People wounded and dying

‘We went this afternoon to the Louvre, [. . .] Some of Canaletto’s views of Venice we admired very much; many of the subjects are not agreeable, particularly amongst the French paintings, no end to people wounded and dying’. This is from the travel journal of Emily Jane (nee Birch) Glyn who died 170 years ago today. There is very little information about Emily online, but the Epsom and Ewell History Explorer, where the journal can be found, describes her as ‘A typical, rather sheltered, Victorian lady.’ 

Emily was born in St Petersburg in 1816 to a Mancunian merchant working there. She married Revd. Sir George Lewen Glyn in 1838 at All Saints Church, Marylebone, London, and they had four children although one died in infancy. She died on 26 July 1854. As far as a I can tell, there is almost no further information about her online.

However, during the 19th century several members of the Glyn family - including Emily - travelled overseas and recorded their travels in journals. These journals form part of the large family archive held, I think, by the Surrey History Centre, but it is thanks to the Epsom and Ewell History Explorer that some of these diaries are freely available online. in particular Emily’s 1945 journal of a holiday in Normandy and Paris in 1845.

The website provides the following information about this journey and journal: ‘Emily travelled to Paris in 1845 with what appears to be a large family group, although presumably without her husband, as he is not mentioned. The group included Mama and Papa, and at least one uncle and aunt, and Charlie (brother?). The party travelled by steamer from Shoreham, via Brighton, to Dieppe, and then on by train to Paris. Emily Jane would have been thirty years old at the time, and had one child, George, aged four, who was presumably left behind in the nursery. Emily appears to have been a very conventional Victorian lady of rather limited outlook. She reacted to the ritual of mass, in a side chapel of the Madeleine, with shock and disdain, and was not very impressed by some of the pictures in the Louvre, of which she said: “Many of the subjects are not agreeable, particularly amongst the French paintings, no end to people wounded and dying”. She did like some of the Canalettos though. The party went to the Sèvres factory near St. Cloud, but apparently were not impressed with the china on display. The tapestries at the Gobelin factory met with more approval.

This visit to Paris was before Baron Haussmann transformed the city and created the grand boulevards, but the party visited most of the same sites and places that tourists visit today, and we really do not get a picture of the very different city that it must have been then, with narrow cramped streets unchanged since medieval times. They did climb the Arc de Triomphe, which had been completed around ten years earlier by the king Louis Philippe, although it was originally commissioned in 1806 by Napoleon following Austerlitz. [. . .]

Emily Jane’s account is quite impersonal. She recounts the facts about the places she visits, but does not really give us much of a reaction, other than saying a view or picture is ‘very pretty’, or ‘dreadful’, as she describes the orange trees in the Tuileries gardens. Neither does she give us any idea of what other individual members of the party may think at any time. She does seem particularly interested in the royal family, and in the tragic death of the Duc d’Orleans, the heir to the throne who had been killed in a carriage accident in 1842, aged 31. Her description of the memorial chapel, and the painting therein of his death, is the most animated of the journal, but the impression of the diary on the whole, is of a rather dutiful account by a typical, rather sheltered, Victorian lady.’

Here are severel of Emily’s journal entries.

3 July 1845
‘At 10 o’clock we all started in an omnibus for the station and left Brighton by the Shoreham train at 25 minutes past ten. At a quarter to 11 we got out at Kingston and walked to the steamer, which was close. The Steamer was the Menai, Capt. Goodburn, and was rather a small one, there were a good many passengers; we left Shoreham at 12 1⁄2 and reached Brighton Pier in about half an hour. Luggage without end was brought on board there, we were very glad that we had gone to Shoreham for we much enjoyed our Railway trip and also our steamer to Brighton. We left the pier at 1 1⁄2, we had a very bright day with not much wind, it rose however about 3 o’clock but soon sank again; we went along the coast as far as Beachy Head, this was the last English land we saw. We steered S.S.E. nearly the whole way, we saw the English coast for four or five hours. About six we came in sight of the French coast, it much resembled that of England, there being high cliffs. We entered a kind of bay having land on both sides of us. About 9 o’clock we entered the harbour of Dieppe; you see the town to the right as you enter. The entrance of the harbour is very narrow, it is formed by the embouchure of the little river Arques. We wound about for some time and then got into a large basin of water surrounded by houses on three sides. We stopped on the right side exactly opposite the Customs House, it was dark when we arrived and the lights of the shops and houses looked very pretty reflected in the water.

Everyone from the steamer went straight to the Douane, the door of which was guarded by two gens d’armes; the room into which we went was not very large, in one part there sat two or three men at a desk, one had on a cocked hat and looked very fierce. Immediately before them there was a railing and about a yard beyond another, between these two railings. Papa [Josiah Birch, a merchant from Manchester who lived and worked in St. Petersburg] was called and all of us who were down in his passport, the passport was most carefully examined as to the number of persons and who they were. When that was finished we walked a few paces towards their right and were met by another man who opened two doors, one on each side, turning the ladies into one and the gentlemen into the other. The room into which we went was very small and might have done very well for the Black Hole. Two French women were in it, when we got in they shut up the doors and I thought they were going to search our persons, but they did not. They first seized hold of Mama’s basket, put in their hands and pulled out her work box which they insisted upon opening; they soon finished with her and the rest of our party and let them out and began searching other people’s things. I thought they had forgotten me; I had charge of Charlie’s dressing case. I said to one of them ‘Voulez vous chercher cette boite’. I opened it, she looked at the top and shut it immediately, saying ‘Tres bien’. I now thought I might be released and made for the door when the other woman stopped me and asked if I had been ‘visitée’. Hearing that I had she let me out; I found our party waiting for me. Mama now could not be found but we soon discovered her in the crowd. Being all assembled we walked up to the Hotel Royal, we went along the Quai and then turned up a street towards the right which took us up to the Hotel. We got very nice rooms and found everything very comfortable. The Hotel faces the sea. As soon as our rooms were settled Uncle Robert and Charlie set off for the Douane to get through our carpet bags. They asked Charlie to declare that he had nothing contrabande in his box and said something about ‘pour declarer’, he only heard ‘clarer’ and thought they were asking him if he had any claret in his box; he answered ‘non’ but soon found out his mistake. When he and uncle came back to the Hotel, we had tea, it was nearly twelve when we finished.’

7 July 1845
‘We went this afternoon to the Louvre, it is behind the Tuileries, the Place du Carrousel being between them. We entered the southern side of the Louvre, the passports were looked at and all the umbrellas kept below, for which we were obliged to pay 2 sous each. We only had time to look at one picture gallery, it contained many paintings by the best masters; first were those of the French school, then followed Dutch, German, Spanish and Italian. Some of Canaletto’s views of Venice we admired very much; many of the subjects are not agreeable, particularly amongst the French paintings, no end to people wounded and dying. Everything almost in Paris is closed at 4 o’clock, we were obliged to leave the Louvre at that hour.

In the morning I went with the gentlemen to see the Bourse, it is in the direction of the Palais Royal and is a very handsome building, surrounded by Corinthian pillars, the ceiling inside is covered with monochrome paintings which are so much like bas-reliefs that people are often deceived; they are chiefly allegorical, France receiving the tribute of the four quarters of the globe, the City of Paris delivering the keys to the God of Commerce and inviting Commercial Justice to enter the walls, the Union of Commerce and the Arts giving birth to the prosperity of the State and Paris receiving from the nymph of the Seine and the Genius of the [.........] the productions of abundance. There were also representations of the four quarters of the globe and of all the commercial cities of Europe. In the evening we dined at the Café de l’Europe in the Place Royal.’

