The Future of the Staffordshire Hoard

Over 10,000 people visited Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery in the first three days of the Staffordshire Hoard going on display. The exhibition continues until October 13th after which the Hoard will transfer to the British Museum for further evaluation. The British Museum has agreed that any permanent display should be near to where the Hoard was found.

Why Are Museums Free?

Further to issues raised by our previous posts on the British Museum’s new Moctezuma exhibition, Ian Jack also questions the free entry policy of Britain’s major museums, while Philip Hensher, not a man to mince his words, launches a caustic critique of what we now call Mexica culture, especially its propensity for human sacrifice.

Hill's Handsome Coins

One can’t help thinking of Geoffrey Hill, our greatest living poet, in relation to the Staffordshire Hoard (despite him being a man of Worcestershire). Here’s a particularly resonant passage from his masterly Mercian Hymns:

'Coins handsome as Nero’s; of good substance and weight.
Offa Rex resonant in silver, and the names of his moneyers.
They struck with accountable tact. They could alter the king’s face.

Exactness of design was to deter imitation; mutilation if that failed.
Exemplary metal, ripe for commerce.
Value from a sparse people, scrapers of salt-pans and byres.

Swathed bodies in the long ditch; one eye upstaring.
It is safe to presume, here, the king’s anger.
He reigned 40 years. Seasons touched and retouched the soil.'

Who Invented Calculus?

There was a fascinating episode broadcast yesterday of In Our Time, the superb Radio 4 series hosted by Melvyn Bragg. It dealt with the often vicious intellectual battle over who invented calculus, Leibniz or Newton? The panel of guests were remarkably lucid: History Today contributor Patricia Fara, Simon Schaffer, Professor of History of Science at Cambridge and Jackie Stedall, lecturer in the History of Mathematics at Oxford. What made the episode such fantastic entertainment was the tension between Bragg trying to pin down the importance of the discoveries and the experts’ attempts to move way beyond the ken of the average listener. Listeners discovered that Newton approached the problem using geometry while Leibniz adopted the traditional European algebraic techniques. Being a non-scientist, I have always found this area a challenging one and this has become even more apparent of late as I have been editing an article by Michael Hunter on Newton’s great contemporary Robert Boyle for the November edition of History Today. But it is hugely satisfying when one begins to understand, even just a little, the nature of scientific advance. I recommend that you listen to the programme, which is available on BBC iplayer.

More on the Staffordshire Hoard

The more information that emerges about the Staffordshire Hoard, the more remarkable it seems. Two years ago, the British Museum paid £125,000 for an Anglo-Saxon sword handle. There are 310 such parts in the new hoard! Leslie Webster, a former BM curator could, understandably, hardly control his excitement: ‘It will make everyone think again about rising and falling kingdoms, the transition from paganism to Christianity, the conduct of battle and the nature of fine metalwork.’ It appears that some of the objects in the hoard came from as a far away as Byzantium and modern-day Sri Lanka.

The identity of the person responsible for the discovery has been revealed. Terry Herbert, a 55-year-old former coffin maker from Walsall, found the vast hoard using his 14-year-old metal detector on farmland owned by a friend (who has since sold it), believed to be near Lichfield. Mr Herbert and his friend will soon be very wealthy men indeed; the coroner in nearby Cannock declared the find a treasure trove and a committee is currently evaluating its worth. The amount of gold is so large that there are fears it may have a depressive effect on the gold market. Mr Herbert though seems nonplussed, dealing with the media in the typically deadpan delivery of a true Black Countryman. Only once did romance get a hold of him, when he declared that the find was his destiny: ‘I have this phrase,’ he told the assembled throng of the world’s media,’ that I say sometimes, “Spirits of yesteryear take me where the coins appear”, but on that day I changed coins to gold.’ He has changed our understanding of Anglo-Saxon history too.

A sample of the hoard goes on display at Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery today until October 13th. I thoroughly recommend their excellent Edwardian Tea Room.

