Looking for a snowbow

Benjamin Banneker, a free black American who not only worked his own tobacco farm but was a self-taught astronomer and mathematician, died 220 years ago today. He is remembered today for a series of almanacs he wrote in the 1790s - an extraordinary achievement for a black man at the time - and for writing to Thomas Jefferson about racial equality and the abolition of slavery. He kept a diary as well as astronomical notebooks, but most of his personal papers were destroyed in a fire at the time of his funeral, though one journal and a few other papers survived. The surviving journal shows that Banneker was not only mathematical, philosophical and self-analytical, but he was a keen observer of nature. Several entries record dreams, in another he writes about the periodic cycle of cicadas, and in another he jokes about looking for a snowbow.

Banneker was born in 1731, in Baltimore County, Maryland. His parents were black, and his father was a freed slave. Some biographers believe that his grandmother, on his mother’s side, may have purchased his grandfather, then a slave, set him free, and then married him. Aged 6, Banneker was named on the deed of his family’s 100-acre tobacco farm in the Patapsco River valley, where he lived for most of his life. He received some elementary schooling, probably at a local Quaker school, but was largely self-taught. Somehow he learned to read, write, to play several musical instruments, and in his early 20s he crafted a wooden clock by observing the mechanics of a pocket watch. His father died in 1759.

A decade or so later, the Ellicott family - also Quakers - moved into the area, and began building mills along the Patapsco. Banneker supplied the workers with food, studied the workings of the mills, and became friendly with several of the Ellicotts. In 1788 - in his mid-50s - he began to study astronomy with books and instruments borrowed from George Ellicott, who was also interested in the subject. In 1791, at the invitation of George’s cousin Major Andrew Ellicott, Banneker joined, for a few months, a surveying team that was setting the boundaries for the new federal capital.

By 1792, Banneker had become so knowledgeable that he felt able to write and publish an astronomical almanac based on his own painstakingly-calculated ephemeris and which included solar and lunar eclipse predictions - Benjamin Banneker’s Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland and Virginia Almanac and Ephemeris, for the Year of Our Lord, 1792. It sold well, and quickly went into a second edition. Annual almanacs followed each year until 1797.

Banneker was well aware of his unusual position as a black man contributing to the sciences, and he used his almanacs to further his political views on the abolition of slavery and racial equality. He also engaged in a correspondence with Thomas Jefferson, who himself owned many slaves, and would soon become the third President of the US. Banneker never married. In his last years, he sold much of his farmland to the Ellicotts, but continued to live in his log cabin, where he died on 9 October 1806. Further information can be found at Wikipedia, PBS, or Bio.com, and from a Memoir of Benjamin Banneker by John Latrobe.

On the day of Banneker’s funeral, a fire, of unknown origin, burned the cabin, destroying many of his belongings and papers, including most of his journals and notebooks. However, one astronomical journal, a day book and a few papers survived. These were left to George Ellicott, and by the mid-19th century had been deposited with the Maryland Historical Society (now the Maryland Center for History and Culture) where they were bound together. Subsequently, the bound copy was returned to the Ellicotts, and remained hidden until 1987, when it was again given to the historical society. Some extracts from this can be found in Latrobe’s memoir about Banneker - as follows:

‘Besides his aptitude for mechanics,’ Latrobe writes, ‘and his ability as a mathematician, Banneker was an acute observer, whose active mind was constantly receiving impulses from what was taking place around him. Many instances of this are to be found in the record of his calculations, which he seems to have used occasionally as a common-place book. For instance, under date of the 27th August, 1797, he writes: “Standing at my door I heard the discharge of a gun, and in four or five seconds of time, after the discharge, the small shot came rattling about me, one or two of which struck the house; which plainly demonstrates that the velocity of sound is greater than that of a cannon bullet.” It must have been a philosophic mind, which observing the fact as here stated, drew from it the correct conclusion, and then recorded it in appropriate terms as a simple and beautiful illustration of the law of nature, with which, in all probability, he first became acquainted through its means.

Again on the 23d December, 1790, he writes: “About 3 o’clock, A.M. I heard the sound and felt the shock like unto heavy thunder. I went out but could not observe any cloud above the horizon. I therefore conclude it must be a great earthquake in some part of the globe.” A similar conclusion from the same facts was drawn by a greater man than Banneker near eighteen hundred years before, and recorded to be commented on in after ages.

Nor was Banneker’s observation confined to matters of a philosophical character. There is evidence in the memoranda of his record book that natural history was equally interesting to him. The following, independent of its connection with the subject of our memoir, possesses general interest as an authentic statement by an eye-witness of a curious fact in entomology. In April, 1800, he writes: “The first great locust year that T can remember was 1749. I was then about seventeen years of age, when thousands of them came and were creeping up the trees and bushes. I then imagined they came to eat and destroy the fruit of the earth, and would occasion a famine in the land. I therefore began to kill and destroy them, but soon saw that my labour was in vain, and therefore gave over my pretension. Again in the year 1766, which is seventeen years after their first appearance, they made a second, and appeared to me to be full as numerous as the first. I then, being about thirty-four years of age, had more sense than to endeavour to destroy them, knowing they were not so pernicious to the fruit of the earth as I imagined they would be. Again in the year 1783, which was seventeen years since their second appearance to me, they made their third; and they may be expected again in the year 1800, which is seventeen years since their third appearance to me. So that if I may venture to express it, their periodical return is seventeen years: but they, like the comets, make but a short stay with us. The female has a sting in her tail as sharp and hard as a thorn, with which she perforates the branches of the trees, and in the holes lays eggs. The branch soon dies and falls. Then the egg, by some occult cause immerges a great depth into the earth, and there continues for the space of seventeen years as aforesaid.” [. . .]

The last extract we shall make from the record book is one which indicates a relish for the beautiful in nature, as well by his undertaking to record a description of what he saw, as by the language which he uses. The extract is from the last pages of the book, when he was in his seventy-first year. His writing is still distinct, but the letters have lost their firmness, and shew that his hand trembled as it held the pen.

“1803, Feb. 2d. In the morning part of the day, there arose a very dark cloud, followed by snow and hail, a flash of lightning and loud thunder crack; and then the storm abated until afternoon, when another cloud arose at the same point, viz: the north-west, with a beautiful shower of snow. But what beautified the snow was the brightness of the sun, which was near setting at the time. I looked for the rainbow, or rather snowbow, but I think the snow was of too dense a nature to exhibit the representation of the bow in the cloud.” ’

The Maryland Historical Society blog, Underbelly, gives a brief description of Banneker’s journal: ‘Some of the more remarkable pages in this ledger show graphic projections for solar and lunar eclipses. In addition to these formulas there are also practical descriptions of how Banneker obtained the geocentric latitudes of planets, the movements of stars, and the different quarters of the moon in every day language. This journal is much more than a mathematical ledger though - its contents give a much fuller glimpse of who Banneker was as a person. It is interspersed with accounts of his day-to-day life, including descriptions of his interactions with his neighbors and friends the Ellicotts, close encounters with armed intruders on his property, descriptions of the a brood of 17-year cicada from 1749, and the most notable section, a copy of the correspondence between Benjamin Banneker and Thomas Jefferson. But in this writer’s opinion, the most unique contents of the journal are Banneker’s detailed descriptions of the dreams and nightmares that woke him in the night. A transcription of his mysterious dream accounts appear below in chronological order.’

The blog then quotes a few extracts, as follows:

5 December 1791
‘On the night of the fifth of December 1791, Being a deep Sleep, I dreamed that I was in a public Company, one of them demanded of me the limits of Rassanah Crandolph’s Soul had to display itself in, after it departed from her Body and taken its flight. In answer I desired that he show me the place of Beginning “thinking it like making a Survey of the Land.” He replied I cannot inform you but there is a man about three days journey from Hence that is able to satisfy your demand, I forthwith went to the man and requested of him to inform me place of beginning of the limits that Rasannah Crandolph’s soul had to display itself in, after the Seperation from her Body; who gave me answer, the Vernal Equinox, When I returned I found the Company together and I was able to Solve their Doubts by giving them the following answer Quincunx.’