9 July 1845
‘Today we went first to the Pantheon, it was formerly the church of St. Genevieve. Over the cornice is now written ‘Aux grands hommes à la patrie reconnaissante’. It is a beautiful building, the portico is supported by Corinthian columns, in the middle is a large dome, the highest in Paris. The building is nearly in the form of a Greek cross. On the walls are inscribed the names of those who were killed in the revolution of July [the 1830 revolution resulting in the enthronement of Louis-Philippe]. In the dome is a fine painting by Gros, representing St. Genevieve etc. and the monarchs whose reigns have formed epochs in the history of the country. We went downstairs and passed through a series of vaults, in some of the passages there is a very loud echo; here are buried in opposite vaults Voltaire and Rousseau, also many other people whose names I do not remember. From the Pantheon we went to the Gobelin manufactury, it is situated in the outskirts of Paris towards the S.E. We saw the whole process and afterwards the Salle d’exposition; the Gobelins were very beautiful, we could hardly tell them from paintings. There were several of the King and others of the royal family, in one place carpets were being made for the King, the pieces take from two to six years to complete.

We went next to the Jardin des Plantes, it is a kind of Zoological Garden. We were too late to see the large animals, we saw quantities of deer and of large birds. Many medicinal plants are cultivated here; there are green houses, hot houses, galleries, an amphitheatre with laboratories, but we did not see them. On our way home we passed the Cathedral of Notre Dame and the Hotel Dieu, both situated on an island. Soon after we passed on our left the Mint and the Institute of France, we crossed the Seine by the Pont Neuf, in the midst of the bridge is a statue of Henri 4. We went to the Palais Royal where we dined.’

27 July 1845
‘We went this morning to Mr. Lovett’s Chapel, he did not preach. It was given out that there would be service in the Chapel next Sunday for the last time, we do not know why the Chapel is going to be given up. We walked home. This was the first day of the fête, many more amusements were going on in the Champs Elysées than usual. In the afternoon we went to the Ambassador’s Chapel and heard a very nice sermon from the Bishop. After dinner we went to see the Statue of the Duke of Orleans which has today been put up in the Quadrangle of the Louvre. We went through the Tuilleries, across the Place du Carravell (Carrousel?), and under the western side of the Louvre, we thought the statue very bad, both horse and man are out of proportion and very stiff.’

Whores and rogues

‘I think I have taken my farewell of New York [. . .] I wish to be at home and yet dread the thought of returning to my native Country a Beggar. The word sounds disagreeable in my ears, but yet it is more pleasing and creditable than the epithet of Rascal and Villain, even if a large and opulent fortune was annexed to them, though one of the latter sort is in general better received, than an indigent honest man.’ This is an entry from near the end of the diary of Nicholas Cresswell, a Deryshire farmer’s son, who died 220 years ago today. As a young man, he ran off to America to seek his fortune, but after many adventures and difficulties, not least being English when the colony was fighting for independence, he returned home with his tail between his legs. He is surely only remembered today because he kept a colourful diary of his three years in America, which, more than a century later, was found by a relative and then published.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diary of a fallen psychoanalyst

‘I am 44 today and I have a distinct feeling I have reached halfway exactly. So far in my adult years I have lived by temperament and a belligerently reactive mind. Now I feel I can start to live from true self and sensibility . . . I have heaped huge odds against myself and I have also come a long distance.’ This is from the diaries - or Work Books, as he called them - of the controversial Indian-born psychoanalyst Masud Kahn. Born a century ago today, Kahn was a charismatic and, ultimately, a controversial figure.

Kahn was born in Jhelum in the Punjab, then part of British India (now in Pakistan). His father, Fazaldad was a Shiite Muslim of peasant birth but he became rich by selling horses to the British army and for polo. He married four times, and was in his 70s when he married Kahn’s mother (then still in her teens). Khan was raised with an older brother Tahir and a younger sister Mahmooda on his father’s estate in the Montgomery District. They moved to Lyallpur when Khan was 13. He was not allowed to see much of his mother during his early years, but after his father died in 1943, he went to live with her. 

Kahn attended the University of Punjab at Faisalabad and Lahore from 1942 to 1945, obtained his BA in English literature, and an MA with a thesis on James Joyce’s Ulysses. Further studies and training led to him being qualified as an analyst in 1950, as a child analyst in 1952 under the supervision of Donald Winnicott, and a training analyst in 1959. That same year he married Svetlana Beriosova. They had no children and divorced in 1974.

Kahn’s career within the International Psychoanalytical Association is said to have been brilliant, and his publishing activities intense. He was appointed editor of the International Psychoanalytical Library and the International Journal of Psychoanalysis, and coeditor of the Nouvelle revue de psychanalyse, for which he wrote many articles. During the 1970s, Khan’s practice was challenged within the British Psycho-Analytical Association. Following complaints and considerable hesitation, his title as a training analyst was withdrawn in 1975. At the same time he began suffering from lung cancer. In his final work, When Spring Comes (1988), Khan was so revealing in his discussions of technique and counter-transference that he was accused of madness, anti-Semitism, and bisexuality. The affair caused a scandal, and Khan was thrown out of the British Psycho-Analytical Association in 1988. He died in London the following year. Further information is available at Wikipedia and Encyclopedia.com.

From August 1967 to March 1980, Kahn wrote in what he called ‘Work Books’, essentially a diary. He left behind 39 such books containing, variously, observations and reflections on his own life, the world of psychoanalysis, his evolving theoretical formulations, Western culture, and the turbulent social and political developments of the time. A selection of extracts from the first 14 books were edited by Dr Linda Hopkins and Dr Steven Kuchuck and published in 2022 by Karnac Books as Diary of a Fallen Psychoanalyst: The Work Books of Masud Khan 1967-1972. Some pages can be freely sampled at Amazon.

According to the publisher, ‘this unique, first-person account of a particularly fertile period of European and American intellectual and cultural society is an absolute must-read for those interested in psychoanalysis, history, or biography.’ Inside, ‘readers will find fascinating entries on Khan’s colleague and mentor Donald Winnicott and other well-known analysts of the period, including Anna Freud. Khan’s unique charm extended to celebrity social circles, with cultural figures such as Julie Andrews, the Redgraves, and Henri Cartier-Bresson featuring in these pages of his diary.’

15 January 1968
‘All madness [has an external cause], hence madness cannot be cured (i.e. assimilated), only exorcised. From this derives the terrible total urgency of madness to exteriorize, objectify and declare itself and be met and known. The self stays hidden behind madness.

My need to learn French derives from the necessity of having words that are not confused with the chattering anxious countenance of my mother from infancy. Only thus can I hope to speak from my true self. All the other languages, especially English, are my manic expertise to drown her voiceless chatter and muttering in my head.’

17 January 1968
‘American civilization: it produced epic products before it had achieved its character and shape - e.g. Whitman and Melville. Chaucer, Spencer and Shakespeare epitomize some 500 years of evolution of feudal-royal tradition in England, before it changes character and begins its long route to mediocrity through democracy. Similarly, Pushkin, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Chekhov and Gorki come at the end of a tradition. Same is true of Homer and Sophocles in the history of Greek literature, and Goethe, Heine and Nietzche in German, and Racine, Moliere and Corneille in French.’

