View allAll Photos Tagged disarray
Every ward had a matron. The matron was responsible to ensure that each patient was cared for with diligence and compassion. In the late 19th century there was a well know ward matron, Sally Riktus. Miss Riktus spent almost 40 years of her career on the same ward, leaving the hospital only to make a yearly trip to see her elderly mother in Syracuse.
The patients on the ward called her Sargeant Sal behind her back because of her military like way of managing the ward. She held morning and evening inspections of each patient's room. When she spotted something out of place she loudly declared the room to be in disarray and banished the patient to isolation to consider his error.
Miss Riktus had an apartment in the staff wing of the hospital. It wasn't unusual for her to take a midnight stroll through the ward to check up on the staff. Occasionally she would catch them playing cards late at night. She considered this frivolous and was known to put them to work scrubbing the ward bathrooms. It wasn't unusual for her staff to turn over every year or two.
Miss Riktus died during an unhappy day on the ward in 1903 and was buried in the cemetery behind the asylum. They say she still walks the wards, inspecting the patient's rooms and bath facilities.
Check this out in the light box or large on black. :D
Finally I get a chance to share what these previous bud clusters look like when they bloom. The wind was great that day I shot these photos, and most clusters that bloomed were in disarray with many blooms spent or blown awkwardly. This section was shot from above to show the delicate blooms against the gray concrete wall that contained the beds near the hotel and lining the sidewalk out on the boulevard.
South Beach Orlando Luxury Suites was a small hotel complex located along Kissimmee's US HWY 192 several miles east of Disney World, a heavy tourist corridor. It featured a picturesque Florida lakefront, a colorful palette, and incredibly poor and scandalous business practices. The hotel closed down several years ago and the site has sat in various states of disarray ever since. Shown here several years after its closure, the buildings have are devoid of internal components but their colorful exteriors still shine through years of overgrowth.
Thomas Sayers, also known as Tom Sayers (25 May 1826 - 8 November 1865), was an English pugilist. During his career as a bare-knuckle fighter, at the time illegal, he was only once defeated. At 5 feet 8 inches in height with a fighting weight of under 11 stone, he was the first boxer to be declared the World Heavyweight Champion. His fighting career lasted from 1849 until 1860, when a match billed as the contest for the "World Championship" ended in disarray. An unprecedented public collection funded his comfortable retirement, but he died only five years later at age 39.
Sayers became the last English champion before the introduction of the Queensbury Rules when in 1857 he beat William Perry. He was also the first boxer to fight an international match when in 1860 he fought the American John Heenan. Sayers seemed to have the advantage when after 37 rounds and 2 hours twenty minutes of fighting the crowd broke into the ring and the fight was declared a draw. Sayers received a special Silver Championship Belt to commemorate the fight. He retired from the ring after this fight.
Sayers was born in 1826 and brought up in the Pimlico area of Brighton. He was a bricklayer by trade.
Following his retirement in May 1860 Sayers lived for just five more years, dying of diabetes on November 8th 1865 at the age of 39.
Following the fight with John Heenan a public subscription was made for his benefit which raised £3000, given to him on condition he retire from the ring. This vast sum of money, by the standards of the day, was collected in such places as the House of Commons and the Stock Exchange
Such was his fame that his burial at Highgate Cemetery was attended by ten thousand people. His friends again subscribed for the erection of a large tomb, bearing a statue of his beloved dog.
**Dublin Commercial Historic District** - National Register of Historic Places Ref # 02000540, date listed 5/22/2002
Roughly centered on Jackson Ave. and Lawrence St.
Dublin, GA (Laurens County)
The Dublin Commercial Historic District is centrally located in Laurens County in central Georgia. The district consists of the intact portion of the downtown commercial core of Dublin. Laurens County was created out of Baldwin and Wilkinson Counties in 1807. The town of Dublin was designated the county seat in 1811 and incorporated on December 9, 1812. The town plan was laid out in 1812 in a gridiron pattern with streets named after Presidents and heroes of the American Revolution and the War of 1812.
The district also contains architecturally significant community landmark buildings including the Carnegie Library, First National Bank Building, the former United States Post Office, Fred Roberts Flotel, the Martin Theater, and the Federal Building and United States Courthouse. These are excellent local examples of the Neoclassical, Classical Revival, Colonial Revival, Gothic Revival, Art Deco, and Classical Revival styles, respectively, as evidenced by their detailing and distinctive features.
The Martin Theater was constructed in 1934 in the Art Deco style. Character-defining features of the style include the flat symmetrical wall surface and horizontal band. The theater also features an overhanging marquis and neon sign. (pg 5) (1)
Built in 1934, The Martin operated as a movie house, providing years of entertainment for families and a hip hangout for teens, with opening night showings of cult favorites Star Wars, Grease and so many more. Sadly, as the 1970’s neared end, the retro movie theatre began to slowly fall to disarray. Not to allow such a prominent part of Dublin GA history fall away, in the 90’s a group of businessmen and an enthusiastic community came together to save the historic theatre from demolition with a complete renovation and in 1996 Theatre Dublin was born, as a performing arts center hosting arts and culture events such as Atlanta Pops Orchestra and annual production of The Nutcracker. (2)
References (1) NRHP Nomination Form s3.amazonaws.com/NARAprodstorage/lz/electronic-records/rg...
(2) Visit Dublin www.visitdublinga.org/play-indoors/martin-movie-house/
66/365.
This is long. Sorry.
----
Last night, our fish Blue, passed away. He was a good fish, and led a very long life (by Betta standards). He was 4 1/2. RIP Blue.
We broke the news to the kids this morning over breakfast since we noticed he was dead after bedtime, and decided that we would go to the pet store today and get another fish. So 1 and 2 went to school, and Chelsea, 3 and I went to PetSmart looking for a fish. We walked out with a cat.
This is Tessa, she is a just over 1 year old Maine Coon cross rescued from a shelter in northern BC I believe and sent down to the south by an animal charity to find a good home. This shop does NOT "sell" dogs and cats from breeders, they only facilitate adoptions of rescued animals. The fee you pay to adopt (which is quite reasonable) goes directly to the charity to cover expenses such as vaccinations and spay/neuter etc. Tessa is all up to date with that (in fact she was spayed a week ago).
The story is, we walked in, and immediately as you do you see the adoption animals on the left side. We saw her and instantly fell in love. Her eyes caught ours and she started pawing at the glass and meowing. The staff in the store said she was affectionate, and they weren't lying. Immediately when we went into the back room to pet her she snuggled right up to each of us and sniffed and purred as we pet her. She's absolutely adorable.
So, we borrowed a carrier from the store, and brought her home. Here is a shot of her as we loaded her into the car taken by my phone.
My work had called me this morning after the kids went to school, and switched my flight this evening to a different one that left an hour earlier, so I was going to miss 1 and 2's reaction. So I drove to their school and explained to the secretary what the deal was and picked them up a half hour early telling them that I wasn't going to be able to see them before work because of the change, and I wanted to say bye. They bought it.
First Q from 2: "Did you get Goldie?" (we decided on a goldfish, and it was to be named Goldie).
Me: "Sorry sweetie, we didn't get a fish today…" Cue a sad look and choked tears. 1 just fumed (seriously, there was smoke coming out of his ears) and stomped to the car…
We get home and I let them in and they were pretty choked at me, backpacks flying, shoes left in disarray, so I led them to the back office where Tessa, Chelsea, 3 and Chel's mom and dad were waiting and opened the door. Well you can guess what happened next… Huge smiles and laughs all around since they have been bugging us FOREVER to get a cat. I videoed the whole thing from them entering the house all pissy-like to when they see her and lose their minds with happiness. So I was busy doing that instead of taking photos.
Anyway, I was able to hang out for about 3 mins before I had to bail for work, so the cat-in-the-cage shot is what you get. But I'm sure she'll be featuring in my 365 a couple more times…
A few hours in and Chelsea reports that she's adjusting well to her new home. She's found her food and drink, she has a few cozy spaces that she likes to rest in and most importantly, knows where her litterbox is (and how to use it!)
Thanks for making it this far. Have a great evening everyone.
Passing the 1887 Queen Victoria Jubilee Fountain in St. Mary’s Butts, Reading Transport 82 (D82UTF) takes up its next duty on the X1 Gold Line service to London Aldgate. The bus is a Leyland Olympian with Optare bodywork, new in 1986.
