig into Denmark.

Hanssen was born in 1862 at Nørremølle, near Satrup on the Sundeved peninsula in Schleswig (a region that would transfer from Denmark to Prussia following the Second Schleswig War of 1864). He grew up in a farming family strongly attached to Danish culture and language, and the experience of living as part of a Danish minority within the German Empire shaped his political outlook from an early age. After schooling in the region he pursued further studies in Copenhagen, Berlin and Leipzig, gaining both a Danish cultural education and first-hand knowledge of German political life

Returning to Schleswig, Hanssen soon became active in the organised Danish movement that sought to defend the cultural and political rights of the Danish-speaking population in North Schleswig. In 1888 he became secretary of the North Schleswig Electors’ Association, the principal political organisation of the Danish minority. Five years later he purchased the Aabenraa newspaper Heimdal, which he edited and used as a prominent voice for Danish interests in the region. 

Hanssen’s political career developed steadily. In 1896 he was elected to the Prussian Landtag as representative for Hadersleben-Sonderburg, serving until 1908, and from 1906 he also sat in the German Reichstag. There he became the leading parliamentary spokesman for the Danish minority, pursuing a pragmatic strategy of working with German political parties while continuing to advocate the eventual reunion of North Schleswig with Denmark. During the final phase of the First World War he played a decisive role in bringing the Schleswig question back onto the political agenda, calling in October 1918 for a plebiscite to determine the region’s national allegiance.

After the war Hanssen joined the Danish government as Minister for North Schleswig Affairs (1919-1920), guiding the negotiations that led to the plebiscite of 1920 in which the northern part of Schleswig voted to join Denmark. He later served as a member of the Danish parliament (Folketing) for the liberal party Venstre before gradually retiring from public life. Hanssen remained an influential figure in the region’s politics and minority affairs until his death at Aabenraa in 1936. For further information see Wikipedia (only in German) or the International Encyclopedia of the First World War.

During the First World War, Hanssen kept a diary, one that would be later seen as an important record of his political life and of the final years of the German Empire. Written while he was a member of the Reichstag, these notes record both the internal politics of wartime Germany and the particular problems faced by the Danish minority in Schleswig. The diary reflects his position at the intersection of two political worlds: as a Danish nationalist working inside the German parliamentary system, he had access to high-level political discussions while also observing the hardships of wartime society, including censorship, shortages and the growing disillusionment of the German public.

Part of this material first appeared in Danish in 1924 in a memoir volume entitled Fra Krigstiden (From the War Years). A fuller selection of the diary was later edited and translated into English as Diary of a Dying Empire, published in 1955 by Indiana University Press. The English edition was translated by Oscar O. Winther and edited by Ralph H. Lutz, Mary Schofield and Winther. It can be freely borrowed online at Internet Archive. Hanssen’s diary is widely recognised as a valuable first hand account of Germany during the First World War and of the political campaign that eventually led to the Schleswig plebiscite. Here are several extracts from the English edition.

19 March 1916, Berlin

‘Everyone complains about the scarcity of food supplies, but all are firmly determined to hold out. The distribution of food must be still further restricted. As a result, many shops are deserted. On a trip through Potsdamerstrasse from Potsdamer Platz to Bülowstrasse today I counted not less than eighty-seven shops advertised for rent.

I spent the evening with a soldier from North Schleswig.’

20 March 1916, Aabenraa

‘Today I received unusual news from Sundeved. It came to me from a reliable source that many German transports sailing under the Danish flag and manned with Danish-speaking crews from North Schleswig have been transporting ammunition and other war necessities to the German troops in East Africa. Several fishermen from Alssund have been pressed into service on these ships. Only Danish may be spoken on board. A picture of the royal couple of Denmark hangs in the cabin. The vessels are supplied with false ship-papers which show that they are registered in Denmark. How this method of deception can succeed is a puzzle to me.’