30 January 1968
‘An hour’s meeting with Anna Freud. Sagacious, gracious, reticent and ceremonious person she is. Her advice: “Only do what you want, and speak only what you really mean.” ’

11 February 1968
‘Trauma: very rarely that which cumulatively achieves the psychic functions of trauma is traumatic at source.’

30 March 1968
‘Lacan has depersonalized the developmental-maturational process of human individuation into a mere language-game.’

6 June 1968
‘Robert Kennedy died. Another American murderous triumph over humanism.

The real cause of eruptive murderous violence against liberal individuals in America derives from a simple fact: here is the most powerful militaristic nation of our century that by its own overt and avowed ethos is committed against military conquest. This has never happened before in the history of peoples and nations. Powerful nations have conquered others, then exploited and conditionally nurtured them and gradually decayed and perished, and prided themselves for it. America has won wars and victories but not asserted its right to explicit possession and triumph from power. Hence its strength has never found a validity in facts mirrored by the humbled pride of others. Instead, its power has expressed itself by devious economic imperialism and pseudo-reparative intrusions of political idealism. In these, there is shame and guilt mixed with devious gain and not explicit endorsement of aggressively achieved self-esteem. 

Even the Negroes in America had been bought and not conquered - slaves by trade and deceit, and not from aggressive assertion of victory. Hence the aggressive pride of America has no idiom of actions and events to actualize it. In human history there are no models that can guide American ethos and policy. America is at present being murdered from lack of metaphors that could integrate its idealism to a frustrated strength from choice. The result is random hooliganism of murder!’

21 July 1968
‘I am 44 today and I have a distinct feeling I have reached halfway exactly. So far in my adult years I have lived by temperament and a belligerently reactive mind. Now I feel I can start to live from true self and sensibility . . . I have heaped huge odds against myself and I have also come a long distance.

Why has love been so idolized, when it is hate that has led to all true expansions, conquests, social institutions and individual progress? Why has hate become an ugly condemned word and emotion, when it alone has mobilized and initiated some of the most creative ventures of human effort and enterprise as well as achievement? A true understanding of the creative role of HATE alone would lead to a firm and solid establishment of human and humane order: social and individual.

Orientate my book Alienation in Perversions basically about the vicissitudes of hate in the aetiology and dynamics of perversions . . . What has led to stasis in analytic research on this topic is the exclusive emphasis on eroticism and vicissitudes of libidinal impulses.’

Thanks to my Diego

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

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

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

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

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

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

From 1944 until her death, Khalo kept a journal of sorts, a notebook rich in illustrations and poetry, but with very few actual dated written entries. It was locked away for more than 40 years, but in 1995, Bloomsbury published The Diary of Frida Kahlo - An Intimate Self-Portrait which included an exact copy of all 170 pages, an introduction by the world famous author, Carlos Fuentes, transcriptions into English, and a commentary on the pages by art historian Sarah M. Lowe. The full text and pictures can be borrowed freely online at Internet Archive. Extracts are also available at the Silencing the Bell blog.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 13 July 2014.

Life with the Mormons

‘This is the 55th anniversary of my birth. On arrising from my bed, I returned thanks to the Lord for bringing me to see this day. Although I do not have my full liberty [he was in hiding because of the anti-polygamy law], yet I am grateful for that liberty I do enjoy, also for the many blessings I have received from the Lord and for my wives & children & their children.’ This is from the extensive diaries of Leonard John Nuttall, born 190 years ago today. He was private secretary for two important presidents in the early history of the Mormon church. (See also Mobocracy is rife and Father of Mormon history.)

Nuttall was born in Liverpool, England, on 6 July 1834. Aged 13 he was apprenticed as a ship builder. In 1850, he was baptised as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), and in 1852, he emigrated to the US. on the Rockaway, arriving in New Orleans. From there he travelled to the Salt Lake Valley. He served in the Utah County militia, taking part in the Wakara conflict. He was a member of the committee that organised the first Sunday School in Provo; and, in 1856 he married Elizabeth Clarkson. In time, he had at least two other wives, and more than seven children. He was elected to the Provo City Council in 1861, and served as a justice of the peace and alderman. He also served as the auditor and recorder of Provo from 1861 until 1875 

From 1864 until 1875, Nuttall was employed as Utah County Clerk and clerk of the county probate court. He went on to serve as the secretary of the Provo Co-Operative Mercantile Institution from its inception in 1869. He is credited with being the first person to operate a printing press in Utah County. In 1872, he was made chief clerk of the Utah Territorial Legislature. Meanwhile, in the LDS Church, he served for a few years as a member of the high council of the Utah Stake, which covered all of Utah County at the time. From 1874 to 1875 he was a missionary in England. He was appointed bishop of the Kanab Ward in 1875, and served as the first recorder of the St. George Temple, and as the first president of the Kanab Stake when it was organised in 1877. 

In 1879, Nuttall became a private secretary for John Taylor, replacing George Reynolds, who was serving a prison term for practicing plural marriage. Nuttall - though often in hiding to avoid his own arrest under the anti-polygamy law - continued in this position first to John Taylor and then to Wilford Woodruff until 1892. From 1881 to 1887 he also served as Utah Territorial Superintendent of Schools. Starting in 1897, he was as a member of the General Board of the Deseret Sunday School Union. He died in 1906. Further information is available from Wikipedia, Brigham Young University (BYU) and The Church Historian’s Press.

Nuttall seems to have kept journals for most of his life, from 1857 to 1904. Some 28 volumes are housed at BYU with other written materials. According to BYU, the materials relate to Nuttall’s involvement in numerous Mormon Church and Utah Militia activities, various items on church conduct and doctrine, religious meetings of the ruling bodies, and campaigns against the Ute Indians during the Black Hawk War. Photocopies of the diaries’ contents in typed manuscript form (as created by BYU) can be found at Internet Archive - this is a 1,000 page document that covers the period 1876-1884. The first 100 or so pages are taken up with a chronological listing of events covered in the diaries, as well as an extensive index.

In 2007, Signature Books published In the President’s Office: The Diaries of L. John Nuttall, 1879-1892. This is also freely available at Internet Archive. A review can be read in the Utah Historical Quarterly.

Here are a five extracts from Nuttall’s diaries as found in the photocopied typescript, and two more (dated 1889) from the published diaries.

29 May 1877
‘cold & blustery all night, some rain this morning with wind - made out recommend to the Temple for Wm Albert Beebe his wife Sarah Elizabeth - son John William & Daughter Agnes Cordelia Beebe - after having asked him pertaining to reports & rumors as to the chastity of his wife &c he told me all had been made satisfactory & since which time he & his wife had done some work for their dead in the Endowment House at Salt Lake City, this I made Known in the recommend so it could be understood - rained most of the day heavy shower in the eying -‘

21 August 1877
‘very cold last night froze ice l/4 inch thick in pail. after breakfast we counted the Sheep also examind accounts & decided on a basis of settlement - our count not being satisfactory we counted again in the afternoon - found in all head, found there was due Bro Tyler 84 head - he prepared for leaving for home in the Morning, fitting up his wagon &c - Killed a Sheep for the boys. & talked to them as to their duties & - we built a comfortable shelter for the boys today.’