13 December 1797
‘I Dreamed I saw some thing passing by my door to and fro, and when I attempted to go to the door, it would vanish and reapted [?] it twice or thrice, at length I let in the infernal Spirit and he told me that he had been concerned with a woman by the name of Beckey Freeman (I never heard the name as I remember) by some means we fell into a Skirmish, and I threw him behind the fire and endeavored to burn him up but all in vain- I know not what became of him but he was an ill formed being- Some part of him in Shape of a man, but hairy as a beast, his feet was circular or rather globular and did not exceed an inch and a half in diameter, but while I held him in the fire he said something respecting he was able to stand it, but I forget his words. B. Banneker’

24 April 1802
‘I dreamed I had a fawn or young deer; whose hair was white and like unto lamb’s wool , and all parts about it beautiful to behold. Then I said to myself I will set this little captive at liberty, but I will first clip the tips of his ear that I may know him if I should see him again. Then taking a pair of shears and cutting off the tip of one ear, and he cried like unto a child hath the pain which grieved him very much altho then I did not attempt to cut the other but was very sorry for that I had done I got him at liberty and he ran a considerable distance then he stopped and he looked back at me I advanced toward him, and he came and met me and I took a lock of wool from my garment and wiped the blood of wound which I had made on him (which sorely affected me) I took him in my arms and brought him home and hold him on my knees, he asked the Woman if she had any trust and she answered him in the affirmative and gave him Some, which he began to eat and then asked for milk in a cup She said the dog had got the cup with milk in it under the house but there is milk in the cupboard.

My dream left me. B. Banneker.’

24 April 1802
‘Being weary holing for corn, I laid down on my bed and fell into a deep sleep and dreamed I had a child in my arms and was viewing the back part of its head where it had been sore, and I found it was healed with a hole through the skin and Skull bone and came out at forehead, that I could see very distinctly through the child’s head the hole being large enough to receive an ordinary finger – I called some woman to see the strange sight, and she put her spectacles on and Saw it, and she asked me if I had previously lanced that place in the Child’s head, I answered in the affirmative.

N.B. the Child is well as any other.’

This article is a revised version of one first published on 9 October 2016.

Václav Havel as diarist

Václav Havel, the Czech political dissident and human rights activist who became the last president of Czechoslovakia and the first president of the Czech Republic, would have been 90 today. He was also a playwright of some distinction, and, as a young man, used his plays to criticise the Communist regime. A few years before his death, he published a memoir which included a diary he kept during 2005; and in 2016 the Václav Havel Library published a previously unknown diary Havel had kept while in prison during 1977.

Havel was born in Prague on 5 October 1936 into an intellectual and wealthy family, though much of the family’s property was confiscated after the Communist takeover in 1948. Disallowed from studying humanities because of his bourgeois background, he worked as a lab technician before enrolling in the economics faculty at the Czech Technical University, though he dropped out after two years. Following military service in the late 1950s, he found work in the theatre and soon began writing plays, such as The Garden Party (Zahradní slavnost) and The Memo (Vyrozumění). At the same time, he became increasingly involved in literary and political life. In 1964, he married Olga Šplíchalová.

By the mid-1960s, Havel had become one of the leading figures at Prague’s Theatre on the Balustrade. He made a brief trip to the US for a production of The Memo in New York, which helped establish his international reputation. Back home, he was a prominent supporter of the liberal reforms of 1968, known as the Prague Spring. But following the Soviet-led Warsaw Pact invasion in August, Havel’s plays were banned and his passport confiscated. He moved to live in the countryside, where he maintained his political activities, largely on behalf of human rights, and continued writing plays. He was a co-founder of Charter 77, and in 1978 wrote one of his best-known essays, The Power of the Powerless, which explored how individuals and civil society could resist a totalitarian system. It was secretly but widely circulated in Czechoslovakia and other Warsaw Pact countries. He was repeatedly arrested in the 1970s and 1980s, serving several years in prison, but resisted pressure to emigrate.

In late 1989, Havel, by then a leading figure in Civic Forum, emerged as one of the leaders of the Velvet Revolution. By unanimous vote of the Federal Assembly in December, he was elected President; and following the first free national elections for over 40 years in June 1990, in which Civic Forum and its Slovak counterpart Public Against Violence emerged victorious, the Federal Assembly re-elected him as president. He stepped down in 1992 as Czechoslovakia moved towards break-up, but was elected first president of the independent Czech Republic in early 1993. His wife died in 1996, and the same year he was diagnosed with lung cancer and underwent major surgery. He was re-elected president in 1998, though by this time, with most power vested in the prime minister’s office rather than the presidency, and amid various domestic controversies, he was more popular abroad than at home. He stepped down in 2003, having by then married the actress Dagmar Veškrnová.

Havel returned more fully to writing, producing a new play in 2008, which was enthusiastically received, and publishing a memoir of his time as president. Paul Wilson translated the latter, which was published in English, also in 2008, by Portobello Books under the title To the Castle and Back. Havel died in 2011, having received, from the early 1990s onwards, many state honours and international awards. Further information is available online from Wikipedia and many obituaries, for example the BBC, The Guardian and The New York Times.

Although Havel was not a committed diarist, or so it seems, he did keep a diary at different times in his life. In 2016, the Václav Havel Library published in facsimile a previously unknown diary he had kept in 1977 while in investigative custody following the launch of Charter 77. Entitled Zápisky obviněného (Notes of the Accused), it consists of fragmentary and often abbreviated entries made in an ordinary appointment diary between January and July 1977. Havel himself had apparently never mentioned its existence. It was discovered decades later among the papers of his friend and adviser Zdeněk Urbánek, when Urbánek’s grandson, David Dušek, was sorting through his grandfather’s estate. The facsimile was published with explanatory essays by Dušek, Anna Freimanová, Martin Palouš, Paul Wilson and Michael Žantovský.

Havel also kept a diary during 2005 while working on his memoir, To the Castle and Back. The book is made up of three elements: substantial extracts from dated memos to his staff during his time in office as president, answers to a series of interview questions, and sometimes lengthy extracts from his 2005 diary - see below for two such extracts. The book can also be previewed online at Amazon and Google Books.

29 April 2005
‘I have been to two more “political dinners” at Madeleine’s; many important people were there, such as the former secretary of defense William Cohen; the director of PBS, Mrs. Pat Mitchell; Senator Barbara Mikulski; the Democratic leader in the House of Representatives, Mrs. Nancy Pelosi; the deputy secretary of state, Mr. Nicholas Bums; and many others. Many of them I had met on earlier occasions, others I had once been introduced to, but I had forgotten those earlier encounters. Madeleine, once again, moderated the discussion wonderfully; it was lively and spontaneous and exhausting, naturally. I had the constant feeling that I was speaking of things about which these people knew more than I did, and moreover I was doing so in a language I don’t know very well. Now that it’s over I’m glad I did it, and I’m grateful to Madeleine.

It’s paradoxical: every evening I meet with the most important people here, and then, during the day, I run afoul of banal American red tape. Yesterday, for example, we had to return our rental car and then turn right around and rent it again, even though we’d already paid for another month. I understand the thing itself - it’s an accounting matter. What I don’t understand is why the transaction consumed almost an entire, valuable American day. Standing at the window where all this took place, and where more and more complications kept surfacing, I found it hard not to lose my temper. My Czech pistoleer often uses a trick I don’t much like: he reveals who I am - if I’m not recognized, that is. But in this democratic country, favoritism is out of favor, and so the results are always the same: great delight that they’ve met me, great astonishment that I, of all people, have turned up here, of all places - and then an immediate return to the original situation. It doesn’t speed things up by even a minute. That was yesterday. I barely had time to change for dinner at Madeleine’s.