Initially worked as a through service to Southend in co-operation with Southend Transport, the X1 Gold Line service was a high-quality express service that used the M4 motorway for much of the route. However, chronic traffic congestion through the Central London section often threw the timetable into disarray. A much improved rail service under Network Southeast auspices eventually won back much of the commuter traffic from the X1.
January 1989
Rollei 35 camera
Kodak Ektachrome 100 film.
In the far reaches of northern Scotland, within a village where time meanders at its own tranquil pace, a series of images unfolds, painting a tableau of life's relentless march amidst the shadows of climate's dismay and the distant rumbles of war that threaten to engulf Europe. It is a Wednesday evening, draped in the quietude of rainfall, a scene reminiscent of an Edward Hopper collection—imbued with solitude, emptiness, yet a profound continuance.
A Poem:
In this hamlet 'neath Scottish skies so wide,
Where the rains whisper and the winds confide,
Looms the spectre of a world in disarray,
Yet within these bounds, life finds its way.
Upon the cusp of night, shadows merge and dance,
In the pub's warm glow, eyes steal a glance.
The hearth's soft crackle, a comforting song,
In this northern retreat, where hearts belong.
The world outside may churn and roar,
With climates wracked and the drums of war.
Yet here we stand, in this time-suspended place,
Where tomorrow's worries are but a trace.
The local pub, our living room, our sphere,
A sanctuary from doubt, from dread, from fear.
We'll return come dusk, as sure as the tide,
In the rhythm of the ordinary, we take pride.
For what are we, but passengers in time,
Through days mundane, through nights sublime?
The question lingers, in the air, it floats,
Is this all there is? In whispers, it denotes.
Yet, as we stand 'neath the gentle pour,
We find beauty in the repeat, in the encore.
For in these moments, life's essence we distill,
In the quiet of the village, in the peace, so still.
A Haiku:
Rain veils the night's face,
Quiet pub bids farewell—
Life's quiet march on.
St Andrew and St Patrick, Elveden, Suffolk
As you approach Elveden, there is Suffolk’s biggest war memorial, to those killed from the three parishes that meet at this point. It is over 30 metres high, and you used to be able to climb up the inside. Someone in the village told me that more people have been killed on the road in Elveden since the end of the War than there are names on the war memorial. I could well believe it. Until about five years ago, the busy traffic of the A11 Norwich to London road hurtled through the village past the church, slowed only to a ridiculously high 50 MPH. If something hits you at that speed, then no way on God's Earth are you going to survive. Now there's a bypass, thank goodness.
Many people will know St Andrew and St Patrick as another familiar landmark on the road, but as you are swept along in the stream of traffic you are unlikely to appreciate quite how extraordinary a building it is. For a start, it has two towers. And a cloister. And two naves, effectively. It has undergone three major building programmes in the space of thirty years, any one of which would have sufficed to transform it utterly.
If you had seen this church before the 1860s, you would have thought it nothing remarkable. A simple aisle-less, clerestory-less building, typical of, and indistinguishable from, hundreds of other East Anglian flint churches. A journey to nearby Barnham will show you what I mean.
The story of the transformation of Elveden church begins in the early 19th century, on the other side of the world. The leader of the Sikhs, Ranjit Singh, controlled a united Punjab that stretched from the Khyber Pass to the borders of Tibet. His capital was at Lahore, but more importantly it included the Sikh holy city of Amritsar. The wealth of this vast Kingdom made him a major power-player in early 19th century politics, and he was a particular thorn in the flesh of the British Imperial war machine. At this time, the Punjab had a great artistic and cultural flowering that was hardly matched anywhere in the world.
It was not to last. The British forced Ranjit Singh to the negotiating table over the disputed border with Afghanistan, and a year later, in 1839, he was dead. A power vacuum ensued, and his six year old son Duleep Singh became a pawn between rival factions. It was exactly the opportunity that the British had been waiting for, and in February 1846 they poured across the borders in their thousands. Within a month, almost half the child-Prince's Kingdom was in foreign hands. The British installed a governor, and started to harvest the fruits of their new territory's wealth.
Over the next three years, the British gradually extended their rule, putting down uprisings and turning local warlords. Given that the Sikh political structures were in disarray, this was achieved at considerable loss to the invaders - thousands of British soldiers were killed. They are hardly remembered today. British losses at the Crimea ten years later were much slighter, but perhaps the invention of photography in the meantime had given people at home a clearer picture of what was happening, and so the Crimea still remains in the British folk memory.
For much of the period of the war, Prince Duleep Singh had remained in the seclusion of his fabulous palace in Lahore. However, once the Punjab was secure, he was sent into remote internal exile.
The missionaries poured in. Bearing in mind the value that Sikh culture places upon education, perhaps it is no surprise that their influence came to bear on the young Prince, and he became a Christian. The extent to which this was forced upon him is lost to us today.
A year later, the Prince sailed for England with his mother. He was admitted to the royal court by Queen Victoria, spending time both at Windsor and, particularly, in Scotland, where he grew up. In the 1860s, the Prince and his mother were significant members of London society, but she died suddenly in 1863. He returned with her ashes to the Punjab, and there he married. His wife, Bamba Muller, was part German, part Ethiopian. As part of the British pacification of India programme, the young couple were granted the lease on a vast, derelict stately home in the depths of the Suffolk countryside. This was Elveden Hall. He would never see India again.
With some considerable energy, Duleep Singh set about transforming the fortunes of the moribund estate. Being particularly fond of hunting (as a six year old, he'd had two tutors - one for learning the court language, Persian, and the other for hunting to hawk) he developed the estate for game. The house was rebuilt in 1870.
The year before, the Prince had begun to glorify the church so that it was more in keeping with the splendour of his court. This church, dedicated to St Andrew, was what now forms the north aisle of the present church. There are many little details, but the restoration includes two major features; firstly, the remarkable roof, with its extraordinary sprung sprung wallposts set on arches suspended in the window embrasures, and, secondly, the font, which Mortlock tells us is in the Sicilian-Norman style. Supported by eight elegant columns, it is very beautiful, and the angel in particular is one of Suffolk's loveliest. You can see him in an image on the left.
Duleep Singh seems to have settled comfortably into the role of an English country gentleman. And then, something extraordinary happened. The Prince, steeped in the proud tradition of his homeland, decided to return to the Punjab to fulfill his destiny as the leader of the Sikh people. He got as far as Aden before the British arrested him, and sent him home. He then set about trying to recruit Russian support for a Sikh uprising, travelling secretly across Europe in the guise of an Irishman, Patrick Casey. In between these times of cloak and dagger espionage, he would return to Elveden to shoot grouse with the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII. It is a remarkable story.
Ultimately, his attempts to save his people from colonial oppression were doomed to failure. He died in Paris in 1893, the British seemingly unshakeable in their control of India. He was buried at Elveden churchyard in a simple grave.
The chancel of the 1869 church is now screened off as a chapel, accessible from the chancel of the new church, but set in it is the 1894 memorial window to Maharaja Prince Duleep Singh, the Adoration of the Magi by Kempe & Co.
And so, the Lion of the North had come to a humble end. His five children, several named after British royal princes, had left Elveden behind; they all died childless, one of them as recently as 1957. The estate reverted to the Crown, being bought by the brewing family, the Guinnesses.
Edward Cecil Guinness, first Earl Iveagh, commemorated bountifully in James Joyce's 1916 Ulysses, took the estate firmly in hand. The English agricultural depression had begun in the 1880s, and it would not be ended until the Second World War drew the greater part of English agriculture back under cultivation. It had hit the Estate hard. But Elveden was transformed, and so was the church.
Iveagh appointed William Caroe to build an entirely new church beside the old. It would be of such a scale that the old church of St Andrew would form the south aisle of the new church. The size may have reflected Iveagh's visions of grandeur, but it was also a practical arrangement, to accommodate the greatly enlarged staff of the estate. Attendance at church was compulsory; non-conformists were also expected to go, and the Guinnesses did not employ Catholics.
Between 1904 and 1906, the new structure went up. Mortlock recalls that Pevsner thought it 'Art Nouveau Gothic', which sums it up well. Lancet windows in the north side of the old church were moved across to the south side, and a wide open nave built beside it. Curiously, although this is much higher than the old and incorporates a Suffolk-style roof, Caroe resisted the temptation of a clerestory. The new church was rebenched throughout, and the woodwork is of a very high quality. The dates of the restoration can be found on bench ends up in the new chancel, and exploring all the symbolism will detain you for hours. Emblems of the nations of the British Isles also feature in the floor tiles.