22 November 1878
‘Myself Leonard & Thomas assisting in digging & making a root house on the Tithing lot. boys also went to Grist mill for Flour out of 1004 lbs of Wheat we only received 528 lbs of flour - & 276 lbs of Bran & Shorts being 200 lbs for grinding & waste - this needs some explanation - this evening talked with the Sisters of Relief Society pertaining to sending what cash they have on hand some 15.00 to purchase Drugs for the use of the Saints in child bed & fevers’

23 November 1878
’Bros Brown Wife & Son Lorenzo also Bros C* H Oliphant & L. Stilson started for Salt Lake City with 2 teams. Bro Brown's Son for Surgical opperation - I sent by Bro Oliphant my two Bonds one of $500 00 & one of $100 00 on Provo Woolen Factory to James Dunn Supt also a letter & an order for Cloth for 2 suits of clothes - also sent by him $15.00 & bill of Drugs needed for Relief Society & requested him to call and see my Wife Sophia at her fathers. this afternoon finished root house on Tithing lot.’

3 August 1879
‘Attended the funeral services of Elder Joseph Standing at the Tabernacle at 10. A.M & took part in the procession but did not go to the Cemetry. Elder Geo Q Cannon & Prest Taylor addressed the Assembly of some 10,000 - the procession was 20 Minutes passing a given point.- also attended the tabernacle services At 2 P.M. Elders C. H Wheelock & T. B Lewis spoke - at 4 p.M attended the prayer & Council Meeting of the Apostles at the Endowment House’

3 July 1889
‘Elder John Morgan reported briefly his trip in finding the body of the late Elder Alma P Richards. He has no doubts but what Bro Richards was murdered and his body afterwards put onto the railway track so as to be run over by the train.

Mr Lars Peterson of Independence, M[iss]o[uri] called & said he had received a revelation pertaining to the redemption of Zion in Jackson Co, Mis[souri]. He was a member of the Church several years ago & lived in Cache Valley, had 2 wives, worked as a carpenter on St George Temple, left the Territory some 12 years ago, went East, was baptized & confirmed by David Whitmer. Prests Woodruff [and] Cannon gave him some very strong talk after recounting his apostasy and Prest Cannon told him that he was destroyed, and that his threats of this people being destroyed by the Gentiles would not lake place, and that if he did not change his course the wrath of the Almighty would overtake him and he would be destroyed. Mr Peterson, finding that he could not make any impression upon these brethren and being spoken to so plainly, he left in a very excited manner.

The payment of the Church note for $50.000 00 at McCornicks Bank, due tomorrow with the interest, was paid and new arrangements made at Z[ion’s] S[avings] Bank.

At 5 20 p.m. Prest Jos F Smith 8 & wife Sarah & little boy and baby, and myself with Bro Chas H. Wilcken as driver, sta[r]ted for Wasatch - the Church quarry in Little Cottonwood Canyon. After a pleasant drive we arrived at 8 30. Sister Preston provided us some supper although we had been eating on the way.’

6 July 1889
‘This is the 55th anniversary of my birth. On arrising from my bed, I returned thanks to the Lord for bringing me to see this day. Although I do not have my full liberty, yet I am grateful for that liberty I do enjoy, also for the many blessings I have received from the Lord and for my wives & children & their children. I dedicated myself & family to the Lord and prayed for His mercies for the future, because I know that myself & all I have are in his hands to be used as He may direct.

Bros Smith, [William B.] Preston & myself went up to the Quarry at 11 o clock to see the men split open a large rock which was very nicely done.’

Work of infinite grandeur

‘For some time past I have been occupied with a work of infinite grandeur. At the moment I do not know whether I shall carry it through. It looks like a mighty dream. But for days and weeks it has possessed me beyond the limits of consciousness; it accompanies me wherever I go, hovers behind my ordinary talk, looks over my shoulder at my comically trivial journalistic work, disturbs me and intoxicates me.’ This is from the extensive diaries kept by Thomas Herzl who died 120 years ago today. An Austro-Hungarian Jewish writer and political activist, he is considered to be the father of modern political Zionism.

Herzl was born of middle-class parents in the Jewish quarter of Pest (now eastern part of Budapest), Hungary. He first studied in a scientific secondary school, but, to escape from its anti-Semitic atmosphere, he transferred in 1875 to a school where most of the students were Jews. In 1878 the family moved to Vienna, where he entered the University of Vienna to study law. He received his license to practice in 1884 but chose to devote himself to the arts.

For a number of years, Herzl worked as a journalist and was also a moderately successful playwright. In 1889 he married Julie Naschauer, daughter of a wealthy Jewish businessman, and they had three children. In 1891, the leading Viennese newspaper, Neue Freie Presse, appointed him its Paris correspondent. But, on arriving in the French capital with his family, he was shocked to find anti-Semitism as rife as in Austria (not least because of the Dreyfus Affair). His understanding of social and political affairs led him to take the view that assimilation was not the answer to anti-semitism, instead he came to believe that Jews should work towards a state of their own. 

In his 1896 pamphlet The Jewish State, Herzl argued that the establishment of a modern, European homeland for Jews would provide a refuge for a persecuted people and prevent competition with non-Jews. Antisemitism would disappear and Jews would be able to ‘live at last as free men on our own soil’. The following year, he convened the first Zionist Congress, in Basle, with the aim of taking practical steps to establish a Jewish state. The Congress launched the World Zionist Organization with Herzl as its president, and he soon established a Zionist weekly newspaper, Die Welt, in Vienna. Negotiations began with Turkey and Britain for a mass Jewish settlement in Palestine or the Sinai Peninsula, but these did not prove successful. Although Herzl was willing to accept an offer from Britain of land in what was then Uganda, other members of the Congress strongly opposed this idea (though it was not actually rejected until after Herzl’s death). 

Herzl died on 3 July 1904, aged only 44. First buried at a Viennese cemetery his remains were brought to Israel in 1949 and buried on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem, which was named after him. His coffin was draped in a blue and white pall decorated with a Star of David circumscribing a Lion of Judah and seven gold stars recalling Herzl's original proposal for a flag of the Jewish state. An Israeli national holiday is celebrated annually on the tenth of the Hebrew month of Iyar, to commemorate his life and vision. Further information is readily available online - see Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, or The Herzl Institute. 

The Complete Diaries of Theodor Herzl edited by Raphael Patai, translated by Harry Zohn, was published in five volumes (inc. an index) by Thomas Yoseloff in 1960. A one-volume compendium - covering 1895-1904 - can be read freely online at Internet Archive - though beware it runs to nearly 2,000 pages! The preface begins: ‘A hundred years after his birth, fifty-six years after his death, and twelve years after the realization of his dream in the State of Israel, Theodor Herzl is universally recognized in Jewish history, and, in fact, in world history, as the founder of political Zionism and the father of the Jewish state. His Diaries, published here in full for the first time, contain the fascinating record of the eight last years of his life during which, practically single-handed and at the sacrifice of his fortune, his career, his family and his very life, he created a world movement among the Jews and made the rulers and governments of his day accept the idea that the Jewish people must have a homeland of its own.’

Herzl’s own text begins as follows: ‘For some time past I have been occupied with a work of infinite grandeur. At the moment I do not know whether I shall carry it through. It looks like a mighty dream. But for days and weeks it has possessed me beyond the limits of consciousness; it accompanies me wherever I go, hovers behind my ordinary talk, looks over my shoulder at my comically trivial journalistic work, disturbs me and intoxicates me. It is still too early to surmise what will come of it. But my experience tells me that even as a dream it is something remarkable, and that I ought to write it down - if not as a reminder to mankind, then at least for my own delight or reflection in later years. And perhaps as something between these two possibilities - that is, as literature. If my conception is not translated into reality, at least out of my activity can come a novel. Title: The Promised Land!’