But that wasn’t the end of it; two unpleasant things happened this morning. The first was something I knew was bound to happen, that is, our Barnabas, Mr. Edler, was nowhere to be found, and so they wouldn’t let us into our parking spot. (Later the director of the Kluge Center had to sort things out himself at the entrance.) And the second thing was something I could not have known would happen, and which says something about the state of my memory. At the entrance to the library, where they put my bag through a scanner, they discovered a metal kitchen knife in it, which is not allowed. I expressed surprise and denied it, of course, because I’d completely forgotten that I’d put the knife in my bag that morning so I could spread jam on my roll. They searched the bag and I was caught red-handed. There was nothing to do but hope I wouldn’t be arrested, then go outside and toss the knife in the garbage. (Fortunately it was not made of silver.) I felt very silly.

I often can’t understand Americans when they speak, especially black Americans, and this is the source of many other embarrassing moments. Yesterday, for example, a young black man who was with me in the elevator told me how much he admired me and asked me for my autograph. Then he mumbled something I didn’t catch, though it was evidently a question. For the sake of simplicity, I replied, “Yes.” As soon as I’d spoken, I realized that he was asking me if I had written The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I couldn’t very well change my answer, and there was no escaping, so I had to remain in a state of embarrassment until the moment of liberation when our elevator arrived at the right floor. A truly Kunderian situation.’

28 November 2005
‘For the whole of September and October I never stopped. Yet what did I actually do? I visited several European countries, had a lot of meetings and visits and discussions, and made countless speeches - and all at a time of year when I’m usually under the weather. I’m quite surprised that I survived it all without any damage to my health. I’m at Hradecek once more, but there’s a lot of snow here now and the trees are beautifully cloaked in white. I’m really like a hermit here. (Hradecek is off by itself and my only neighbor is my friend Andrej Krob, who has a cottage nearby, but he’s not there now.) Yesterday I watched a thriller on television and then I realized that for the first time in my life I felt afraid here. The very thought that I might suddenly glimpse the movement of a human shadow gave me goose bumps and heart palpitations. I stopped getting the newspapers a while ago, and my news comes from television. I read the papers only when I happen across one. The last time that happened was several days ago on the plane from Budapest, when I discovered I was the subject of a scandal. The Czech media are up in arms because I have apparently supported our new prime minister. The whole thing obviously started a while ago, when he invited me for coffee, and as we were leaving we were waylaid by a journalist who asked me how I’d have gotten along with the current prime minister if I were still president. I said I thought we’d hit it off. By that I meant that I would not have been having constant public squabbles with the prime minister over how to interpret the constitution, as our current president does. I should have expressed myself more precisely or concretely, but still, why there should have been a controversy or even a scandal over this, I have no idea. But obviously I can’t understand everything.’

This article is a revised version of one first published on 5 October 2016.

I want rest

‘My work at F.O. is nearly over, and not to my regret: much of it was interesting, but the constant interruption and disturbance from visitors, the tendency of diplomatists to waste time in unnecessary talk, the impossibility, at this time of year, of getting air and exercise without neglecting official duty, and the difficulty of escaping, even for a few hours, from telegrams and despatches, make the post trying to health and temper. I want rest, and feel that I want it.’ This is from the diaries of Edward Henry Stanley, 15th Earl of Derby, a British statesman born 200 years ago today, who served twice as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.

Stanley was born at Knowsley Hall, Lancashire, the eldest son of Edward Smith-Stanley, the future 14th Earl of Derby, three times prime minister and leader of the Conservative Party, and Emma Caroline Bootle-Wilbraham. Raised in one of Britain’s wealthiest political families, he was educated at Eton, Rugby and Trinity College, Cambridge, where he gained a first-class degree in classics and became a member of the Cambridge Apostles, the influential intellectual society. He entered Parliament in 1848 as MP for King’s Lynn while still in his early twenties.

Stanley rapidly established himself as a capable administrator. He served as Parliamentary Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, Colonial Secretary, President of the Board of Control, and in 1858 became the inaugural Secretary of State for India following the transfer of power from the East India Company to the Crown after the Indian Rebellion. He was twice Foreign Secretary, first under his father and then under Benjamin Disraeli, and later returned to government as Colonial Secretary in Gladstone’s Liberal administration after breaking with the Conservatives over foreign policy. His political journey from Conservative to Liberal and finally Liberal Unionist reflected his independence of mind on questions of diplomacy and empire.

In 1870, Stanley married Lady Mary Sackville-West, daughter of the 5th Earl De La Warr and widow of the 2nd Marquess of Salisbury. The marriage produced no children. He succeeded to the earldom on his father’s death in 1869 (becoming Lord Derby) and thereafter divided his time between national politics and the management of the extensive Knowsley estates. His health declined after an attack of influenza in 1891, and he died at Knowsley in 1893, aged 63. The title passed to his younger brother, Frederick Stanley, later Governor General of Canada and the donor of the trophy that became the Stanley Cup. Further information is available from Wikipedia. 

Derby’s diaries have become an indispensable primary source for historians of Victorian politics, cabinet government and foreign policy. They have been extensively cited by later scholars, including Geoffrey Hicks, whose Documents on Conservative Foreign Policy, 1852-1878 uses them repeatedly alongside the correspondence of Disraeli and other ministers.

The first substantial publication came with Disraeli, Derby and the Conservative Party: Journals and Memoirs of Edward Henry, Lord Stanley, 1849-1869, edited by John Vincent, Professor of Modern History at the University of Bristol, and published by Harvester Press in 1978 (freely available online at Internet Archive). It was followed by A Selection from the Diaries of Edward Henry Stanley, 15th Earl of Derby (1826-93), Between September 1869 and March 1878 (Royal Historical Society, 1994), and The Diaries of Edward Henry Stanley, 15th Earl of Derby (1826-93) Between 1878 and 1893: A Selection (Leopard’s Head Press, 2003). Together these three editions make available material spanning more than four decades of Stanley’s political life. Here are several extracts from the first publication.

6 July 1866

‘Friday. Went down to Windsor to be sworn in. . . . Appointed a Mr Sanderson my private secretary.

It is not likely that I shall be able to continue this diary further.

My first official act was, with the consent of Ld D, to telegraph to Florence and Berlin supporting the French proposition of an armistice.’

7 July 1866

‘(Saturday). Restless, up early, hard at work from 8.30 to near 6.30, and again two hours after dinner. Dined Travellers. Cabinet at 3, sat 1½ hour: subjects: supply of needle-guns, Fenians in Canada, a sergeant of one of the Irish regts convicted of treason, whom Sir H. Rose wants to shoot, and whose life I think we saved: foreign affairs, and winding-up of the session.

. . . Cleared the office, having neither letter unanswered nor paper unread when I left off.

Before taking office I wrote to Ld Cowley entreating him to remain at Paris - which he consents to do for the present, though making a favour of it. I have not an idea how he could be effectually replaced. Though not a man of first-rate talent, he knows the country and the people thoroughly, and can be relied on. Moreover, as the place is one not given exclusively to professional diplomatists, there will be a great scramble for it, and many attempts to get it jobbed for the interest of the party.’

8 July 1866

‘Sunday. Hatfield for the morning, where met Lowe. . . . Carnarvon was to have come, but was too busy. . . . No business, except reading up memoranda of subjects now being dealt with at F.O. Pleasant day.’

9 July 1866

‘Busy all day from 8 a.m. At 2 the ministers came according to custom, and were received by me in state. (Levee dress.) About 22 appeared successively. The audience lasted three hours. . . . La Tour d’Auvergne frank and straightforward in his ways: Azeglio more than half an Englishman. Altogether I like the diplomatists better than I had expected to do. Very weary at night.

. . . We learn that Prussia accepts the armistice on conditions. . . . Bulow hopes in the general scramble to get back at least Schleswig in a Congress. Musurus greatly afraid that compensation to Austria will be proposed at expense of Turkey. - I reassure him on that point.

Azeglio believes the Italians would consent to leave the Pope Rome with sovereign power and dignity, provided the territory round it, now held by him, were taken away. This is exactly the compromise I have always suggested.