The new church was dedicated to St Patrick, patron Saint of the Guinnesses' homeland. At this time, of course, Ireland was still a part of the United Kingdom, and despite the tensions and troubles of the previous century the Union was probably stronger at the opening of the 20th century than it had ever been. This was to change very rapidly. From the first shots fired at the General Post Office in April 1916, to complete independence in 1922, was just six years. Dublin, a firmly protestant city, in which the Iveaghs commemorated their dead at the Anglican cathedral of St Patrick, became the capital city of a staunchly Catholic nation. The Anglicans, the so-called Protestant Ascendancy, left in their thousands during the 1920s, depopulating the great houses, and leaving hundreds of Anglican parish churches completely bereft of congregations. Apart from a concentration in the wealthy suburbs of south Dublin, there are hardly any Anglicans left in the Republic today. But St Patrick's cathedral maintains its lonely witness to long years of British rule; the Iveagh transept includes the vast war memorial to WWI dead, and all the colours of the Irish regiments - it is said that 99% of the Union flags in the Republic are in the Guinness chapel of St Patrick's cathedral. Dublin, of course, is famous as the biggest city in Europe without a Catholic cathedral. It still has two Anglican ones.
Against this background then, we arrived at Elveden. The church is uncomfortably close to the busy road, but the sparkle of flint in the recent rain made it a thing of great beauty. The main entrance is now at the west end of the new church. The surviving 14th century tower now forms the west end of the south aisle, and we will come back to the other tower beyond it in a moment.
You step into a wide open space under a high, heavy roof laden with angels. There is a wide aisle off to the south; this is the former nave, and still has something of that quality. The whole space is suffused with gorgeously coloured light from excellent 19th and 20th century windows. These include one by Frank Brangwyn, at the west end of the new nave. Andrew and Patrick look down from a heavenly host on a mother and father entertaining their children and a host of woodland animals by reading them stories. It is quite the loveliest thing in the building.
Other windows, mostly in the south aisle, are also lovely. Hugh Easton's commemorative window for the former USAAF base at Elveden is magnificent. Either side are windows to Iveaghs - a gorgeous George killing a dragon, also by Hugh Easton, and a curious 1971 assemblage depicting images from the lives of Edward Guinness's heir and his wife, which also works rather well. The effect of all three windows together is particularly fine when seen from the new nave.
Turning ahead of you to the new chancel, there is the mighty alabaster reredos. It cost £1,200 in 1906, about a quarter of a million in today’s money. It reflects the woodwork, in depicting patron Saints and East Anglian monarchs, around a surprisingly simple Supper at Emmaus. This reredos, and the Brangwyn window, reminded me of the work at the Guinness’s other spiritual home, St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, which also includes a window by Frank Brangwyn commisioned by them. Everything is of the highest quality. Rarely has the cliché ‘no expense spared’ been as accurate as it is here.
Up at the front, a little brass plate reminds us that Edward VII slept through a sermon here in 1908. How different it must have seemed to him from the carefree days with his old friend the Maharajah! Still, it must have been a great occasion, full of Edwardian pomp, and the glitz that only the fabulously rich can provide. Today, the church is still splendid, but the Guinesses are no longer fabulously rich, and attendance at church is no longer compulsory for estate workers; there are far fewer of them anyway. The Church of England is in decline everywhere; and, let us be honest, particularly so in this part of Suffolk, where it seems to have retreated to a state of siege. Today, the congregation of this mighty citadel is as low as half a dozen. The revolutionary disappearance of Anglican congregations in the Iveagh's homeland is now being repeated in a slow, inexorable English way.
You wander outside, and there are more curiosities. Set in the wall are two linked hands, presumably a relic from a broken 18th century memorial. They must have been set here when the wall was moved back in the 1950s. In the south chancel wall, the bottom of an egg-cup protrudes from among the flints. This is the trademark of the architect WD Caroe. To the east of the new chancel, Duleep Singh’s gravestone is a very simple one. It is quite different in character to the church behind it. A plaque on the east end of the church remembers the centenary of his death.
Continuing around the church, you come to the surprise of a long cloister, connecting the remodelled chancel door of the old church to the new bell tower. It was built in 1922 as a memorial to the wife of the first Earl Iveagh. Caroe was the architect again, and he installed eight bells, dedicated to Mary, Gabriel, Edmund, Andrew, Patrick, Christ, God the Father, and the King. The excellent guidebook recalls that his intention was for the bells to be cast to maintain the hum and tap tones of the renowned ancient Suffolk bells of Lavenham... thus the true bell music of the old type is maintained.
This church is magnificent, obviously enough. It has everything going for it, and is a national treasure. And yet, it has hardly any congregation. So, what is to be done?
If we continue to think of rural historic churches as nothing more than outstations of the Church of England, it is hard to see how some of them will survive. This church in particular has no future in its present form as a village parish church. New roles must be found, new ways to involve local people and encourage their use. One would have thought that this would be easier here than elsewhere.
The other provoking thought was that this building summed up almost two centuries of British imperial adventure, and that we lived in a world that still suffered from the consequences. It is worth remembering where the wealth that rebuilt St Andrew and St Patrick came from.
As so often in British imperial history, interference in other peoples’ problems and the imposition of short-term solutions has left massive scars and long-cast shadows. For the Punjab, as in Ireland, there are no simple solutions. Sheer proximity has, after several centuries of cruel and exploitative involvement, finally encouraged the British government to pursue a solution in Ireland that is not entirely based on self-interest. I fear that the Punjab is too far away for the British to care very much now about what they did there then.
...nor tipped mailboxes stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds. I found these mailboxes knocked on their sides along North Fairchild Street in downtown Madison, Wisconsin.
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© 2006 Todd Klassy. All Rights Reserved.
Cheers, fellow muchachos. Let me introduce you to Team Tequilatron. Bottoms up!
Tequilatron is expanding it's borders in search of new terrains to exploit. Demand in the universe is rising and 'less peaceful' tactics are allowed. What's at stake? Planet earth. King RounTree has recently fallen due to a massive EMP, leaving Earth in chaos and disarray. Now is the time to join in the game and take some decisive action.
-
Decisive Action 2 Group:
www.mocpages.com/group.php/25171
The moc on mocpages:
Boy have I been scarce on Flickr lately. I apologize for that my followers.
I figured this would be a nice, light-hearted image to brighten your day.
Most of you probably don't know that Sarah and I had our first (and only) child a little over three weeks ago. She has completely turned our lives upside down. And of course this is an exaggeration of reality, I thought it was fitting and should get at least a chuckle out of all you parents out there that think back to their first child.
Happy Holidays everyone!
And if you were wondering, yes this is a composite of 5 images (plate shot, and each person/dog).
Lighting Info: Alien Bee 800 with Westcott 24x36" softbox camera right. Canon 580EXII camera right fired into the ceiling for fill. Triggered with Phottix Strato II's.
To see more of my work or contact me, visit my website or check out my blog .
St Andrew and St Patrick, Elveden, Suffolk
As you approach Elveden, there is Suffolk’s biggest war memorial, to those killed from the three parishes that meet at this point. It is over 30 metres high, and you used to be able to climb up the inside. Someone in the village told me that more people have been killed on the road in Elveden since the end of the War than there are names on the war memorial. I could well believe it. Until about five years ago, the busy traffic of the A11 Norwich to London road hurtled through the village past the church, slowed only to a ridiculously high 50 MPH. If something hits you at that speed, then no way on God's Earth are you going to survive. Now there's a bypass, thank goodness.
Many people will know St Andrew and St Patrick as another familiar landmark on the road, but as you are swept along in the stream of traffic you are unlikely to appreciate quite how extraordinary a building it is. For a start, it has two towers. And a cloister. And two naves, effectively. It has undergone three major building programmes in the space of thirty years, any one of which would have sufficed to transform it utterly.
If you had seen this church before the 1860s, you would have thought it nothing remarkable. A simple aisle-less, clerestory-less building, typical of, and indistinguishable from, hundreds of other East Anglian flint churches. A journey to nearby Barnham will show you what I mean.
The story of the transformation of Elveden church begins in the early 19th century, on the other side of the world. The leader of the Sikhs, Ranjit Singh, controlled a united Punjab that stretched from the Khyber Pass to the borders of Tibet. His capital was at Lahore, but more importantly it included the Sikh holy city of Amritsar. The wealth of this vast Kingdom made him a major power-player in early 19th century politics, and he was a particular thorn in the flesh of the British Imperial war machine. At this time, the Punjab had a great artistic and cultural flowering that was hardly matched anywhere in the world.