Here’s a flavour of Herzl’s diaries.

11 June 1895
‘Daudet asked me whether I wanted to carry on my Jewish campaign in a novel. He reminded me of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

I told him then and there that I desired a more manly form of announcement. At that time I was still thinking of the Enquête [treatise] to be entitled The Situation of the Jews.

Today, the more I think about it the more it seems to me that it would really be beneath my dignity to make my plan palatable to the masses through love affairs and little jests, as Bellamy did in his utopian novel.

It would be easy for me, because I am an experienced writer of belles-lettres. Yet I must take care not to let the book become unreadable. After all, it is to make a deep impression on the people, on the nations.

Let it have a bit of literary fascination, then. It consists in the free-flowing sequence of ideas as they moved through my mind during these sunny days of the world dream in serene profusion, with all their accidents [imperfections], as the sculptors put it (“finger marks in the clay”).

This will also prevent leafing through this book in search of chapter headings. Whoever wants to know what is in it will have to read it.’ 

21 November 1895, London
‘Visit to Israel Zangwill, the writer. He lives in Kilburn, N. W. A drive in the fog through endless streets. Arrived a bit out of sorts. The house is rather shabby. In his book-lined study Zangwill sits before an enormous writing table with his back to the fireplace. Also close to the fire, his brother, reading. Both give one the impression of shivering southerners who have been cast up on the shores of Ultima Thule. Israel Zangwill is of the long-nosed Negroid type, with very woolly deep-black hair, parted in the middle; his clean-shaven face displays the steely haughtiness of an honest ambitious man who has made his way after bitter struggles. The disorder in his room and on his desk leads me to infer that he is an internalized person. I have not read any of his writings, but I think I know him. He must bestow all the care that is lacking in his outward appearance on his style.

Our conversation is laborious. We speak in French, his command of which is inadequate. I don’t even know whether he understands me. Still, we agree on major points. He, too, is in favor of our territorial independence.

However, his point of view is a racial one - which I cannot accept if I so much as look at him and at myself. All I am saying is: We are an historical unit, a nation with anthropological diversities. This also suffices for the Jewish State. No nation has uniformity of race.

We soon get down to practical points. He gives me the names of several suitable men: Colonel Goldsmid, the painter Solomon, Rabbi Singer, Mocatta, Abrahams, Montefiore, Lucien Wolf, Joseph Jacobs, N.S. Joseph, and, of course. Chief Rabbi Adler.

I shall meet these men next Sunday at the banquet of the Maccabeans and arrange a conference for Monday at which I shall present my plan.

Colonel Goldsmid - for me the most important - is stationed at Cardiff with his regiment.

Zangwill is asking him by telegram to come here. Otherwise I shall have to go to Cardiff to see him.’

18 February 1896
‘At noon the university lecturer Feilbogen called on me at the office and said he had to talk to me about the pamphlet - “It is the most significant thing that Zionist literature has produced to date,” etc. - paeans of praise.

In the afternoon he came to my house and opened the conversation by asking whether my pamphlet was meant to be taken seriously or whether it was not a satirical presentation of Zionism.

I was quite taken aback and answered: “I am too old for such Alcibiadic jests.”

Then, for hours on end, he split hairs, harping on this, carping on that.

I was so sickened by it all that I was unable to go on writing the letter to Badeni, and, in fact, didn’t feel like doing anything any more.

In the evening, however, I heard at the office that the Deutsche Zeitung (anti-Semitic) is going to publish an editorial on the subject tomorrow. Presumably abuse. But important in any case, because of the attitude the other papers will take in reply. Now I again feel like writing to Badeni.’

12 May 1896
‘Great things need no solid foundation. An apple must be put on a table so that it will not fall. The earth floats in mid-air.

Similarly, I may be able to found and stabilize the Jewish State without any firm support.

The secret lies in motion. (I believe that somewhere in this area of thought lies the invention of the dirigible airship. Weight overcome by motion; and not the ship but its motion is to be steered.)’

25 June 1896
‘Sent off the Grand Vizier interview to Vienna today, by a passenger on the Orient Express.

In the evening Newlinski came from the Palace where, it appears, people are already very favorably disposed toward me. They are taking to the Jewish idea.

Right now they seem to be in a very bad fix in regard to money. However, the matter would have to be presented in some other form. Sauver les apparences [Save face]!

Izzet (through whom, of course, the Sultan speaks) or the Sultan (through whom Izzet speaks) would be willing enough to yield Palestine if the proper formula could be found for the transaction. Precisely because things are going badly for them they must not sell any land, Newlinski reports; but he observes that my idea is making good progress.

In a few months’ time, the people in Yildiz Kiosk will perhaps be ripe for it. L'idée les travaille visiblement [it is plain to see that the idea agitates them].

Nuri Bey, too, is very sympathetic toward our cause. Today he said that we should endeavor to win over the Czar.

Bad news again today from Anatolia. New massacres at Van.’

26 June 1896
‘Another selamlik. Exactly the same spectacle as a week ago.

Newlinski says he is convinced that the Turks are willing to give us Palestine. He says it is just like when a man has a hunch that a woman is willing to surrender; in such a situation one may not even be able to say as yet what this hunch is based on.

“I say she’s a whore - I don’t know why; I just feel sure,” he said in his broken Polish-German.’

Out for Chinese chow again

‘Out for Chinese chow again tonight. Tom [Hannah], Joe [Greenwood], and I. Morale in this theater at this point is low. Efficiency is also low and V.D. [venereal disease] rates are going up.’ This is from the diaries of John Hart Caughey, an army colonel who served with General George C. Marshall’s during his posting to China as special envoy after WWII. Caughey, who died 30 years ago today, is said to provide, through hid diaries and letters, ‘a rare behind-the-scenes view of the general’s mediation efforts as well as intimate glimpses of the major Chinese figures involved.’

Caughey was born in 1912 in Bellevue, Pennsylvania. Graduating from West Point in 1935, he was appointed to several posts in the US and in Honolulu. He married Alice Elizabeth “Betty” Bowman, and they had one child. After attending the Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, he was appointed to the War Department General Staff in Washington in 1942. He was awarded the Legion of Merit. In 1944 he was sent to India but was transferred to the China theatre shortly thereafter to serve on the staff of Lieutenant General A.C. Wedemeyer, commander of U.S. forces in China. Upon General Marshall’s arrival in Chungking, China in 1945, Caughey was selected by Marshall to serve on his staff. He returned to the US in 1947 and continued his military career attaining the rank of Major General. He died on 2 July 1994. A little further information is available at the George C. Marshall Foundation and Find a Grave.

Caughey is mostly remembered today for a diary he kept and the letters he wrote, all collected and published, firstly, in The Marshall Mission to China, 1945-1947: The Letters and Diary of Colonel John Hart Caughey (Rowman & Littlefield, 2011), and then in The Letters and Diaries of Colonel John Hart Caughey, 1944–1945: With Wedemeyer in World War II China (Lexington Books, 2018), both edited by Roger B. Jeans. The two books can be previewed at Googlebooks (1944-1945 and 1945-1947).

According to the publisher, The Marshall Mission to China, 1945-1947 ‘breaks new ground in our understanding of a pivotal period in the history of American foreign policy, the early Cold War, and the struggle for dominance in China between the Nationalists and Communists’. 