28 January 1918, Berlin

‘The strike has been declared. In order to get a glimpse of the strength of the movement, I went by streetcar this morning to Moabit. I saw no strikers on the street. The weather was dark and foggy. I stopped outside the market hall, where a number of women, old men, and children who wanted to make purchases had gathered together. They were poor, dried up, miserably clad figures, ragged and half-naked, with wretched, and, in many instances, impossible footwear. A certain irritation was noticeable in the long, miserable lines which filed out from the narrow back street. The people had gathered in groups and apparently were eagerly discussing the situation. I followed the stream into the market. Here several tables loaded with potatoes were set up. But the potatoes were given out only by card. Seven pounds per capita per week. At another booth meat could be obtained, but likewise only by card, half a pound per person per week. No green vegetables were to be had or rather, only some half-rotten, very woody, Swedish turnips. Far down the hall people were gathering at a certain booth. About a hundred and fifty persons were standing in line. I went down there to see what was happening. It seemed that goat bones were being sold: shoulder and ribs scraped of every particle of meat, sixty-five pfennigs per pound. Every person was allowed two hundred grams without a card. I stood for a while among the last in the line. It was sad to hear how anxiously the people were discussing whether or not the goat bones would last long enough for them to get some. That picture of hunger, want, and misery is one I shall never forget.

I went home and worked in my room. About four o’clock Nis Nissen and Kloppenborg Skrumsager came to see me. The evening paper reported that a hundred thousand were striking. It was evident that the movement was well under way. Reports of unrest were coming from Hamburg and Kiel.’

1 November 1918, Berlin

‘. . . Yesterday the Kaiser, without the knowledge or the consent of the Government, went to the front. The demand for his abdication is steadily becoming more insistent. Neither the Kaiser nor the Crown Prince can hold out very long. Events are moving at a double-quick pace. The peace terms will undoubtedly be very severe for Germany, but no one dares renew the conflict, for it would require prodigious sacrifices and even then it could be continued for only a few months.’

2 November 1918, Berlin

‘The Reichstag is always empty. I met only three or four Conservatives. Korfanty came later. The Poles, he told me, will from now on adopt a policy of waiting. It is not yet known what the army leaders will do. The country is filled with unrest. News about strikes and disturbances among the workers keeps coming in.

I received news from home to the effect that the censor continues to forbid the papers to discuss the separation of North Schleswig. I have reported this to the Government and have been promised that the complaints will be taken care of.’

Life and fate

‘Stalingrad is burned down. I would have to write too much if I wanted to describe it. Stalingrad is burned down. Stalingrad is in ashes. It is dead.’ This is from the diary notebooks kept by Vasily Grossman, born 120 years ago today, during his 1,000 days with the Red Army during the Second World War. After the war, he fell foul of the Stalinist regime which prohibited publication of his novels, and he died without knowing how famous one of them would become.

Iosif Solomonovich Grossman was born on 12 December 1905 in Berdychiv, Ukraine (then in the Russian Empire) into a Jewish family. A Russian nanny is said to have been responsible for first calling him Vasya (a diminutive of Vasily). His parents separated, and for several years he lived in Switzerland with his mother, before returning to Kiev to stay with his father. He studied physics and mathematics at Moscow State University, and married Anna (Galia) Petrovna Matsuk from a Cossack family in 1929. They had one child, born in 1930, but divorced two years later.

Grossman went to work in Donbass as an engineer-chemist, writing occasional articles for the Literary Donbass. After recuperating from tuberculosis, he returned to Moscow and worked in a pencil factory. However, he was determined to pursue a literary career and, in 1934, published a much-admired short story, In the Town of Berdichev, and a novella, Glyukauf, about the Donbass miners. In 1936, he married Olga Mikhailovna, days after her divorce from a friend of his. During 1937, Grossman was admitted to the Union of Soviet Writers, but also Olga was arrested for not having denounced her former husband, considered an enemy of the state. Grossman first registered himself as guardian of Olga’s two children, and then bravely wrote to the state authorities arguing for, and winning, Olga’s release. Grossman’s first full novel Stepan Kolchugin was published in instalments between 1937 and 1940.

When Germany invaded the Soviet Union in 1941, Grossman’s mother was murdered in Berdychiv along with thousands of other Jews, and although exempt from military service he volunteered for the front, becoming a war correspondent for the Red Army newspaper, Krasnaya Zvezda (Red Star). He used his experience - covering many of the battles of the war years, not least Stalingrad - for novels such as The People are Immortal and For a Just Cause (not fully published until after Stalin’s death). Also, he is credited with reporting some of the first eyewitness accounts - as early as 1943 - at Treblinka of what later became known as the Holocaust. He worked with other writers on a project known as The Black Book to document the horrors suffered by Soviet Jews at the hands of the Nazis, but became disillusioned with Stalin’s regime when it suppressed the work.