It was not to last. The British forced Ranjit Singh to the negotiating table over the disputed border with Afghanistan, and a year later, in 1839, he was dead. A power vacuum ensued, and his six year old son Duleep Singh became a pawn between rival factions. It was exactly the opportunity that the British had been waiting for, and in February 1846 they poured across the borders in their thousands. Within a month, almost half the child-Prince's Kingdom was in foreign hands. The British installed a governor, and started to harvest the fruits of their new territory's wealth.
Over the next three years, the British gradually extended their rule, putting down uprisings and turning local warlords. Given that the Sikh political structures were in disarray, this was achieved at considerable loss to the invaders - thousands of British soldiers were killed. They are hardly remembered today. British losses at the Crimea ten years later were much slighter, but perhaps the invention of photography in the meantime had given people at home a clearer picture of what was happening, and so the Crimea still remains in the British folk memory.
For much of the period of the war, Prince Duleep Singh had remained in the seclusion of his fabulous palace in Lahore. However, once the Punjab was secure, he was sent into remote internal exile.
The missionaries poured in. Bearing in mind the value that Sikh culture places upon education, perhaps it is no surprise that their influence came to bear on the young Prince, and he became a Christian. The extent to which this was forced upon him is lost to us today.
A year later, the Prince sailed for England with his mother. He was admitted to the royal court by Queen Victoria, spending time both at Windsor and, particularly, in Scotland, where he grew up. In the 1860s, the Prince and his mother were significant members of London society, but she died suddenly in 1863. He returned with her ashes to the Punjab, and there he married. His wife, Bamba Muller, was part German, part Ethiopian. As part of the British pacification of India programme, the young couple were granted the lease on a vast, derelict stately home in the depths of the Suffolk countryside. This was Elveden Hall. He would never see India again.
With some considerable energy, Duleep Singh set about transforming the fortunes of the moribund estate. Being particularly fond of hunting (as a six year old, he'd had two tutors - one for learning the court language, Persian, and the other for hunting to hawk) he developed the estate for game. The house was rebuilt in 1870.
The year before, the Prince had begun to glorify the church so that it was more in keeping with the splendour of his court. This church, dedicated to St Andrew, was what now forms the north aisle of the present church. There are many little details, but the restoration includes two major features; firstly, the remarkable roof, with its extraordinary sprung sprung wallposts set on arches suspended in the window embrasures, and, secondly, the font, which Mortlock tells us is in the Sicilian-Norman style. Supported by eight elegant columns, it is very beautiful, and the angel in particular is one of Suffolk's loveliest. You can see him in an image on the left.
Duleep Singh seems to have settled comfortably into the role of an English country gentleman. And then, something extraordinary happened. The Prince, steeped in the proud tradition of his homeland, decided to return to the Punjab to fulfill his destiny as the leader of the Sikh people. He got as far as Aden before the British arrested him, and sent him home. He then set about trying to recruit Russian support for a Sikh uprising, travelling secretly across Europe in the guise of an Irishman, Patrick Casey. In between these times of cloak and dagger espionage, he would return to Elveden to shoot grouse with the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII. It is a remarkable story.
Ultimately, his attempts to save his people from colonial oppression were doomed to failure. He died in Paris in 1893, the British seemingly unshakeable in their control of India. He was buried at Elveden churchyard in a simple grave.
The chancel of the 1869 church is now screened off as a chapel, accessible from the chancel of the new church, but set in it is the 1894 memorial window to Maharaja Prince Duleep Singh, the Adoration of the Magi by Kempe & Co.
And so, the Lion of the North had come to a humble end. His five children, several named after British royal princes, had left Elveden behind; they all died childless, one of them as recently as 1957. The estate reverted to the Crown, being bought by the brewing family, the Guinnesses.
Edward Cecil Guinness, first Earl Iveagh, commemorated bountifully in James Joyce's 1916 Ulysses, took the estate firmly in hand. The English agricultural depression had begun in the 1880s, and it would not be ended until the Second World War drew the greater part of English agriculture back under cultivation. It had hit the Estate hard. But Elveden was transformed, and so was the church.
Iveagh appointed William Caroe to build an entirely new church beside the old. It would be of such a scale that the old church of St Andrew would form the south aisle of the new church. The size may have reflected Iveagh's visions of grandeur, but it was also a practical arrangement, to accommodate the greatly enlarged staff of the estate. Attendance at church was compulsory; non-conformists were also expected to go, and the Guinnesses did not employ Catholics.
Between 1904 and 1906, the new structure went up. Mortlock recalls that Pevsner thought it 'Art Nouveau Gothic', which sums it up well. Lancet windows in the north side of the old church were moved across to the south side, and a wide open nave built beside it. Curiously, although this is much higher than the old and incorporates a Suffolk-style roof, Caroe resisted the temptation of a clerestory. The new church was rebenched throughout, and the woodwork is of a very high quality. The dates of the restoration can be found on bench ends up in the new chancel, and exploring all the symbolism will detain you for hours. Emblems of the nations of the British Isles also feature in the floor tiles.
The new church was dedicated to St Patrick, patron Saint of the Guinnesses' homeland. At this time, of course, Ireland was still a part of the United Kingdom, and despite the tensions and troubles of the previous century the Union was probably stronger at the opening of the 20th century than it had ever been. This was to change very rapidly. From the first shots fired at the General Post Office in April 1916, to complete independence in 1922, was just six years. Dublin, a firmly protestant city, in which the Iveaghs commemorated their dead at the Anglican cathedral of St Patrick, became the capital city of a staunchly Catholic nation. The Anglicans, the so-called Protestant Ascendancy, left in their thousands during the 1920s, depopulating the great houses, and leaving hundreds of Anglican parish churches completely bereft of congregations. Apart from a concentration in the wealthy suburbs of south Dublin, there are hardly any Anglicans left in the Republic today. But St Patrick's cathedral maintains its lonely witness to long years of British rule; the Iveagh transept includes the vast war memorial to WWI dead, and all the colours of the Irish regiments - it is said that 99% of the Union flags in the Republic are in the Guinness chapel of St Patrick's cathedral. Dublin, of course, is famous as the biggest city in Europe without a Catholic cathedral. It still has two Anglican ones.
Against this background then, we arrived at Elveden. The church is uncomfortably close to the busy road, but the sparkle of flint in the recent rain made it a thing of great beauty. The main entrance is now at the west end of the new church. The surviving 14th century tower now forms the west end of the south aisle, and we will come back to the other tower beyond it in a moment.
You step into a wide open space under a high, heavy roof laden with angels. There is a wide aisle off to the south; this is the former nave, and still has something of that quality. The whole space is suffused with gorgeously coloured light from excellent 19th and 20th century windows. These include one by Frank Brangwyn, at the west end of the new nave. Andrew and Patrick look down from a heavenly host on a mother and father entertaining their children and a host of woodland animals by reading them stories. It is quite the loveliest thing in the building.
Other windows, mostly in the south aisle, are also lovely. Hugh Easton's commemorative window for the former USAAF base at Elveden is magnificent. Either side are windows to Iveaghs - a gorgeous George killing a dragon, also by Hugh Easton, and a curious 1971 assemblage depicting images from the lives of Edward Guinness's heir and his wife, which also works rather well. The effect of all three windows together is particularly fine when seen from the new nave.
Turning ahead of you to the new chancel, there is the mighty alabaster reredos. It cost £1,200 in 1906, about a quarter of a million in today’s money. It reflects the woodwork, in depicting patron Saints and East Anglian monarchs, around a surprisingly simple Supper at Emmaus. This reredos, and the Brangwyn window, reminded me of the work at the Guinness’s other spiritual home, St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, which also includes a window by Frank Brangwyn commisioned by them. Everything is of the highest quality. Rarely has the cliché ‘no expense spared’ been as accurate as it is here.
Up at the front, a little brass plate reminds us that Edward VII slept through a sermon here in 1908. How different it must have seemed to him from the carefree days with his old friend the Maharajah! Still, it must have been a great occasion, full of Edwardian pomp, and the glitz that only the fabulously rich can provide. Today, the church is still splendid, but the Guinesses are no longer fabulously rich, and attendance at church is no longer compulsory for estate workers; there are far fewer of them anyway. The Church of England is in decline everywhere; and, let us be honest, particularly so in this part of Suffolk, where it seems to have retreated to a state of siege. Today, the congregation of this mighty citadel is as low as half a dozen. The revolutionary disappearance of Anglican congregations in the Iveagh's homeland is now being repeated in a slow, inexorable English way.