Italians refuse Venetia as a French gift, and want a piece of the Austrian Tyrol. The fact is, they do not like to leave off beaten, nor to owe anything to France, and they are afraid of French demands. . . . Emp. has protested that he wants no addition of territory. . . . It may be so, but Savoy and Nice recur to the mind.’

7 December 1868

‘. . . La Tour called, uneasy, and reasonably so, at the expected rupture between Greece and Turkey: the Porte having announced that unless the laws of neutrality are better observed in future, and certain definite concessions made, they will break off diplomatic relations, close the ports against Greek ships, and give subjects of Greece notice to quit Turkey. This ultimatum however is not to be sent until Saturday, and it is hoped that meanwhile Greece will give way. In the actual situation of the government, it is difficult to see what can be done: but after consultation with Hammond, considering the urgency of the case, I framed a telegram of warning and advice to the Greek government, which pledges the F.O. to nothing, and may possibly be of some use. It is however on the cards that objection may be taken to my having said anything, when de facto I have ceased to be a minister.

. . . My work at F.O. is nearly over, and not to my regret: much of it was interesting, but the constant interruption and disturbance from visitors, the tendency of diplomatists to waste time in unnecessary talk, the impossibility, at this time of year, of getting air and exercise without neglecting official duty, and the difficulty of escaping, even for a few hours, from telegrams and despatches, make the post trying to health and temper. I want rest, and feel that I want it.

. . . Dined Travellers, where much talk with Lord Clarendon on F.O. matters.’

9 December 1868

‘. . . Windsor by special train . . . Council held, after which we severally gave up our seals. The Queen very civil to me, said ‘she was sorry to take them back, they had never been in better hands.’

The Arabian Diaries

Gertrude Bell, an early 20th century British traveller and archaeology enthusiast, died 100 years ago today. Her expertise in the Middle East led her to become a key player in the formation of Iraq after WWI. Diaries she kept through many of her adventures were eventually given to Newcastle University which has made them freely available online. Starting just before the war, she reshaped her diary entries for sending to a British army officer with whom she was in love, and these have been published as The Arabian Diaries.

Gertrude Bell was born in 1869, into a wealthy north-of-England family. Her mother died when she was just three, but her father married again - to Florence, a writer - when she was seven. Gertrude was educated at Queen’s College in London and then at Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford University, achieving a first in history. Thereafter, she journeyed in Europe and also spent several months in Bucharest and in Tehran, where her uncle was British representative. Her travels continued with two round-the-world trips, one in 1897-1898 and one in 1902-1903.

Bell travelled widely in the Middle East, learning Arabic, meeting many Arab tribal leaders and investigating archaeological sites. She published several travel/archaelogy books, such as Syria: The Desert and the Sown; and she also collaborated with T. E. Lawrence. British Intelligence recruited her during the WWI, and subsequently, with the dismantling of the Ottoman Empire, she was appointed Oriental Secretary to the High Commissioner in Baghdad, where she was an important influence in the creation of modern Iraq, and in the naming of Faisal, the recently deposed King of Syria, as first King of Iraq. As Honorary Director of Antiquities in Iraq, she established the Iraq Museum in Baghdad. She died on 12 July 1826 from an overdose of sleeping pills, though whether this was an accident or a deliberate act has never been established. She never married, though had a close relationship during the war with Charles Doughty-Wylie. Further information can be found at Wikipedia or The Guardian.

Most of Bell’s letters and diaries (1877-1919) were given by her half sister to Newcastle University, which hosts a dedicated Gertrude Bell website, including transcribed copies of her diaries.

Some extracts from Bell’s diaries were edited by Rosemary O’Brien and published by Syracuse University Press in 2000 as Gertrude Bell - The Arabian Diaries, 1913-1914 (see Googlebooks). However, although Bell’s diaries are published therein, O’Brien says the centrepiece of her book are, what she calls, the ‘Doughty-Wylie Diaries’. She explains: ‘It was Bell’s custom to record her journeys in small notebooks and to sift through them afterward when drafting private reports, articles, or books. On the Arabian trip, however, she kept parallel records: Two notebooks were eventually filled with daily entries, which, cited as “Diaries,” appear without revisions as appendixes to this volume. A third notebook contains a brilliant reshaping of the daily entry material, written for Charles Hotham Montague (Dick) Doughty-Wylie, a British army officer with whom Gertrude Bell was in love.’

The publisher offers this blurb: ‘The fundamental themes of her life - reckless behaviour; a divided self which combined brilliance of intellect with a passionate nature; a sense of history; and the fatal gift of falling in love with a married man - are all here in remarkable detail.’

The following extracts are taken from The Arabian Diaries: the first three come from the ‘diaries’ contained in the book’s appendices, and the fourth comes from the main part of the book, i.e. what O’Brien calls the ‘Doughty-Wylie Diaries’.

18 December 1913
‘Fine, cold, snow on the hills. We took 2 hrs 20 min. to get off. Left at 8.35 and had an hour’s bad struggle through the muddy zera’ the camels falling down at intervals. When we were S. of the Roman camp our rafiq joined us, Hamad al Lafi of the Ghiyath. The latter seem to be gom with everyone except the Sayyad and the Jumlan who are fellah tribes of Damascus. But, being with us he does not fear to meet the B. Hassan with whom he is gom. We want one of them as a rafiq. He goes with us for a mej. a day. The big chiefs of the Hasenneh are Sa’ad and Muhammad ibn Milhem who receive ma’ash from the Govt. The B. Hassan are a new group; they were once part of the Ghiyath. We got into the volcanic country at 11.30 and marched over broken ground straight onto a tell called el ‘Abd which we reached at 2.30 and found a muddy rain pool where we filled our girbehs. Grass growing between the stones and on the patches of low ground which are free of stones. A man of the Jumlan Sayyad rode out to see who we were; they are camped to the S. of us under the hog’s back which was my first bearing, 102° from ‘Adra. Got into camp at 4 in a low patch with the Saigal tells immediately in front of us. Beautiful sunset glow. We saw one of the Dumairis at his husbandry. He sowed first and ploughed afterwards. The Jumlani Sayyadi was much surprised to see me, but I offered no explanations. Excellent mushrooms-fitr. We saw a good deal of naitu today but there are no shajar tonight.’

9 January 1914
‘The temp fell to 22° in the night and our unwelcome guard had a bad time. Spent the day waiting for the Qaimmaqam of Salt. F. and Abdallah came back (the chowwish had offered to bring them back in the middle of the night) and we all spent the morning making a new tent pole for me, the soldiers aiding. Heaps of gazelle in the hills. Sat in F.’s tent and drew out a section of Kharaneh in afternoon. Cold and horribly windy. Jusef Ch. who has been away all day, came back in a good and obliging temper. It is all rather fancy I must say.’

10 January 1914
‘Disgusting day, cold, wind and sleet. We got out of camp and rode to the station where I waited for the baggage. Jusef Chowwish and 4 soldiers with us. A little way from the station we saw soldiers - it was the Q. who turned back to Zuwaideh [el-Juweiyida] by another road. When we reached Zuwaideh he had gone on to ‘Amman with the Yuzbashi. Hurried on and got to the hill down to ‘Amman, with little rain. I walked down, got onto Jusef’s horse and cantered up to the Serai, where I found the Q, Halim Beg Abu Sha’r, the Yuzbashi, Ishaq Effendi, and the Mudir, Muhammad Beg. All very friendly. I explained my doings, laid my complaint before them about the Yuzbashi and convinced Halim Beg that I was harmless. He telegraphed the same to Damascus. Two young men, Hanna Bsharra, and Ferid, son of Habib Effendi with whom I lodged at Salt. Hanna presently explained to me that Halim, a Xian, did not want to take any responsibility and I had better telegraph to Devey, which I did. My men pitched tents in pouring rain, below the theatre and before the Odeon.’