Grossman became critical of other Soviet policies, a dissident, and few of his works thereafter were published. After submitting, what is now considered his magnum opus, the novel Life and Fate (a semi-autobiographical sequel to For a Just Cause), the KGB raided his flat and confiscated all related manuscripts. He appealed to Nikita Khrushchev, but to no avail, and he died in 1964, not knowing whether Life and Fate would ever see the light of day. In fact, it was finally published in 1980 in Switzerland thanks to dissidents smuggling out photographs of the text, and then in the Soviet Union in 1988. Further biographical information is available at Wikipedia, New World Encyclopedia, Encyclopedia of Soviet Writers, and Encyclopedia of Holocaust Literature (page 64, viewable at Googlebooks).

During the war, while embedded with the Red Army, Grossman kept detailed diaries or notebooks. These were edited, translated and woven into a narrative by Antony Beevor and Luba Vinogradova for publication by The Harvill Press in 2005 as A Writer at War - Vasily Grossman with the Red Army 1941-1945. The authors say: ‘The notebooks reveal a good deal of the raw material which he accumulated for his novels as well as his articles. Grossman, a special correspondent for the Red Army newspaper, Krasnaya Zvezda, or Red Star, proved to be the most perceptive and honest eyewitness of the Soviet frontlines between 1941 and 1945. He spent more than a thousand days at the front - nearly three out of the four years of war. The sharpness of his observation and the humanity of his understanding offer an invaluable lesson for any writer and historian.’ The book (now in paperback under the Pimlico imprint) can be previewed at Random House or Googlebooks. And a review by Andrey Kurkov can be read in The Guardian.

Much of Grossman’s writing, as translated, in the book does read like a diary. However, as all of his words are woven into the authors’ text, particular entries are rarely given a specific date (whether or not there was one in the originals) - thus all the extracts below are undated.

1941
‘The headquarters has been set up in the Paskevich Palace. There is a wonderful park, and a lake with swans. Lots of slit trenches have been dug everywhere. Chief of the political department of the front, Brigade Commander Kozlov, receives us. He tells us that the Military Council is very alarmed by the news that arrived yesterday. The Germans have taken Roslavl and assembled a great tank force there. Their commander is Guderian, author of the book Achtung-Panzer!.

We leafed through a series of the Front newspaper. I came across the following phrase in a leading article: ‘The much-battered enemy continued his cowardly advance.’

We sleep on the floor in the library of the ‘Komintern’ club, keeping our boots on, and using gas masks and field pouches as pillows. We have dinner at the canteen of the headquarters. It is situated in the park, in an amusing multicoloured pavilion. They feed us well, as if we were in a dom otdykha [Soviet house of rest] before the war. There’s sour cream, curds, and even ice-cream as a dessert.’

***

‘We came under fire near a cemetery. We hid beneath a tree. A truck was standing there, and in it was a dead rifleman-signaller, covered with a tarpaulin. Red Army soldiers were digging a grave for him nearby. When there’s a raid of Messers, the soldiers try to hide in ditches. The lieutenant shouts: ‘Carry on digging, otherwise we won’t finish until the evening.’ Korol hides in the new grave, while everyone runs in different directions. Only the dead signaller is lying full length, and machine guns are chattering above him.’

***

‘Cucumbers. Four men from the fruit and vegetable store load cucumbers at the station, during a bombing raid. They are crying with fear, get drunk, and in the evenings they recount, with Ukrainian humour, how scared they were and laugh at one another, eating honey, salo [pork lard], garlic and tomatoes. One of them imitates wonderfully the howling and explosion of a bomb.

B. Korol is teaching them how to use a hand grenade. He thinks they’ll become partisans under German occupation, while I sense from their conversation that they are ready to work for the Germans. One of them, who wants to be an agronomist for this area, looks at Korol as if he were an imbecile.’

1942

‘Spent the night  in the house of the RAIKOM chairman. He talks about collective farms, and about chairmen of collective farms who take their livestock far into the steppe and live like kings there, slaughtering heifers, drinking milk, buying and selling. (And a cow now costs 40,000 roubles).

Women talking in the kitchen of the RAIKOM canteen: ‘Oh this Hitler, he’s a real Satan! And we used to say that communists were Satans.’

***

‘Stalingrad is burned down. I would have to write too much if I wanted to describe it. Stalingrad is burned down. Stalingrad is in ashes. It is dead. People are in basements. Everything is burned out. The hot walls of the buildings are like the bodies of people who have died in the terrible heat and haven’t gone cold yet.

