The book provides a comprehensive account of work camp movements in Britain before 1939, based on thorough archival research, and on the reminiscences of participants. It starts with their origins in the labour colony movement of the 1880s, and examines the subsequent fate of labour colonies for the unemployed, and their broadening out as disciplined and closed therapeutic communities for such groups as alcoholics, epileptics, tuberculosis sufferers and the ‘feeble-minded’. It goes on to examine utopian colonies, inspired by anarchist, socialist and feminist ideas, and designed to develop the skills and resources needed for a new world. After the Great War, unemployed camps increasingly focused on training for emigration, a movement inspired by notions of a global British national identity, as well as marked by sharp gender divisions. The gender divisions were further enhanced after 1929, when the world economic crisis closed down options for male emigration. A number of anti-industrial movements developed work camps, inspired by pacifist, nationalist or communitarian ideals. Meanwhile, government turned increasingly to work camps as a way of training unemployed men through heavy manual labour. Women by contrast were provided with a domesticating form of training, designed to prepare them for a life in domestic service. The book argues that work camps can be understood primarily as instrumental communities, concerned with reshaping the male body, and reasserting particularistic male identities, while achieving broad social policy and economic policy goals.
Get character as female
Interestingly, though, Apocalypse offers a
counterpoint to the assumption of maleidentity in the form of the Black
Furies, a tribe ‘composed almost entirely of female Garou’
(92). Naturally, of all the tribes in the game, the Black Furies
represent the most sustained blending of tropes of lycanthropy with
tropes of femininity and draw
collection.42 The appearance of provincial teacher-scholars like Daum was not just part of their immediate urban
context, but formed part of a European visual canon that was communicated
The finished scholar: convincing oneself & others 71
mostly through images.43 While not identical to academic costume, the way
Daum dressed was similar enough to make him instantly recognisable as a man
The clothes Daum and his fellow scholars wore underlined a maleidentity that
was defined both in relation to these men’s learned peers and other men in the
Doctor Zhivago (1965), Ryan’s Daughter (1970) and A Passage to India (1984)
lengthy mediations on maleidentity and heroism. They focussed extensively on close
male relationships often heavily marked by elements of homoeroticism,
which was also evident in the frequent recourse to male bodily display
in texts themselves and the promotional materials used to market them.
Vivian Sobchack notes the epic’s recurrent use of ‘patriarchal “voice of
God” narration’1 to frame narrative events and our understanding of
them, further masculinising the form’s address. But for Sobchack, the
gendering of the genre runs much deeper than its selection of
Juliette Pattinson, Arthur McIvor, and Linsey Robb
, the occasional bomb,
We are sick and tired, but carry on . . .
Women also work in this man’s domain
To help the war effort, they explain.
They swear and smoke and toil like men,
This place will never be the same again.1
Ron Spedding, who started in a railway wagon works in Durham in 1940
aged sixteen and then remained there for the next forty-two years, evokes
in his poem what war work meant to him. It speaks of the construction
of masculinity in working-class jobs and of maleidentities in wartime.
Working-class masculinity oozes from the lines in this ‘hard
Juliette Pattinson, Arthur McIvor, and Linsey Robb
’s bodies in peacetime
and, as we shall see, to an even greater extent in wartime. Historically,
masculinity was embodied in a normative figure expressing muscular
strength whose performance reinforces maleidentity.8 Miners, for example, attracted interest because of their honed, muscular bodies. The novelist Walter Greenwood commented in 1939 that miners were: ‘short,
stocky, muscular, rarely carrying any superfluous flesh, he has to be hard
as nails . . . [C]oal getting calls for specially developed muscles.’9 Similarly,
George Orwell described miners who ‘work as
This book provides the first history of how we have imagined and used time since 1700. It traces the history of the relationship between work and leisure, from the 'leisure preference' of male workers in the eighteenth century, through the increase in working hours in the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, to their progressive decline from 1830 to 1970. It examines how trade union action was critical in achieving the decline; how class structured the experience of leisure; how male identity was shaped by both work and leisure; how, in a society that placed high value on work, a 'leisured class' was nevertheless at the apex of political and social power – until it became thought of as 'the idle rich'. Coinciding with the decline in working hours, two further tranches of time were marked out as properly without work: childhood and retirement. By the mid-twentieth century married men had achieved a work- leisure balance. In the 1960s and 1970s it was argued that leisure time would increase at a rapid rate. This false prediction coincided with the entry of married women into the labour market and a halt to the decline in working hours and in sectors of the economy a reversal of it. These two developments radically changed the experience of time and thinking about it. Time became equated with achieving a 'work-life balance' where 'life' was often unpaid childcare and domestic work.
This chapter is concerned with male identity. It opens by looking at the gospel of work, as preached by Thomas Carlyle and many others. It contrasts this vision of the benefits of work by exploring the reality of work in the later nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Shorter hours of work were achieved at the cost of intensification of work, the spread of piece work, de-skilling and a high rate of accidents. On the other hand, work gave many men a sense of self-worth. Leisure, primarily commercial in provision, was seen by many commentators as a problem, Yet it also, in sport, spectatorship, competitions, in the pub, gave men an identity. The conclusion is that many working-class men by 1970 had achieved a work-leisure balance.
Identity is often regarded as something that is possessed by individuals, states, and other agents. In this edited collection, identity is explored across a range of approaches and under-explored case studies with a view to making visible its fractured, contingent, and dynamic features. The book brings together themes of belonging and exclusion, identity formation and fragmentation. It also examines how identity functions in discourse, and the effects it produces, both materially and in ideational terms. Taking in case studies from Asia-Pacific, Europe, the Middle East and Latin America, the various chapters interrogate identity through formal governing mechanisms, popular culture and place. These studies demonstrate the complex and fluid nature of identity and identity practices, as well as implications for theorising identity.
This book examines the impact that nostalgia has had on the Labour Party’s political development since 1951. In contrast to existing studies that have emphasised the role played by modernity, it argues that nostalgia has defined Labour’s identity and determined the party’s trajectory over time. It outlines how Labour, at both an elite and a grassroots level, has been and remains heavily influenced by a nostalgic commitment to an era of heroic male industrial working-class struggle. This commitment has hindered policy discussion, determined the form that the modernisation process has taken and shaped internal conflict and cohesion. More broadly, Labour’s emotional attachment to the past has made it difficult for the party to adjust to the socioeconomic changes that have taken place in Britain. In short, nostalgia has frequently left the party out of touch with the modern world. In this way, this book offers an assessment of Labour’s failures to adapt to the changing nature and demands of post-war Britain.