You wander outside, and there are more curiosities. Set in the wall are two linked hands, presumably a relic from a broken 18th century memorial. They must have been set here when the wall was moved back in the 1950s. In the south chancel wall, the bottom of an egg-cup protrudes from among the flints. This is the trademark of the architect WD Caroe. To the east of the new chancel, Duleep Singh’s gravestone is a very simple one. It is quite different in character to the church behind it. A plaque on the east end of the church remembers the centenary of his death.
Continuing around the church, you come to the surprise of a long cloister, connecting the remodelled chancel door of the old church to the new bell tower. It was built in 1922 as a memorial to the wife of the first Earl Iveagh. Caroe was the architect again, and he installed eight bells, dedicated to Mary, Gabriel, Edmund, Andrew, Patrick, Christ, God the Father, and the King. The excellent guidebook recalls that his intention was for the bells to be cast to maintain the hum and tap tones of the renowned ancient Suffolk bells of Lavenham... thus the true bell music of the old type is maintained.
This church is magnificent, obviously enough. It has everything going for it, and is a national treasure. And yet, it has hardly any congregation. So, what is to be done?
If we continue to think of rural historic churches as nothing more than outstations of the Church of England, it is hard to see how some of them will survive. This church in particular has no future in its present form as a village parish church. New roles must be found, new ways to involve local people and encourage their use. One would have thought that this would be easier here than elsewhere.
The other provoking thought was that this building summed up almost two centuries of British imperial adventure, and that we lived in a world that still suffered from the consequences. It is worth remembering where the wealth that rebuilt St Andrew and St Patrick came from.
As so often in British imperial history, interference in other peoples’ problems and the imposition of short-term solutions has left massive scars and long-cast shadows. For the Punjab, as in Ireland, there are no simple solutions. Sheer proximity has, after several centuries of cruel and exploitative involvement, finally encouraged the British government to pursue a solution in Ireland that is not entirely based on self-interest. I fear that the Punjab is too far away for the British to care very much now about what they did there then.
- ENG -
This sign wasn’t here when, on the 31st of August 1959, the guerrilla columns of Ernesto Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos left the Eastern provinces to march on the Western part of the island; yet, the sentiment expressed by the utterance ‘a better world is possible’ was very much alive in the hearts and minds of many Cuban Revolutionaries.
An entire generation could sympathize with those sentiments; the same generation which repudiated the Vietnam War, listened to John Lennon, John Fogerty or Bob Dylan, occupied universities and tried to mobilize against a world order polarized between two superpowers which Cuba itself would soon bring to the edge of nuclear war.
Almost 60 years later, rather than communism, the world order is threatened by rising atmospheric temperatures and increasingly depauperate natural resources, growing social inequality and slowing rates of economic growth, extremisms of various sorts, religious terrorism, xenophobia, homophobia, EU-phobia and the like.
Needless to say, such sentiments of social disarray are markedly different from the ones expressed in the road sign in the picture. And it is equally evident that today’s is a very different world to be confronted with. Perhaps more confusing, as political affiliation has substantially ceased to be appealing as a source of individual and collective identity.
Alas, unlike other road signs, this one does not offer much sense of direction; it does not tell us how or in which direction we need to head if this ‘better world’ is to be brought about. And if there is such a thing as a crisis of identity in the modern western individual, it is only made more evident by his perception of the beliefs of extremists and terrorists as ‘irrational’, and of their behaviour as ‘mad’ as they seek a sense of belonging in this world or immortality in the beyond through self-sacrifice.
Why were Cuban Revolutionaries, leaving today, 58 years ago, willing to put their life on the line for Cuba, for independence and a new, more just society? Why was martyrdom for a higher cause so appealing then and why are nations and religions still appealing against our historically and morally mature, ‘rationally constructed’ western capitalist, liberal democracies?
Provocatively put, these are the questions that come to my mind as soon I join Marco in La Habana and we take to the streets with a smile. Perhaps there is no higher meaning in our quest, but I know that the quest for higher meaning is part and parcel of the ideological backdrop to the struggle that begot Cuban society as it is. Just as death is said to beget the human in us.
- ITA -
Questo cartello non era qui quando, il 31 Agosto del 1959, le colonne di Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara e Camillo Cienfuegos lasciarono le province orientali marciando alla volta dell’Avana. Tuttavia, il sentimento espresso con la frase ‘un mondo migliore è possibile’ era più che vivo nei cuori e nelle menti di molti, forse dei più, tra i combattenti rivoluzionari Cubani.
Un’intera generazione simpatizzava con sentimenti simili; la stessa generazione che ripudiava la Guerra in Vietnam, ascoltava John Lennon, John Fogerty, Bob Dylan, occupava università e si mobilizzava contro un mondo in bilico tra due potenze economiche e militari che Cuba stessa avrebbe portato sull’orlo della Guerra nucleare.
Quasi sessant’anni più tardi, piuttosto che dallo ‘spettro del comunismo’, il mondo si vede minacciato da temperature atmosferiche crescenti, scarsità di risorse naturali, crescente ineguaglianza sociale, ridotti tassi di crescita economica, estremismi di varia natura, terrorismo religioso, xenofobia, omofobia, UE-fobia e cosi via.
È evidente che i sentimenti che corrispondono all’attuale situazione di dissesto sociale sono di natura profondamente diversa da quelli che trapelano dal cartello nella foto. Ed è ugualmente manifesto che il mondo contemporaneo è un mondo radicalmente diverso con cui confrontarsi. Forse più intimidante, dal momento che l’affiliazione ideologica e politica ha cessato in gran parte di costituire una fonte di identità identità sociale e collettiva.
Purtroppo questo cartello, a differenza di altri segnali stradali, non offre granché indicazione riguardo alla direzione da prendere per raggiungere questo ‘mondo migliore’, non specificando né distanza né caratteristiche del percorso. E se si può dire che esiste una ‘crisi’ d’identità dell’individuo occidentale moderno, è solo più evidente dall’etichetta di ‘folle’ o ‘irrazionale’ che si suole applicare al credo ed alla condotta di estremisti o terroristi in cerca di un’appartenenza a questo mondo o di immortalità nell’altro a costo della propria vita.
Per quali ragioni i rivoluzionari cubani di quelle colonne che, 58 anni fa oggi, si ponevano in marcia mettendo a rischio la propria vita per la patria, la libertà e per costruire quel mondo migliore? Perché allora il martirio per una causa più alta esercitava una tale attrattiva e perché nazioni e religioni sembrano continuare ad esercitare una simile attrattiva a discapito dei sistemi di valori sui quali sono andate costruendosi ‘razionalmente’ le democrazie occidentali, storicamente e moralmente ‘mature’, preferendo il capitalismo liberale come forma fondamentale di organizzazione economica?
Riemergendo da letture e studi passati, queste domande vanno formandosi naturalmente nella mia mente mentre mi ricongiungo a Marco e ci lanciamo per le strade dell’Avana con un sorriso: forse non vi è un significato più alto nella nostra ricerca, ma la ricerca di un significato più alto è parte integrante del contesto ideologico della lotta rivoluzionaria che ha dato vita alla Cuba che stiamo per scoprire. Come si dice che la morte dia vita a ciò che di più umano c’è in noi.
Camera: #Panasonic #LumixGX8
In the far reaches of northern Scotland, within a village where time meanders at its own tranquil pace, a series of images unfolds, painting a tableau of life's relentless march amidst the shadows of climate's dismay and the distant rumbles of war that threaten to engulf Europe. It is a Wednesday evening, draped in the quietude of rainfall, a scene reminiscent of an Edward Hopper collection—imbued with solitude, emptiness, yet a profound continuance.
A Poem:
In this hamlet 'neath Scottish skies so wide,
Where the rains whisper and the winds confide,
Looms the spectre of a world in disarray,
Yet within these bounds, life finds its way.
Upon the cusp of night, shadows merge and dance,
In the pub's warm glow, eyes steal a glance.
The hearth's soft crackle, a comforting song,
In this northern retreat, where hearts belong.
The world outside may churn and roar,
With climates wracked and the drums of war.
Yet here we stand, in this time-suspended place,
Where tomorrow's worries are but a trace.
The local pub, our living room, our sphere,
A sanctuary from doubt, from dread, from fear.