Duncan Slarke of the Portable Antiquities Scheme was the first archaeologist to see the hoard. An interview is available on the Birmingham News Room website.

A new website devoted to the Staffordshire Hoard has also recently gone live providing images of some of the objects, a history and various interpretations of the find.

Visit our Anglo-Saxon focus page for further information on the period as a whole.

Images: (Staffordshire Hoard website)

- Gold strip with a biblical inscription

- Gold helmet cheek piece

First Impressions: The Staffordshire Hoard

The Staffordshire Hoard, first discovered on private land in July 2009 and now revealed to the world, has gained widespread publicity, much to the delight of scholars of Anglo-Saxon England always keen to publicise their somewhat neglected field. The claim made at the press conference yesterday that it is a ‘treasure that will rewrite history’ appears to be considerably more than hyperbole. It is by far the largest find of Anglo-Saxon gold ever found: 5kg of gold, to be exact, as well as 1.3kg of silver. That’s five times the amount of gold found at Sutton Hoo. One strip of gold bears a Biblical inscription, from the Book of Numbers, in Latin: ‘Surge domine et dissipentur intimici tui et fugiant qui oderunt te a facie tua (Rise up, O Lord and may thy enemies be dispersed and those who hate thee be driven from thy face). This particular object has already stirred up controversy, with some academics arguing that it dates from eighth or ninth centuries, others saying that the style of lettering suggests the seventh century, a period for which there is sparse material evidence.

Dr Kevin Leahy, the Portable Antiquities Scheme’s National Finds Adviser, has been responsible for cataloguing the find. ‘The two most striking features of the hoard,’ he claims, ‘are that it is unbalanced and it is of exceptionally high quality. Unbalanced because of what we don’t find. There is absolutely nothing feminine. There are no dress fittings, brooches or pendants. The vast majority of items in the hoard are martial.

‘The quantity of the gold is amazing but, more importantly, the craftsmanship is consummate. This was the very best that the Anglo-Saxon metalworkers could do and they were very good. Its origins are clearly the highest levels of Anglo-Saxon aristocracy or royalty.

‘It looks like a collection of trophies, but it is impossible to say if the hoard was the spoils from a single battle or a long and successful military career. We cannot say who the original or the final owners were, who took it from them, why they buried it or when. It will be debated for decades.’

Prof Helena Hamerow of the Institute of Archaeology at Oxford University, also foresees decades of debate about the nature of the hoard. It’s hard to envisage the context. It appears to date from the time of the Mercian supremacy around the time of Offa, the eighth century, though the objects range across several centuries. They’ve been stripped of their nice bits, which suggest that the metals may have been collected in order to recycle or to be used as bullion. What is really important about this find is that, hitherto, the material evidence of Anglo-Saxon England has never reflected the wealth of the society that is claimed in contemporary documents. Bede, for example, often refers to the magnificence of Anglo-Saxon England, but finds of this kind from that time have been far more common in southern Scandinavia or France. Now, all that has changed. We will now have a much better picture of a very exciting period, when England became part of European culture.

‘The interest in the find is good for Anglo-Saxon studies too,’ says Hamerow. ‘It’s been a long time since Sutton Hoo, and it’s nice to see your subject talked about.’

Even so, that didn’t stop one eminent archaeologist, whose name will remain secret, claim that he would swap the entire find for one Anglo-Saxon document. There’s no pleasing some people.

Today I attended the press preview of the British Museum’s new exhibition Moctezuma: Aztec Ruler. I have been somewhat underwhelmed by the BM’s series of exhibitions exploring power and empire and this, the fourth in the series, is no different. Moctezuma (that’s the Spanish spelling, which is more accurate than the English ‘corruption’ apparently) emerges as a very insubstantial figure: not even the circumstances of his death are really understood.

