Samurai @ the British Museum

This is a magnificent exhibition, beautifully staged, showcasing a huge number of objects (over 280) from both the British Museum’s collection and 29 other national and international lenders, most of them objects of exquisite beauty, accompanied by highly informative and fascinating captions.

Suit of samurai armour with bullet-proof cuirass embossed with crest, 1600–1700 © The Trustees of the British Museum

Debunking myths

It follows the basic template of many of the British Museum’s big blockbuster exhibitions which can be summarised as: ‘Think you know about X? Well, think again, because everything you’ve ever been taught about X is wrong and this exhibition showcases the latest scholarship to set you straight’.

So the idea is that we in the West are victims of myths, clichés and stereotypes about the Japanese samurai which this exhibition is going to correct. In the past the Museum has taken the same debunking approach to the Vikings and the Roman emperor Nero, among many others.

The two most common myths the exhibition debunks are 1) all samurai were men (no – a notable number were women) and 2) samurai were all about violence (no – in the post 1600 period they were more like a landed aristocracy versed in the arts of peace and good living).

Definitions and dates

The samurai began as mercenaries for the imperial court and developed over time into rural gentry. From the AD 900s to 1300s, Japanese fighting men were organised into ‘warrior bands’ (bushidan), often based on family loyalties. After a series of brutal and bloody civil wars, a warrior government, or shogunate, was established in 1185. Though the first shogunate collapsed and was replaced by another, warrior governments ruled Japan until the 1570s. The warrior era as a whole is said to come to an end in 1603 with the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate.

Samurai helmets ornate and simple in ‘Samurai’ at the British Museum

Both military training and engagement in cultural activities were essential to a warrior’s identity. The imperial court, which co-existed with the shogunate, provided a cultural model for samurai to emulate.

By the eighteenth century Japan had enjoyed a century of peace and the samurai had become local administrators and benchmarks of civilised behaviour. In this they reminded me a bit of the English lord of the manor who was also a justice of the peace.

NB: The word samurai is more commonly used in the West than in Japan.

Chronological structure

1. Civil wars 900 to 1600

Broadly speaking the first third of the exhibition describes the historical reality of the rise of the samurai, embedding them in Japan’s long period of civil wars and conflict from the dark ages of the 900s, through a prolonged period of civil wars to the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate in 1603.

2. From 1600 peace

From that date Japan enjoyed about 250 years of peace and prosperity and the exhibition shows how the samurai tradition was adapted to more peaceful times in the 1700s and 1800s with a wide range of objects demonstrating their role in civil society. If the earlier displays focused on weapons of war, many objects from this phase are domestic, and demonstrate one the exhibition’s chief debunkments, one of the core stereotypes it aims to overthrow, which is the notion that all samurai were men. No they weren’t. There were female samurai warriors during the heroic age of civil wars and this number increased in the peaceful times until up to 50% of samurai were women. Who knew.

3. Nineteenth century stories

The 19th century section looks in detail at how the stories of half a dozen or so of the legendary figures from the golden age of samurai in the middle ages were depicted in woodcuts and fabrics and fans and other media. Here’s a typically striking coloured woodcut of a female samurai, Tomoe Gozen.

Woodblock print by Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1797 to 1861) showing Tomoe Gozen riding away after the Battle of Awazu (1852) © The Trustees of the British Museum

4. Japanese empire

A further section briefly explains how the samurai tradition was co-opted into the rise of Japanese nationalism from 1900 to 1945, was used to justify Japan’s aggressive imperial expansion into Korea and China, and was invoked during the Second World War, before reaching its nemesis in the defeat of 1945.

So far, so historical, the exhibition beautifully displaying often rare and precious objects from all aspects of samurai life, accompanied by detailed historical explanations.

5. Commercial exploitation of the samurai image

This all changes in the final stretch of the exhibition which shows how, in the post-war period, the image of the samurai was fabricated, idealised and adapted for many purposes, both within Japan and beyond.

The most obvious one was making money from movies and TV, manga comics and video games. There are clips from a surprising number of these running on half a dozen video screens where you can watch in detail, as well as projected as vivid displays onto half a dozen big hanging screens. I counted 20 or so TV shows, both Japanese and Western, plus umpteen video games, but probably missed some. And then there’s a selection from the modern world of samurai-themed merchandise, toy swords, figurines, helmets, magazines, you name it, in the display cases underneath.

This final section is in quite a different mode and vibe from the previous, sober and scholarly displays. It’s visually and aurally loud and dynamic, a bit overwhelming. For me it really goes to show how any historical trope is liable to be exploited and milked to the hilt by modern consumer capitalism. Obviously the curators are highly invested in merch about the samurai but this final section makes you realise that the same process of complete commercialisation applies just as much to the Vikings, the Romans, to medieval knights and so on. You could find just as many contemporary movies, TV shows and merchandise about any of them. Pretty much any historical culture which relied on violence, and especially sword fighting, has been turned into violent video games and violent movies.

Proving Karl Marx’s old adage true that History repeats itself, first time as tragedy, second time as Netflix (or HBO or Disney+) historical drama.

Installation view of ‘Samurai’ at the British Museum showing the hanging video screens which display composite feeds from scores of samurai films, TV shows and videogames, with selections of modern samurai merchandise in the display cases (photo by the author)

Modern artworks

All this slashing and bleeding tends to overshadow an interesting aspect of the final section which is that it includes a few pieces of modern and contemporary art. Some of them are by men who fought in the Second World War and lived on to reflect on war and peace. One is by the ‘celebrated’ Japanese artist, Noguchi Tetsuya who, in my ignorance, I’ve never heard of.

Fair enough – but I think these works would have benefited from having their own, quiet space and not being placed next to video screens of hyperactive men in pigtails eviscerating each other with enormous swords.

The paradox of civilised exhibitions about hyper-violence

Thus saturated in the history and imagery of the samurai, when I got home I toyed with watching one or other of the recent samurai movies – 47 Ronin, the Last Samurai, Shogun etc – but they almost immediately had so much hacking off of limbs and necks and blood spurting everywhere that I quickly stopped. On the same day I read about the suicide bomb in Pakistan, the total casualties to date in the Ukraine War, the rapes and murders taking place in Sudan. God knows there’s enough bloody violence in the world without inviting even more into my living room.

And this led onto an obvious reflection that an exhibition like this is, in a sense, the height of civilisation: created by highly educated people working with international networks of museums in Japan, America and elsewhere, to create a beautifully staged show of exquisite objects all described with minute scholarly scrupulousness. And yet the subject of the show is based on appalling violence and butchery.

These beautifully crafted swords which we are encouraged to admire, well, in a clip from a Japanese TV series we watch the hero slash open the chests, cut off the fingers, and behead all-comers in an epic fight using just such a razor sharp sword. They are instruments of atrocious brutality.

I was particularly struck by adjacent cases showing a huge bow, a quiver and some metal arrows. The arrows had obviously been selected for the beauty of their varied designs and the craftsmanship of their metalwork. And yet, as I admired their curves and points, I reflected that they were designed to pierce the advanced armour and undervests which warriors wore, in order to enter the body and cause as much tearing eviscerating damage as possible to muscles and organs.

I looked up and around the lovely calm gallery, at the other old ladies and gentlemen pottering politely between exhibits, and felt for a moment that I’d entered a parallel universe.

Three ages of samurai

Now I’ll go back over the three ages of the samurai in more detail, and naming some of the most striking exhibits in each section. According to the curators, the history of samurai can be divided into 3 periods.

1. 800 to 1600: Rise of the samurai

  • mid-900s AD: a warrior class emerges in service to the aristocracy
  • 1185: the Minamoto clan establishes the first shogunate (warrior government)
  • 1330s: the Ashikaga clan seizes power and establishes a new shogunate
  • 1570 to 1615: intense conflict as a series of warlords attempt to unify Japan; attempted invasion of Korea

2. 1600 to 1850s: The long peace

  • 1603: the Tokugawa shogunate is established
  • Japan enjoys 250 years of peace and prosperity
  • 1867–8: after more than a decade of violence between competing samurai clans, the Tokugawa shogunate collapses
  • 1871: Samurai status is abolished; subsequent samurai rebellion fails

3. 1876 to the present: After the samurai

  • 1894 to 1910: conflict with China and Russia for control of the Korean peninsula; Japan annexes Korea
  • 1931 to 1945: Japan participates in the Second World War, ending in defeat
  • 1945 to the present day: in peacetime, the samurai image is taken up around the world in popular culture

Part 1: 900 to 1600: war

The samurai – known in Japan as musha or bushi – were engaged in protracted warfare and gained political dominance from the 1100s. This section includes detailed looks at their arms and armour.

Cuirasses and armour

The small warrior bands (bushidan) of early battles comprised full-time mounted archers and part-time foot soldiers. Archers wore oyoroi armour with a square, loose form, optimised for drawing the bow. The exhibition includes a cuirass (breast and backplates) with no fewer than 2,000 scales of lacquered iron or leather laced together and covered with leather, making it tough yet flexible. The huge shoulder-guards deflected arrows, serving in place of a shield.

Suit of armour and helmet made of iron, silk, wool, leather, gold and lacquer: Japan, 1519 (helmet), 1696 (armour) and 1800s (textiles) © The Trustees of the British Museum

Bows and arrows

Samurai employed a distinctive tactic in which archers on horseback circled and manoeuvred around each other on open ground, while small groups of foot soldiers skirmished in denser, hilly terrain. Archers used a longbow with the grip below the centre that bent more easily. Bows developed from wood coated with lacquer to a more powerful laminate of wood and bamboo, increasing flexibility and the arrows’ flight range. The quiver developed in form from the open ebira (giving easy access to the arrows) to the closed utsubo (designed to protect arrows from humidity.

The establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate (1603 to 1868) ushered in an era of peace. The new government created a social hierarchy with samurai at the top, followed by farmers, artisans and merchants. The superior social status of the samurai derived from their identity as warriors, so they needed to maintain their military training even during peacetime. In earlier centuries archery had been the primary mode of combat (rather than swordsmanship) and it remained an essential military skill. This set of archery equipment comprises two quivers and two bows, with a bowstring, all decorated with the Tokugawa crest.

Set of archery equipment made from wood, lacquer, leather, gold, metal, bamboo, feathers and silk, Japan, 1800 to 1900 © The Trustees of the British Museum

Saddles

Beautiful yet practical, Japanese saddles were designed as platforms for shooting arrows. (I imagine scholars have made comparisons with Scythian saddles, designed for the same purpose.) Made of red oak and richly decorated with lacquer of various colours, they were sometimes inlaid with mother-of-pearl and other fine materials. Thick leather pads provided cushioning. Larger saddle-flaps protected the horse’s flanks from the lacquer-coated iron stirrups, which supported the rider standing up. Arches at the front and back were often decorated with motifs taken from the natural world.

Swords

As mentioned, swords were less important for samurai than archery. For much of the samurai’s existence as warriors, swords played a limited role in warfare. However, they were always markers of status and refinement. Their forms developed over time. The long tachi, worn with the blade down, was suitable for warriors on horseback. Several examples here indicate the sophistication and skill of sword-makers from the 1200s. (Later on we see swords made for entirely ceremonial purposes up to and including the ones handed over by surrendering Japanese officers in 1945.)

A surcoat

Toyotomi Hideyoshi is a prominent figure in samurai history. In the late 1500s he rose from foot soldier – more peasant than samurai class – to the highest rank in the land, thanks to his military ability and political skill. He became a trusted general of the warlord Oda Nobunaga. After the latter’s demise Hideyoshi forged alliances, built palaces and castles, and received the title ‘regent’. This jinbaori (surcoat), with a target design, supposedly belonged to him. Originally protective garments to be worn over armour, jinbaori became statements of the personal taste of the wearer.

Jinbaori (surcoat) Pheasant and drake feathers mounted on hemp, with Chinese silk, Japan, 1570 to 1598 © The Trustees of the British Museum

Beheading

Warfare was brutal and bloody. Samurai warriors cut off enemy heads and presented them to claim rewards from their daimyo (lord). The exhibition includes a handscroll which records the suppression of a revolt in 1083-7. It depicts bodies and limbs lying heaped under a shield. One warrior carries a head on the end of his curved blade (naginata). Another holds his trophy by the hair. ‘Brutal’ is a word which recurs in the descriptions of the warfare of the period.

Culture

And yet throughout this era, alongside his military skills, a fully rounded warrior was expected to be culturally sophisticated. Samurai patronised the arts and hosted social gatherings, including the ritualised consumption of tea. Performances of Nõ, an aristocratic dance-drama, were sponsored by shoguns and regional warlords. Samurai petitioned Buddhist deities for success in combat and a peaceful afterlife. Some samurai were diplomats, travelling to Europe to negotiate trade relations. And the exhibition features extensive displays of the arts of peace and civilised living. This is the other great debunking the exhibition aims to carry out: to show us that samurai weren’t just about relentless warfare, but were also symbols of civilised living.

Hosting

Powerful lords used formal social gatherings to cement relationships with their allies and followers. Such events were richly furnished with paintings and objects. Hosts sat before folding screens decorated with shimmering gold leaf. The exhibition includes several such screens including this one, which depicts cherry trees above a stream, denoting spring, and deutzia flowers at left for summer. It was created during the Muromachi period (1336 to 1573), a time of immense political turmoil and civil wars.

Folding screen made of ink, silver and gold on paper, Japan, 1500 to 1600 © The Trustees of the British Museum

Part 2: 1600 to 1900: peace

Tokugawa shogunate

By 1615, Tokugawa leyasu had achieved military supremacy and boasted the title shögun. After more than a century of warfare, the Tokugawa government brought peace and stability. Japan was divided into about two hundred and sixty domains each with a ruling lord who pledged allegiance to the shogun.

10%

The samurai became a hereditary class forming about ten percent of the population. Beneath them were ranked merchants, artisans and agricultural labourers. The role of samurai changed from warrior to bureaucrat. Men and women of samurai rank participated in the arts and intellectual life. Many were artists and poets and began the process of recording and idealising the the legendary warriors of the past in books, prints and theatre.