17 April 1914
‘It was quite cool today - comparatively; 85 was the highest temperature I registered and we profited by the weather and made a 10 hours march, without fatigue. A dull part of the desert, this is; long shallow steps leading us up into the high Hamad. I think we have left Mesopotamian heat behind and it looks as if it might rain, in which case we shall be flooded out, being in low ground for the sake of our evening lights, and under such insufficient canvas too. Khair inshallah! Today we saw fresh prints of horsemen. ‘Adwan (who is a charming man by the way) opined that they were Shammar of the Jezireh [al-Jazirah], Mesopotamia, looking for ‘Anazeh. with whom they are at feud. I feel no kind of anxiety as to ghazzus while I have ‘Adwan with me. A man from the house of the great shaikh of the Dulaim, a relative of his, and employed by the Government in collecting the cattle tax - it would be impossible to find a surer rafiq. When I part from him the fun may begin, but perhaps not - the Shamiyyeh [Shamiyah] is tolerably safe. Anyways I don’t bother at all; we have been through places so much worse and come out whole and sound. The Government has raised the sheep tax by more than a piastre - I suppose that’s the wax[?l. How much of it do they receive, I wonder? ‘Adwan says truly that the shaikhs eat more than the Government. The long fatigue of travel is upon me and I talk little while we ride. Whenever I talk ‘Adwan greets me with smiles and fair answers. I love these desert people and the sudden heart-whole part they play in your fortunes. And then you leave them and what do they think afterwards? I believe they have a pleasant memory of service rendered and of the quick intimacy of the few days’ journey. One of my rafiqs, far away on the other side of the Nefud, said once over the camp fire “In all the years when we come to this place we shall say: ‘Here we came with her, here she camped.’ It will be a thing to talk of, your ghazzu. We shall be asked for news of it and we shall speak of it and tell how you came.” I expect they will, and it makes me dreadfully anxious that they should tell nothing but good, since they will judge my whole race by me. That recollection very often checks the hasty word when I am tired, and feeling cross, or bored - heavens! how bored, cross and tired some times! Then I try to remember that they will tell how I came.’

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

Inside Stalin’s Russia

Sir Reader Bullard, a British career diplomat whose final posting was as Ambassador in Tehran, died 40 years ago today. He served as Consul-General in Moscow and Leningrad in the 1930s, quietly observing, and recording in his diary, Stalin’s regime become increasingly more repressive. He published an autobiography in his lifetime, but the diary of his Russia period remained unpublished until edited by his son, Julian, and brought out by Day Books in 2000.

Bullard was born in 1885 in London, the son of a tally clerk. After grammar school, a brief period as a pupil teacher and two years at Queen’s College, Cambridge, he joined the Levant consular service of the Foreign Office in 1906. He started his career in Constantinople, first in the consulate-general and then in the embassy as a student interpreter. Subsequently, he was stationed at Basra, Mesopotamia, and later accompanied Sir Percy Fox on two missions to Tehran. After time in Britain, he returned to Iraq in May 1920 as military governor of Baghdad, with the rank of major.

Bullard spent two years back in London with the new Middle East department of the Colonial Office, set up by the colonial secretary, Winston Churchill. He married Miriam Smith in 1921, with whom he had five children. He went on to serve as Consul in Jeddah (1923-25), Athens, (1925-28), and Addis Ababa (1928). He was then appointed Consul-General in Moscow (1930), and in Leningrad (1931-34). After the Soviet Union, Bullard also took postings in Rabat and, eventually, as Ambassador in Tehran from 1939 to 1946. He was knighted in 1936.

After retiring from the diplomatic service, Bullard became Director of the Institute of Commonwealth Studies in Oxford, and a member of the governing body of School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London. He wrote Britain and the Middle East (Hutchinson, 1951) and his autobiography The Camels Must Go (Faber, 1961). E. C. Hodgkin gives this assessment of the man: ‘But it was for his personality that Bullard was chiefly remembered. He was a humble man. Short and stocky, with a craggy face and deep set eyes, he gave an immediate impression of rock-like solidity. A tireless worker, deeply conscious of his country’s past and of the highest standards she had the right to demand from her servants, he was no less conscientious in his attention to detail.’ He died on 24 May 1976. A little further information is available from Wikipedia or St Anthony’s College website.

While in Russia, Bullard kept a fairly detailed diary of his day-to-day doings. These were edited by his son and daughter-in-law, Julian and Margaret Bullard, and published by Day Books in 2000: Inside Stalin’s Russia: The Diaries of Reader Bullard 1930-1934. The publisher says the diaries ‘paint an unforgettable picture of Russia, its politics and people, in the critical years when Stalin was tightening his grip on power.’ In a foreword, Douglas Hurd (Foreign Secretary 1989-1995) observes that Bullard’s ‘laid-back style is particularly suited to the business of exploring and experiencing the Soviet system. Bullard did not come to Moscow with any prejudice against that system, if anything the reverse; but his natural shrewdness prevented him from being deceived. There are no denunciations of the cruelty which he began to find around him, just the straightforward record of the facts.’ A review of the book can be found at The Guardian.

Here are several extracts.

21 December 1930
‘The bag brought a pair of new skates which I have had screwed on to a pair of old boots. I went on the ice for the first time since 1914 (at Erzerum). I only fell over twice, but I can’t recover the one simple trick I had learned - the outside edge on the right foot.

The Chef de Protocol of the Diplomatic Corps is one Florinsky. It is said that his father was shot by the Reds and he never raised a finger. Asked how he could work with Bolsheviks after this, Florinsky is said to have asked if one’s father was run over by a tram should one cease to ride on trams?

A few evenings ago I went up to talk to Pott, and thinking that I might overlap his dessert I put a slab of chocolate (with almonds and raisins) into my pocket. I found Walker there and two Russian ballet- dancers. Pott and Walker danced with them to the sound of a gramophone, but I’m not sure that I wasn’t the feature of the evening, for I produced my chocolate, and the girls fell on it like dogs on a bone.

Last night Walker gave a party and invited the two ballet girls. The two girls greeted me with cries of ‘the chocolate grandpa!’ so if I had had any illusions about my value to the party they would have been dispelled.’

13 September 1932
‘Our messenger brought me a handbill which had been distributed to all the flats in his building. It orders each resident to collect six bottles, half a kilo of rags, half a kilo of bones, half a kilo of paper, three-quarters of a kilo of rubber, six kilos of old iron and one kilo of non-ferrous metal (brass, copper, etc.) and to hand them in. Quite impossible. Any scraps of old iron have been given in long ago. Paper is so short that the co-operatives give theirs customers fresh fish without paper. As for rubber - for a long time it has been impossible to buy a pair of galoshes unless you hand in an old pair.’

27 October 1932
‘The three maids report that all their clothes are falling to pieces and have put in an enormous list of things they want - at least enormous for this place where material is so short. There is not a yard of any material to be had.

Soermus, the Soviet violinist who visits England and combines his concerts with propaganda, is in some difficulty with his passport. Under the latest regulations, when a Soviet citizen returns from abroad his passport is taken from him, and if he wants to go abroad again he must apply for a new passport, and before it is granted he has to pass first a chistka, or purge, to find out exactly where the applicant has been and what he has done, and then an examination by a trio of communists. Mrs Soermus says her husband lives with his head in a musical cloud and notices nothing.

Woodhead has returned from another visit to the paper-mill. Two OGPU men who travelled part of the way with him had chickens and all sorts of things in their luggage. ‘The new bourgeoisie!’ one of them said to Woodhead. The mill, which ought to have begun operating two years ago, began in September and is making five tons of paper a day instead of forty-five tons. Woodhead attended an eight-hour meeting of about thirty men, only two of whom were engineers, the others were ‘Red’ directors, workmen etc. Woodhead refused to take any part in the discussion, which he described as worthless. To engage in the discussion would have been to admit that all these untrained people had a right to give an opinion on highly technical questions.’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 24 May 2016.