Huge buildings, memorials, public gardens. Signs: ‘Cross here.’ Heaps of wires, a cat sleeping on a window sill, flowers and grass in flowerpots. A wooden pavilion where they sold fizzy water is standing, miraculously intact among thousands of huge stone buildings burned and half destroyed. It is like Pompeii, seized by disaster on a day when everything was flourishing. Trams and cars with no glass in their windows. Burned-out houses with memorial plaques: ‘I. V Stalin spoke here in 1919’.

Building of a children’s hospital with a gypsum bird on the roof. One wing is broken off, the other stretched out to fly. The Palace of Culture: the building is black, velvety from fire, and two snow-white nude statues stand out against this background.

There are children wandering about, there are many laughing faces. Many people are half insane.

Sunset over a square. A terrifying and strange beauty: the light pink sky is looking through thousands and thousands of empty windows and roofs. A huge poster painted in vulgar colours: ‘The radiant way’.

A feeling of calm. The city has died after much suffering and looks like the face of a dead man who was suffering from a lethal disease and finally has found eternal peace. Bombing again, bombing of the dead city.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 12 December 2015.

Found mine field with Bosch notice

‘Started forward at 6 a.m. H plus ½ hour. Heavy fog. Found men coming back and took them along with me. Heavy fire all around from m.g. Found mine field with Bosch notice on it. Got to R.R. cut near Cheppy sent pigeon message. Was fired on heavily and 35 Div came back on the run.’ This is from the First World War diaries of George Smith Patton Jr, born 140 years ago today. He was a natural soldier who would become a US Army General in the Second World War, one admired for his leadership and strategic genius.

Patton was born on 11 November 1885 in San Gabriel, California, into a prosperous family steeped in military tradition. Educated by tutors, he struggled with dyslexia but excelled in physical pursuits and displayed an early fascination with warfare. After attending the Virginia Military Institute for one year, he entered the United States Military Academy at West Point, graduating in 1909. The following year he married Beatrice Banning Ayer, daughter of Boston industrialist Frederick Ayer, with whom he had three children.

Patton’s early army career was marked by his talent for horsemanship and discipline. He represented the United States at the 1912 Stockholm Olympics in the modern pentathlon and later became aide-de-camp to General John J. Pershing during the 1916 Mexican Expedition. In the First World War he commanded the newly formed U.S. Tank Corps and led the first American tank attack at Saint-Mihiel. Between the wars he emerged as one of the army’s leading advocates of mechanised warfare, publishing studies on mobility, discipline, and leadership.

During the Second World War, Patton commanded US forces in North Africa, Sicily, and later France and Germany, his Third Army achieving one of the fastest and most decisive advances in modern military history. His leadership during the relief of Bastogne in December 1944 became legendary. Known for his harsh discipline and fiery rhetoric as much as his strategic brilliance, he was both feared and revered by subordinates. He died on 21 December 1945 in Heidelberg, Germany, following an automobile accident. Further biographical information is available at Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, or the Warfare History Network.

Patton began keeping diaries as a young officer, developing the habit during his early cavalry years and maintaining it without interruption until the end of his life. His first surviving notebooks date from 1910 and include accounts of his honeymoon travels and early postings in the United States and Mexico. By 1916-1917, during the Punitive Expedition against Pancho Villa, his entries had become more detailed and self-analytical, mixing operational notes with personal reflection. From this period onward, Patton viewed diary-keeping as both a professional record and a means of self-discipline, using it to refine his thoughts on leadership, courage, and the psychology of command.

Throughout the First World War and the inter-war years, Patton’s diaries were largely handwritten in small leather notebooks, often accompanied by operational maps, sketches, and lists of orders. His First World War volumes describe his training of the Tank Corps in France, his wounding at Saint-Mihiel, and his meetings with Pershing and other senior officers. 

Between 1919 and 1939 his diary entries turned to professional studies - tactics, mobility, weapons - and his personal frustrations at the slow pace of promotion. When war came again in 1939-1945, his habit of daily recording became an intense discipline. The World War Two diaries are said to be among the most complete of any senior Allied commander, describing every major campaign in North Africa, Sicily, France, and Germany, and offering a rare inside view of command at army level.