Culture of peace

During the long era of peace from 1615, the samurai moved away from the battlefield to serve as government officials, scholars and patrons of the arts, with women making up to half of the samurai class. To demonstrate this the exhibition includes: hanging scrolls, cutlery, incense, woodblock books, fashion plates in the forms of scrolls and hangings, hats and tunics, kimonos, poetry, a sedan chair, naginata or ‘polearms’, spear covers with clan emblems, the miniature toggles known as netsuki, a mirror decorated with peacocks, children’s toys, and much more.

Staging and soundscape

In the first, warrior section, the entire wall is given over to a dramatic film of charging samurai done in a highly stylised way as black silhouettes against a scarlet background. In the peace section there’s an extended (20 minute) soundscape recreating the sounds of Japan’s then capital, Edo (Samurai march and horses hooves thump on the packed earth street. Music from Kabuki theatre drifts in and out, and temple bells ring. There are birds and other wildlife.)

A woman’s firefighting jacket and hood

On loan from the John C. Weber Collection, worn by women serving within Edo Castle. Fires were so common in the wooden city of Edo (present-day Tokyo) that they were known as the ‘flowers of Edo’, and this jacket’s design of tasselled grappling hooks amid surging water evokes protection against the flames. Many women took part in these fire brigades.

Woman’s firefighting jacket and hood made from wool, satin-weave silk appliqué, and silk and gold-thread embroidery, Japan (1800 to 1850) John C. Weber Collection. Photo © John Bigelow Taylor

Nostalgia

In a period of peace, people became fascinated by legendary samurai heroes from the civil wars of the 1180s. Historical tales offered action and fantasy as an escape from everyday life. Print artists, painters and artisans created dynamic renderings of famous samurai in every available medium. Stories of heroism, sacrifice and betrayal provided endless inspiration for theatre.

I’ve mentioned that this part of the exhibition consists of sections or ‘booths’, each one devoted to a particular legendary figure and bringing together woodcuts, prints and other formats in which their adventures were dramatised. I suppose this is a bit like nineteenth century British nostalgia for a bygone age of chivalric heroes, the knights of the Round Table or Sir Walter Scott’s medieval heroes. The samurai heroes described and depicted here include:

  • Minamoto no Yoshitsune (1159 to 1189) who learned special fighting techniques from the King of the Goblins
  • Kumagai Naozane who challenges the fleeing Taira no Atsumori to a fight but upon removing Atsumori’s helmet, realises he is only young and takes his life tearfully, afterwards, Naozane renouncing the world to become a monk
  • Nitta Yoshisada (1301 to 1038) who offered up his sword to the Dragon God
  • the battles of between rival warlords Takeda Shingen (1521 to 1573) and Uesugi Kenshin (1530 to 1578)
  • Minamoto no Yoshi-ie (1039 to 1106) who, while returning to Kyoto victorious from battle, paused to compose a poem about the poignancy of falling cherry blossoms
  • The Tale of the Drunken Acolyte (Shūten-dōji) which describes Minamoto no Yorimitsu’s (944 to 1021) quest to vanquish an ogre who abducted and devoured women
  • Minamoto no Tametomo (1136 to 1170) was an archer of legendary strength and skill in the conflict of the 1150s between the Minamoto and Taira clans. The victorious Taira exiled him to the ‘Isle of Demons’

And so very much on.

Installation view of ‘Samurai’ at the British Museum showing one of the sections or ‘booths’ which gather together 19th century depictions of a specific samurai hero, in this instance Minamoto no Yoshitsune who ‘trained with goblins’ (photo by the author)

Abolition of samurai status

A new government took power in 1868, ruling in the name of the emperor. The new era was named ‘Meiji’, or ‘enlightened government’. In 1869 the samurai’s hereditary status was abolished. Many former samurai struggled to find employment and resented the loss of their stipends and other privileges. They lost their traditional right to wear swords in public. Disaffected ex-samurai gathered in the southwestern island, Kyushu, planning what became known as the Satsuma rebellion until in 1877 government forces moved to suppress them. The exhibition includes dramatic prints of this whole sequence of events.

Ironically, the abolition of the samurai class released thousands of suits of armour onto the market. Huge numbers were exported to Europe and the United States as part of a fashion for medievalism. The show includes an example bought by the architect William Burges (1827–81) and displayed at his house in Holland Park, London.

Part 3

Japanese imperialism

From the 1890s onwards, Japan was involved in military conflicts in a struggle for geopolitical influence. The ‘samurai legacy’, including the supposed bushido ethos, was used domestically as motivation for Japanese soldiers, and as the basis for propaganda and stereotypes by Japan’s enemies during the Second World War (1939–45).

In fact the exhibition argues that foreign powers used samurai images as much or more than the Japanese themselves in order to stereotype their opponents. The impressive poster on the wall in this photo was actually created by an Italian artist, Gino Boccasile, since Japan was allied with Germany and Italy. It celebrates the Japanese sinking of the British ships HMS Prince of Wales and HMS Repulse in 1941.

Installation view of ‘Samurai’ at the British Museum showing a display case which deals with the use of the samurai image leading up to and during the Second World War (photo by the author)

The curators don’t mention it but this action resulted in the deaths of 840 seamen and the thousand or more survivors went into Japanese captivity where many more died in the brutal conditions inspired by the Japanese military’s ideas of ‘honour’. The war is mentioned here but, in my opinion, the role of the thousand-year-long warrior cult in the formation of Japanese fascism, and in the way they treated the countries they conquered and Allied prisoners of war, isn’t really explored, not as much as it deserves.

Imagine an exhibition which covered the 1,000-year-long role of the Prussian aristocracy and its military ethos up to and including the Second World War but then only briefly mentioned their role in supporting the Nazi regime, and skated over the appalling atrocities which ensued from their sense of their racial and moral superiority, which didn’t mention the Holocaust at all. You’d rightly feel that something was missing.

Same here. Inspired by militaristic pride indissociable from the samurai ideal, wartime Japan committed unspeakable atrocities not only on Allied prisoners but on the populations of conquered Korea and China, the Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Burma, Thailand, Indochina.

Caption showing cover of a Japanese wartime magazine introducing students to the Japanese values of bushido (photo by the author)

Sure, the exhibition includes a 1942 magazine cover showing a Japanese instructor in its newly conquered colony, the former Dutch East Indies, introducing students to bushido, the military’s guiding ethos (see above). And there’s a shin-guntō sword with scabbard, of the type all Japanese soldiers were meant to wear to associate themselves with the samurai ideal. There’s another sword handed over to a British general at the surrender with a photo of the event. And that’s it, when it comes to homegrown Japanese products.

There are samurai-themed images created by foreigners, like the Italian poster shown above, a British cartoon of a samurai in Punch and mention of a Nazi pamphlet which praised the samurai warrior ethos. But that’s about it. There’s almost as much in the next section about Star Wars memorabilia (because Darth Vadar’s helmet and uniform were influenced by samurai armour).

To be fair to the curators, if you check out the exhibition catalogue it looks as if there are 30 or more pages which go into the role of the samurai ideal in Japanese fascism in much more detail. So it looks like it’s been worked through in print but not so much in the physical exhibition which most people will visit.

Fun, film and video games

Instead, much more space is devoted to the post-war era when Japan (under American control for a decade) reinvented itself as a peaceful producer of hi tech goods and products. This is the section which goes heavy on umpteen movies and TV shows which have exploited / recycled the samurai image, not to mention a slew of video games.

Hence the monitors showing suitable violent clips from popular video games such as Assassin’s Creed: Shadows (2025) and Nioh 3 (2026). Apparently, the latter game launched just three days after the exhibition opened. If you read the (characteristically thorough and informative) object label you discover that in Nioh 3 you play as the heir of the shogun, tasked with stopping the spread of non-human powers across four eras in Japanese history, while encountering famous figures, such as the famous 16th century warlord Takeda Shingen. What better way to while away the hours?

Still from the videogame Nioh 3, 2026. Koei Tecmo

Summary

Amazing exhibition. Beautifully staged, with the dramatic animated backdrops and atmospheric soundscapes. Nearly 300 objects, far too many to process in one visit, giving you a tremendous overview of samurai culture in all its historical extent and cultural breadth. I’ve mentioned my personal reservations about the wartime period, but they don’t detract the impact of such a carefully curated collection of stunning objects. An amazing achievement.

Installation view of ‘Samurai’ at the British Museum showing the beautiful, themed set design – imagine the 20-minute-long soundscape of street sounds from 16th century Edo echoing round you as admire the beautiful artefacts and read the fascinating captions (photo by the author)


Related links

  • Samurai continues at the British Museum until 4 May 2026

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Mussolini: His Part in My Downfall by Spike Milligan (1978)

I was determined to pursue the matter to its illogical conclusion.
(Spike summarises his methodology in Mussolini: His Part in My Downfall, page 8)

I was getting twitchy, doing nothing positive for so long. I had started talking to myself and I wasn’t satisfied with the answers.
(Spike beginning to lose it, page 60)

Mussolini: His Part in My Downfall is the fourth of Spike Milligan’s seven (!) volumes of war memoirs. It covers the period from his regiment’s landing in Salerno, Italy, on 23 September 1943 to the date he was invalided out of the front line with nervous exhaustion in March 1944.

Longer, seriouser

Although covering a period of just under six months, the text, at 288 pages, is longer than the two previous volumes put together. Although the relentless gags and wisecracking are similar, the Hitlergams have, mercifully, ended (actually, he sneaks a few through, e.g. p.139) and there are far fewer visual elements i.e. photos, sketches, cartoons and so on, than in previous volumes.

There are still quite a few photos but they are documentary and factual, in the sense that they show members of his brigade, tanks, lorries crossing Bailey Bridges and so on. Mind you, although of military subjects, Spike still comes up with some funny captions. I laughed at the photo of squaddies working on setting up a Bailey bridge across a river where the caption tells us that ‘the ugly soldiers’ were told to face away from the camera.

But overall the tone is quite a bit more serious than in the previous volumes and quite a few passages are entirely serious in intent such as the description of: air attacks, of devastated Italian villages, of the fury of Allied attacks on German positions, the terrible scenes after a direct hit on a neighbouring battery, and so on. It has a permanent edge, a barely suppressed anger which I didn’t feel in the previous volumes (see final section, below, for examples) all building up to the intense and unhappy final passages of him being wounded and psychologically traumatised, returned to the front too soon, bullied for being a coward and then his final collapse.

Spike is peeved

The more earnest tone is set by the surprisingly cross preface or author’s note preceding the text. Spike had been really nettled by a review by Clive James of one of the previous books which jovially referred to it as ‘an unreliable history of the war’. This upset Spike who, in this preface, goes to great lengths to insist that, on the contrary, the text is very heavily researched and completely factual.

All that I wrote did happen, it happened on the days I mention, the people I mention are real people and the places are real…I wish the reader to know that he is not reading a tissue of lies and fancies, it all really happened…I’ve spent a fortune on beer and dinners interviewing my old Battery mates, and phone calls to those overseas ran into over a hundred pounds…Likewise I included a large number of photographs actually taken in situ…

He goes on to mention 18 former colleagues by name for their help with documents, maps, photos and recollections. There are lots of photos but, as I mentioned, most of them are documentary i.e. factual photos of individuals in his battery or contemporary scenes – the silly Edwardian photos with humorous captions which littered the earlier volumes have disappeared.

He also gives excerpts from Alf Fildes’s diary and regularly includes written anecdotes from his best mate Harry Edgington (e.g. pages 120, 142, 234). In fact he mentions ringing up Harry (who had emigrated to New Zealand) and also calling Ken Carter (p.232), to confirm specific facts and memories.

This irritated preface ends with another (i.e. they also appeared in the previous volumes) tribute to his mates and their ongoing closeness, mentioning their twice-a-year reunions, and the text is sprinkled with references to meeting old comrades at reunions or at other events, decades later. These links to old comrades matters a lot to Spike and their importance comes over with far more urgency, and need, than in the previous volumes.

Day-by-day diary format

As with the previous three, it’s done in diary form. But in line with his irritation Spike’s diary entries are given in capitals and preceded by MY DIARY just to ram home the message that it all actually happened.

So what we read is the daily account of how Spike and the boys lived, day to day, with very little analysis, little overview of the campaigns he took part in, no detachment or distance. Instead this happens, and they take the mickey out of it – then that happens, and they make gags about it – then this happens and they all have a larf about it, and so on, for a surprisingly long 288 pages in the Penguin paperback edition.

Gags

Kidgell looks pensively out towards Italy. ‘I was worried about the landing.’
‘Don’t worry about the landing. I’ll hoover it in the morning.’ (p.9)

‘I thought you were a champion swimmer.’
‘Yes, but you can’t swim in army boots.’
‘You’re right, there isn’t enough room.’ (p.9)

Lunch was a mangled stew, lumps of gristle floating on the surface. Edgington said if you held your ear to it you could hear an old lady calling ‘Helpppp.’ (p.13)

Budden tells us, ‘We’ll walk to HQ and get fresh orders.’
I tell him I don’t need fresh orders. I’m perfectly satisfied with the ones I’ve got. (p.29)

Edgington is speaking heatedly. It’s the only way to keep warm. (p.68)

Ernie Hart was a nice lad with a quiet sense of humour, so quiet no one ever heard it. (p.123)

Outside I rubbed my hands with glee. (I always kept a tin handy.) (p.245)

Incidentally the boys themselves are aware that many of these gags are corny or stretched. He often recalls the bit of repartee then writes ‘(groans)’ afterwards (pages 102, 218).

‘I’m too bloody tired to smoke,’ he said.
‘Try steaming,’ I said. ‘It’s easier.’ (p.253)

They were joking on the battlefield, whistling to keep their spirits up, trying to encourage and cheer each other up and fairly often it seems stretched and contrived. I’ve pointed out in some of my reviews of thrillers that many of the classic thriller writers of the 50s and 60s carried the intense atmosphere of the war, its threat and peril, into civilian life; their protagonists carry it around with them. In the same way, maybe, we can say that Spike carried the rather desperate gagging which kept him and his mates going through the war into his civilian career, to great effect in the Goon Show but with diminishing returns after that.