A rather embarrassing, much pitied figure in Mexico, his status as a ruler appears to owe a great deal to European ideals of the ‘Noble Savage’. Even so, there are many lovely objects to admire: a delicate obsidian knife (too delicate for human sacrifice); wonderful turquoise masks (though the best is one from the BM’s permanent collection); plus a fascinating model of the sacred centre of Moctezuma’s capital; an array of supremely strange gods; and some very interesting explanations of the Mexica’s highly complex calendar.

‘Mexica?’ you ask. Well that’s the name (pronounced ‘Mesheeka’) that the Aztecs (sorry, Mexica) knew themselves by, as did their Spanish conquerors, and it is, of course, after which Mexico is named. So why is the exhibition called Moctezuma: Aztec Ruler? Presumably because the BM thinks punters won’t know who the Mexica were but will hand over a scandalous £12 (yes, £12!) for the privilege of getting intimate with an Aztec. Then they’ll emerge from the Reading Room having considered the fate of Moctezuma only to be bombarded with stacks of expensive tat, with chocolate to the fore (after all the often patronising audio commentary to the exhibition, with its references to ‘brave Moctezuma’, appears to be aimed at children).

Would it not be better for the BM, an institution I cherish, to charge ALL visitors £2 to enter the permanent exhibitions and, say, £5 to special exhibitions, rather than charge £12 to see a display such as Moctezuma?

The exhibition opens tomorrow.

Sean Lang on History Teaching

There is an excellent letter by Sean Lang on the controversy surrounding the teaching of history published in today’s Independent. Sean, senior lecturer in history at Anglia Ruskin University, honorary secretary of the Historical Association and a passionate advocate for the discipline, knows of what he speaks. His letter is a firm corrective to some of the ignorant assertions made by some members of the commentariat.

Johnson, Boswell & Knowledge for All

Today is the 300th anniversary of the birth of Samuel Johnson. Lichfield, the cathedral city in Staffordshire where he was born, hosts a weekend of celebrations beginning in the Market Square at 5.30pm this evening. His London House, at Gough Square in the City of London is free to enter all day. Cake will be available.

High Church Anglican, Tory, moralist, Londoner, lexicographer, tea drinker, xenophobe, Shakespearean, satirist, conversationalist: there is much to admire in Johnson’s prodigious output.

His Preface to Shakespeare remains the best introduction to the Bard; his curious novella Rasselas, echoes contemporary concerns about the strangeness of the ‘other’; his essays in The Rambler and his sketches of a familiarly venal Parliament remain as incisive and witty as when they were cast.

But it is The Life, brilliantly documented by his companion James Boswell, that is the true measure of this remarkable man. Having made his way to London on foot in the company of the aspiring actor David Garrick, Johnson knew long periods of poverty before acclaim and public honour came his way. He never lost his compassion and sympathy for his fellow man, the belief that knowledge should be available to all who sought it. There are many examples of this humanity, but one will suffice, an extract from Boswell’s The Life:

‘On Saturday July 30 [1763], Dr Johnson and I took a sculler at the Temple-stairs, and set out for Greenwich. I asked him if he really thought a knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages an essential requisite to a good education.
JOHNSON: ‘Most certainly, sir; for those who know them have a very great advantage over those who do not. Nay, sir, it is wonderful what a difference learning makes upon people even in the common intercourse of life, which does not appear to be much connected with it’.
‘And yet (said I) people go through the world very well, and carery on the business of life to good advantage, without learning.’
JOHNSON: ‘Why, sir, that may be true in cases where learning cannot possibly be of any use; for instance, this boy rows as well without learning, as if he could sing the song of Orpheus to the Argonauts, who were the first sailors.’
He then called to the boy, ‘What would you give, my lad, to know about the Argonauts?’
‘Sir, (said the boy,) I would give what I have.’
Johnson was much pleased with his answer, and we gave him a double fare.
Dr Johnson then turning to me, ‘Sir, (said he) a desire of knowledge is the natural feeling of mankind; and every human being, whose mind is not debauched, will be willing to give all that he has to get knowledge.’