The publisher’s blurb continues: ‘The famous Marshall Mission to China has been the focus of intense scrutiny ever since General George C. Marshall returned home in January 1947 and full-scale civil war consumed China. Yet until recently, there was little new to add to the story of the failure to avert war between the Chinese Nationalists, under Chiang Kai-shek, and the Chinese Communists, led by Mao Zedong. Drawing on a newly discovered insider’s account, Roger B. Jeans makes an invaluable contribution to our understanding of Marshall’s failed mediation effort and the roles played by key Chinese figures. Working from the letters and diary of U.S. Army Colonel John Hart Caughey, Jeans offers a fresh interpretation of the mission. From beginning to end, Caughey served as Marshall’s executive officer, in effect his right-hand man, assisting the general in his contacts with the Chinese and drafting key documents for him. Through his writings, Caughey provides a rare behind-the-scenes view of the general’s mediation efforts as well as intimate glimpses of the major Chinese figures involved, including Chiang Kai-shek, Madame Chiang, and Zhou Enlai. In addition to daily contact with Marshall, Caughey often rubbed shoulders with these major Nationalist and Communist figures. As a meticulous eyewitness to history in the making, Caughey offers crucial insight into a key moment in post-World War II history.’

Of the second book to be published - The Letters and Diaries of Colonel John Hart Caughey, 1944–1945 -the publisher says: ‘[Caughey] chronicled the US military’s role in wartime China, especially his life as an American planner (when he was subject to military censorship). Previous accounts of the China Theater have largely neglected the role of the War Department planners stationed in Chungking, many of whom were Caughey’s colleagues and friends. He also penned colorful descriptions of life in wartime China, which vividly remind the reader how far China has come in a mere seventy-odd years.’

Here’s a page of typical near-daily diary entries from The Marshall Mission to China, 1945-1947.

10 December 1945
‘[Mel] Huston left last week. Hated to see him go but his hind end needs looking after.’

11 December 1945
‘US Frs [Forces] China Theater rapidly deactivating. But I seem to be stuck. TPS [Theater Planning Section] of which I am chief seems to be taking on more and bigger jobs as others close down.’

13 December 1945
‘Marshall has publically accepted blame for Pearl Harbor. Such a statement would ruin a lesser man.’

16 December 1945
‘New directive received.’

17 December 1945
‘Presidents new Policy on China announced. New attitude may not be better but it sure is different. Where do we go from here?’

18 December 1945
‘Pres[ident’s] Policy at least got the Gmo [Chiang Kai-shek] and Chou En Lai [Zhou En-lai] (N 2 Commie) together again. Maybe something can be worked out.’

19 December 1945
‘Marshall due in tomorrow. Hdrs. is flying about trying to get everything all set.’

20 December 1945
‘Marshall arrived. He’s become China’s “White Hope.” Individually the two factions [the Nationalists and Communists] don’t think so though because somebody is going to have to give or else U.S. will quit.’

21 December 1945
‘Gave presentation for General Marshall today. Each staff section chief did the briefing. He seemed impressed and extremely interested.’

22 December 1945
‘Out for Chinese chow again tonight. Tom [Hannah], Joe [Greenwood], and I. Morale in this theater at this point is low. Efficiency is also low and V.D. [venereal disease] rates are going up.’

Only Tanya is left

The diary of the teenager Tanya Savicheva has to be one of the most poignant documents left behind by the Second World War, no matter that it is also, probably, the shortest diary of any significance on record. Tanya, who died 80 years ago today, lived through part of the Siege of Leningrad and watched her family members die one by one around her, recording each death on a page of her notebook.

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

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

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

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

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

See Wikipedia, the Russian Orthodox Church website, or Russiapedia, for more information.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Mom on 13th May at 7.30 AM 1942’

‘Savichevs died.’

‘Everyone died.’

‘Only Tanya is left.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 1 July 2014.

Journal of a trapper

‘On the 28th about 9 o’clock a. m. we were aroused by an alarm of “Indians.” We ran to our horses. All was confusion, each trying to catch his horses. We succeeded in driving them into camp where we caught all but six, which escaped into the prairies. In the meantime the Indians appeared before our camp to the number of 60, of which 15 or 20 were mounted on horseback and the remainder on foot, all being entirely naked, armed with fusees, bows, arrows, etc.’ This is from Journal of a Trapper written by Osborne Russell, born 210 years ago today, which is considered one of the best first-hand narratives about the life of an ordinary trapper during the heyday of the Rocky Mountains fur trade.

Osborne was born on 19 June 1814 into a large farming family in the village of Bowdoinham, Maine. Aged 16, he is said to have run away to sea but to have soon given that up for a job with the Northwest Fur Trapping and Trading Company, which operated in Wisconsin and Minnesota. That led to him joining Nathaniel Wyeth’s Columbia River Fishing and Trading Company, and to being part of an expedition to the Rocky Mountains. Subsequently he joined Jim Bridger’s brigade of Rocky Mountain Fur Company men, continuing with them after a merger that left the American Fur Company in control of the trade. When the fur trade declined, he became a free trapper operating out of Fort Hall (by then part of the Hudson’s Bay Company), staying in the mountains until the great Westward migration began.

In 1843, Russell participated in the so-called Champoeg Meeting (the first attempt at formal governance by European-American and French Canadian pioneers in the Oregon Country) voting in favour of forming a government. He was selected by the First Executive Committee to serve as the Supreme Judge for the Provisional Government of Oregon and served until May of 1844. However, he was unsuccessful in his run for governor of the Provisional Government in 1845, giving his support to George Abernethy. Russell eventually went to California in 1848, after the discovery of gold there. He died in Placerville in 1884. 

There is some limited further information about Russell available on the web (for example at Wikipedia), but mostly this is based on the contents of a journal he kept and which was first published by Boise in 1914, as Journal of a Trapper: or, Nine years in the Rocky Mountains, 1834-1843: being a general description of the country, climate, rivers, lakes, mountains, etc., and a view of the life by a hunter in those regions. According to the website Mountain Men and the Fur Trade, it is ‘one of the best first-hand narratives available of the everyday life of an ordinary trapper during the heyday of the Rocky Mountain fur trade.’

The journal can be read freely online at Internet Archive (a more recent volume edited by Aubrey Haines can also be digitally borrowed at the same site) and at the Library of Western Fur Trade Historical Source Documents. The original manuscript is held in the William Robertson Coe Collection of Western Americana in Yale University Library, and images of its pages are also available on the website.

Here are two extracts from the published diary, one from July 1834, and the other from June 1835.

1834
‘On July 11th we left Bear River and crossed low ridges of broken country for about 15 miles in a northeast direction, and fell on to a stream which ran into Snake River, called Blackfoot. Here we met with Captain B. S. Bonneville and a party of 10 or 12 men. He was on his way to the Columbia and was employed killing and drying buffalo meat for the journey. The next day we traveled in a westerly direction over a rough, mountainous country about 25 miles, and the day following, after traveling about 20 miles in the same direction, we emerged from the mountains into the great valley of the Snake River. On the 16th we crossed the valley and reached the river in about 25 miles travel west. Here Mr. Wyeth concluded to stop, build a fort and deposit the remainder of his merchandise, leaving a few men to protect them, and trade with the Snake and Bannock Indians.

On the 18th we commenced the fort, which was a stockade 80 feet square, built of cottonwood trees set on end, sunk two and one-half feet in the ground and standing about 15 feet above, with two bastions eight feet square at the opposite angles. On the 4th of August the fort was completed and on the 5th the “Stars and Stripes” were unfurled to the breeze at sunrise in the center of a savage and uncivilized country, over an American trading post.