(Incidentally, more, if very casual, information is thrown on the origin of the term when Spike tells us that it was a common nickname for Gunners like himself to be referred to as Gooners or just Goons. And at one point he parodies someone referred to as Florence Nightingale, saying they were more like Florence Nightingoon, the Lady of the Lump, p.135.)

(A few days after reading Spike I was reading Fitzroy Maclean’s war classic, Eastern Approaches’, and came across references to him and fellow members of the SAS listening to Tommy Handley and It’s That Man Again on the wireless and went to listen to some on YouTube. It’s immediately obvious that Handley’s humour uses the same kind of bad puns and deliberate misunderstandings as Spike – ‘I’ve been taking a walk, and if anybody else wants to take it, they can have it. I’ve finished with it’ – making me realise that Spike was peddling the same kinds of gags into the late 1970s that he’d grown up listening to in the 1930s. A proper appreciation of where he was new or innovative would have to start with a really thorough understanding of the British comedy landscape of the 1930s, something which is way beyond my scope.)

(Deliberately?) bad proofreading

Mussolini: His Part in My Downfall is written in a deliberately flaky style. Lots of the sentences contain three or four or five clauses just separated by commas which would be better broken up into shorter sentences by full stops. There are unnecessarily hyphenated words, unnecessarily capitalised words:

  • He stayed for launch, a lovely Stew (p.108)
  • Bentley has diagnosed his own illness as Malaria only to have another doctor diagnose it correctly as Jaundice. (p.136)

Both together:

In the dark night the war went on, being able to sleep peacefully, dry, snug and warm was I suppose, Luxury. (p.144)

There are occasional grammar errors (‘This bloody army were food mad!’, p.98) and erratic typographical gaps or breaks between main text and quotations (from other people’s diaries or letters etc). And regular outbreaks of multiple exclamation or other punctuation marks:

An OP has been established on Monte Croce. Not again! Rain!!! Where does the stuff come from?? (p.104)

The overall effect is of deliberate scrappiness, like a scrapbook, like a kind of student mag or fanzine, as if this adds to the spontaneousness and wackiness of the text, as if breathless sentences and random capitals make it all more wacky and humorous.

Same goes for the misspellings. He talks about ‘the Scotts’ (p.47) or a ‘recoco chair’ (p.67), describes his Major playing the clarionet (although that one’s debatable, p.82), refers to ‘the Bosche’ (p.94), writes ‘Above us the battle was going on full belt’ (p.278). My point being some of these are such egregious errors no professional proofreader would have missed them, so it must have been a conscious editorial choice – all of it, the caps, the misspellings, the bad punctuation, the random caps…

Maybe the manuscript arrived like this from Spike and the editors decided to leave them in to increase the sense of wackiness and improvisation. But then the whole thing was supposedly ‘edited’ by Jack Hobbs, so it was clearly a high-level decision to let it be like this.

Sex

They’re young, fit, healthy men so they think about sex all the time, a great deal of the banter is about sex and, being men, this means rude observations about the size, shape and state of each other’s penises. Any woman – our nurses or Italian civilians – will be mercilessly ogled.

‘Buon giorno, Maria.’
She smiled and blushed, the innocence of Italian country girls was something to see. Something else to see was the top of her stocking tops when she bent over. (p.171)

Travelling on the back of a lorry, the sight of a pretty girl immediately erupted into mass drooling until she was out of sight. (p.194)

There were loads of pretty girls who came under fire from the tailboard. The cries ranged from ‘I can do you a power of good, my dear’ to the less poetic ‘Me give you ten inches of pork sword, darlin”. (p.218)

Not just unacceptable but illegal, these days.

There are the usual half-disguised references to masturbation, which must have been rife (and again I refer the reader to Eric Newby’s mention of men masturbating every night in his prisoner of war camp) (pages 154, 265).

There’s a running joke that Edgington doesn’t join in chatting up every ‘bird’ they see and certainly doesn’t go to the two brothels described in the text; instead he writes long letters to his sweetheart back home, Peg, the joke being that the more he writes the more he remembers having sex with her, the more aroused and frustrated he becomes, for example pages 86 and 87:

At the mention of Peg his eyes went soft and his trousers boiled.

Some of the sex slang was new to me. A simple-minded soldier refers to squeezing liquid mud through the holes in a hessian sack so as to create little worms of mud spaghetti as ‘sexy’. To which:

‘Sexy?’ said Bombardier Fuller. ‘You must be bloody hard up for it if you get the Colin’ watchin’ that.’ (p.130)

‘Get the Colin?’ Later he refers to vaseline by its navy nickname ‘starters’, as in ‘a pot of starters’ and goes on to explain that if the reader doesn’t understand this they should contact Royal Navy PR, as ’70 per cent of the officers are Gay up there’ (p.137). So he is aware of homosexuals, I had been wondering (and p.158).

Race

Spike refers to Indians as wogs (pp. 16, 133) and to Black people using the n word (pages 133, 195) and ‘coon’ (as in ‘Coon-type singing’, p.265) – though not all the time, he also refers to Blacks as ‘negroes’ (p.182) or ‘coloured’. In other words he used (or was depicting) the idiom of the time. It feels done without malice, because (re. ‘wogs’) he was raised in India and liked the culture and people and (re. the n word) he was a massive fan of Black jazz music. Still, the modern woke reader should be warned.

The politically correct would also be incensed by the three or four times the lads do cartoon impersonations of imagined Black servants on a southern plantation from a Hollywood movie (‘Gone with the Wind’ had been released just four years earlier, 1939). Thus, when his mate Edgington turns up at a new billet:

‘Welcome home, young massa,’ I said. ‘De plantation ain’t been de same widout you.’ (p.254)

It’s the idiom of the day and it’s spoofing a popular movie (1943) but it does, admittedly, have an extra edge of satire or sarcasm or needle. Given a choice Spike always prefers the slangy or disrespectful term for anything (the Germans, the army, officers, soldiers as a whole, the Brits, himself, anything if it’ll raise a laugh). It was part of the humour of the day, but double edged. He can never mention Gunner Kidgell without called him ‘short-arse Kidgell’. And he refers to the Italians throughout as ‘Itis’.

Spike is also very aware when people are Jewish and, again, invokes stock stereotypes of Jews i.e. being tight with money or being in the rag trade in the East End (pages 160). I think I remember from the 70s that calling someone a ‘Jew’ was an insult indicating that they were tight (with money). Unacceptable these days, and has been for some time. He mentions someone being Jewish or Jews in general, often emphasising their alleged tightness with money, on pages 160, 193, 198, 202, 223, 258, 271, 274.

At one point an attack by German Messerschmitts forces him and comrades to run naked from showers and jump into nearby slit trenches for protection. But what bothers him is not the risk of getting killed but that he left all his money in his battledress hanging up outside the shower. The second the danger’s over, he goes running back.

Thank God! Money was safe! I just have Jewish blood. (p.258)

Events

The journey aboard ship from North Africa to Italy. Landing on Salerno beach, unopposed because it’s secure, but with the wreckage of fierce fighting all around. Journey up into the hills and then a long slog of positions taken up by his artillery battery, Battery D.

Almost immediately he comes down with sand fly fever and is taken off to hospital for a week long interlude of clean sheets, decent food and pretty nurses. But he starts to go round the bend with boredom and is relieved to be one day collected by a truck and taken back to his mates on the battery. Here, as in every memoir I’ve ever read about war, it’s about friendship, mateship and camaraderie rather than any grand cause.

The new-found seriousness extends as far as an argument he gets into with a northerner who sings the praises of Gracie Fields and George Formby who Spike cordially loathes, explaining that he is a devotee of the Marx Brothers and Bing Crosby (p.54). (Regarding styles of humour, later he hears a broadcast by ITMA and thinks ‘corny bastards’, p.256).

There’s still quite a lot about music, they hear the kind of big band jazz they like on the radio, in an Italian church they discover a piano and play Cole Porter (in fact they perform and sing some Cole Porter but then the Italian priest sings plays and sings some Verdi opera thus trumping them). Othertimes they perform with what they have, including one night they have a little performance with an ocarina, guitar and shaken matchbox, with the others joining in banging mugs (p.138).

He visits the ruins of Pompeii (pages 51 to 53).

Spike’s job

I’d read his descriptions of his duties in volume 2 but it was only in this one that it was made unmistakably clear that Spike’s job was ‘wireless operator’ for an artillery battery (p.46) i.e. laying (or retrieving) phone cables, then using radio sets to co-ordinate with other observation posts to target artillery fire accurately at enemy positions, as described pages 76 to 77.

His battery constantly move to new positions as the front line advances, and enemy planes fly over and occasional shells land nearby but he is repeatedly grateful that he’s not in the poor infantry, sent forward into withering machinegun fire.

The Germans slowly retreat into the mountains which the poor bloody infantry have to storm while Spike’s battery and many others lob shells up into the mountains. The main event is the rain: it rains incessantly, the tents, the men, their uniforms and equipment become sodden. The artillery stands become so sodden that the guns slip backwards or sideways when they fire. All their efforts become devoted to trying to find somewhere dry to shelter and sleep.

Maybe the most vivid scene, possibly the longest lasting all of three pages, is his vivid recreation of a concert he and his mates organised and staged on Christmas Day 1943, giving us the full list of acts, an impressive series of farcical performances and musical interludes.

Just days later they’re given four days’ leave in Amalfi which seems like Disneyland after the muddy farms they’ve been staying in. Memorable evening, standing on the garden terrace watching night fall over the bay, and then onto a cafe kept by a Cockney-speaking Italian momma who lays on an unprecedented feast.

In Amalfi he’s invited into a brothel and initially refuses all offers, preferring to sit relaxed, drink and get pissed, until – according to his account – the lady of the house dragged him into a bedroom and not only screwed him but paid him.

On 5 January they are moved to a new forward position just outside the village of Lauro.

15 January a direct hit on a gun emplacement, exploding munitions and burning four gunners he knows to death, with many other burns casualties. Happens in the middle of the night, Spike is up and running round helping as best he can.

He develops piles (‘the curse of the Milligans’), goes see the medical officer (MO) but there doesn’t seem to be any treatment short of having them operated on and removed. They go from painful to actively bleeding. Normally irrepressibly chirpy, this throws him into a depression (p.271).

The climax, Spike is wounded

On 20 January 1944 Spike is in pain from bleeding piles, depressed, and hasn’t had much sleep for two nights when a lieutenant asks for a volunteer to go and replace a signalman up at Tac HQ, which is near the front lines, also where their commanding officer, now regularly referred to as ‘Looney’ Jenkins, is based. Very reluctantly Spike volunteers and sets in train the sequence of events which will see him wounded and invalided out.

Alf Fildes drives him to Tac HQ which entails crossing the makeshift bridge across the river Garigliano, shrouded in camouflage smoke because the Jerries are throwing over lots of artillery. They pull up outside a cluster of farmhouse buildings which is Tac HQ. All round are dead German bodies no-one’s had time to bury.

the moment Spike arrives Major Jenkins puts him on the headphones and keeps him at it for 17 hours without a break (‘the bastard’), monitoring and sending radio signals, he even has to argue for permission to go for a piss. Machinegun bullets whine over the roof and shells land, some scarily close, shaking the buildings. His piles start to bleed and he feels at the end of his tether.

Then Jenkins orders him and three colleagues to go forward, under fire, to the observation post (OP) carrying batteries and a new 22 wireless set. They cross a field containing a recently hit Sherman tank, scramble up a gully full of cowering infantry and emerge into the open to climb up the hillside, tiered for agriculture, as machine gun bullets and mortars land all around.

They all throw themselves to the ground then Spike remembers lying on his front, then a terrific explosion and he’s lying on his back, regaining consciousness, seeing red, strangely dazed (p.278).

He knows if they stay there they’ll be sitting ducks and turns and scrambles back down the mountain. Next thing he knows he’s talking to Major Jenkins crying his eyes out – the major tells him to get his wound dressed and he realises he’s wounded in the right thigh, couple of inches long quarter of an inch deep, but it’s not the wound, it’s the shaking and the crying – he’s put into an ambulance, given pills, in a gesture of kindness he’ll never forget, comforted by another wounded man – then he’s on a stretcher, loaded into a Red Cross truck – arrives at a camp and tent and bunk…

Next morning he’s woken up by an American band playing reveille – an orderly tells him he’s at camp 144 CS and has been categorised as suffering from Battle Fatigue – bereft of any kit he goes to the American camp where, true to form, the Yanks are fantastically generous, giving him a towel, razor soap etc and Spike starts crying Thanks – it’s not the wound that bothers him it’s the way he can’t stop crying…

He’s taken to see a psychiatrist who’s an army captain who tells him, rather threateningly, that he will get better, understand? He’s given a hot dinner and more tranquilisers –

On 27 January, just a week later, far from rested and recuperated, Spike finds himself back with his battery, still in the same position outside Lauro but he feels broken…

I was not really me any more

The spring that made me Spike Milligan was gone (p.284)

He has stopped crying but can’t stop stammering – Major Jenkins gives him a dressing down for being a coward and he is stripped of his one stripe i.e. demoted from Lance Bombardier back to Gunner. He is taking the pills prescribed him at the hospital which deprive him of his old personality.

I am by now completely demoralised. All the laughing had stopped. (p.284)

In retrospect, Spike thinks that if they’d given him a couple of weeks rest he might have bounced back, but being sent straight back and then shouted at by the martinet Major finished him off. After a couple of days he can’t take it any more and is driven away from the Battery, no longer to serve, never to see his mates again…

I felt as though I were being taken across the river Styx. I’ve never got over that feeling. (p.285)

Psychiatric hospital

10 February 1944. He is sent to a proper hospital, bright, light, clean, airy, miles behind the lines. Psychiatric ward. About 50 patients, most doped to the gills. Silence.

He is seen by a Major Palmer, a tough former boxer who suffers no malingerers but who accepts he is in shock. He is sent to a rehabilitation camp north of Naples.