Today, raise a cup of his favourite cha to the Great Cham.

Our Debt to Dr Johnson

On the tercentenary of the famous London writer’s birth, Peter Martin celebrates the legacy of a man admired for his insight and humanity, qualities forged in the darker and less well analysed episodes of his life.

From our September 2009 Issue

History in Britain's Schools

The debate on the teaching of History in Britain’s schools continues with the modern historian Dominic Sandbrook writing in today’s Daily Telegraph. The bestselling author of White Heat: A History of Britain in the Swinging Sixties (Abacus) puts much of the blame on ‘progressive educationists’ who ‘did away with old-fashioned essay questions and replaced them with empathy exercises and multiple-choice quizzes that sacrificed any sense of intellectual depth or discipline’. He also points out that it was the last Conservative government who downgraded history from a compulsory to an optional subject at the age of 16; neither major party emerges with much credit on this matter.

Sandbrook concludes that the study of History,

‘ought to be the centrepiece of the education system, a long and thoughtful expedition, not a botched and half-hearted day-trip to which most children are no longer invited. And one day, I suspect, we will look back and judge that our Government’s ignorance and neglect of that wonderful, dazzling, irresistible country was among the greatest of its failures and the most unforgivable of its many betrayals.’

Who could disagree?

One further point. Following on from Tristram Hunt and Ann Whitelock’s endorsement of H.E. Marshall’s Our Island Story in our current edition (Terry Deary: History Made Horrible?, September 2009), Sandbrook makes the claim that this children’s history of England, published in 1905 (!), ‘still gives a more entertaining overall account of our national story than most modern textbooks’. Surely it is not beyond a publisher to create a modern version of this potentially huge bestseller. I'm off to talk with my agent.

A Tragedy of History Teaching

There have been a number of reports, most recently in yesterday’s Observer, noting a remarkable resurgence of interest in the past. This is reflected, for example, in the shortlist for the Booker Prize. All the novels nominated are examples of historical fiction (the subject of our Signposts column in the forthcoming October History Today). Yet this growing interest in Britain’s past comes at a time when only 30 per cent of pupils take History at GCSE level and, as a Historical Association (HA) survey confirms, in the curriculum of some schools History is disappearing as a discrete. This is not because History is an unpopular subject. As the report states: ‘Those schools that allocate more than an hour a week to history for 13-14 years olds, or which are increasing the time they allocate to history, are significantly more likely to see an increase rather than a decrease in GCSE uptake’.

Perhaps the most disturbing finding of the HA’s report is that while ‘over 90 per cent of independent and grammar schools represented teach history as an entirely separate subject . . . only 72.3 per cent of the comprehensives and 59.1 of the academies that responded do so. ’

It is unacceptable, say the report’s authors, to preserve the study of History ‘only for the high attainers’ for the discipline ‘encourages mutual understanding of the historic origins of our ethnic and cultural diversity, and helps pupils become confident and questioning individuals’. The study of History, the report continues, ‘prepares pupils for the future, equipping them with knowledge and skills that are prized in adult life, enhancing employability and developing an ability to take part in democratic society.’

It may also be worth pointing out amid these utilitarian enconiums that History is worth studying simply because, as Chris Wickham, Chichele Professor of Medieval History at Oxford University, wrote in History Today, ‘it is simply very interesting’.

As for why this has happened, the report points to the Government’s obsession with league tables:

‘Students have been deliberately denied an opportunity to study history by forcing them down vocational or academic pathways. GCSE students have also been taken off courses against their wishes to do BTEC (Business and Technology Education Council) qualifications in six months so that the school can boost its position in the league tables. This has happened to students who were otherwise on target for a C/B in History but who were doing badly on their other subject.

Given the choice, it seems that pupils across a wide range of abilities have a passion for History. It is a tragedy that so many are denied access to an understanding of the past.

