This chapter considers the status of young people in civil defence. Although adolescents were praised for their enthusiasm, there was some resistance amongst civil defence organisers and colleagues to accepting their service because they were seen as irresponsible and the work was considered too dangerous. Yet this age group often represented their civil defence work as the most active contribution they could make and as important training for their future military careers. Furthermore, youth organisers believed that participation in civil defence would improve health, reduce delinquency and produce good postwar citizens. The wartime status of adolescents also impacted their memories of civil defence service. They experienced a greater degree of freedom when telling their stories after the war than older volunteers, due to dominant narratives which have emphasised excitement and adventure in the war experience of the young. Moreover, those who served in the military following their time in civil defence had the authority to question hierarchies of service. Their stories continued to be framed by the rhetoric of the ‘people’s war’, but this generation rejected the central theme of ‘equal sacrifice’ to stress the continued value of their particular contribution.
The first chapter investigates Alexandria, the city that welcomed most Europeans and Americans upon their first arrival in Egypt. Alexandria was then, as it is now, largely ignored by visitors. Archaeologists and tourists alike usually stayed for just one night while waiting for the train to Cairo, and many left the city out of their stories. From 1885 until the end of the period covered by the book, we see that some tourists extended their stay in Alexandria for two or three days before moving south, to Cairo. This was due to the development of Greco-Roman archaeology. The first chapter briefly traces the development of Greco-Roman archaeology in Alexandria and how those discoveries impacted travel in that city. Chapter 1 is more a history of archaeological tourism than of hotels as central sites. This discussion is included because Alexandria, a city that welcomed countless travellers to Egypt, was an important space that is so often ignored.
This chapter, which looks at Edward’s lute book and the continental music books of his library that he bequeathed to Jesus College, Oxford, argues that his musical activity is intimately connected with the cosmopolitan aspirations described in his autobiography. Music, for Cherbury, is far more than simple and superficial entertainment. Its practice complements his recognition of a universal human condition and the ideal of the cosmopolitan sage derived from his own brand of Stoicism. Cherbury discovers in music not the disjunction between microcosm and macrocosm, but the intertwinement of the two spheres. In the particularities and instantiations of its performance it reveals to him the universal truths his philosophy sought. Even within the walls of his private study – his microcosm – music places Cherbury in the context of a harmonious macrocosm, giving him a truly cosmopolitan perspective on the world.
This chapter explores the events of Edward Herbert’s ambassadorship, making use of primary documents rarely discussed or analyzed, reassessing the Ambassador’s integrity. This reassessment leads to new conclusions about Edward’s developing understanding of truth, conscience, and the unity of the general and personal good. Past accounts of his ambassadorship have stressed Edward’s rashness and failure as a diplomat. However, such accounts adopt historiographical approaches that tend to divorce the study of facts from philosophical and moral thought. This chapter shows, on the contrary, that Edward’s blindness or “mistakes” as a diplomat may well stem from his (perhaps excessive) faith in and commitment to a continuum between the individual conscience and the general good. The Wars of Religion taught him to distrust corrupt political and ecclesiastical bodies. Bent on a quest for peace, he placed his trust instead in truthful individuals (such as himself), thinking they might be more apt to bridge the divides created by religious strife. He provided James with useful, valid, and accurate information on European ambassadors’ visits and their implications, French views on Palatinate issues, reports of Spanish and French troop movements, Catholic influence at the French court, and the status of Protestants in France, acting in the sovereign’s stead and in the sovereign’s as well as what he considered the nation’s interest. Yet his faith in the universal individual’s conscience and actions (including his own) also led him to neglect the complexities of political representativeness, thus accounting for his diplomatic faux pas.
Chapter 2 focuses on Cairo. Some visitors stayed the whole season in Cairo, venturing out for day trips to nearby Helwan and Memphis, but mostly staying around the city. Many archaeologists would spend several days or weeks in Cairo, preparing their equipment and making final preparations to go into the field for months at a time. Most archaeologists at the end of the nineteenth century could not afford to stay for long in the bigger hotels, which were designed for long-term tourists and cost more than their small excavation budgets would allow. A few, however, had very generous patrons. The hotels discussed in this chapter include Hotel du Nil, the Continental, Shepheard’s Hotel and Mena House. Chapter 2 introduces a lot of the characters in this book, and, as Cairo was the city in which archaeologists prepared themselves, built their scientific networks, and readied their thoughts for the next step in their work, the chapter performs the same role for the argument in this book. That is, it works to introduce many examples and demonstrates the use of hotels as important nodes of networking, building the cognitive landscape, and being useful for certain knowledge-creating activities.
Sciamma’s corpus is studied from the perspective of queer representation, from her first film where coming-of-age and coming to see how lesbianism is represented cannot be separated, to Portrait of a Lady on Fire where issues of historical representation take centre stage.
Belligerent civility in Edward Herbert’s Autobiography
Where Edward traveled frequently to the Continent, particularly France, and became a part of the European intellectual community, his younger brother George never left England. Written by a sixty-year-old disgruntled courtier under the pressures of a civil war in which the neutrality to which he aspired became impossible to sustain, Edward Herbert’s autobiography is a valuable record of the frivolous, violent, vain, yet strangely familiar world of early modern England. If The Temple is George Herbert’s lyric evidence of his struggles for spiritual submission, the Autobiography is Edward Herbert’s prose narrative of his battles to achieve social mastery. In it, Edward reveals himself to be as attentive to the nuances of social ceremony as George was to the rhythms of devotional liturgy. Both show a fine-tuned sensitivity to the nuances of behavior, appearance, and status. Together, they tell us something valuable about the hazards and prospects of selfhood in early modern Europe and how working for universal peace implied forms of war with oneself and, sometimes, with local social communities.
This chapter discusses how civil defence communities were created and represented. Personnel were often left to devise their own strategies for developing a sense of community and esprit de corps within civil defence – as local authorities lacked the necessary time, money and interest – but on the whole they were enthusiastic in doing so. The chapter examines how local communities were developed, where boundaries were placed within them (on lines of class, age and gender, and between full- and part-time staff), as well as the benefits of community membership, including for emotional management. Even though many members of civil defence expressed the hope that these associations would be as active during peacetime as they were during the war, after 1945 they lost their unifying purpose and soon disappeared.
The conclusion draws together the three key themes of the book: the development of community within civil defence; the use of the language of the ‘people’s war’ by those communities in their self-representations; and the role of local social groups in producing these representations. It argues that these themes have important implications for thinking about the experience of the Second World War more generally. Historians need to pay more attention to social groups, not just in terms of how the differing circumstances of war across the country affected experience, but, more importantly, how individuals made sense of those circumstances in groups of family, friends and colleagues. The Second World War was a time of intense national mythmaking, and the impact this had on individuals has tended to be studied through the relationship between dominant public narratives and individuals in isolation. But this ignores the social setting in which much storytelling and sense-making took place. To fully understand the reception of myths, the power of dominant narratives and the negotiation of sameness and difference in wartime, we need to examine how understanding and meaning were developed in local social groups.