Final collapse

Cut to a month later, 9 March 1944. Spike is now out of his unit and far from the front. He is taken to a terrible muddy camp outside a suburb of Naples called Afrigola. He is given a job in ‘reception’ i.e. in a tent at the gateway to the camp where he asks the same questions of new arrivals, fills in and files their paperwork. The last paragraph of the book tries to put a brave face on it:

Will Milligan recover? Will he get back to the big time among the Lance-Bombardier set? Above all, will he lose the stammer that makes him take four hours to say good morning? All this and more in Vol. 5, Goodbye Soldier, to be serialised in Gay News. (p.288)

So he ends the narrative by trying restore the cheeky chappy, zany character of the preceding text but, well, it doesn’t work.

(Incidentally the last gag isn’t homophobia, I think, just surrealism. It’s an off-the-cuff gag citing just about the last place the memoirs of girl-mad shagger Milligan were likely to be serialised.)

Shall I read volume 5? Volume 4 is not as funny as its predecessors and, at 288 pages, turned into quite a grind. Plus I always knew it was heading for this sad denouement. According to the blurbs volume 5 is just as long at 280 pages, and devoted to Spike’s personal battle with depression and psychiatric problems… Not a thrilling prospect, is it?

Class animus

Spike really hates their new commanding officer, the over-officious unbending Major Jenkins, ‘Fuck him’ (p.128) and this dislike curdles into outright hatred, citing everyone under Jenkins’ command who gave him the nickname ‘Loony’ for his impenetrably stupid orders.

He enjoys retailing stories of officers making wallies of themselves, like the officer who very grandly swanked into view of the battery, took out a shooting stick, unfolded it, sat squarely on it, and then it sank slowly into the quagmire till he fell on his back in the mud. How they laughed (p.76).

He is also thrilled to bits when the officers’ mess catches fire and gleefully describes how hated Major Jenkins runs into the flames to retrieve his belongings into a pile which some of the men (who all hate him), as soon as his back is turned, promptly throw back into the fire (p.152).

He contrasts Churchill meeting Roosevelt in the warmth and Cairo in some luxury hotel with the plight of him and his mates, living for weeks in soaking tents, wearing sodden clothes which start to fall apart and riddled with lice.

(Anti-officer stories or reflections on pages 164, 165, 202)

Spike doesn’t need to comment when he and a few comrades, who are billeted in farm outbuildings covered in centuries or ordure lay a phone line up to headquarters and open the door to the officers mess to find it a cosy clean billet with a warm fire and the officers all swigging whisky and laughing (p.195). The class resentment bubbles off the page.

Seriouser

I mentioned that, although Spike continues to blitz us with gags, he also shares quite serious opinions, much more so than in the previous three volumes:

We drive through Sparanise, badly shelled and bombed, some buildings still smouldering. The inhabitants are in a state of shock, women and children are crying, men are searching amid the ruins for belongings or worse, their relatives. It was the little children that depressed me the most, that such innocence should be put to such suffering. The adult world should forever hang its head in shame at the terrible, unforgivable things done to the young… (p.80)

This reminded me of the description in ‘SAS: Rogue Heroes’ of a German artillery attack on the Italian town of Termoli which wiped out a civilian family except for the little boy who was running round screaming with his intestines hanging out of a terrible stomach wound, till SAS hard man Reg Seekings grabbed him and shot him dead on the spot.

Any leader who declares war, whether in Congo, Sudan, Yemen, Syria, Gaza, Ukraine, Myanmar, is committing to blowing up little children and should be damned forever.

Half a dozen times he refers to coming from an Irish family and having been raised a Catholic but, in the face of the suffering he’s seen, he has suffered a fairly predictable loss of faith:

A Catholic priest visited us this evening and asked if anyone wanted Confession and Holy Communion. I nearly went but since the war started my belief in God had suffered a reverse. I couldn’t reconcile all the killing by two sides who both claimed to be Christian societies… (p.83)

Undertones of madness

Because I know this is the volume which ends with him getting invalided out with shell shock or PTSD, I noticed the increased number of references to madness littered throughout the text. If he’d been a literary author i.e. one who carefully planned his narrative and effects, I’d say he had carefully seeded the notion, or references to different types of madness, in a cunning preparation for his eventual collapse. In practice, the text is so chaotically assembled I doubt there was that much calculation. Conscious or not, they’re there.

At one point there’s a shortage of fags and Spike goes four days without a puff. The pupils of his eyes dilate and ‘I spoke in a high strained voice on the edge of a scream’ (p.48).

‘There’s a bloke in a truck waiting for you.’
‘Is he wearing a white coat.’ (p.60)

Inside the farm an Italian an Italian baby was crying and the mother was trying to calm it in a hysterical high-pitched shriek. (p.63)

From the distant hill we hear the dreadful sound of Spandaus and Schmeisers that are spraying the early morning with bullets, and I can’t but wonder at the courage of these lads in the Guards brigade going forward into it. What a terrible, unexplainable lunacy. (p.75)

‘How?’ said Gunner White looking down at the brown sea of mud, ‘how can we get out of this before we all go stark ravin’ bloody mad?’ (p.82)

And on pages 200, 204, 228, 229, 265, 272…

‘See?, we’re not the only ones who’ve lost our marbles,’ said Edgington. (p.228)

‘Your power to bend words will one day end you in the nick, nuthouse or graveyard.’ (p.229)

On page 193 the boys discuss the random theory that Hitler was driven mad due to piles. In which case a tube of Anusol would have prevented the whole war.

There are also rumbling references to suicide. They are kept so long at a position on the hill in the endless rain that Milligan wonders if some of the men will commit suicide to escape and, in fact, a soldier at HQ does (p.178).

Part of it is the cognitive dissonance of war. He and his mates enjoy a hot meal, stew and potatoes, huddled round a fire in their freezing dugout. Down in the plain they hear a sudden outbreak of machinegun fire, first theirs, then ours (they can recognise the different makes of machinegun by the sound). Down there, two patrols have clashed and are murdering each other.

I slide another spoonful of dinner in. I really can’t get it all together, us dining, them dying… (p.257)

You can hear the mental strain, the same insanity of war which Kurt Vonnegut struggled to manhandle into the fantastical storyline of Slaughterhouse Five and Joseph Heller transformed into the masterpiece of bureaucratic craziness, Catch-22.

Il Duce

Volume 3 is named after Montgomery who is never actually mentioned in the text (just in one picture caption). Mussolini, by contrast is, I think, mentioned three times, pages 55, 63 and 197.

Evelyn Waugh

Why has he got it in for Evelyn Waugh? There was a fantasy scene depicting Waugh getting drunk and buggering Randolph Churchill in the previous book. In this one he envisions Waugh, pissed off his face, standing up during an air raid in Yugoslavia shouting abuse at Randolph Churchill (p.175). Are they symbols, for Spike of upper class privilege.

Angry or grumpy?

When does justifiable anger against the world morph into sounding like a grumpy old man? At what point do you cross the line from righteous indignation to sounding like a tirade in the Daily Mail or Daily Telegraph, homes for people who can’t adapt to a changing world? Spike and this book are a kind of test bed for that question.

Pity the children

One morning after roll-call I was exploring the environs of the camp when I discovered the remains of what had been a big bonfire. The surviving pieces were interesting: Fascist uniforms worn by schoolchildren during indoctrination training, Bambini della Lupa (Children of the Wolf) and along with them were little wooden rifles and kindergarten books praising Mussolini, Il Duce nostra Buona Padre … etc etc. How in God’s name can adults do this to children? To pervert their minds… (p.56)

And the passage quote above, from page 80.

General misanthropy

During the brief R&R in Amalfi they watch fishermen kill octopuses they’ve captured by turning them inside out.

It was obscenely cruel, but then Man is. (p.238)

Reunions

The reunions with his old army pals were obviously important to Spike. He goes out of his way to mention, in his irritated preface, that he and his comrades have not one but two reunions a year ‘something no other British Army unit have’, before spelling out that he’s referring to D Battery, 56th Heavy Regiment, Royal Artillery. And he repeats this again at the very end when he’s spelling out what esprit de corps means, how his mates had it and their hated CO, Major Jenkins, absolutely didn’t (p.285).

He tells us that in December 1976 he organised a reunion at the Medusa Restaurant of those involved in the fighting in and around Steam Roller Farm, 26 February 1943. Strikingly, they invited one of the Germans who’d been fighting opposite them to the meal (p.63).

On a particularly freezing wet night one of the lads. Gunner Trew, asked for a sip of Spike’s tea and ended up draining it.

Now, whenever there’s a reunion, I walk straight up to him and say ‘Gi’s a sip’, take his beer and drain it to the bottom and say ‘Remember Italy’. (p.89)

Vindictiveness

This points to another aspect of the text which feels new, which is that Spike never forgets a grudge. The Trew story is, if you read it briskly, funny – but it chimes with other places which aren’t funny and where resentment smoulders on after 35 years. For example, he doesn’t let up in his criticism of their unbearable commanding officer, Major Evans.

In another, surprising, passage he has it in for his Dad. He says that his Dad’s letters from home become an increasing pain in the arse. This is because his Dad relentlessly nags him to reply to his Mum’s letters. But Spike insists to the reader that he does answer all his Mum’s letters. He goes on to tell us that, after the war, he sent every letter to his Mum registered post and kept the receipts and pasted them into a book and showed his Dad the book – at which he claims his Dad said the book could be a fake! It reveals Spike’s inability to let it go.

And he also emphasises to the reader that it cost him a ‘fortune’ in registered letters, an indication of his own ‘tightness’ with money which, as we’ve seen, he tends to attribute to Jewish people. (Compare the phrase in the preface which emphasises that calling up old comrades who live abroad, to check the facts, ‘ran into over a hundred pounds’. Money was obviously an issue for Spike who never really made it big, not ‘big’ like his frenemy Peter Sellers.)

Post-war sadness

A number of remarks are more redolent of 1970s Britain than 1940s Italy, especially the references to Britain going down the tubes, no longer being ‘Great’ and so on. Daily Mail territory.

…even today the indoctrination goes on. China. Russia. Out own democracies corrupt with pornography and Media Violence… (p.56)

Combined with the sense, which comes over in the references to contemporary reunions, that they will never recover that carefree esprit de corps, they will never be so young or so free again, which takes shape as quiet despair at the dullness of suburban life. For example, they bunk down in an abandoned farmhouse and Spike records the graffitti including ‘The Tebourba Tigers’.

The latter refers to the name they conferred on themselves after a savage action at Tebourba in Tunisia. Where are those tigers now? Watching telly? Washing up?… (p.67)

At moments like this the book reflects the general sense of frustrated malaise widespread across the Britain of the 1970s, see the Reginald Perrin novels, or the exasperated frustration at the start of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy or any number of 70s sitcoms like Rising Damp. ‘Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way,’ as Pink Floyd sang in 1973.

And then throw Spike’s own, personal, depression into the mix. It doesn’t explicitly appear that often in this long text, but it’s a strong, depressive tone which flavours the whole thing.

The ugly English

Related to the sense of Britain going down the tubes and the dullness of suburban life goes a passage about the sheer crapness of English ‘cuisine’.

the Anglo-Saxon will devour stale bread, bully beef, hard rolls, food boiled to death and obliterated with artificial seasoning – yet delightfully cooked octopus in garlic? No! You are what you eat, that’s why we all look so bloody ugly. (p.238)

Similarly, tea. I, personally, hate tea but the soldiers lived for mugs of the sweet brown dishwater. But even so:

As I walk I sip the life-giving tea – why do we dote on tea? It tastes bloody awful, it’s only the sugar and milk that make it drinkable. It’s like fags – we’ve got hooked… (p.261)

Emigration

All this explains why he sympathises with the idea of emigrating away from poor old Britain…

His brother Desmond is 17 and has a crappy job. No wonder he emigrated to Australia p.263

The Russian threat

It’s not untrue but Spike’s warnings against Russian threat reminded me of another radical turned grumpy old man, Kingsley Amis, who wrote several novels warning against a Russian conquest of Britain p.249

Other complaints

He complains that in a village they came to, the British were allowing suspect collaborators to be kept packed in the tiny local police station in inhumane conditions.

Why this situation was allowed to exist can only be put down to the wonderful ‘I’m alright, Jack’ attitude of the British. We are not cruel but, by Christ, sometimes we come very close to it. (p.251)

He describes a local woman cook, Portence, who helps out in the cookhouse, working from dawn till one in the morning and then compares her with:

some of the soppy females of today who get a charlady to clean their flat of three rooms while they phone their friends and eat chocolates. (p.252)

These examples go to show, I hope, that although there are still loads and loads of quickfire gags, there is also a lot more moaning and complaining about the modern (1970s) world. That’s what I meant by the way his anger against a world which started a world war and destroyed entire cities and killed so many civilians and good blokes and damaged little kids forever morphs and mutates into general ranting against the modern world, modern women, modern TV and porn and video nasties etc etc, into a general rant.

Some of the rants can be funny. Many are interesting as examples of social history. But between the rants and the grim descriptions of (distant) battles and death, it feels like we have travelled a long way from the relative innocence of the first volume, Adolf Hitler: My Part in his Downfall (1971).


Credit

Mussolini: His Part in My Downfall by Spike Milligan was published by Michael Joseph in 1978. References are to the 1978 Penguin paperback edition.

Related reviews

  • Adolf Hitler: My Part in his Downfall (1971)
  • ‘Rommel?’ ‘Gunner Who?’: A Confrontation in the Desert (1974)
  • Monty: His Part in My Victory (1976)

Sculpture and Other Matters by Peter Blake @ Waddington Custot

I came out the back end of the Royal Academy having seen two disappointing but mercifully small exhibitions and found myself in Cork Street, home of some of London’s most famous commercial art galleries. Ordinarily I don’t have the time or the headspace after crawling round a blockbuster like the current Entangled Pasts, but for once I did and decided to have a stroll and an explore.