Thatcher's Opposition to German Unity

The media carry a number of reports this morning (most notably, here and here) on the release by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office of documents relating to British policy towards German reunification during 1989-90. All the reports are essentially the same: that Margaret Thatcher, then Prime Minister, was the principle opponent among European leaders to a united Germany. This may suggest that Thatcher was something of an antedeluvian, out of step with the optimism born of the fall of the Berlin Wall, a little Englander unable to think beyond the Manichean myths that grew up in Britain around the Second World War. But, having attended the FCO’s briefing on the release of the papers given by the resident historian Patrick Salmon and having delved through some of the passages, I think this is an unfair and simplistic representation of Thatcher’s position.

Thatcher sought to see the issue of German reunification through the prism of history and called a meeting with historians of Germany at Chequers on March 18th, 1990. Her agenda at that meeting is illuminating:

‘We must widen the discussion to include the future of the USSR and whether we pursue spheres of influence or alliances of democracy or geographical alliances. We cannot completely disregard history for the various empires and maritime states have girdled the globe. We must therefore consider some of the old balance of power. But it seems to me that, while in the past, history was determined largely by the personalities and ambitions of the rulers of the people, in future it will be decided much more by the character of the people. However, the lesson of the past two years is that neither character nor pride has been suffocated by oppression.’

Thatcher was very close to Gorbachev at the time and did not wish to see his Soviet reform project set back by Russian fears about a new invigorated Germany, however unthreatening. The passage about the future being decided more by the character of the people looks like wishful thinking however on Thatcher’s part. Opposed to European political union, she no doubt saw the democratisation of central and eastern Europe as an opportunity to make the EU more accountable, giving the ‘people’ rather than the ‘rulers’ a greater say. Douglas Hurd, her foreign secretary, and William Waldegrave, Minister of State at the Foreign Office argued for the speedy reunification of Germany – what was called the ‘Tommy Cooper’ option, ‘just like that’ - and this, in a sense demonstrated a clash between people and rulers. Both Hurd and Waldegrave were patrician Tories, ‘first class minds’ (though citizens of the former Yugoslavia may not necessarily concur), born to power. Thatcher was a vote-winning liberal. And it may be the case that her anti-German sensibilities were in part populist, a nod to domestic concerns.

None of this though explains the prejudice (if that is the word) Thatcher felt towards the Germans. Was it simply nostalgia for wartime Britain, English parochialism, her admiration for Churchill that informed her view? She did engage with historians on the subject. Perhaps part of the answer can be found in her memoirs in which she talks movingly of her childhood encounters with Jewish refugee children; of the support given by many in the Jewish community of her North London constituency of Finchley Central; and of her deep friendship with the Chief Rabbi Lord Jakobovitz. Thatcher’s suspicions seem rooted in her philosemitism. This aspect deserves greater prominence in the story of this fascinating period.

Conflicts of Interest

The National Army Museum’s new exhibition, Conflicts of Interest opens this Saturday, September 12th. It follows on from Helmand, the acclaimed and uncompromising look at a tour of duty in Afghanistan by members of 16 Air Assault Brigade.

This new display examines the conflicts and peacekeeping missions which have involved the British Army over the last three decades. What becomes immediately apparent is that the British Army has done an awful lot of fighting during that time, with the Parachute Regiment at the forefront. Some campaigns have been hugely successful (the Falklands, Sierra Leone, the First Gulf War), others controversial (Northern Ireland, Kosovo, the Iraq War, Afghanistan) and the sheer number of them is emphasised by the somewhat overwhelming nature of the exhibition. It’s a large room but feels claustrophobic, like a maze, bombarded by a torrent of sound and vision where the barren wastes of Iraq and the tight terraced streets of Belfast seem too close together. But what a wealth of material. Visceral, articulate accounts from officers and men; vivid paintings by John Keane, a war artist never afraid to confront his fears as he accompanies frontline troops; candid personal photographs of soldiers fighting, sleeping, returning home to loved ones, marriages, Brits v Aussies playing cricket in the Desert Ashes. There are the medals, including a posthumous VC and OBE, of Colonel ‘H’ Jones, Falklands hero; an officer’s desert fatigues reduced to threads by a mixture of the desert climate and the wear of body armour; the piece of shrapnel embedded in the helmet of a corporal while fighting drug-crazy gangs in Sierra Leone.