The next day Mr. Wyeth departed for the mouth of the Columbia River with all the party excepting twelve men (myself included) who were stationed at the fort. I now began to experience the difficulties attending a mountaineer, we being all raw hands, excepting the man who had charge of the fort, and a mulatto, the two latter having but very little experience in hunting game with the rifle, and although the country abounded with game, still it wanted experience to kill it.

On the 12th of August myself and three others (the mulatto included) started from the fort to hunt buffalo. We proceeded up the stream running into Snake River near the fort called Ross Fork in an easterly direction about 25 miles, crossed a low mountain in the same direction about five miles and fell on to a stream called the Portneuf. Here we found several large bands of buffalo. We went to a small spring and encamped. I now prepared myself for the first time in my life to kill meat for my supper, with a rifle. I had an elegant one, but had little experience in using it. However, I approached the band of buffaloes, crawling on my hands and knees within about 80 yards of them, then raised my body erect, took aim and shot at a bull. At the crack of the gun the buffaloes all ran off excepting the bull which I had wounded. I then reloaded and shot as fast as I could until I had driven 25 bullets at, in and about him, which was all that I had in my bullet pouch, while the bull still stood, apparently riveted to the spot. I watched him anxiously for half an hour in hopes of seeing him fall, but to no purpose. I was obliged to give it up as a bad job and retreat to our encampment without meat; but the mulatto had better luck - he had killed a fat cow whilst shooting 15 bullets at the band. The next day we succeeded in killing another cow and two bulls. We butchered them, took the meat and returned to the fort.’

***

June 1835
‘On the 28th about 9 o’clock a. m. we were aroused by an alarm of “Indians.” We ran to our horses. All was confusion, each trying to catch his horses. We succeeded in driving them into camp where we caught all but six, which escaped into the prairies. In the meantime the Indians appeared before our camp to the number of 60, of which 15 or 20 were mounted on horseback and the remainder on foot, all being entirely naked, armed with fusees, bows, arrows, etc. They immediately caught the horses which had escaped from us and commenced riding to and fro within gunshot of our camp with all the speed their horses were capable of producing, without shooting a single gun, for about 20 minutes, brandishing their war weapons and yelling at the top of their voices. Some had scalps suspended on small poles which they waved in the air, others had pieces of scarlet cloth with one end fastened round their heads while the other trailed after them. After securing my horses I took my gun, examined the priming, set the breech on the ground and hand on the muzzle, with my arms folded, gazed at the novelty of this scene for some minutes, quite unconscious of danger, until the whistling of balls about my ears gave me to understand that these were something more than mere pictures of imagination and gave me assurance that these living creatures were a little more dangerous than those I had been accustomed to see portrayed on canvas.

The first gun was fired by one of our party, which was taken as the signal for attack on both sides, but the well directed fire from our rifles soon compelled them to retire from the front and take to the brush behind us, where they had the advantage until seven or eight of our men glided into the brush and concealing themselves until their left wing approached within about 30 feet of them before they shot a gun, they then raised and attacked them in the flank. The Indians did not stop to return the fire, but retreated through the brush as fast as possible, dragging their wounded along with them and leaving their dead on the spot. In the meantime myself and the remainder of our party were closely engaged with the center and right. I took advantage of a large tree which stood near the edge of the brush between the Indians and our horses. They approached until the smoke of our guns met. I kept a large German horse pistol loaded by me in case they should make a charge when my gun was empty. When I first stationed myself at the tree I placed a hat on some twigs which grew at the foot of it and would put it in motion by kicking the twigs with my foot in order that they might shoot at the hat and give me a better chance at their heads, but I soon found this sport was no joke for the poor horses behind me were killed and wounded by the balls intended for me. The Indians stood the fight for about two hours, then retreated through the brush with a dismal lamentation. We then began to look about to find what damage they had done us. One of our comrades was found under the side of an old root, wounded by balls in three places in the right and one in the left leg below the knee, no bones having been broken. Another had received a slight wound in the groin. We lost three horses, killed on the spot, and several more were wounded, but not so bad as to be unable to travel. Towards night some of our men followed down the stream about a mile and found the place where they had stopped and laid their wounded comrades on the ground in a circle. The blood was still standing congealed in nine places where they had apparently been dressing the wounds. 

29th - Staid at the same place, fearing no further attempt by the same party of Indians.

30th - Traveled up the main branch about 10 miles. 

July 1st, traveled to the southeast extremity of the valley and encamped for the night. Our wounded comrade suffered very much in riding, although everything was done which lay in our power to ease his sufferings. A pallet was made upon the best gaited horse belonging to the party for him to ride on and one man appointed to lead the animal. 

On the 2d we crossed the Teton mountains in an easterly direction, about 15 miles. The ascent was very steep and rugged, covered with tall pines, but the descent was somewhat smoother.’

Around the world in diary days

It is half a century ago today that I upped and left my home and family to travel round the world, not to return for nearly three years. That day - 18 June 1974 - also marks a watershed in my diary-keeping habit, in that I started keeping a daily diary, to record my travels; and I have kept up the diary habit (although not every day) since then.

I completed my university degree in mid-1973, and had no idea what to do with my life. I went from temporary job to temporary job, and my parents, eventually, kicked me out of their house, believing I should pay my own way. As chance would have it, I found a flat share in Earl’s Court, and my flatmates were all travellers, Aussies and Kiwis, who had come overland across Asia. It wasn’t many months before I decided to go off and explore the world too. My aim was to hitchhike across Asia, to Bali, then fly to Australia where I would work until I had enough money to get to South America and travel there for a while.

With relatively little preparation - I bought traveller’s cheques, forwarded money to a bank in Singapore, and tried to get some preventative medicines - I set off. I had no visas, there was little in my rucksack apart from clothes, books, a map of Europe, and - most importantly - a photostatted guide put together by travellers for travellers to India and beyond. At the time, there were no Lonely Planet or Rough Guide books, so the photocopies were a near-essential supplement to the information gathered along the way - from others on the so-called Hippy Trail.

Oh yes, and in the rucksack, I also had a 1973 desk diary which I planned to use as a journal. I don’t recall why I used an out-of-date diary, with all the confusion of the days being wrong, but it was probably to save me buying a new one. (There was a half a page for each day, which was often insufficient, so I would write in other parts of the book, going backwards from the June start point, and note down something like ‘see also 23 May’ - thus I filled the book even though it only covers my travelling for about six months.)

I hitchhiked much of the way to Bali, although trains were far easier (and very cheap) in India; aeroplane was the only way across Burma at the time (though, one could stop for a week there on route to Thailand), and from Bali to Darwin. I also took a plane out of Laos, and from Singapore to Bali; plus I took boats across the Persian Gulf and to and from Sumatra. But hitchhiking was the always the aim: generally it was free (and, when drivers charged, it was still cheaper than any other form of transport), and, it brought me into direct contact with all kinds of people, mostly from the country I was in, who would often enhance my experience in some way.

The journey took me through the following countries: Belgium, Germany, Yugoslavia, Greece, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India (and Tibet), Burma, Thailand, Laos, Malaya, Singapore, Indonesia. And these are a few of the experiences I found in this, the first part of my round-the-world adventure: seeing Nureyev perform in Swan Lake (see below); driving a truck across sand-rutted desert; watching a car accident in the middle of the Persian Gulf waters (!); discovering deserted ancient cities; walking hand-in-hand with Arab boys; selling blood; feeling hash-induced paranoia in the middle of tribal Afghanistan; having bedouin hosts eat scraps from my own plate; watching four Pakistanis fully occupied in operating a domestic lawnmower; seeing dead people burn; losing and finding my diary; meeting godless priests in a remote Himalayan monastery; overviewing the largest book in the world; window-gazing in Bangkok; receiving charity from the poor; learning to swim against the current in crocodile-infested rivers; finding the largest flower in the world; being stoned by children; fearing moonlight sacrifices; working in a power station; being nearly wiped out by a cyclone.