Almost immediately I came across a display that’s more fun, more diverting and entertaining than anything at the Academy, ‘Peter Blake: Sculpture and Other Matters’ being held at the Waddington Custot Gallery.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters’ by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot

Blake is, of course, one of the famous pioneers of Pop Art in Britain, a movement which began in the 1950s and peaked in the 1960s. Apparently, it’s the first exhibition in twenty years to be dedicated to Peter Blake’s sculpture, less well known than his paintings. But it’s a lot of fun and there’s lots of them here – in fact there are no fewer than 100 works on display, covering the entire period of his career, from the 1950s right up to the present day.

Surprisingly, some of the most recent works are collages which throw back 60 odd years to his beginnings.

‘Big Little Books: Surrounded’ by Peter Blake (2023) Courtesy the artist and Waddington Custot

1959 This sculpture, an old RAF locker covered in glamorous pin-up images, was first shown at the Institute of Contemporary Arts (ICA), London in 1960 and is one of the earliest expressions of British ‘Pop’ culture.

It strikes me as marking two aspects of his aesthetic: 1) a loving fondness for found objects and the ephemera of pop culture and what was then mass media (newspapers and magazines) and 2) overlapping this, something to do with fandom, with the hypnotic appeal of being a fan of movie stars or pop bands and collecting their images and plastering them all over your bedroom wall as teenagers and students do, the strangeness, the obsessiveness and the deliciousness of being in love with glamorous stars.

‘Locker’ by Peter Blake (1959) Courtesy the artist and Waddington Custot

Another ‘investigation of’ or maybe, ‘infatuation with’ fandom. is the extraordinary wall-sized shrine to Elvis.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing ‘Shrine for Elvis (Black and White)’ (2003) Photo by the author

Elvis fandom is a kind of black hole down which countless people have fallen into the sequined horror of Las Vegas soul death. Recently I was reading about and rewatching Elvis’s very first recordings and very first TV shows and what’s remarkable is how everything which made him so gauche and innocent and absolute dynamite in that first year or two was completely and utterly drained out of him until he had been replicated as a plastic simulacrum of himself in a decade of terrible movies. And yet the worse he got, the more besotted his fans became and still, to this day, lay flowers and wreaths outside Graceland.

While the Royal Academy’s Entangled Pasts show lectures its visitors about something they already know very well about (the Great Public Issue of the slave trade), art like this, which trembles on the brink of being no art at all, at the same time gestures towards something more strange and unexplored – the obstinate shallowness of human emotion, the ubiquity of bad taste, the universe of pop and movie obsessions which colours all of our lives. How so much of what we like to think of as our fine personalities is actually made of tacky pop culture. (‘Oh have you seen Andrew Scott in the new Ripley dramatisation on Netflix? Oh, he makes such a convincing psychopath!’)

Half our minds are made of junk, half people’s daily conversations about last night’s telly or movies are glamour-stricken kitsch. Oh the Oscars! Oh the Mercury awards! Oh Love island! Oh The Apprentice! Blake takes it out of the cellar of our minds and puts it on plain view for us to be appalled by.

Early 1960s The show includes painted wooden constructions from the early 1960s which nod to Blake’s earlier years studying at Gravesend, where he was taught woodwork.

1965 The iconic piece ‘Tarzan Box – “Big Iron Bird, She Come”’ (1965) demonstrates Blake’s early move towards assemblage and features some of the storybook characters which would recur in Blake’s work in the coming decades.

1980s The ‘Incidents from a sculpture park’ series, assemblages of found objects.

2003 The ‘Still Life’ series of 2003, homages are made to fellow artists including Claude Monet, Giorgio Morandi and Joseph Cornell, who take the place of pop icons and movie stars as the subjects of Blake’s fandom.

In a later series dedicated to artist and cartoonist Saul Steinberg, Blake assembles found items in compositions which directly reference the other artist’s sculptures of the 1970s and 1980s, in which he whittled and painted similar objects in wood.

‘A Parade for Saul Steinberg’ by Peter Blake (2007 to 2012) Courtesy the artist and Waddington Custot

2003 ‘In the Cubist’s Kitchen’ (2003) features a tobacco pipe while ‘Then & Now, For Damien’ (2003) gathers miniature bottles along a shelf, a reference both to Damien Hirst’s (now lapsed) heavy drinking and to Leonardo’s ‘Last Supper’ of 1498.

2008 to 2010 I really liked this ‘Museum of Black and White’, what a cornucopia of incunabula.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing ‘Museum of Black and White 12: In Homage to Mark Dion’ (2008-2010). Photo by the author

Nearby were a number of alphabets with the letters represented by objects found in junk and antique shops, chosen for their poppy kitschness.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing ‘Alphabet small’ (top) and ‘Alphabet large’ (bottom), both 2007 to 2012. Photo by the author

2012 In the ‘Found Sculpture’ series of conceptual works, pebbles, rocks and other found objects are elevated to fine art status, each placed on a plinth of oak and marble.

This work below is from a series where he uses stones which have ‘eyes’ and other facial features, stuck atop bits of wood or bric-a-brac, to create abstract human figures. It’s from a series of six or so which are all linked because in the foreground on the right is an utterly naturalistic little model of a boy sitting in an armchair (in each instance of the series he’s in a different type of chair but it’s always the same model).

Making art out of found materials goes back to the Dadaists and Duchamps. What makes it Pop or Blake is the inclusion of the pop-kitsch-junkshop element of the boy which turns it from sci fi weirdness into pipe smoking charm.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters’ by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing ‘people’ made out of found material and stones with ‘eyes’. Photo by the author

2012 The ‘Generals’ series features figures of dark-painted wood pinned with medals and each with a bowling ball for a head. Blake’s been fascinated by the artistic charge of medals, and of badges more generally, for over half a century and these works show that these small shiny pins and buttons retain a weird power. On one level these mysterious figures combine are fairly obvious satire on senior soldiers and militarism, the kind of naive anti-militarism which drove the 1969 musical ‘Oh What A Lovely War!’  But these figures combine that with something else entirely, something voodoo to do with science fiction and one-eyed robots…

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters’ by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing five pieces from the ‘Generals’ series. Photo by the author

2010: Sea Battles One of the rooms is dominated by a series of big and wonderfully detailed models of old sailing ships. These chime strangely with the much bigger collection of model ships by Hew Locke, each suspended from the ceiling, currently to be seen in the Academy’s Entangled Pasts show. The difference is that whereas Locke is trying to make us feel bad (about slavery, pollution, globalisation, capitalism and the refugee crisis) Blake is aiming to make us smile. On the day I read about the Israeli army not just killing but blowing to pieces seven unarmed food aid workers in Gaza, I know which I prefer.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing some of the ‘Sea Battle’ series. Photo by the author

Anyway, how do they make you smile? Because when you go up close you realise that these beautiful models are crewed by kitsch plastic models, mostly of Disney princesses (on the left) who appear to be coming under attack from models of soldiers (on the right). Hard not to be charmed and delighted.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters’ by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot, close-up of ‘Sea Battle: Disney Princesses’ (2010) Photo by the author

General themes

It’s amazing how impactful it can be just to put two found objects next to each other, on a plinth or a bench or a stand, and watch them reverberate. Not only visually, as objects, but semantically, as vessels of meaning, rich in cultural overtones.

The cult author the Comte de Lautréamont in his 1869 book ‘Les Chants de Maldoror’ wrote about ‘the chance meeting on a dissecting table of a sewing machine and an umbrella’, a sentence which was taken up and trumpeted by the Surrealists half a century later as expressing their aesthetic.

But Blake’s exuberant juxtapositions, despite yoking together all manner of objects, natural or man-made, are not, in fact, surreal. They don’t aim to disturb or momentarily open a doorway to the unconscious as surrealism did. They aim to entertain, amuse, and create good-humoured art objects, constructs, assemblies – strange but not that strange.

All of them feel very English and unthreatening, cosy and comfy, like the coloured pencils and shape tracer in this assembly which made me think of school, and not just school but junior school, of being 9 or 10 and happy.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters’ by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing ‘Still Life: The American Stamp Pad (in homage to Saul Steinberg)’ (2010) Photo by the author

They are playful in the literal sense of including toys and kids’ models, plastic figures for fairly small children or, as in the collages, Mickey Mouse images appropriate to toddlers. No images of Hiroshima or cut-up bodies or sex shock bondage of the kind favoured by the Surrealists or the psycho end of 60s Pop (I’m thinking, as I often do, of J.G. Ballard and his car crash exhibition at the ICA).

Not only does a lot of this stuff come from junk shops but the works feel as if they exist in a kind of mental junk shop – they invoke and recreate a wonderful old rag-and-bone shop of the kind that it’s hard to find nowadays, packed with all kinds of wonderful old junk, forgotten toys and curiosities – and then situate all these collocations and juxtapositions in your imagination.

Fundamentally, Blake deals in nostalgia but nostalgia with a kink, nostalgia for a kind of innocent strangeness, maybe the uncorrupted strangeness of the true child’s vision, which finds everything about the adult world bizarre and inexplicable.

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters’ by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing ‘Family’ (2003) Photo by the author

The curators claim that the exhibition ‘transforms the gallery into an interactive, theatrical space which reflects the imaginative potential of the sculpture on show’ and for once this is true. It’s a fabulous exhibition. It really feels like you’re entering and strolling round another dimension. It feels like a wonderland, a fantasy world of oddities and strangenesses, some more obviously funny than others, but all underpinned by a fundamental and very winning sense of humour.

Because here is Snow White calling a meeting of all the dwarfs, not just the seven ones mentioned in the fairy tales and the Disney movie, no, the entire platoon of dwarves has been assembled and Snow White is about to make a Very Important Announcement. What is it? Imagine one. Make up one yourself. What message would you have for these plastic dwarves?

Installation view of ‘Sculpture and Other Matters’ by Peter Blake at Waddington Custot showing ‘Swiss chalet: A Lone Bagpiper Confronts Snow White and her 30 Dwarves’ (2012) Photo by the author


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To Hell and Back: Europe 1914 to 1949 by Ian Kershaw (2015)

This is volume seven in the eight-volume Penguin History of Europe and it is very good. It has to cover a lot of ground and Kershaw does it clearly and authoritatively. He does this more by focusing on broad themes and issues, than getting snarled up in details. It is a high-level overview.

Contents

The period

In Kershaw’s opinion the 20th century is characterised by wars, immense wars, and falls naturally into two halves – the period of the two world wars 1914 to 1945, and then the Cold War, 1945 to 1990.

The Cold War will be dealt with in the ninth and final volume of the series. This volume covers the earlier period but Kershaw makes the point that, as the violence and chaos of the Second War continued after its official end, and that it took a few years for its repercussions – and the shape of the post-war world – to fully emerge, so his account ends not on VE or VJ Day 1945, but goes on till 1949, the year the Berlin Airlift ended (12 May) and the Federal Republic of Germany was created (20 September).

The themes

In Kershaw’s view the 20th century to 1949 was characterised by four large themes or issues:

1. An explosion of ethno-racist nationalism

The collapse of the Austro-Hungarian, Ottoman and Russian Empires both ‘liberated’ a lot of peoples who now set up independent nations (Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Ukraine, Yugoslavia, Turkey) – but also confirmed the trend whereby these new nations defined themselves ethnically.

In the big rambling empires all sorts of religious and ethnic groups may have resented each other but managed to live alongside each other, in part because they were all subjects of the emperor or sultan. Ethnic nationalism destroyed this tolerance. At a stroke, if you didn’t speak the national language of the national people who the new nation was set up for, you were an outsider and, by implication and sometimes even by law, a second-class citizen. The Jews were outcast everywhere.

2. Bitter and irreconcilable demands for territorial revisionism

Before he brought America into the war, Woodrow Wilson had declared certain principles, namely that America would be fighting for 1. a peace without conquest (i.e. in the final peace deals, conquerors wouldn’t get to keep the land they’d acquired) and that 2. oppressed peoples would be liberated and given their independence / own nations.

In practice this second one proved tricky because centuries of living under rambling empires had resulted in a tremendous mixing-up of populations. To give an example, a large area in the east of Anatolia was known as Armenia and was the traditional homeland of the Armenian people – but there were large Armenian populations scattered all over the rest of the Ottoman Empire, not least in the area known as Cilicia, at the other end of Anatolia from Armenia proper: so what happens to them?

The victors in the war laboured long and hard over complicated treaties (Versailles, Trianon, Saint Germain), drawing lines on maps and creating new nations states. But it proved impossible not to include in almost all of them large ethnic minorities a) who resented not living in their nation b) who were resented by the majority population for not speaking the national language, having the correct type of name or religion.

And it proved impossible to do this without creating a burning sense of grievance on the part of the nations who lost territory: Germany lost 13% of its pre-war territory and 10% of its population (p.119); Russia lost control of the Baltic states and Finland; Bulgaria also lost some territory, but Hungary lost a whopping 75% of its former pre-WW1 territories so that some three and a half Hungarians found themselves living outside Hungary, many of them in the new enlarged Romania which became nearly twice the size of its 1914 embodiment.

Kershaw gives the chapter where he describes all this the title ‘The Carve-Up’.

3. A prolonged crisis of capitalism, which many thought was terminal, and needed to be replaced by new social structures

The First World War left economic wreckage at every level, from devastated agricultural land through ruined industrial sectors. This was a lot more true in the East where entire regions such as Ukraine, Belarus and Galicia were devastated, than in the relatively static West, where only a relatively small zone about 50 kilometers wide had been devastated by the trench warfare.

At a higher level, all the combatants had had to borrow vast sums to fund their war efforts, and this left many on the brink of bankruptcy. The Western nations had borrowed heavily from the USA. To repay its debt France insisted on huge reparations from Germany. When Germany defaulted on the payments in 1923, France occupied the industrial Ruhr area of Germany, the German government told the workers to go on strike in protest, and the fragile German economy collapsed leading to the famous hyperinflation where you needed a wheelbarrow full of cash to buy a cigarette.

This situation was sorted out at an international conference which enacted the Dawes Plan, a simple triangle whereby America lent money to Germany to rebuild her economy, the German government used the tax revenue generated from its growing economy to pay reparations to France, and France used the German reparations to pay back its immense war loans to America and pledged to buy American products.