After Patton’s death in December 1945, his diaries - over forty notebooks and typescripts - were preserved by his family and later deposited in the Library of Congress as part of the George S. Patton Papers. The complete diaries run from 1910 to 1945. Edited extracts first reached the public through Martin Blumenson’s two-volume The Patton Papers (1972 and 1974), which combined diary entries, correspondence, and official memoranda. These editions shaped much of Patton’s posthumous reputation. Later historians and archivists produced full transcripts of the original notebooks, revealing that Patton often revised his entries, added clarifying notes, and occasionally softened his tone for posterity. Also at the Library of Congress can be found images of many pages from the original diaries. 

The following extracts are all from The Patton Papers (which is freely available to read online at Internet Archive). 

31 July 1917

‘Gen. P, Col Harbord, Col de Chambrun, and I left office at 2:50 in Hotchkiss and Packard to St. Dizier. We passed for miles along scene of battle of the Marne, the road marking almost exactly last French line of battle. Many graves along road. ‘Where hospitals were, large squair inclosures full of crosses. Just north of the road is where Napoleon fought first half of campaign of 1814. Reached St. Dizier at 8 p.m. Pershing and Harbord at hotel, Chambrun and I bilited with private family.’

1 August 1917

‘Left St. Dizier 8:10 a.m., to Vittel and Grand Hotel, where good supper. Inspected American troops and were disappointed. Men did not look smart, officers were lazy, troops lacked equipment and training, were listless.’

2 August 1917

‘Through Neufchateau to Chaumont, lunch at Hotel de France. Left 3 p.m. by way of Troyes, reached Paris 10 p.m.’

4 August 1917

‘Lunch and dinner with K, Beatrice’s sister, and her husband, Keith, who was with the State Department in London.’

7 September 1917

‘Engaged laundress in morning; drilled 160 clerks in evening. “They did not like it much but it is necessary as they look like soldiers and must act like them.” Shallenberger became Provost Marshal, Collins attached to the General Staff, Mars still Pershing’s aide, ‘and I am nothing but hired flunkey. I shall be glad to get back to the line [with troops] again and will try to do so in the spring.’

17 March 1918

‘Had Elsie Janis [the favorite American singer and entertainer of troops in France] and her mother to lunch. She is not pretty but quite amusing though common in her pronunciation. She wore an artificial Lepord skin coat. Met Secretary [of War Newton] Baker and went around with him for a while. Seemed interested and intelligent.’

18 March 1918

‘Got telephone connected and office and mess running. Expect to be shelled at 9:30 now 10:05 and nothing has happened but they [the Germans] are shelling Paris to the west.’

19 September 1918

‘Went to Front line and found trenches not very wide. And ground rather better than I had expected.’

23 September 1918

‘Got all 345 Tanks unloaded by daylight under shell fire but no casualties. Got lot of mail from home. Five letters from B. Rained all day and a lot of shelling over us at Clermont. Cussed out Brett & Compton for carelessness etc.’

24 September 1918

‘Got Corps Plan. Wrote field order & memo. Gen R called. We are in pretty good shape but we are to be shelled or something to night. The Bosch took pictures of us so I guess we shall be shelled or something to night. Wrote B & Mama.’

25 September 1918

‘Inspected battalions at 9 a.m. 345th very dirty, ordered correction. 344th better but could stand improvement. Gen R called. Went to corps to get H-hour and D-day, also passes for gasoline trucks. Went to meeting at 35th Division. One of my trucks full of runners was hit by a shell 6:15 p.m. Near Neuvilly, no movement yet. Had big dinner. Will start soon. Wrote B.’

26 September 1918

‘Started forward at 6 a.m. H plus ½ hour. Heavy fog. Found men coming back and took them along with me. Heavy fire all around from m.g. Found mine field with Bosch notice on it. Got to R.R. cut near Cheppy sent pigeon message. Was fired on heavily and 35 Div came back on the run. Moved back about 200 m. [meters] Heavy m.g. [machine gun] & Art. [Artillery] fire. Lots of Dough Boys hit. [Captain] English & I got tanks forward. 20 men hit. Tried to make inft charge and got shot. Lay in shell hole an hour. Could hear bosch talk. Went to hospital and was operated on by Dr. Elliot of N.Y.’

27 September 1918

‘Woke up to find Capt Semmes on my right. Capt. Gilfillen on my left. Both wounded. Slept a lot. Wrote Beat. Tried to wire but could not.’