Any how, in memory of that thing I did, 40 years ago, upping and leaving, so casually, to travel the world - something which surely has affected my whole life long - here are the first few diary entries I wrote in that first travel diary (NB: the World Cup was taking place in West Germany - England hadn’t qualified, but Scotland had!).

18 June 1974
‘The English Channel
THE PARTING MADE
Last day in England. I drive father into work because his car is in the garage waiting for the fridge man. At Endsleigh I buy five months insurance for £16 - the chemist can’t get me any Daraprim. I pack and bathe after salmon salad - watch the football - pick father up. Half way through Scotland-Brazil I leave home - I am crying and so is Mum - I virtually run out. I am in a daze right the way through to Brent, it is as much as I can do to keep my eyes dry on the tube. Total funds: £150 in envelope, £85 in wallet, $240 in traveller cheques, £150 in Singapore.’

19 June 1974
‘Brussels
INTERNATIONAL STUDENT CARD, DARAPRIM AND MUTTI
I meet a Kiwi on the coach from the waiting room to the ferry. He’s from Christchurch - we have a couple of lifts together. He’s off to Amsterdam and me to Brussels. Oh dear what a job to remember my French. I am quite weary and despondent. I ask a copper how to get to Rue Charles De Groux and walk the long way round Congress to Rue Belliard. A pharmacie is getting me the Daraprim. My forged letter gets me a current international student card. Mutti, my stepfather’s mother, makes me very welcome. I fall asleep on Mutti’s floor watching the football.’

20 June 1974
‘Brussels
ATOMIUM AND BELGIAN FOOD - FATHER VISITS
Mutti talks and talks and there’s never anything I can directly disagree and debate with her, it’s always ‘yes I suppose so’. She is very healthy - we walk miles and I am more tired than she. At the Musee, there is a large section on ancient Iran and Anatolie and Egypt - some fine examples of original letters and envelopes of the day. Mutti dresses for bridge - I suss out the tram system and go north. I’m most impressed by the Atomium from Expo 60. Father turns up before seven and we go to a typical Belgian restaurant - plain decor, good service and excellent food - Waterzooie - prawn croquets. I walk a little - rub a brass for luck and visit the Manikin Piss.’

21 June 1974
‘Nurnberg
MOTORWAY HITCHING, BMW TO AIRPORT, WURZBURG
Say goodbye to Mutti and am on the road by 11.30. First lift is from a friendly van driver - we communicate little in French. Lifts take me past Liege and Aachen and Koln - from the autobahn there is a magnificent view of Koln and the cathedral. Two splendid lifts follow - the first to Frankfurt from a young guy who offers to take me into town for a meal after two hours at a conference - I decline. But I am very lucky to change some money - the E-5 goes straight by the airport - phew! - I will eat this weekend. A student in a rented car takes me to and around Wurzburg. It is very lovely - there’s an old chateaux by the castle on the hill overlooking all, and an old palace where an international Mozart festival is being held. I finish off the night with a non-talking falling-asleep lift to just outside Nurnberg.’

22 June 1974
‘Wallhalla
NURNBERG, REGENSBURG, WALLHALA - A SEARCH REWARDED
I sleep reasonably well on lumpy ground in some services - and feel really ace after a thorough wash and clean in the services. It takes me over an hour to get a lift to Nurnberg. I tour round all the lovely buildings c/o Nurnburg tourist organisation. I am sitting underneath a cloudless sky on some parapets overlooking the city. Just now more tourists are coming to see the view. Nurnberg is more lovely than Wurzburg. The countryside is splendid, forests rolling like dunes out of sight. A long walk, a long beer and big hassle getting out of town. Regensburg is second rate - but I am hungry, the last thing I ate was a roll yesterday morning. I look and look for a non rip-off place to eat and eventually find a snack bar - schnitzel and chips for DM 3.95 (like a dream come true finding this). I lie in the park and clean my feet in the fountain. I have a bad head all afternoon and evening, from the sun I suppose. One beer lasts the whole of the Scotland-Yugoslavia match - 1-1.’

23 June 1974
‘Vienna
RIVERS MEET AT PASSAU - MEAL IN LINZ - WIEN
A heavy dew in the night. An hour and a half till 8:30 to get a lift - two lifts to Passau. Everywhere in this area there are churches - very beautiful, very old. Here in Passau, does one of them contains the biggest organ in Europe? Many houses too are old, and the castle-type houses on the tops of small hills always make the scene beautiful. I am sitting on a bench looking out across where the Danube and the Inn meet - church bells are peeling and the sun is hot. It is so peaceful here, the water flowing fast to pass Wien and Budapest and Bucharest, a long way to the Adriatic.

I get a lift from the head of the largest spectacles frame-maker in the world, in a Merc - following the Danube with the forest and fields and beautiful views to Linz. Some Austrian hamburgers ‘mit salat’ - tasty. A little sleep and a hefty walk and a long wait for a lift to Wien, but I make it by 6:00. A bier and football - Poland 2 Italy 1 - and a map from tourist information. I walk around, although it’s a bit of hassle, of course, with the pack - some fabulous buildings - the Hofburg home of the Habsburgs in winter - Baroque mostly - statues abound - Austrian elections for President - everyone must vote.

A real hassle finding somewhere to sleep - I’m wandering around this park up by the Sud Bahnhof - strange men keep following - it is half an hour before I realise it’s the local gay playground. I storm off and sleep very well in the gardens of some college.’

24 June 1974
‘Vienna
PIGEON MAN - NZ COUPLE AND SWAN LAKE
About 7:00, I buy a lemon tea, wash in the toilets, and a sit in Goethe Park. I talk for a while to a pigeon man - he’s a much travelled journalist, but getting old now he works in a library and writes - every morning he brings food for the pigeons and talks to them. He shows me the way to the periodicals room where I read the Guardian (19 June). It’s also a good place to leave my bag. I go to the Esperanto museum but it looks dead and decayed so I don’t bother - the Neue Gallerie where I find Cezanne, Van Gogh (best of which is his self portrait), Degas, Munch. I meet two chatty girls from Brighton - graduates who’ve been to Prague and Budapest.

We meet outside the Vienna State Opera at 4:00 to get tickets for the ballet - crowds of people, and our numbers are shouted out. This entitles us to a place in the queue where we wait until 5:30. I buy a ticket and then have to wait again to have the ticket torn and again, with even more of crush near the top of the stairs, to find a place - but I have to check my rucksack in and so lose the chance of securing a place. I meet a couple from New Zealand who let me join their patch, and for one act I have a seat. This is first ballet I’ve ever seen live, and what a way to start - Carol Cain and Nureyev in Swan Lake. Cain is fabulous. Her movements, with Nureyev controlling her, are faultless - apparently Nureyev rewrote acts 1, 3 and 4 and changed Tchaikovsky’s music. There are tremendous applauses through each act and after - at the end I leave before the encores have finished. I am invited to join the NZ couple for coffee but I don’t have enough Austrian funds. I sleep in the same place.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 18 June 2014.