This elegant plan underpinned the brittle prosperity of the years 1924 to 1929, the Jazz Era, the Roaring Twenties, the Weimar Years. But, as we all know, it collapsed with the 1929 Wall Street Crash which not only led to prolonged Depression in the States, but demolished the Dawes Plan and plunged Europe into depression, triggering the mounting unemployment and renewed inflation which set the scene for the rise of the Nazis.

Throughout this period, many thinkers and commentators thought the capitalist system was doomed. It seemed to be failing efore their eyes, in America, Britain, France and Germany. Many thought Western civilisation could only survive by mutating into new forms, by evolving new social structures.

4. Acute class conflict, given new impetus by the advent of Bolshevik Russia

There had been class-based uprisings and revolutions throughout the 19th century (maybe the brutal Paris Commune is the most extreme and clearly class-based example) and a wealth of thinkers, not only Marx, had interpreted the grotesque inequality between the new factory and business owners and the deeply impoverished industrial proletariat as a clash of classes.

But the Bolshevik seizure of power in Russia transformed the situation. The Bolshevik regime became a symbol and lightning rod for class antagonisms all round the world. It appeared to offer a working example of a genuinely alternative social system, one in which the government sequestered all the means of production and distribution and ran them for the good of the entire people, not just a wealthy few.

But it had two baleful consequences:

1. The Russian Revolution split the Left

From the establishment of the Communist International (or Comintern) in 1919 until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the forces of the Left in every country in the world would be divided between communist parties taking direct orders from Moscow, and all the other forces of the Left who, quite often, the communists undermined and sabotaged (see the Spanish Civil War). This was a fatal division of the forces opposing the Right and Fascism, which Kershaw describes as occurring in country after country throughout the period.

2. The Russian Revolution was a galvanising force in the rise of the Right

Right-wing parties everywhere reached out to the newly-enfranchised masses (all European nations expanded their voting base after the war, for the first time creating really mass democracies), especially the large numbers of middle and lower-middle-class voters, and terrified them with visions of blood-thirsty revolutionaries taking over their town or country, lining all ‘class enemies’ (i.e. them) up against the wall, confiscating their businesses and hard-won savings.

One way of looking at it was that, without the very real existence of the Bolshevik regime and the threat from growing communist parties in every country in Europe, there would have been no Fascism.

And the closer you were to Bolshevik Russia, the more pressing the conflict seemed – from Poland which was actually invaded by the Red Army in 1920, to countries like Romania, Bulgaria and Hungary where initial dalliances with left-wing governments quickly gave way to right-wing authoritarian regimes (the Iron Guard in Romania, the royal authoritarian dictatorship of Tsar Boris III in Bulgaria, the right-wing administration of admiral Miklós Horthy in Hungary).

All these trends were exemplified by the central and most important European state, Germany, whose Weimar regime tried to follow Western norms of governance, but was undermined 1) by the extreme social divisions sparked by recurrent economic crises, 2) by the immense and widespread resentment created by the punitive Versailles Treaty, and 3) by a culture of subversion and street violence which the Right, eventually, was to win.

Conclusion

All four elements (nationalism, economic crises, left-wing politics, squabbling over territory) had of course pre-existed all across Europe. But they were driven to new heights of intensity by the First World War and the widespread chaos which followed. And then combined like toxic chemicals, catalysed by the series of political and economic crises, to create unprecedented levels of bitterness, hatred, anger and social division all across Europe between the wars.


The origins of the First World War

There are as many opinions about the origins of the First World War as there are grains of sand on a beach. Kershaw emphasises the folly of the German government sending Austro-Hungary, as it pondered how to punish Serbia for the assassination of Austrian Archduke Ferdinand, a ‘blank check’, promising to support them come-what-may. This encouraged the Dual Monarchy to outface the Russians, which of course prompted the Russkies to mobilise etc etc.

But reading Kershaw’s account what came over to me as the really decisive source of the crisis was the Austro-Hungarian slowness to act. Other heads of state had been assassinated in the decade leading up to 1914 without sparking a general crisis. The other powers expected Austria to attack Serbia and deliver a short sharp reprimand, maybe occupy Belgrade, demand some reparations before withdrawing etc.

But, as Kershaw puts it, the Austro-Hungarian Empire only had two speeds, very slow or stop, and it took them nearly four weeks to write and send their ultimatum to the Serbian government.

This appalling delay gave all the other European governments time to consider how they could use the crisis for their own ends, not least Germany, whose military leaders told the Kaiser this was a golden opportunity to thrash the Russians before the Russians completed their well-publicised plan to modernise and expand their army, which was due to be completed by 1917. The German High Command persuaded the Kaiser that it was now or never.

If Austro-Hungary had gone in hard and fast with a surprise attack into Serbia within days of the assassination, a conference would have been called among the powers – much as happened after the first and second Moroccan crises (1905 and 1911) or the two Balkan wars (1912 and 1913) – to sort the problem out, probably force Serbia to pay reparations, and defuse tensions among the powers.

So you could argue that it was the byzantine and elephantine bureaucracy of the unwieldy Austro-Hungarian state which caused the cataclysmic conflict which defined the entire 20th century.

This view gives edge to the reading of a novel like Robert Musil’s The Man Without Qualities with its sustained satire on the pompous ineffectiveness of the Austrian administration. Maybe not so funny after all…


Civilised Western and backward Eastern Europe

There’s a whole genre of books devoted to explaining ‘the Rise of the West’ i.e. how Western empires ended up by the early twentieth century ruling a lot of the rest of the world. Harder to find are books which investigate the simpler question: Why was Western Europe relatively ‘civilised’ whereas regimes got steadily more repressive, undemocratic and authoritarian the further East across Europe you travelled. Kershaw’s book suggests some answers.

1. Western Europe was more ethnically homogeneous than central or Eastern Europe. England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, Sweden – these were populated by homogeneous populations of people identifying with the nation, with only tiny, insignificant minorities (Belgium is the exception which proves this rule, with low-lying conflict between the Flemings and the Walloons). Therefore, one of the key triggers of post-war social tension – ethnically jumbled populations with conflicting claims – simply didn’t exist in Western Europe..

A notable exception was Spain where two large ethnically distinct groups, the Catalans and the Basques, combined with a backward, poverty-stricken population to make ruling the country problematic, as its slide towards civil war was to highlight.

2. Nation states in the West were long established. The French could trace their nation back to Charlemagne and the British to Alfred the Great, certainly to Magna Carta in 1216. Both nations had parliaments by the 1200s. That gave them 700 years experience of evolving laws and customs and strategies to manage social conflict. Compare and contrast with Germany, which was only unified in 1871 and whose experiments with self-governance over the next 70 years were not, shall we say, particularly successful. It was only after the British and Americans taught the Germans how to run a modern democracy in the post-war occupation that they finally got it right. Or compare with any of the ‘successor’ states to the collapsed empires – Hungary, Yugoslavia, Poland, which had barely any experience managing themselves. Spain, though it had existed as a political entity since the Unification of the 1490s, had only just ceased to be a monarchy. Only in 1931 did they expel their king and declare themselves a republic.

So all these nations or administrations had very shallow roots and little experience of self-government.

To put the same thing another way, Kershaw explains that in Western European countries (and the USA) the state had, over time shaped the nation – the institutions of the state had created a national consciousness which identified with these institutions. The institutions of state had become part of the populations sense of nationhood, for example, in Britain, the Queen, the Houses of Parliament, Black Rod, the Leader of the Opposition and so on.

It was the opposite in the new nations of central and eastern Europe. Here ethnically purist nationalisms predated any idea of what a nation was, and the new states were created in the name of ethnically limited nations: Poland for the Poles, Hungary for the Hungarians and so on. The precise political form the new states took was secondary; the aim was to promote the nation.

Thus the institutions of the new democratic states were mostly new and, as they proved themselves incapable of managing the political and economic crises of the 1930s, broad sections of the population had no qualms about overthrowing these institutions and replacing them with different ones. They didn’t have the national identification with Queen and Parliament or President and Congress that the British and Americans have. So they got rid of them and tried something new, which turned out almost always to be rule by the army or authoritarian figures.

Thus in the USA or Britain, most people thought of politics as a simple choice between Labour or Tory, or Republican or Democrat. Most people accepted ‘democracy’ and few people thought about overthrowing it. But the democratic state was such a new invention in the ten new countries of post-war Europe that plenty of politicians, intellectuals and activists could easily imagine overthrowing and replacing it with a different model more appropriate to the times, and almost always more authoritarian.

3. The further East you went, the less industrialised, the less ‘developed’ i.e. the more ‘backward’ countries became. It appears to have been a simple gradient, a line you could draw on a graph. In Britain at the end of the First World War only 10% of the working population worked on the land whereas 72% of the Romanians worked on the land. Rural workers tended to be illiterate and easy to sway towards simplistic, nationalistic regimes in a way the highly educated population of, say, Britain, would have found laughable. Thus Oswald Mosley’s high-profile British Union of Fascists caused well-publicised public disorders, but never had more than 50,000 members, far fewer than the National Trust or the Women’s Institute.

Of course the most easterly European nation was Russia, which – following the West-East rule:

  • had the highest proportion – 80% – of illiterate peasants
  • no tradition of elective democracy – the Tsar only set up a sort of parliament, the Duma, in 1905, but he and the ruling classes made sure it had no power
  • few if any of the institutions of civic society
  • and a ‘culture of violence, brutality and scant regard for human life’ (p.113) as my reviews of some of its classic fiction tend to confirm (Dr Zhivago, Tales From the Don, Red Cavalry, One Day In the Life of Ivan Denisovich)

The weakness of inter-war democracy

Kershaw has a fascinating passage examining the post-war political systems of every country in Europe (pages 123 to 133) which shows exactly why ‘democracy’ had such thin roots. Later on, a similar survey explains why these weak democracies almost all collapsed into authoritarian regimes by the time of, or during the second war (pages 183 to 192). European democratic systems during this period:

1. Used electoral voting systems which encouraged weak government. Many used variations of proportional representation, which may, on the one hand, have led to general assemblies which were accurate reflections of national views, but also led to weak governments which followed each other with bewildering speed:

  • Spain had 34 governments between 1902 and 1923
  • Portugal 45 administrations between 1910 and 1926
  • Yugoslavia had 45 political parties
  • Italy had 6 changes of government between 1919 and 1922
  • France had six different governments in just over a year, April 1925 to July 1926

2. All this disillusioned much of the population with their mixture of incompetence, endless squabbling, corruption, all too often giving the sense that politicians put party interest above national interest. This allowed right-wing extremists to tar all democratic politicians with neglecting The Nation, even accusations of treason.

3. This created what Kershaw calls a ‘political space’ in the newly-created countries – or countries with new political systems – into which broad sections of the populations were all-too-ready to let a Strong Man step and run the country properly:

  • Admiral Miklos Horthy in Hungary in 1920
  • Mussolini in Italy in 1922
  • General Primo de Rivera in Spain 1923
  • in Albania Ahmed Zogu seized power in 1924 and declared himself King Zog
  • General Pilsudski took control in Poland 1926
  • General Gomes de Costa took power in Portugal in 1926

On the eve of the Second World War only about eleven countries in Europe were functioning democracies and they were all located in the north and the west – Britain, Ireland, France, Switzerland, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland and tiny Iceland; whereas about 60% of Europe lived in 16 countries under repressive, authoritarian rule with curtailed civil rights and minorities facing discrimination and persecution: in the South, Spain, Portugal, Italy and Greece; in the East, Hungary, Slovakia, Romania, Bulgaria, Albania, Yugoslavia, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia; and slap-bang in the middle, the largest country in Europe, the nation that set the tone, Germany.


What is fascism and how does it take hold?

Kershaw is best known as a historian of Hitler and the Nazis. You can feel the depth of his knowledge when he comes to describe the situation in Germany after the First World War, during the boom years of the mid-1920s, during the Depression (1929 to 1933), and as he explains the reason for the Nazis’ appeal and rise in each of these periods.

All too often histories of the Nazis focus so exclusively on the uniqueness of the German context that the reader is hard-pressed to draw broader conclusions. An excellent thing about this book is that it is a conscious attempt to cover the history of all of Europe, so that in each of the micro-periods it’s divided into, Kershaw goes out of his way to explain the situation in most if not all of Europe’s 30 or so countries; how, for example, the onset of the Depression affected not only Britain, France and Germany (which you always get in the standard histories) but countries right across Europe, from Spain to Greece, Norway to Portugal.

This proves extremely useful when he gets to the rise of the Nazis and their successful seizure of power (Hitler became Chancellor of Germany in January 1933 and within 6 months had crushed all other rival sources of power, all other political parties, the parliament, trades unions, universities, professions, every aspect of a modern state had either been Nazified or abolished).

It’s useful because after explaining all this, he goes on to draw general conclusions, to define what Fascism is, to ask Why Fascism succeeded in Italy and Germany and Why Fascism failed everywhere else. This has all kinds of benefits; one is it allows him to draw a distinction between regimes which were right-wing and authoritarian but not actually Fascist, explanations which we can apply to our contemporary situation in 2024.

1. What is Fascism?

Kershaw says that trying to define Fascism is like trying to nail jelly to a wall because its core attribute is hyper-nationalism i.e. glorification of the nation with its special language and history and traditions – and the precise details of each nation’s history and culture will vary according to circumstances.

Thus an attempt to hold a pan-Fascist Congress in Geneva in 1934 failed because a) Germany didn’t bother to turn up and b) the other delegates couldn’t agree joint plans of action.

These caveats notwithstanding, Kershaw says Fascism includes:

  • hyper-nationalist emphasis on the unity of an integral nation which gains its identity from the cleansing of all who don’t belong – foreigners, ethnic minorities, undesirables
  • racial exclusiveness (though not necessarily biological racism of the Nazi type) with an insistence on the special, unique and superior quality of the nation
  • radical, violent commitment to the complete destruction of political enemies – communists, liberals, democrats, sometimes even conservatives
  • emphasis on militarism and manliness, usually involving paramilitary organisations, linked to worship of war as cleansing, purifying the nation etc
  • belief in authoritarian leadership

Some also had irredentist goals i.e. reclaiming lost territory. Some were anti-capitalist, reorganising economies along corporatist lines, abolishing trade unions and directing the economy through corporations of industries.