I am finally an Ambassador

‘I am finally officially an Ambassador. At eight-fifty yesterday morning, the Chief of Protocol from the Ministry of External Affairs called at the Residence where my principal colleagues had already assembled - the military men in an exceptionally high state of polish. We rode in an open procession - motorcycle and patrol car - to the President’s Palace (the Rashtrapati Bhavan) at the gates of which we were met by a detachment of mounted lancers on beautifully matched bay horses.’ This is John Kenneth Galbraith, a Canadian-American economist and diplomat who died 20 years ago today. Although not a diarist by nature, while US ambassador he did keep a daily diary, and this was later published as Ambassador’s Journal.

Galbraith was born in 1908 into a farming family of Scottish descent in Iona Station, Ontario. He studied agricultural economics at the Ontario Agricultural College (now part of the University of Guelph), graduating in 1931, and completed a PhD at the University of California, Berkeley in 1934. He became a US citizen in 1937. In 1937 he married Catherine Merriam Atwater, with whom he had four sons. They resided in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and had a summer home in Townshend, Vermont.

Galbraith’s career combined academia, public service, and writing. He taught economics at Harvard University for much of his career, while also serving in government roles during and after the Second World War. He was a prominent adviser to Democratic administrations and served as US Ambassador to India from 1961 to 1963 under John F. Kennedy. As such, he played a significant diplomatic role at a critical moment in the Cold War. He developed a close working relationship with Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and sought to strengthen US-Indian ties while respecting India’s non-aligned position. During the Sino-Indian War, he acted as a key intermediary, helping to coordinate US military assistance to India. His dispatches and memoranda from New Delhi combined policy analysis with detailed personal observation, and were influential in shaping Washington’s understanding of South Asian geopolitics.

Galbraith wrote widely, publishing many books. His style was unusually accessible for an economist, and his books reached a broad public well beyond academia - thus helping make him a major interpreter of economics for general readers in the postwar era. Among his most important books were American Capitalism (1952), The Affluent Society (1958), The New Industrial State (1967), and Economics and the Public Purpose (1973), as well as the later synthesis A Short History of Financial Euphoria (1990). 

After leaving India, Galbraith remained an influential political figure and public intellectual. He continued to advise Democratic leaders, supported the presidential campaigns of Lyndon B. Johnson and later George McGovern, and became an outspoken critic of the Vietnam War. Within academia and public debate, he advanced a critique of corporate power and conventional economic theory, arguing for the importance of public investment and institutional analysis. He was honored with major civilian awards, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom. He died on 29 April 2006. Further information is widely available, see Wikipedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica, and the JFK Library.

Although there’s no evidence of Galbraith being a regular diarist, he did keep a day-by-day account of his service as US Ambassador to India. He recorded meetings with Nehru, Kennedy, Indian officials, diplomats and journalists, as well as the practical detail of embassy life and the pressures of the Sino-Indian War. Ambassador’s Journal - available to read online at Internet Archive - was published by Houghton Mifflin in 1969 and runs to nearly 700 pages. In later years he would write and publish two memoirs - A Life in Our Times (1981) and Name-Dropping (1999) - which drew on memory, papers and correspondence rather than any further diaries.

Here is the opening paragraph to Galbraith's introduction for Ambassador’s Journal, followed by three extracts.

Introduction: ‘In the autumn of 1960, after John F. Kennedy had called to tell me that I was to be his Ambassador to India, I decided it would be an interesting time and that I would keep a full account of what happened. It was a taxing decision. At the end of a long day, the temptation to say to hell with it and go to bed can be overwhelming. Even worse is the temptation to take care of one’s high resolve with a few perfunctory words. The more important the events, the wearier you are and the better the seeming excuse for dismissing it all. Nevertheless, I persisted and this is the result. Sometimes I wrote in the evening, more often when I got up next morning. If I had a journey in prospect, I saved up and wrote on the plane. And I also wrote more faithfully of travels than of sedentary days at the Embassy so the journal gives an exaggerated impression of movement. However, I did travel a lot. The date and place of the entry refer, in each instance, to the date and place of writing and not necessarily of the events described.’

12 April 1961

‘After lunch Kitty and I were photographed at great length looking at birds, flowers and each other and at five I called on the Prime Minister. This involved some ceremony.

First, I went to the Foreign Office where I picked up the Chief of Protocol. Then we went to Nehru’s Parliament office where we made our way through the crowded antechamber. Then after a short wait we were ushered in. It was the same smallish, slightly used-looking and not very handsome office in which I had visited him two years before. I presented myself as the most amateur of diplomats. He proclaimed himself an amateur prime minister. I think that truth will not be a barrier to our association - both of us were professing a modesty no one else would find creditable. We then chatted about our respective books, Cambridge University in our respective days there, and the improvement in India which I told him I measured by the number of bicycles. He agreed on the value of this index. He said that he had heard that the new Administration was dominated by Rhodes Scholars. I said that the key positions in the world were still held by Cambridge men. Then, as I was about to go, he said he wanted to talk of the Congo. This continued for half an hour or more - rather to the discomfort of the new French Ambassador who was waiting his turn. He mentioned the misunderstanding of Lumumba - “not a Communist and he probably doesn’t know what Communism is”, the delays in transporting Indian troops; the insufficiently hard stand against the white irregulars and Belgians, the mistreatments of Dayal by the U.S. papers “with some official inspiration”; the shortcomings of Timberlake, the United States Ambassador in the Congo, and the prediction of some unspecified American that India intended to colonize the Congo. Despite all the briefing, I would have handled myself better if I had been informed. Where I could respond, as in the case of the reference to colonization, I did. “I am sure you know that no responsible member of the American Government ever made any such statement.” For the rest, I found silence golden but uncomfortable. Afterward, I sent off my first cable to the Department and then went to dinner pleasantly with my chief Political Counselor.’

13 April 1961, New Delhi

‘I displayed my exceptionally modest administrative talents this morning - I reviewed plans to build offices in the basement of the new Chancery which seemed insane, I considered the Residence which is under construction but on strike - the contractor seems to be chiseling on the minimum wage and is paying something less than two rupees (about forty cents) a day; and I went into the matter of a swimming pool for our staff and youngsters. I also sent a note of congratulations to the Soviet Ambassador on “the epochal journey of Major Gagarin” I was officially advised that the household staff is competent in all matters and included even one or two experts in imaginative larceny. “They stole the Bunkers blind” (This was a grave exaggeration. Ellsworth Bunker emerged quite solvent.) I borrowed some books from USIS for the empty bookshelves at the Residence and had lunch with my Cultural Counselor, and dinner with Maffitt and my old classmate at California, Robert Carr, who is now Consul-General in Bombay. Maffitt’s cooking, as also his wine, improves greatly on that of the Residence.’

19 April 1961, New Delhi

‘I am finally officially an Ambassador. At eight-fifty yesterday morning, the Chief of Protocol from the Ministry of External Affairs called at the Residence where my principal colleagues had already assembled - the military men in an exceptionally high state of polish. We rode in an open procession - motorcycle and patrol car - to the President’s Palace (the Rashtrapati Bhavan) at the gates of which we were met by a detachment of mounted lancers on beautifully matched bay horses. They escorted us to an open courtyard where an honor guard of Sikhs was drawn up in two ranks - perhaps the best turned-out soldiers in the world. I mounted the reviewing block while the national anthems were played. Then I inspected the guard, nothing seemed seriously wrong. I drew heavily on old newsreels for my protocol, but the Commanding Officer was there to nudge me if I needed it.

After congratulating the O.C., we went into the palace and rehearsed the ceremony. Then we had the ceremony. A slow approach to the President, my speech, his reply, presentation of credentials, then down to his study for a private chat, and finally on to a state room for a public reception for all present. It was exceedingly well done, the Indians approach ceremony as though they meant it, rather than, as in the United States, in a kind of abashed reluctance. And the soldiers, band and military aides were all sparkling by our standards. My speech, in which I urged accomplishment as distinct from conversation and noted that the warmest words of friendship were exchanged just before the breaking of diplomatic relations, was evidently well-regarded. When we emerged to come home, my automobile flag was unfurled for the first time.

After some champagne for the staff, I got into the TCM [a meeting room] again and spent the afternoon on routine matters ending up with a meeting with Stebbins. The question is whether I should see the principal exiled leader from Nepal. Obviously I should. He is a liberal and a democrat — and the American Ambassador should be available to any leader of importance.