We'll return come dusk, as sure as the tide,
In the rhythm of the ordinary, we take pride.
For what are we, but passengers in time,
Through days mundane, through nights sublime?
The question lingers, in the air, it floats,
Is this all there is? In whispers, it denotes.
Yet, as we stand 'neath the gentle pour,
We find beauty in the repeat, in the encore.
For in these moments, life's essence we distill,
In the quiet of the village, in the peace, so still.
A Haiku:
Rain veils the night's face,
Quiet pub bids farewell—
Life's quiet march on.
Ahh this is the reason the door of my craftroom is usually closed...a wee bit in disarray. But I like it that way. It's MY mess and really I DO know where everything is ;)
The Secret Garden. Central Park.
Spanning 6 acres, this section of the park is called the Conservatory Garden, named for a conservatory that stood on the site in the early 1900s. The garden opened to the public in 1937 and is comprised of three distinct parts. It fell into disarray in the 1970s but was restored completely in the late 1980s bringing estate garden style into Central Park.
This particular photo is of what is referred to as the Secret Garden Water Lily Pool which is dedicated to the memory of Frances Hodgson Burnett containing a sculpture by Bessie Potter Vonnoh. The water lilies in the pond bloom from June to October and it’s a popular spot for romantic photography shoots. In fact, the Conservatory Garden tends to be crowded with wedding parties and photographers on weekends and during prime times in the summer.
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One of the most inept rainforest birds I have seen, when it comes to landing and manoeuvering in the dense scrub. It looked as if someone had stuffed it in a string-bag and hurled it into the bushes! He managed to tidy himself up, once he struggled onto a perch.
This small home has been badly beaten up, with the roof and porch in disarray, the windows mostly broken, the plastic window coverings mostly hanging, wood faded and some siding missing, and other structural damage.
Something old and something new . Transport for Wales new Stadler diesel unit 231004 on a test run from Gloucester is seen at Cardiff Central. Behind this at Platform 2 is Great Western's HST Power Car 43027 providing half of the super power for a four coach stopping train to Penzance.
Cardiff is a microcosm of the disarray in rolling stock allocation for parts of the railway system at present. For example, today 4,500 horsepower for a stopper to Penzance, 3 car 170s to Ebbw Vale and a clapped out 2 car 150 to Manchester.
( At least the 769 conversions seem to work - on the flat.)
And don't forget the electrification - only used by the trains to London, when they aren't cancelled. The Cardiff terminators are the only InterCity trains from Paddington that can reach their final destination under the wires and how many billions did that cost.
28 April 2022.
ML_20220428_0465ar copy
Introduction
Since it came to power in Mainland China in 1949, the Chinese Communist Party has been unceasing in its persecution of religious faith. It has frantically arrested and murdered Christians, expelled and abused missionaries operating in China, confiscated and burned countless copies of the Bible, sealed up and demolished church buildings, and tried to eradicate all house churches. A great number of Christians in house churches have been arrested and persecuted. This documentary describes the real experience of a Chinese Christian, Zhou Haijiang who was arrested by the CCP government, tortured, and died from his mistreatment because of his belief in God and performance of duty. After Zhou Haijiang's death, his family was also monitored, threatened, and terrified by the CCP. They were not only unable to get justice for the deceased, but were thrown into disarray by the CCP's persecution. This exquisitely-shot documentary attempts to recreate what really happened at the time, and provides a profound reflection of the flagrant encroachment of the religious beliefs and human rights of Chinese Christians. It is a window to understanding the true lives of Chinese Christians and Christian families, as well as a reflection—rarely seen in recent years—of the experiences and emotions of Chinese Christians who have been persecuted as a result of their faith.
In the far reaches of northern Scotland, within a village where time meanders at its own tranquil pace, a series of images unfolds, painting a tableau of life's relentless march amidst the shadows of climate's dismay and the distant rumbles of war that threaten to engulf Europe. It is a Wednesday evening, draped in the quietude of rainfall, a scene reminiscent of an Edward Hopper collection—imbued with solitude, emptiness, yet a profound continuance.
A Poem:
In this hamlet 'neath Scottish skies so wide,
Where the rains whisper and the winds confide,
Looms the spectre of a world in disarray,
Yet within these bounds, life finds its way.
Upon the cusp of night, shadows merge and dance,
In the pub's warm glow, eyes steal a glance.
The hearth's soft crackle, a comforting song,
In this northern retreat, where hearts belong.
The world outside may churn and roar,
With climates wracked and the drums of war.
Yet here we stand, in this time-suspended place,
Where tomorrow's worries are but a trace.
The local pub, our living room, our sphere,
A sanctuary from doubt, from dread, from fear.
We'll return come dusk, as sure as the tide,
In the rhythm of the ordinary, we take pride.
For what are we, but passengers in time,
Through days mundane, through nights sublime?
The question lingers, in the air, it floats,
Is this all there is? In whispers, it denotes.
Yet, as we stand 'neath the gentle pour,
We find beauty in the repeat, in the encore.
For in these moments, life's essence we distill,
In the quiet of the village, in the peace, so still.
A Haiku:
Rain veils the night's face,
Quiet pub bids farewell—
Life's quiet march on.
The Lost World (20th Century Fox, 1960).
youtu.be/h1CLA-gJbmA?t=5s Trailer
Irwin Allen, the producer who would go on to make the disaster film a huge success in the seventies, brought us this Saturday afternoon fodder with giant lizards posing as dinosaurs. Starring Michael Rennie, David Hedison, Claude Rains and Jill St. John.
Intended as a grand sci-fi/fantasy epic remake of Arthur Conan Doyle's classic novel. The first film adaptation, shot in 1925, was a milestone in many ways, but movie making and special effects had come a long way in 35 years. Irwin Allen's Lost World (LW) & 20th Century Fox version was derailed on the way to greatness, but managed to still be a respectable, (if more modest) A-film. Allen's screenplay followed the book fairly well, telling of Professor Challenger's expedition to a remote plateau in the Amazon upon which dinosaurs still lived. Aside from the paleontological presumptions in the premise, there is little "science" in The Lost World. Nonetheless, dinosaur movies have traditionally been lumped into the sci-fi genre.