All these elements are not unique to fascist rule. They can be present in authoritarian, right-wing governments which want to overthrow or dismantle the existing state and replace it with nationalist, authoritarian rule. What distinguishes Fascism is its insistence on total commitment to bend the collective will of the entire population to the creation of an entirely new nation, expressed in ideas like the New Man, New Society.

Most right-wing authoritarian regimes (like all the South American dictatorships of the 1970s) essentially want to conserve the existing social order, and simply eliminate the left-communist, union elements which threaten it. Fascism goes much further. Fascism is a revolutionary movement because it seeks to sweep awaythe existing order and replace it with a new, totally unified society which will produce New Human Beings, a higher form of people who express the quintessence of the Nation and its epic national qualities.

2. Why does Fascism succeed?

1. Elites lose faith in, and control of, democracy The most important factor in the rise of Fascism – of the extreme, radical Right – is whether the forces of conservatism – business, military, financial and social elites – believe they can get their way through the existing political and social order, or not. If these powers in society retain the belief they can work through the existing system they will support it. Only when they have completely lost faith in the existing system, or believe they have lost the ability to control it, will the elites help to, or acquiesce in, overthrowing it.

In this interpretation, the key to avoiding Fascism is ensuring that all or most elements of these powerful elites believe the existing (parliamentary, democratic) system is the best mechanism for getting their way, or some of it. Only when the existing system has been completely discredited, and the elites feel they are losing control of it and look around for alternatives, does the space open up for radical political change.

Rule 1: Keep the ruling elites invested in the parliamentary system.

2. Fascists play up the threat of communism (and atheism) The second factor is the threat of communism as it affects two sectors of society, the elites and the middle classes.

The realistic prospect of a communist regime coming to power and implementing real communist policies (nationalising all industries, confiscating private property) obviously threatens the interests of the business, economic, class elites. If these interests feel that the existing parliamentary system really is going to allow hard-core Socialist or communist governments to administer Socialist policies, then they will intervene to prevent it.

But communism doesn’t just threaten the elite. It also directly threatens the jobs and livelihoods and cultural capital of a large part of the population, the so-called middle classes, which covers a wide range from the professions (doctors, lawyers) at the top through small businessmen, shopkeepers, small craftsmen and artisans and so on.

Historically, the majority of Fascist supporters have not been from the aristocracy or elites (who often look down on fascist vulgarity) but from the threatened and pressurised middle and lower-middle classes. The elites will have a large number of the population on their side if these people, too, feel threatened by radical socialist policies, not only by their economic policies but by their attacks on traditional culture and values, as progressive in our time have mounted a sustained attack on traditional beliefs (around family, gender, racial guilt etc).

Spain 1936 is an example where the newly elected, aggressively socialist government threatened not only the property and livelihoods of the big landowners and big business but a wide tranche of the middle classes, petit-bourgeoisie and so on. They also directly threatened the Catholic church and all its values, patriarchy, the traditional family, the sanctity of marriage and so on, not having calculated how many traditionalists and believers this would antagonise. They created, in other words, an impressively powerful coalition of enemies.

Kershaw has a section specifically addressing the role of the Protestant churches and the Catholic church during the crisis years of the 1930s and the war. What comes over loud and clear is that the Pope and the Catholic Church, although horrified by the Nazis, thought the communists would be even worse.

Same in Spain. It’s well known that Hitler and Mussolini gave material aid to General Franco, flying his troops in from their garrisons in Africa and bombing Republican strongholds. Less well-known that Britain and France, after some hesitation, decided to adopt a policy of strict neutrality.

Rule 2: Avoid the threat of genuinely socialist, let alone communist, policies. This won’t lead to socialist policies, it will trigger the fervent opposition of the majority of the population.

3. Widespread grievances, specially about lost wars or lost land Political parties don’t exist in a vacuum, they need supporters. Voters, populations, peoples don’t migrate to extreme parties without reason. Almost always it is because they feel threatened by loss or are aggrieved because they already have lost important aspects of their lives (jobs, money, status).

A very large number of people in Weimar Germany felt they stood to lose, or already had lost, jobs or status. Classic Nazi members were white-collar workers, small businessmen, former army officers or NCOs, shopkeepers, small craftsmen, farmers, a huge raft of people who had suffered monetary loss under the economic crisis, or loss of status (ex-army officers, unemployed white-collar workers).

The entire German nation was united by a sense of grievance at the unfair provisions of the Treaty of Versailles, the loss of large parts of territory and the punitive reparations.

The Nazis played on the widespread grievances of disparate sectors of the population and claimed to speak for them against a corrupt system which they promised they would sweep away, restoring everyone’s losses (of jobs and status), and restoring the losses of the entire nation.

Rule 3: Don’t give people and peoples long-running grievances.

4. National pride and national enemies The easiest way to address people’s grievances is to bundle them up into all-encompassing calls for a revival of the nation. Pretty much all Germans felt humiliated by the terms of the Treaty of Versailles, so it wasn’t rocket science for the Nazis to make one of the main planks a call for National Revival and throwing off national humiliation.

And the easiest way to rally national pride, national revival, national rebirth, is to identify some kind of internal enemy who stands in the way. For the Nazis it was their mad irrational hatred of Jews (who, it is always shocking to recall, made up just 0.76% of the German population). Around the same time Stalin was uniting the mass population behind him by attacking ‘kulaks’, ‘saboteurs’ etc. All authoritarian regimes are quick to identify enemies and rally the majority of the population against them.

It’s tricky because calls for national revival are an extremely common tactic of all politicians, and many people are patriotic in a relatively harmless way. It obviously becomes toxic when it becomes mixed with calls to defeat ‘enemies’, either internal or external. ‘Make America Great Again’ is fine in itself, until you start blaming the Mexicans or the Chinese for the fact that it isn’t, currently, great. Or the Jews. Or the Liberals or the Socialists etc.

Rule 4: Be wary of calls to national pride, nationalism and national revival which rely on demonising an ‘enemy’.

5. Economic crisis Implicit in the above is the context of the economic or social situation becoming so extreme and dire that a) the large percentage of the population cease to have faith in the system b) parties of the extreme Left or extreme Right can come into existence, get a purchase on the population, and get into the political system.

Rule 5: Avoid extreme economic or social failure.

6. Unstable political systems Political systems like proportional representation, which cater to every political element in a society, allow the proliferation of small, often extreme parties. Once established, extreme parties have the potential to grow quickly and challenge the status quo. This is what the Nazis did in Germany.

This is less likely in ‘mature’ democracies with winner-takes-all systems like Britain and the USA. Our systems are dominated by two main parties, which are themselves flexible and changing coalitions of interests, which ensure that most views have a political ‘home’ and give a broad spectrum of beliefs at least the possibility of seeing their views and policies implemented.

Even in a stable democracy like Britain’s, it is still possible for new parties to erupt and threaten the status quo if the social movement/mood they reflect is powerful enough. This is what UKIP did to the British political system in the lead-up to the Brexit Referendum. What Boris Johnson then did was in line with the long tradition of mature Western democracies, he incorporated most of UKIP’s policies (‘Get Brexit Done’) into one of the two mainstream parties (the Conservatives) thus drawing its teeth, neutralising it, and maintaining the stability of the two-party system. If it resulted in the Conservatives moving to the right that in fact reflects the wishes of a large part of the UK population who voted for Brexit and voted for Boris.

Mature democracies incorporate and neutralise radical elements. Immature democracies allow radical elements to establish themselves and attract support.

Rule 6: Incorporate potentially disruptive movements into the existing system – don’t keep them outside to become a focal point for destabilisation.

Kershaw summarises:

Fascism’s triumph depended upon the complete discrediting of state authority, weak political elites who could no longer ensure that a system would operate in their interests, the fragmentation of party politics, and the freedom to build a movement that promised a radical alternative. (p.232)

3. The difference between fascism and authoritarianism

Authoritarianism – authoritarian dictatorships – generally want to keep things as they are or turn the clock back. They all share a loathing and fear of socialism or communism not only because it’s a direct threat to their wealth and power but because it threatens change, threatens to sweep away old values and traditions. Authoritarians want to save the nation by preserving its (conservative) traditions from change.

Fascism, on the contrary, is a revolutionary and dynamic ideology which seeks to sweep away time-honoured and conservative institutions. It seeks a comprehensive rebirth of the nation, freed from the shackles of the past, liberated to fulfil its historic destiny (power, land, international respect), but also to create New People in a New Society.

Thus Kershaw is at pains to point out that, although most European nations became dictatorships on the brink of or during the Second World War – most of these were not fascist. They were military dictatorships first and foremost, which may have used this or that aspect of ‘fascist’ ideology or trappings as suited them, but without the fundamental fascist attribute of wanting to transform society.

  • When General Ioannis Metaxis established his dictatorship in Greece in 1936, his avowed intention was to save the nation from communism, and he tried to set up ‘fascist’ organisations but failed to secure anything like the total social control of a Hitler or Mussolini.
  • When General Edward Smigly-Ridz took control of Poland in 1937 as ‘Leader of the Nation’, the country became more nationalistic and more antisemitic but ‘there was nothing dynamic about this form of authoritarianism. No major attempt was made to mobilise the population. The regime was content to control the society. It had no ambitions to change it’ (p.262).
  • Even General Franco, after his military coup of July 1936, took a year to sort out the political aspects of what was essentially a military project. He co-opted the ideology of the banned Falange Party and coerced all the other right-wing organisations into joining it (p.240), but the party was only ever a political aspect of what remained a military rule. This was the polar opposite Germany, where a fanatically organised, civilian political party controlled the military as just one of the many levers of its total control over society.

Another fairly obvious difference is that some of these authoritarian regimes locked up fascists as well as communists, socialist, liberals, journalists etc. For example, the Polish and Portuguese dictatorships (pages 262 and 264) or Admiral Horthy’s authoritarian regime in Hungary, which banned the genuinely fascist Hungarian National Socialist Party and imprisoned its leader, Ferenc Szálasi (p.263).

In other words, for many authoritarian dictatorships, real hard-core fascism was just one more subversive or disruptive element which needed to be controlled.

One way of thinking about this is the contrast between merely authoritarian regimes and totalitarian regimes. Totalitarian regimes want your soul as well as your body, your mind as well as your vote. They insist on total control of every aspect of their citizens lives in order to create a new type of human being.

Everything within the state, nothing outside the state, nothing against the state. (Mussolini)

Another way of thinking about the difference between authoritarian dictatorships and genuinely fascist regimes is that none of the dictatorships threatened the peace of Europe – the Western democracies didn’t lose any sleep about the foreign policy of Hungary, Bulgaria, Poland, Portugal. Even Spain, whose drawn-out civil war was violent and traumatic, never threatened to spill beyond its borders, never threatened the peace of Europe.

Unlike the irredentist and imperialist ambitions of the true fascist regimes, Italy and, most of all, Germany.


The rise of the Right and collapse of the Left in the 1930s

Putting the usual culprits Italy and Germany in the context of the wider, in fact of the complete European scene, brings out a fact I had never fully grasped before.

I suppose I knew that the 1930s were the era of The Dictator – although Kershaw’s review of every dictatorship in Europe really rams this fact home. The deeper point is that the catastrophic economic collapse of the early 1930s, which devastated nations, threw millions out of work, and led many to think capitalism was failing – did not produce a shift to the Left, in favour of thinkers and politicians who’d spent a lifetime criticising capitalism and supporting workers movements – it resulted, all across Europe, in a seismic shift to the Right.

The 1930s was the decade of the failure of the Left.

Why? Because despite its appeal to the kind of intellectuals whose works survive and are studied to this day, for the majority of the population the Left, in either its socialist or communist form, threatened the interests of:

  • most of the ruling class
  • most of the middle class
  • most if not all of the peasants – some may have heard rumours about Stalin’s forced collectivisation in Soviet Russia, all knew that the Left wanted to destroy the Church and traditional religion
  • even a portion of the skilled working class who stood to lose their perks and privileges
  • not to mention the large number of criminals and dossers who are generally left out of sociological calculations, the kind of people who fill the pages of novels like Alfred Döblin’s Berlin Alexanderplatz

In other words, the hard, radical Left always represents a minority of a society, and is always opposed by a majority in that society.

Which makes it all the more striking that such a disproportionate majority of the intellectuals of many of these societies moved to the Left. Kershaw has a chapter giving a tourist’s-eye view of the ‘intellectual life’ of Europe in the 1930s and 40s (which jumps around superficially, as historians’ quick compliance with the need to mention something about ‘culture’ so often do) – but the general drift is that from Gramsci through Orwell, Sartre to the Frankfurt School, the majority of Europe’s significant intellectuals took a left-wing, often out-and-out communist, view of the continent’s problems.

In other words, a high proportion of the intellectual class of Europe was profoundly out of step with the majority of their populations.

That’s one rather crude interpretation, anyway. The deeper reasons for the shift to the Right bear investigating and pondering. A deep analysis would give insights into why, in our time, years of austerity, uncertainty and economic stagnation since the 2008 Crash have resulted not in a mass outpouring of socialist idealism but, once again, led to the rise of right-wing leaders around the world. At the same time the intellectual and academic classes remain securely embedded in their progressive and left-wing ghettos (universities), out of touch with the populations they claim to interpret, and blankly incredulous of the leaders who keep getting elected (Trump, Johnson).

To return to the period under consideration, Germany’s dynamic Nazi ideology is in fact the exception that proves the rule to most of Europe during the period. So much ink has been spilt about Hitler and the Nazis but they were the product of a very distinctive set of circumstances – to take two of them, the fact that they were in Europe’s largest and most powerful nation, and that the entire nation felt huge grievance over the Versailles Treaty.

Focusing so much on bloody Hitler and his Nazi Party, whose historical situation was unique and so whose precise brand of turbo-charged Fascism is never going to recur, has distracted historians from the much more practical task of analysing the reasons for the rise of right-wing authoritarian regimes in general – which do recur with worrying regularity, which were widespread during the 1930s and 40s, which dominated Latin America and southern Europe in my boyhood (Portugal, Spain, Greece and Turkey all had military dictatorships in the 1970s), and which people worry are now reappearing in the guise of various ‘populist’ leaders.