Among the most interesting aspects of the exhibition is the change in attitudes towards difference in the army: one chart reveals that the Army is strikingly more diverse in terms of religious belief than British society as a whole. Uniformed soldiers now join – and are allowed to join – Gay Pride Marches. Women have a greater profile than at any point in the Army’s history (there’s a pregnant soldier’s uniform on display). The concerns of the British Army inevitably reflect those of wider society as this thoughtful and fascinating exhibition makes explicit.

The Beatles' Britain

Alan Turing, subject of a recent post, was far from the only victim of Britain’s once barbaric laws against homosexuality. The ever insightful Danny Finkelstein today draws attention to the plight and the importance of Brian Epstein, the son of a wealthy Liverpool furniture store owner who saw the potential of The Beatles and, as their manager, played a major part in their fulfilment. He died in 1967 of a drugs overdose. He was 32.

Today sees the release of The Beatles remastered back catalogue on CD, the high price of which reflects EMI’s (justified) confidence in the band’s continuing appeal yet which may also signal the last gasp of the traditional recording industry. Over the last week, the BBC has broadcast considerable amounts of new Beatles material on TV and radio which remind us of the hot-house atmosphere in which the band operated in their short public career of seven years.

What perhaps remains most astonishing is the way they glided into the public consciousness of a United States still reeling from the death of President Kennedy, gaining record television audiences and becoming a fixture of American popular culture.

There are some questions I think worth pondering by historians of the period. How much were The Beatles a culmination of a particular kind of British popular culture – marked by mastery of technique, a romantic, sometimes surreal and humorous vision of Englishness and a very old fashioned work ethic – and how much were they part of a paradigm shift towards globalisation, the current dominance of the English language and the ubiquity of youth culture? Probably something of both.

And, to think counterfactually, what would Britain’s reputation be like had they never gained the public attention Brian Epstein so skilfully garnered for them? Undoubtedly, the Beatles phenomenon, especially their success in the US, pointed towards the opportunities available in the creative industries to a once powerful country whose manufacturing base was in terminal decline. They gave Britain an enormous fillip in the process (exploited shamelessly by Prime Minister Harold Wilson) and established a British role in global popular culture wholly disproportionate to its size which lingers to this day.

Churchill’s state funeral of January 1965 saw the passing of one Britain; the imminent release of Rubber Soul confirmed the triumph of another. But, in their Englishness, their love affair with America, their originality, their popular appeal and their magical ability to make people feel good about themselves and the world, the old warrior and the new superstars had much in common.

Read the following related articles from our archive:

‘You Say You Want a Revolution’

Mikhail Safonov argues that the Beatles did more for the break up of totalitarianism in the USSR than Alexander Solzhenitsyn and Andrei Sakharov.

Street-Fighting Men

Gerard DeGroot takes a critical view of the student protests in Europe and the US in 1968, and the subsequent tendency of the Left to view these events through rose-tinted shades.

Finest Years: Churchill as Warlord 1940-45

Among the many excellent books released to mark the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the Second World War – Andrew Roberts' The Storm of War, Richard Overy’s 1939, Carlo D’Este’s Warlord – the one I have enjoyed most is Max Hastings’ Finest Years: Churchill as Warlord 1940-45 (Harper Press). Highly critical but ultimately admiring of the great man, it is like all Hastings’ books extremely well written. It’s full of little insights into the character of the man.

