This book is about the relationship between myth-making and historical materiality. It is a singular case study of the position and experience of women in a 'peripheral' society distanced - geographically, economically and culturally - from the British mainland. The book first looks at women and gender relations in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries through examination of the construction of historical myth. It then looks at economic and demographic factors that underpinned the materiality of women's dominance of culture. An understanding of women's work patterns and experiences is central to any analysis of women's lives in Shetland and the gender relations contingent upon this. Shetland women were autonomous, independent workers whose day-to-day productive experiences implicated them in all sorts of social and economic relationships outside the home. The book argues that women's culture in Shetland actually had only a marginal connection to the islands' dominant economic activity - fishing. It also argues that the negligible figures for children born outside wedlock are a poor guide to understanding the moral order in nineteenth-century Shetland. Like the new visitors to Shetland, the historians of the early twenty-first century would ordinarily reach the same conclusions. They would do so, at root, because the authors are equipped with the same myth system of discourse about what constitutes women's subordination and power. The book seeks to navigate the issue of 'power' by approaching it in terms which the Shetland woman understood in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
conditions at the stations and
their herring ‘career’, whether this was confined to Shetland or extended
down the east coast to East Anglia. So while herring gutters as a group
do not conform to the ideal type of Shetland womanhood, the gutters
themselves express the same kinds of sentiments about female identity
as women in other occupations.
The three sectors discussed in this chapter cover the majority of the
work experiences of Shetland women. Whilst some worked in other
jobs (retailing for instance), the numbers were small. An understanding
of women’s work
Victorian medical men could suffer numerous setbacks on their individual paths to professionalisation, and Thomas Elkanah Hoyle's career offers a telling exemplar. This book addresses a range of the financial, professional, and personal challenges that faced and sometimes defeated the aspiring medical men of England and Wales. Spanning the decades 1780-1890, from the publication of the first medical directory to the second Medical Registration Act, it considers their careers in England and Wales, and in the Indian Medical Service. The book questions the existing picture of broad and rising medical prosperity across the nineteenth century to consider the men who did not keep up with professionalising trends. Financial difficulty was widespread in medical practice, and while there are only a few who underwent bankruptcy or insolvency identified among medical suicides, the fear of financial failure could prove a powerful motive for self-destruction. The book unpicks the life stories of men such as Henry Edwards, who could not sustain a professional persona of disinterested expertise. In doing so it uncovers the trials of the medical marketplace and the pressures of medical masculinity. The book also considers charges against practitioners that entailed their neglect, incompetence or questionable practice which occasioned a threat to patients' lives. The occurrence and reporting of violent crime by medical men, specifically serious sexual assault and murder is also discussed. A tiny proportion of medical practitioners also experienced life as a patient in an asylum.
This book explores for the first time women’s leading roles in animal protection in nineteenth-century Britain. Victorian women founded pioneering bodies such as the Battersea Dogs’ Home, the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, and the first anti-vivisection society. They intervened directly to stop abuses, promoted animal welfare, and schooled the young in humane values via the Band of Mercy movement. They also published literature that, through strongly argued polemic or through imaginative storytelling, notably in Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty, showed man’s unjustifiable cruelty to animals. In all these enterprises, they encountered opponents who sought to discredit and thwart their efforts by invoking age-old notions of female ‘sentimentality’ or ‘hysteria’, which supposedly needed to be checked by ‘masculine’ pragmatism, rationality and broadmindedness, especially where men’s field sports were concerned. To counter any public perception of extremism, conservative bodies such as the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals for long excluded women from executive roles, despite their crucial importance as donors and grassroots activists. However, women’s growing opportunities for public work in philanthropic projects and the development of militant feminism, running in parallel with campaigns for the vote, gave them greater boldness in expressing their distinctive view of animal–human relations, in defiance of patriarchy. In analysing all these historic factors, the book unites feminist perspectives, especially constructions of gender, with the fast-developing field of animal–human history.
. Another unofﬁcial commentary
on youth adopted an altogether more traditional and aggressive tone and
stemmed from a fear that Britain’s elite and civilised culture was under
threat from new forms of American leisure and workpatterns, something
which British youths were condemned for embracing. It is the ﬁndings of
this elitist group of researchers that we shall examine ﬁrst.
The most dominant strand of thinking on youth during the interwar
period remained with the traditionalists, who had found a voice in the
1930s through the Cambridge-based ‘Scrutiny’ group led by F
Ray Pahl’s Divisions of Labour represents an influential, if somewhat neglected classic text for sociologists of work. Combining formal and informal workpatterns alongside discussions of both public and private realms, it was part of an upswing against a more traditional industrial sociology which privileged traditional, often male-dominated forms of employment (see Salaman 1986 ; Gallie 1988 ; Strangleman 2005 ). What Pahl realised in his writing was the need for a broader sociology of work which could encompass a wider set of
‘perfect housewife’ so pervasive during the 1950s and 1960s,
voluntary women’s groups argued that wives and mothers had more to
offer society than just knowing ‘how to keep a husband happy’.19 Instead
of condemning the increasing numbers of mothers going out to work in
the 1950s, these groups focused their attention on the duty of the state and
employers to provide more flexible workpatterns and extended childcare facilities, allowing women to balance paid work with their domestic
community which is always an amalgam of an already long-extant travelling peoples and smaller numbers
of non-Travellers who frequently joined their community through
marriage or because they pursued similar economic interests or workpatterns.
Where did we come from? I’ve often asked myself that question …
Some say that the Travellers left their houses and started travelling.
They left old shacks at the side of the road because they couldn’t
make a living anymore. People say that it was the landlords and the
evictions that were the cause of this. That is only one part of
the dregs of society. Many feel that
they would demean themselves by associating with them. Their presence
is considered to lower the tone of a neighborhood. … The majority of the
settled population wish to avoid any contact with itinerants in any form
and break off any contact that is established as soon as possible.23
Aoife Bhreatnach summarised the social contract proposed by the
Commission on Itinerancy thus: ‘Travellers were asked to surrender
nomadism, family economy, self-employment, flexible workpatterns,
horses and their own homes for dubious pleasures of
Working-class white women, interracial relationships and colonial ideologies in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Liverpool
Caribbean settled and became concentrated in areas
inside the Liverpool 8 district that initially related to workpatterns
but which subsequently reflected social and political conditions,
including discrimination. 11 Census figures for 1911 put Liverpool’s
black population at about three thousand. By the time of the 1919
disturbances, this had increased to around five thousand. 12 Yet, despite the