Synopsis
When his plane lands in London, crusty old professor George Edward Challenger is besieged by reporters questioning him about his latest expedition to the headwaters of the Amazon River. After the irascible Challenger strikes reporter Ed Malone on the head with his umbrella, Jennifer Holmes, the daughter of Ed's employer, Stuart Holmes, offers the injured reporter a ride into town. That evening, Jenny is escorted by Lord John Roxton, an adventurer and big game hunter, to Challenger's lecture at the Zoological Institute, and Ed invites them to sit with him. When Challenger claims to have seen live dinosaurs, his colleague Professor Summerlee scoffs and asks for evidence. Explaining that his photographs of the creatures were lost when his boat overturned, Challenger invites Summerlee to accompany him on a new expedition to the "lost world," and asks for volunteers. When Roxton raises his hand, Jenny insists on going with him, but she is rejected by Challenger because she is a woman. Ed is given a spot after Holmes offers to fund the expedition if the reporter is included. The four then fly to the Amazon, where they are met by Costa, their guide and Manuel Gomez, their helicopter pilot. Arriving unexpectedly, Jenny and her younger brother David insist on joining them. Unable to arrange transportation back to the United States, Challenger reluctantly agrees to take them along. The next day, they take off for the lost world and land on an isolated plateau inhabited by dinosaurs. That evening, a dinosaur stomps out of the jungle, sending them scurrying for cover. After the beast destroys the helicopter and radio, the group ventures inland. When one of the creatures bellows threateningly, they flee, and in their haste, Challenger and Ed slip and tumble down a hillside, where they encounter a native girl. The girl runs into the jungle, but Ed follows and captures her. They then all take refuge in a cave, where Roxton, who has been making disparaging remarks about Jenny's desire to marry him solely for his title, angers Ed. Ed lunges at Roxton, pushing him to the ground, where he finds a diary written by Burton White, an adventurer who hired Roxton three years earlier to lead him to the lost diamonds of Eldorado. Roxton then admits that he never met White and his party because he was delayed by a dalliance with a woman, thus abandoning them to certain death. Gomez angrily snaps that his good friend Santiago perished in the expedition. That night, Costa tries to molest the native girl, and David comes to her rescue and begins to communicate with her through sign language. After Gomez goes to investigate some movement he spotted in the vegetation, he calls for help, and when Roxton runs out of the cave, a gunshot from an unseen assailant is fired, nearly wounding Roxton and sending the girl scurrying into the jungle. Soon after, Ed and Jenny stray from camp and are pursued by a dinosaur, and after taking refuge on some cliffs, watch in horror as their stalker becomes locked in combat with another prehistoric creature and tumbles over the cliffs into the waters below. Upon returning to camp, they discover it deserted, their belongings in disarray. As David stumbles out from some rocks to report they were attacked by a tribe of natives, the cannibals return and imprison them in a cave with the others. As the drums beat relentlessly, signaling their deaths, the native girl reappears and motions for them to follow her through a secret passageway that leads to the cave in which Burton White lives, completely sightless. After confirming that all in his expedition perished, White tells them of a volcanic passageway that will lead them off the plateau, but warns that they must first pass through the cave of fire. Cautioning them that the natives plan to sacrifice them, White declares that their only chance of survival is to slip through the cave and then seal it with a boulder. After giving them directions to the cave, White asks them to take the girl along. As the earth, on the verge of a volcanic eruption, quakes, they set off through the Graveyard of the Damned, a vast cavern littered with dinosaur skeletons, the victims of the deadly sulfurous gases below. Pursued by the ferocious natives, Roxton takes the lead as they inch their way across a narrow ledge above the molten lava. After escaping the natives, they jam the cave shut with a boulder and, passing a dam of molten lava, finally reach the escape passage. At its mouth is a pile of giant diamonds and a dinosaur egg. As Costa heaps the diamonds into his hat, Challenger fondles the egg and Gomez pulls a gun and announces that Roxton must die in exchange for the death of Santiago, Gomez' brother. Acting quickly, Ed hurls the diamonds at Gomez, throwing him off balance and discharging his gun. The gunshot awakens a creature slumbering in the roiling waters below. After the beast snatches Costa and eats him alive, Ed tries to dislodge the dam, sending a few scorching rocks tumbling down onto the monster. Feeling responsible for the peril of the group, Gomez sacrifices his life by using his body as a lever to dislodge the dam, covering the creature with oozing lava. As the cave begins to crumble from the impending eruption, the group hurries to safety. Just then, the volcano explodes, destroying the lost world. After Roxton hands Ed a handful of diamonds he has saved as a wedding gift for him and Jenny, Challenger proudly displays his egg, which then hatches, revealing a baby dinosaur. The End.
The 50s had seen several examples of the dinosaur sub-genre. LW is one of the more lavish ones, owing to color by DeLuxe and CinemaScope. The A-level actors help too. Claude Rains plays the flamboyant Challenger. Michael Rennie plays Roxton, perhaps a bit too cooly. Jill St. John and Vitina Marcus do well as the customary eye candy. David Hedison as Malone and Fernando Lamas as Gomez round out the bill.
The first film version of LW was a silent movie shot in 1925: screenplay by Marion Fairfax. The film featured stop-motion animated dinosaurs by a young Willis O'Brien. Fairfax followed Doyle's text, but Fairfax added a young woman to the team, Paula White. Ostensibly trying to find her father from the first failed expedition, she provided the love triangle interest between Malone and Roxton.
Allen's screenplay tried to stick to Doyle's text as much as Hollywood would allow. It carried on Fairfax's invention of the young woman member of the group as triangle fodder. Fairfax had Doyle's ape men (ape man) but omitted the native humans. Allen had the natives, but no ape men. Allen revived the Gomez/revenge subplot, which Fairfax skipped. Doyle's story had Challenger bringing back a pterodactyl. Fairfax made it a brontosaur who rampaged through London streets (spawning a popular trope). Allen suggested the baby dinosaur traveling to London.
Willis O'Brien pitched 20th Century Fox in the late 50s, to do a quality remake of LW. He had gained much experience in the intervening 35 years, so his stop-motion dinosaurs were to be the real stars. Fox bass liked the idea, but by the time the ball started rolling, there was trouble in studioland. Fox's grand epic Cleopatra was underway, but was already 5 million dollars over budget. Cleo would nearly sink 20th Century Fox when it was finally released in 1963. To stay afloat, all other Fox films' budgets were slashed. Allen could no longer afford the grand O'Brien stop-motion.
Allen's production is often criticized for its "cheap" dinosaurs, which were live monitor lizards and alligators with fins and plates and horns glue onto them. (more on that below) These were already a bit cheesy when used in the 1940 film One Million B.C.. O'Brien is still listed on the credits as "Effects Technician," but all Allen could afford was lizards with glued on extras. Somewhat amusingly, the script still refers to them as brontosaurs and T-Rexes.
The character of Jennifer Holmes starts out promising. She's a self-assured to the edges of pushy, and is said to be able to out shoot and out ride any man. Yet, when she gets to the Amazon jungle, she's little more than Jungle Barbie, dressed in girlie clothes and screaming frequently. She even does the typical Hollywood trip-and-fall when chased by the dinosaur, so that a man must save her.
Bottom line? FW is a finer example of the not-quite-sci-fi dinosaur sub-genre. The actors are top drawer, even if some of their acting is a bit flat. Nonetheless, FW is a fair adaptation of Doyle's
classic adventure novel, given the constraints of Hollywood culture.
The Movie Club Annals … Review
The Lost World 1960
Introduction
There was absolutely nothing wrong with Irwin Allen's 1960 production of The Lost World. Nothing. It was perfect in every way. I therefore find myself in the unique and unfamiliar position of having to write a rave review about a Movie Club movie that was entirely devoid of flaws.
Faced with such a confounding task, I half-heartedly considered faking a bad review, then praying my obvious deceptions would go unnoticed. But the patent transparency of my scheme convinced me to abandon it posthaste. After all, leveling concocted criticisms at such an unassailable masterpiece would be a futile and tiresome exercise, the pretense of which would escape nary a semi-cognizant soul.
Thus, having retreated from my would-be descent into literary intrigue, I start this review in earnest by borrowing a quote from the legendary Shelly Winters, spoken during the 1972 filming of Irwin Allen's The Poseidon Adventure:
"I'm ready for my close up now, Mr. Allen.” Shelly Winters, 1972
Review
A bit of research into the casting choices of Irwin Allen, who wrote, produced, and directed The Lost World, begins to reveal the genius behind the virtuosity.
The first accolades go to Irwin for his casting of Vitina Marcus, the immaculately groomed Saks 5th Avenue cave girl with exquisite taste in makeup, jewelry, and cave-wear. No finer cave girl ever graced a feature film.
Vitina Marcus, as The Cave Girl
She was the picture of prehistoric glamour, gliding across the silver screen in her designer bearskin mini-pelt, her flawless coiffure showing no signs of muss from the traditional courting rituals of the day, her perfect teeth the envy of even the most prototypical Osmond. Even her nouveau-opposable thumbs retained their manicure, in spite of the oft-disagreeable duties that frequently befell her as an effete member of the tribal gentry.
By no means just another Neanderthal harlot, Vitina had a wealth of talent to augment her exterior virtues. Her virtuoso interpretation of a comely cave girl in The Lost World certainly didn't escape the attention Irwin Allen. In fact, he was so taken with her performance that he later engaged her services again, casting her as the Native Girl in episode 2.26 of his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series.
Leery of potential typecasting, Vitina went on to obtain roles with greater depth and more sophisticated dialogue. This is evidenced by the great departure she took from her previous roles when she next portrayed the part of Sarit, a female barbarian, in episode 1.24 of Irwin Allen's The Time Tunnel TV series.
Vitina, as Sarit
Vitina's efforts to avoid typecasting paid off in spades, as she was soon rewarded with the distinctive role of Girl, a female Tarzanesque she-beast character, in episode 3.14 of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV series.
Lured back from the U.N.C.L.E. set by Irwin Allen, Vitina was next cast in the role of Athena (a.k.a. Lorelei), the green space girl with the inverted lucite salad bowl hat, in episodes 2.2 and 2.16 of the revered Lost in Space TV series.
And with this, Vitina reached the pinnacle of her career. For her many unparalleled displays of thespian pageantry, she leaves us forever in her debt as she exits the stage.
For those who would still question the genius of Irwin Allen, I defy you to find a better casting choice for the character of Lord John Roxton than that of Michael Rennie. Mr. Rennie, who earlier starred as Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still, went on to even greater heights, starring as The Keeper in episodes 1.16 and 1.17 of the revered Lost in Space TV series. Throughout his distinguished career, Mr. Rennie often played highly cerebral characters with
unique names, such as Garth A7, Tribolet, Hasani, Rama Kahn, Hertz, and Dirk. How befitting that his most prolific roles came to him through a man named Irwin, a highly cerebral character with a unique name.