Churchill’s prodigious memory has been noted before, but it’s what he remembered, passages of poetry and prose, that take us deeper into his character. Always aware of destiny unfolding and of the judgement of history, Churchill would repeat Marvell’s lines on the conduct of Charles I as he faced execution: ‘He nothing common did or mean upon that memorable scene’. Having heard the brilliant 28-year-old scientific intelligence officer R.V. Jones tell him all he knew about the technology that allowed the RAF to block the Luftwaffe’s electronic guidance systems, a hugely encouraged Churchill instantly recalled a line from the 19th-century folklore collection, The Ingolds by Legends: ‘But now one Mr Jones/ Comes forth and depones/ That 15 years since, he had heard certain groans’. It was the kind of wit that softened the hearts of the many close to Churchill who had to endure his punishing demands, his irascibility and, not infrequently, the outpourings of depression. As the war dragged on, Churchill, always sentimental, became increasingly tearful. Even during the early days of the war, Hastings recounts that Churchill, being driven past a queue of civilians, asked what they were queuing for. ‘Birdseed,’ came the reply, at which point Churchill wept. For all Churchill’s faults, Hastings portrays him as a leader of immense humanity enhanced by his failings.

A Trip Inland

Over the Bank Holiday I took a ride out of London up to the curious checkerboard of counties to the north-east of the capital – Rutland, Huntingdonshire, Northamptonshire, Cambridge – visiting the pretty market town of Uppingham with its imposing, fortress-like public school (alma mater of Stephen Fry among others), one of a number in the area, most notably Oakham and Oundle. South-east of there lies the hamlet of Little Gidding, immortalised in T.S. Eliot’s trilogy of the same name, collected in the Four Quartets. It is a poem of brilliant historical imagination,

High Tory in its sympathy, conciliatory in its message, written at a time when Britain was fighting for its very existence, calling on the resources of the past to create a brighter future.

Seeing the tiny chapel, built by the Anglican visionary Nicholas Ferrar, who is buried in the shade of the façade, one understands why it was of such inspiration to Eliot. At the time we arrived, locals were preparing for Evensong, held every fifth Sunday of a month. There were no tourists. In fact, there were so few cars in the whole area that it reminded me of rural Ireland.

Why are there so few visitors to a region of charming villages, fine pubs, beautiful landscape and a rich historical legacy? Because it’s not near the sea; it seems that on weekends and holidays England tips towards the coast while those of us who love England’s interior can have it to ourselves. ‘We came from the sea, that’s why we go back to it again and again’, noted a friend.

‘All the more reason to go inland,’ say I.

A Great Briton

Among all the refreshed memories of the outbreak of the Second World War, one name has been neglected: Alan Turing, the mathematical genius who cracked the German Enigma code, thereby shortening the war by an estimated two years, saving hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of lives. Bletchley Park, the settlement of Nissan huts where Turing and his fellow codebreakers worked their magic, was recently denied government funding, an astonishing decision, considering the role it played in the preservation of civilised life. Simon Greenish, Director of the Bletchley Park Trust, recently revealed that school visits were to be cut due to lack of funding; this despite the Trust being awarded one of Ed Balls’ Quality Badges for the excellence of its education programmes.

Turing himself appears to be better known outside the UK; AppleMac’s famous logo of a bitten apple is an homage to Turing, who committed suicide by biting into poisoned fruit in 1954 after two years of ‘chemical castration’ imposed on him following a prosecution for gross indecency in 1952. Computer scientist John Graham-Cumming recently established a petition calling for an apology from the UK government for the way the mathematician was treated. He has also written to the Queen to ask for Turing to be awarded a posthumous knighthood. It seems the least a grateful nation can do.

There is of course another honour we can offer Turing. As referred to before, the fourth plinth of Trafalgar Square, currently plagued by exhibitionists filmed from the Sky Arts Nissan hut (some kind of oblique tribute to Bletchley Park?), will soon be free. So what’s it to be? A Spitfire or Alan Turing on the plinth? At the moment, I am inclining towards the latter. Arise Sir Alan, we are all in your debt.

Bletchley Park maintains an informative website and a vigorous social media campaign.