The Cuban business (the Bay of Pigs) has come and the effect here is not good. I am afraid that even if we win, we will lose. Castro would eventually have died on his vine. His army was not a threat and now we lose prestige and esteem where it counts. This inability to balance small Rover Boy gains against large general loss was the prime weakness of the Eisenhower Administration. The same people who erred before are diligently promoting error again.’

Up from slavery

‘We talked over together the general interests of the school . . . He promised to give something and said that he thought that he could get one or two other gentlemen to give $100 each.’ This is from a short diary kept by the once-enslaved Booker T. Washington, born 170 years ago today, who grew up in conditions of poverty before emancipation enabled him to pursue an education. This diary, which dates from 1882, can be found online in a multi-volume scholarly edition of all Washington’s writing.

Born into slavery in Virginia on 5 April 1856, Washington worked in salt furnaces and coal mines while teaching himself to read and write. His formal education began at the Hampton Institute, where he studied under General Samuel Chapman Armstrong, graduating in 1875. Hampton’s emphasis on industrial training and self-reliance shaped Washington’s educational philosophy and his later career.

After a period teaching in West Virginia and studying further at Hampton, Washington was appointed in 1881 to lead a new school in Alabama, soon known as the Tuskegee Institute. There he developed a programme combining academic learning with vocational training; and he remained principal for the rest of his life. He married three times - first to Fannie N. Smith (who died in 1884), then Olivia Davidson (who died in 1889), and finally Margaret James Murray, who survived him. 

By the early twentieth century Washington was a nationally known public figure, advising politicians and securing funding for Tuskegee from both Northern philanthropists and Southern supporters. His autobiography Up from Slavery (1901) brought him international recognition. He died in 1915. See Wikipedia for further biographical information. His legacy is preserved in a large body of correspondence, speeches, and institutional records, later edited and published as The Booker T. Washington Papers, a multi-volume scholarly edition drawing on manuscripts held chiefly at the Library of Congress and Tuskegee.

The published papers contain very little that can be described as a diary. Apart from retrospective autobiographical writing, there survives only a brief series of contemporaneous entries from 1882, printed under the heading ‘Diary, May 1-May 8, 1882’. These entries - in volume 2, see Internet Archive - appear to have been written while Washington was travelling in the North raising funds for Tuskegee, and they are closely linked to accounts of money received and visits to potential donors. No continuous journal is known beyond this short sequence.

The surviving entries are concise and factual. On the opening day Washington records: ‘Started from N.Y. at 8 a.m. and arrived at Farmington at noon. Called on Mr. Fessenden who rec’d me kindly and gave me valuable advice, also a general letter and a number of letters of introduction.’ Later the same day he notes his reception at Plantsville: ‘At 8½ p.m. I called on Mr. H. D. Smith who rec’d me more kindly than I had ever been by any white man.’ Staying overnight, he records: ‘We talked over together the general interests of the school . . . He promised to give something and said that he thought that he could get one or two other gentlemen to give $100 each.’

The following days continue in the same manner, recording travel, meetings, and small successes. On 3 May: ‘He rec’d me kindly, but did not care to give any money for real estate. He said that he would help one or two needy students when school began.’ On 4 May: ‘Did not collect any money. Things looked rather gloomy.’ A more successful day follows on 5 May: ‘Collected from individuals $40 . . . gave me encouragement and several good names.’ The entries conclude with brief notes on further efforts and public speaking: ‘Spoke in the evening . . . to an appreciative audience. Rec’d several small gifts.’

The Galtee Boy

The Galtee Boy, the Irish republican activist John Sarsfield Casey, was born 180 years ago today. Imprisoned and then deported for his crimes against the state, he benefitted from an amnesty, allowing him to return to his beloved Ireland, where he helped campaign for the rights of tenants in the Galtee Mountains area. He left behind a memoir about his time in jail, and also a diary of his sea journey to Australia.

Casey was born on 2 March 1846 (according to the Cork City Gaol website) in Mitchelstown, County Cork, Ireland, into a family of shopkeepers. As a youngster, he became involved in the Irish Republican Brotherhood (the Fenians). Calling himself The Galtee Boy, he wrote letters to the Fenian newspaper, The Irish People, describing the round-up of Cork Fenians in 1865, their trials and their experiences in prison. His exposure of tenant conditions in the Galtee Mountains led to a libel case and helped inspire the Land League. Eventually he too was arrested, tried, and sentenced, and in 1867 was deported with other Fenian prisoners to Australia.

In May 1869, Casey was granted a free pardon and sailed for Ireland arriving in February 1870, with nine other released Fenians. Immediately, he threw himself again into the Irish struggle, writing articles on conditions in Australia, and becoming noted for his work on behalf of the tenants of the Galtee countryside. Later in life, he became a Coroner for County Limerick, a position he held until his death in 1896. A little further information is available at the Dictionary of Irish Biography.

In 2005, University College Dublin Press published, for the first time, a memoir written by Casey soon after his return to Ireland, called The Galtee Boy - A Fenian Prison Narrative. It is said to be the ‘most extensive surviving account of Cork Fenianism by a participant’. But another document written by Casey has also survived - a detailed diary he kept during his voyage to Australia. Extracts from this were published in Diaries of Ireland - An Anthology 1590-1987 by Melosina Lenox-Conyngham (Lilliput Press, Dublin, 1998) - a few pages can be read at Amazon.

Lenox-Conyngham’s source was a slim edition of the full text of the diary transcribed/edited by a relative of Casey’s, Martin Kevin Cusack, and published a decade earlier by Dorrance & Co, in the US. This was entitled Journal of a Voyage from Portland to Fremantle on board the Convict Ship “Hougoumont” Cap Cozens Commander October 12th 1867 By John S. Casey, Mitchelstown, Ireland. 

In his introduction, Cusack explains why he wanted to publish the text: ‘It had been my hope for many years to somehow help bring about the opening of this Journal and thereby allow the strength of character, the dedication to freedom, the literary talents, and the enduring faith of John Sarsfield Casey to shine forth as an inspiration to all of us. As a descendant relative of The Galtee Boy, I am proud to identify with his determined, life-long pursuit of liberty. He was a first cousin of my grandmother, Ellen Casey Cusack.’

He goes on to provide further background: ‘It is worth noting that the Journal is regarded as being of great historical interest by scholars and serious students of Irish and Australian history. The Casey Journal has been preserved in the family for 120 years. In May of 1969 it was among the papers of Dan Casey of Mitchelstown, last son of The Galtee Boy. Around the time of Dan Casey’s death, the manuscript was inadvertently delivered into the hands of the Cork County Library. Upon discovering this, a friend of the Casey family, believing he was acting in the family’s best interest, insisted upon its immediate return. It was returned promptly but in those few hours of possession, the Librarian made photocopies of it. The official stamp of the Cork County Library can be seen on the last page before the back cover. It is believed the copying was done without the knowledge of the immediate family and it remained unknown to the rest of us in the family until early in 1987.’

Here are several extracts from Cusack’s book (though, for clarity, I have added a few fullstops and dashes in places where extra spaces in the published text appear to signal a separation of phrases).

11 October 1867
‘Wrote letter - miserable arrangements on board in respect to closets &c - Whilst in port nothing of importance has occured - Rumour that we are to sail on to day (Friday) anchor raised & everything in readiness for sailing’

12 October 1867
‘Sails set - Blue Peter hoisted - 2 PM set sail fair wind. Take a farewell glance at Portland as we sail within one mile of its rock bound coast - Emotions of the pleasant kind. Towed out by the gun-boat “Earnest” - deck crowded with anxious faces eagerly pointing out objects of interest to one another - Pass the evening in playing Chess &c’

13 October 1867
‘Ship rolling very much - feel a little “squeamish” On deck nothing visible but sky and water save a few solitary sea-birds that kept eternally skimming over the crested waves - Had several Interviews with Hr Deleany RCC. Begs of me to serve Mass for him - I consent - Mass on board - I serve with difficulty in consequence of being seasick - Majority of hands troops &c on board Catholics - Mass in main hatchway - wind strong speed 6 knots - still towed out by “Earnest” Eat very little to day - 2 OC exceedingly sick - get some ease by lying in bunk - None sick but myself “spued” off everything I eat - Water distilled & measured out 3/4 pint per man per diem - find I cannot read. Ordered below for night at 4.30. Amuse ourselves every night with a concert.’