Historians’ focus on one unique event (the Nazis) is, in my opinion, a distraction from analysing and thinking about how to prevent the far more common (almost mundane) phenomenon of military coups and authoritarian dictatorships.

The accidental rise of Adolf Hitler

As anybody who’s read about the period knows, Hitler didn’t storm to power, he was appointed by political elites who thought they could manipulate and control him to get their way. They did so because in late 1932 the Nazis had secured the largest share of the election vote and so had to be included in whatever government was set up – but, when they finally decided to appoint the vulgar little corporal Chancellor, the behind-the-scenes wheeler-dealers made sure to pack Hitler’s ‘cabinet’ with members of other parties. They thought that would moderate his policies. None of them had any idea how utterly ruthless Hitler would turn out to be in eliminating all these restraints on his power.

So possibly the key fact about Hitler’s rise to power is that it was the result of a mistake in political calculation by Germany’s political elite which had, by late 1932, lost all confidence in the ability of Weimar parliamentary democracy to deal with the country’s severe economic crisis.


Conclusions

Avoiding Fascism

What this analysis suggests is that avoiding Fascism is nothing to do with the Left-wing obsession with promoting workers rights, women’s rights, minority rights and so on. It involves ensuring that the powerful economic, social and military elites of a country continue to have faith in some form of parliamentary democracy as the best mechanism of protecting their interests.

Any political moves which threaten or jeopardise their interests, in effect, open the door to right-wing coups and worse.

Of course you probably require a number of other factors and preconditions, at the very least a) a political culture which accepts or has a tradition of coups, such as Spain’s with its long tradition of pronunciamentos, and b) a really severe economic or social crisis which the parliamentary system manifestly fails to manage.

Avoiding Europe

If you were American or Chinese or anyone looking at Europe from the outside it would be hard to avoid the conclusions that a) Europe is incapable of governing itself, and b) Europe is the most savage, bestial continent on earth.

For all their instability, nothing on the scale of either the First or Second World Wars took place in Latin America, Africa or the Indian sub-continent.

One way of looking at the Cold War is that, at the same time as the Soviet Union acquired a deep buffer zone to protect its western border (i.e. the Eastern Bloc countries) it was also taking control of the very region which contained the most ethnically mixed populations, had shown the most political instability, had been the location of terrible ethnic cleansing and enormous deaths.

In a sense the Soviet occupation of Eastern Europe liberated Western Europe from the burden dragging at its heel and, along with massive American financial and military aid, freed it (Western Europe) for the 30 years of economic growth and prosperity which followed.

It was Cecil Rhodes who made a speech in which he told his audience to remember that they were English and so had won first prize in the lottery of life. Obviously, at the time he was referring to our membership of the biggest empire the world had ever seen – but reading accounts of the twentieth century like this give the idea a whole new meaning.

Put simply, being born in England in the twentieth century meant you weren’t born on the continent of Europe which, as Kershaw vividly emphasises, between 1939 and 1945 descended into hell, real hell, the utter collapse of civilisation, mass slaughter, death camps, mass imprisonment and torture, gas chambers, the endless rape and murder of civilians, displacement and starvation.

In the entire catalogue of destruction, devastation and misery that made up the Second World War, the murder of Europe’s Jews was the lowest point of mankind’s descent into the abyss of inhumanity. The fires of the death-camp crematoria were almost literally the physical manifestation of hell on earth. (p.369)

Both my parents lived through the war as children, experiencing the Blitz and then the V-bombs, which wasn’t pleasant. But nonetheless they both had the immeasurable good fortune not to have been born on the Continent of Atrocity, and in the terrible middle years of the 20th century, that really was like winning a prize in the lottery of life.

Understanding Europe

Which leads to a final thought, which I’ll keep brief: maybe it is impossible for an English person to understand Europe. We were never invaded, devastated, forced to collaborate with the conqueror, to round up and deport English Jews, to execute our own socialists and liberals, and then reduced to starvation and chaos amid the smoking ruins of our cities.

The extremity of the experiences of every other nation in continental Europe during the war years (and described by Kershaw in gruelling detail) are beyond our experience or imagining. And so we never experienced anything like the same cultural or political extremity which wartime conditions produced. In the first post-war election in France, the Communist Party won 26% of the vote, in Britain 0.4%, reflecting the two nations very different recent experiences (p.488).

The great thoughts of Gramsci, Benjamin, Horkheimer, Adorno, Sartre and so on have dazzled generations of British students but bear no relationship at all to the history, culture and politics of the UK and its population. Which is why all those humanities students, drilled in their Benjamin and Lukacs, who voted for Jeremy Corbyn, helped him lead Labour to its most crushing electoral defeat in 50 years.

Brexit

It also explains something about Brexit. The ideal of a European Union has a real meaning for hundreds of millions of Europeans, raised for generations to believe it is better to be politically and economically united than to fight each other to the death as their grand-parents and great-grand-parents did.

But Britain really was an exception to the history of this terrible period, and that ‘exceptionialism’, for better or worse, was, during the period Kershaw describes, and obviously still is, a strong thread in British culture and population.

(I’m not shoehorning Brexit and ‘Europe’ into this review: the last 20 pages of Kershaw’s book explicitly discusses these issues. He describes the descent of the Iron Curtain across Europe, the continent’s division into two blocs being crystallised by the Marshall Plan, announced in June 1947. He quotes several Americans involved in co-ordinating Western Europe’s recovery from the war, not least George Marshall himself complaining that the British wanted to keep aloof from Europe, that the British wanted to benefit from a scheme designed to create an economically unified Europe ‘while at the same time maintaining the position of being not quite a European country’ – quoted page 516.)

I’m not approving or disapproving of Brexit, just pointing out that a book like this, which doesn’t hold back when it comes to describing the terror, murder, torture, holocausts, purges, massacres, reprisals, ethnic cleansing, mass deportations, executions and rapes which took place all across continental Europe during these years, can’t help but make you reflect how lucky we were to escape almost all of it, and how the cultural and political consequences of that very real ‘exceptional’ destiny have shaped our politics right down to the present.

Random facts

The books is full of hundreds of facts, figures and anecdotes. A few grabbed my attention:

In Britain just short of 70,000 civilians were killed by all German bombing in the entire 6-year war. In one night the firebombing of Hamburg killed some 34,000 civilians. The Hiroshima atom bomb is estimated to have killed about 66,000 people on the day, from the blast and fires, although many more died in the weeks and months that followed.

At their core, both world wars were wars between Germany and Russia. I knew the German High Command in 1914 knew they had a window of opportunity to attack Russia before its army came up to full strength, therefore they had an incentive to attack Russia while they still could. I didn’t realise the Germany High Command felt exactly the same in the late 1930s. Thus in both world wars, a – if not the – fundamental factor was the German gamble to take on Russia, and do it in a hurry.

The Irish taoiseach, Éamon de Valera, was one of a very few politicians who sent the Germans a formal note of condolence on the death of Adolf Hitler, 30 April 1945 (p.387).

Hitler loved Disney movies. He was delighted when Goebbels gave him 18 Mickey Mouse cartoons for Christmas 1937 (p.465).

The Venice Film Festival was founded in 1932 in Mussolini’s Italy. Winners of Best Italian Film and Best Foreign Film were awarded ‘Mussolini Cups’ (p.466). I think they should revive that tradition.


Credit

To Hell and Back: Europe 1914 to 1939 by Ian Kershaw was published by Allen Lane in 2015. All references are to the Penguin paperback edition.

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First World War

Russian Revolution

Between the wars

The Weimar Republic

German literature

Czech literature

French literature

Albert Camus

Jean-Paul Sartre

English literature

Graham Greene

George Orwell

The Middle East

The Spanish Civil War

The Second World War

The Holocaust

After the Second World War

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson (1883)

Treasure Island or, the mutiny of the Hispaniola’ was serialised in 18 instalments in the children’s magazine Young Folks between 1881 and 1882, before being published in book form in 1883. Stevenson used the pseudonym Captain George North. It was the magazine’s editor, James Henderson, who suggested he change the title from The Sea Cook to Treasure Island.

Plot

Presumably most people know the story. What makes the text so gripping is the speed with which the sequence of sensational incidents unfolds, and the vividness of characterisation – the boy hero Jack Hawkins, Long John Silver, marooned Ben Gunn, sinister Blind Pew, sterling Dr Livesey, stout Squire Trelawney – what a cast! And matching speed, incidents and character, Stevenson’s style is intently focused on moving quickly and effectively from one node of action to the next, with a storyteller’s natural touch of suspense.

‘Every man on board seemed well content, and they must have been hard to please if they had been otherwise, for it is my belief there was never a ship’s company so spoiled since Noah put to sea. Double grog was going on the least excuse; there was duff on odd days, as, for instance, if the squire heard it was any man’s birthday, and always a barrel of apples standing broached in the waist for anyone to help himself that had a fancy.

‘Never knew good come of it yet,’ the captain said to Dr. Livesey. ‘Spoil forecastle hands, make devils. That’s my belief.’

‘But good did come of the apple barrel, as you shall hear, for if it had not been for that, we should have had no note of warning and might all have perished by the hand of treachery. This was how it came about. (Chapter 10)

Style

Stevenson’s sentences might be long, with numerous subordinate clauses but, unlike Conrad’s sentences, each clause adds new information and so the prose feels pacey. In Conrad the atmosphere is stagnant, impotent, smothered by tautologous repetition. In Stevenson you are continually learning new information at each step.

All that night we were in a great bustle getting things stowed in their place, and boatfuls of the squire’s friends, Mr. Blandly and the like, coming off to wish him a good voyage and a safe return. We never had a night at the Admiral Benbow when I had half the work; and I was dog-tired when, a little before dawn, the boatswain sounded his pipe and the crew began to man the capstan-bars. I might have been twice as weary, yet I would not have left the deck, all was so new and interesting to me – the brief commands, the shrill note of the whistle, the men bustling to their places in the glimmer of the ship’s lanterns. (Chapter 10)

The three clauses at the end of this last sentence amplify the ‘all’ of the previous phrase. But each one describes something new, something factual and something well-selected to give a panoramic overview of dockside activities. They are like cutaways in a film. In this purely syntactical respect, quite apart from the sensational storyline, Stevenson’s style is cinematic. Also cinematic is RLS’s brisk way with detail:

‘That?’ returned Silver, smiling away, but warier than ever, his eye a mere pin-point in his big face, but gleaming like a crumb of glass. (Chapter 14)

The rest of the arms and powder we dropped overboard in two fathoms and a half of water, so that we could see the bright steel shining far below us in the sun, on the clean, sandy bottom. (Chapter 16)

Just then, with a roar and a whistle, a round-shot passed high above the roof of the log-house and plumped far beyond us in the wood. (Chapter 18)

For Stevenson, poetry is in the lucid detail. The opposite of Conrad, with his murk of synonyms.

Dialogue

In Conrad there is often an unintentionally comic mismatch between the lurid, nihilistic thoughts of the angst-ridden protagonists, dwelt on at great length – and their stiff-upper-lip, stiffly English, and generally brief dialogue. By contrast Stevenson’s dialogue is of a piece with the characters; their speech reveals them in an almost Shakespearian way. He did, after all, write half a dozen plays. Stevenson’s dialogue is wonderfully salty and dramatic, ready to go straight into the screenplay:

‘I saw him dead with these here deadlights,’ said Morgan. ‘Billy took me in. There he laid, with penny-pieces on his eyes.’

‘Dead—aye, sure enough he’s dead and gone below,’ said the fellow with the bandage; ‘but if ever sperrit walked, it would be Flint’s. Dear heart, but he died bad, did Flint!’

‘Aye, that he did,’ observed another; ‘now he raged, and now he hollered for the rum, and now he sang. “Fifteen Men” were his only song, mates; and I tell you true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was main hot, and the windy was open, and I hear that old song comin’ out as clear as clear—and the death-haul on the man already.’

Origins

I came across this excellent account of the book’s origins on a website called Referautile:

—Stevenson was 30 years old when he started to write Treasure Island, and it would be his first success as a novelist. The first fifteen chapters were written at Braemar in the Scottish Highlands in 1881. It was a cold and rainy late-summer and Stevenson was with five family members on holiday in a cottage. Young Lloyd Osbourne, Stevenson’s stepson, passed the rainy days painting with watercolours. Remembering the time, Lloyd wrote:

‘… busy with a box of paints I happened to be tinting a map of an island I had drawn. Stevenson came in as I was finishing it, and with his affectionate interest in everything I was doing, leaned over my shoulder, and was soon elaborating the map and naming it. I shall never forget the thrill of Skeleton Island, Spyglass Hill, nor the heart-stirring climax of the three red crosses! And the greater climax still when he wrote down the words Treasure Island at the top right-hand corner! And he seemed to know so much about it too – the pirates, the buried treasure, the man who had been marooned on the island … “Oh, for a story about it”, I exclaimed, in a heaven of enchantment … ‘

Within three days of drawing the map for Lloyd, Stevenson had written the first three chapters, reading each aloud to his family who added suggestions: Lloyd insisted there be no women in the story; Stevenson’s father came up with the contents of Billy Bones’s sea-chest, and suggested the scene where Jim Hawkins hides in the apple barrel. Two weeks later a friend, Dr Alexander Japp, brought the early chapters to the editor of Young Folks magazine who agreed to publish each chapter weekly.

As autumn came to Scotland, the Stevensons left their summer holiday retreat for London, but Stevenson was troubled with a life-long chronic bronchial condition that put an end to his work on the novel at about chapter fifteen. Concerned about a deadline they travelled in October to Davos, Switzerland where the clean mountain air did him wonders and he was able to continue, and, at a chapter a day, soon finished the story.—

Adaptations

A chapter a day! The brisk pace, the focus on incident and the striking characterisation explain why over 50 movie and TV versions have been made of ‘Treasure Island’. The only one I’m familiar with is the great 1950 Disney version with the fabulous Robert Newton as Long John Silver.


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