25 October 1867
‘Morning cloudy with a slight mist - Convoy still in sight 8 OC. A slight fall of rain till 8.30. Clouds clear off & leave the sun shining brilliantly - Ship’s yards truly square for 1st time - Cannot remain on forecastle for any time - Speed 8 knots under full canvas - 2 OC Air mild and balmy like a glorious summers day in Ireland - Home thoughts crowd upon me of pleasant days spent in the green meadow inhaling the fragrant odour of the newly mowed hay or of pleasant hours spent in company of la bella Maria in Kingstons demesne beside the tinkling stream. Passengers relieving monotony of voyage by various games such as Chess Dominoes Drafts Dice Cards &c. Evening enlivened by music (The Banjo) on deck accompanied with singing & dancing alternately reminds of Scotts lines on Don Roderick: “And to the tinkling of the soft guitar; Sweet stooped the ‘western sun’ bright rose the evening star”. ’

26 October 1867
‘Morning calm breeze light speed, 4 knots 12 OC. Breeze increasing - speed 8 knots - 2 Sail in sight - one of them “our Convoy”. A prisoner received 48 lashes from boatswain to day without wincing for beating another prisoner most inhumanly - At conclusion cheered by his Comerades - got cross irons on his feet - Evening looking gloomy - dark sombre clouds flitting across sky - Sunset very stormy looking - fear a rough night wind increasing sailors furling royals &c. 4.30 All hands below - usual amusements.’

27 October 1867
‘Awoke last night at 11 OC by dreadful noise on deck. Ship pitching - all hands “piped” up - great confusion below for 5 or 7 minutes. Ship tossed about like a cork - Terror increases by Sailors refusing to go aloft - fear a watery grave - cry on deck of breakers ahead - orders given to “bout” ship - sheet lightning flashing in all directions - one of the sails fluttering to the wind another minute & it is carried away - Blowing with terrific violence - ship labouring fearfully & timbers creaking mournfully. Officers mount aloft - Ship stands still for a minute & immediately receives several tremendous dashes of waves which almost capsizes her - sea roaring dreadfully & dashing in over gunwale - wind howling dismally through the rigging - 12 OC - Not much calmer all damage apparently over - Some sailors return to their duty & are working away to the jolly chorus of: Heave haul away, Haul away my dandies.’

4 December 1867
‘Blowing exceedingly hard all night. Speed 12 knots. Not better. Stomach bad - raining very hard all night. All hands obliged to remain below all day - Morning calm, 3 knots - 10 of our lads reported - rope 1 pepper box - 8 deprived of wine for week. Sails hanging motionless.’

5 December 1867
‘Morning dark heavy & inclined for rain - a dead calm - very disagreeable on deck - a thick mist falling. Sailing under a cloud of canvas yet scarcely making any progress.’

6 December 1867
‘Morning cloudy - raining all day - all hands obliged to remain below which is dark damp like hell - the most disagreeable day I ever spent almost becalmed.’

7 December 1867
‘Morning cloudy - raining at intervals with Dr off hospital diet - half starved on it - wind coming in fitful gusts - extremely cold all day &  last night - On look out for flying Dutchman - amusing to see passengers with terror depicted on their countenances at idea of meeting him - Sea very rough - Day has a very strange & ominous aspect. The surface of the ocean & glassy & scarcely a breath of air disturbed the solemn stillness that prevailed. The ship lay motionless yielding only to that never ceasing swell that heaves the bosom of the broad Atlantic - the sails reposed uselessly against the masts or flapped to and fro in dead compliance with the breathing sea. The sky vas of a dull grey leaden hue - no clouds could be seen but the XXX XXX vault of heaven was wrapped in one dark impenetrable veil whose dreariness was made much more dreary by reflection in the waters beneath. This universal stillness reigned during the morning broken only by the shriek of the sea bird as it skimmed over the surface of the waters. About mid-day the rain poured down in torrents such as they only who have witnessed can conceive - This lasted for two or three hours yet the sea remained a perfect calm - the air cold thick and still. When the rain ceased all was silent as the grave - 6 OC. Ignorant of danger we sat down to our customary amusements which were only interrupted by an XXXXXXX ocassional wish to have a breeze spring up - At 6 OC Sails were shortened & everything on deck and aloft made ready for a wild night. At 7 OC the ship was sailing under closely reefed topsails & Mr J Flood who came down informed us that the hatchways were nailed down - At 8 OC we retired to rest but scarcely had two hours elapsed before a dull roaring sound was heard in the distance growing louder and louder as it approached until it seemed to burst over us. In a few minutes the sea dashed into fury & the ship speeding through on a gale of terrific violence - Sleep was impossible - The noise on deck.’

6 January 1868
‘Glorious morning promising another broiling day - Still a dead calm - ship scarcely moving - went about 5 knots per hour during the night. Spanish vessel still in sight about 5 miles to NE of us. Mass on board. Dread that this calm will continue for some time - 12 OC - Not a ripple on the surface of the waters shining like a plate of fretted gold. How slowly creep the hours in those calms especially as we are so near our destination. Nothing to read - nothing to discuss - nothing to while away an hour with except to sit in a state of dreamy thoughtfulness watching the sea birds skimming over the surface of the water - your thoughts wandering back to the green hills the shady groves & the pleasant valleys of “That beautiful land far away; That isle of the blue sea carressed; Where the fields are so green & the mountains so grey; In this isle far away in the West”.

Such a life is intolerable. 4 OC - Supper - Cry on deck of - A Shark A Shark - all hands rush on deck in a state of great excitement and in an instant bulwarks & forecastle are crowded. I too rush up and from the forecastle obtain a glimpse of the huge monster as he slowly glides through the blue waters beneath his green eyes gleaming with a fierce and ominous expression and his body assuming the most gorgeous colours - the principal being a bright emerald green. Two immense fins project beneath the jaws. A bait is thrown out attached to a strong iron hook - in an instant he perceives it & slowly and noiselessly glides towards it. When within two feet of it he turns on his back XXX opens his voracious jaws - exhibiting to the spectators two rows of sharp saw like teeth.’

9 January 1868
‘Blowing hard all night, sailing under scarcely fifty yards of canvas. All hands on deck and hard at work during the night. 6 OC Strong breeze glorious morning. Sky clear - speed 10 knots - On look out for land since 4 OC - 7.45 Land Ahead - on our lee bow a long low range visible surmounted by a lighthouse - Rottenest Island [. . .] The misty outline of the coast is more defined to the R of Island. The mainland appears low & sandy - the range surmounted by “Bush”. The pilot boat appears in the distance - 7 men in her - Fremantle now visible after dinner - a few merchant vessels in roads - prospect cheerless in the extreme - A sober sadness now assails me at idea of being separated from many of my comerades. Look in vain for the emerald green hills dotted with sheep - the waving meadows - the yellow corn fields bowing beneath the golden ear, the broad transparent river meandering through the deep garment of fairest green and the darkly shadowed mountains in the background which gladdened the sight on nearing the shores of Holy Ireland - There all is grand - Here all is dreary desolate & cheerless. How many of the stout hearts now beating are destined to lay their bones in this land. How many will again tread the fair hills of Holy Ireland. Oh! for a dip into the gloomy dark future!’

This article is a slightly revised version of one first published on 25 March 2016.

Everyone complains

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

19 March 1916, Berlin

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

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

20 March 1916, Aabenraa

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

28 January 1918, Berlin

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

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

1 November 1918, Berlin

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

2 November 1918, Berlin

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

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