The selection of David Hedison to play Ed Malone was yet another example of Irwin's uncanny foresight. Soon after casting him in The Lost World, Irwin paved Mr. Hedison's path to immortality by casting him as a lead character in his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series. Although Voyage ended in 1968, Mr. Hedison departed the show with a solid resume and a bright future.
In the decades following Voyage, Mr. Hedison has been a veritable fixture on the small screen, appearing in such socially influential programs as The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Knight Rider, The Fall Guy and The A Team. Mr. Hedison's early collaborations with Irwin Allen have left him never wanting for a day's work in Hollywood, a boon to the legions of discerning fans who continue to savor his inspiring prime time depictions.
Irwin selected Fernando Lamas to play Manuel Gomez, the honorable and tortured soul of The Lost World who needlessly sacrificed himself at the end of the movie to save all the others. To get a feel for how important a casting decision he was to Irwin, just look at the pertinent experience Mr. Lamas brought to the table:
Irwin knew that such credentials could cause him to lose the services of Mr. Lamas to another project, and he took great pains to woo him onto the set of The Lost World. And even though Mr. Lamas never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his talent is not lost on us.
Jay Novello was selected by Irwin Allen to play Costa, the consummate Cuban coward who perpetually betrays everyone around him in the name of greed. In pursuing his craven calling, Mr. Novello went on to play Xandros, the Greek Slave in Atlantis, The Lost Continent, as well as countless other roles as a coward.
Although Mr. Novella never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his already long and distinguished career as a coward made him the obvious choice for Irwin when the need for an experienced malingerer arose.
Jill St. John was Irwin's pick to play Jennifer Holmes, the "other" glamour girl in The Lost World. Not to be upstaged by glamour-cave-girl Vitina Marcus, Jill played the trump card and broke out the pink go-go boots and skin-tight Capri pants, the perfect Amazonian summertime jungle wear.
Complete with a perfect hairdo, a killer wardrobe, a little yip-yip dog named Frosty, and all the other trappings of a wealthy and pampered prehistoric society, Jill's sensational allure rivaled even that of a certain cave girl appearing in the same film.
With the atmosphere rife for an on-set rivalry between Jill and Vitina, Irwin still managed to keep the peace, proving that he was as skilled a diplomat as he was a director.
Claude Rains, as Professor George Edward Challenger
And our cup runneth over, as Irwin cast Claude Rains to portray Professor George Edward Challenger. His eminence, Mr. Rains is an entity of such immeasurable virtue that he is not in need of monotonous praise from the likes of me.
I respectfully acknowledge the appearance of Mr. Rains because failure to do so would be an unforgivable travesty. But I say nothing more on the subject, lest I state something so obvious and uninspiring as to insult the intelligence of enlightened reader.
Irwin's casting of the cavemen mustn't be overlooked, for their infallibly realistic portrayals are unmatched within the Pleistocene Epoch genre of film. Such meticulous attention to detail is what separates Irwin Allen from lesser filmmakers, whose pale imitations of his work only further to underscore the point.
To be sure, it is possible to come away with the unfounded suspicion that the cavemen are really just a bunch of old white guys from the bar at the local Elks lodge. But Irwin was an absolute stickler for authenticity, and would never have allowed the use of such tawdry measures to taint his prehistoric magnum opus.
In truth, Irwin's on-screen cavemen were borne of many grueling years of anthropological research, so the explanation for their somewhat modern, pseudo-caucasian appearance lies obviously elsewhere. And in keeping with true Irwin Allen tradition, that explanation will not be offered here.
1964 - Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Season One, Episode 7 - "Turn Back the Clock", featuring Vitina Marcus as The Native Girl. Produced by Irwin Allen.
And then there was Irwin Allen's masterful handling of the reptilian facets of The Lost World, most notably his inimitable casting of the dinosaurs. His dinosaurs were so realistic, so eerily lifelike, that they almost looked like living, breathing garden variety lizards with dinosaur fins and horns glued to their backs and heads.
The less enlightened viewer might even suppose this to be true, that Irwin's dinosaurs were indeed merely live specimens of lizards, donned in Jurassic-era finery, vastly magnified, and retro-fitted into The Lost World via some penny-wise means of cinematic trickery.
But those of us in the know certainly know better than that, as we are privy to some otherwise unpublished information about The Lost World. The lifelike appearance of the Irwin's dinosaurs can be attributed to a wholly overlooked and fiendishly cunning approach to the art of delusion, which is that the dinosaurs didn't just look real, they were real.
While the world abounds with middling minds who cannot fathom such a reality, we must follow Irwin's benevolent leanings and temper our natural feelings of contempt for this unfortunate assemblage of pedestrian lowbrows. In spite of Irwin's superior intellect, he never felt disdain toward the masses that constituted his audiences. He simply capitalized on their unaffectedness, and in the process recounted the benefits of exploiting the intellectually bereft for personal gain.
The purpose of all this analysis, of course, is to place an exclamation point on the genius of Irwin Allen, the formation of his dinosaur exposé being a premier example. Note how he mindfully manipulates the expectations of his unsuspecting audience, compelling them to probe the dinosaurs for any signs of man-made chicanery. Then, at the palatial moment when the dinosaurs make their entry, he guilefully supplants the anticipated display of faux reptilia with that of the bona fide article.
Upon first witnessing the de facto dinosaurs, some in the audience think they've been had, and indeed they have. Irwin, in engineering his masterful ruse, had used reality as his medium to convey the illusion of artifice. His audience, in essence, was blinded by the truth. It was the immaculate deception, and none but Irwin Allen could have conceived it.
Indeed, the matter of where the live dinosaurs came from has been conspicuously absent from this discussion, as the Irwinian technique of fine film making strongly discourages the practice of squandering time on extraneous justifications and other such trite means of redundant apologia. For the benefit of the incessantly curious, however, just keep in mind that Irwin Allen wrote and produced The Time Tunnel TV Series, a fact that should provide some fair insight into his modis operandi.
Carl R.
A Grade II-listed bronze statue of Robert Clive, 1st Baron Clive, by John Tweed, stands in King Charles Street, Whitehall, London. The work was unveiled in 1912 outside Gwydyr House, also in Whitehall, and was moved to its current location in 1916.
Description
On the west face of the plinth are Clive's surname and the year of his birth and death (1725–1774). The remaining three sides have bronze reliefs depicting events in his life: the Siege of Arcot in 1751, the eve of the Battle of Plassey in 1757 and the Treaty of Allahabad in 1765.
History
On 8 February 1907, Sir William Forwood wrote to The Times noting that there were no monuments to Clive in London or India, and that even his grave, in the church at Moreton Say, Shropshire, was unmarked. Lord Curzon, a Conservative politician and the former Viceroy of India, wrote in support of Forwood's complaint, though he noted that in 1860 Clive had been "tardily commemorated by a statue at Shrewsbury". A Clive Memorial Fund committee was established, with Curzon publicising the fundraising efforts and progress with further letters to the editor of the Times. An 18th-century statue of Clive by Peter Scheemakers inside the India Office was then brought to Curzon's attention, but Curzon considered neither its portrayal of Clive nor its location to be adequate. The fund raised between £5,000 and £6,000 to erect memorials to Clive in London and India. Curzon's proposal did not meet the favour of his successor as viceroy, Lord Minto, who considered a commemoration of Clive "needlessly provocative" in India at a time of agitation and unrest in Bengal, where Clive had been the first British governor.
John Tweed was commissioned to start work on the London statue and exhibited a sketch model at the Royal Academy in 1910. The statue was unveiled in a temporary location in Gwydyr Street in 1912. It was moved to its permanent location in 1916.
The statue is placed on a high plinth, inlaid with bronze bas-relief on three sides, depicting three historic scenes associated with Clive's career in India. The scenes are: the siege of Arcot, the Battle of Plassey 1757 and the Grant of Diwani by the Mughal emperor to the British East India Company, represented by Clive, in 1765.
A smaller version of the finished statue, also cast in bronze, is now part of the collection of the Tate in London. Other works by Tweed portraying Clive include a memorial tablet in the south choir aisle of Westminster Abbey, erected by public subscription in 1919, and a marble statue at the Victoria Memorial in Kolkata, India.
At the beginning of the 21st century, the statue was singled out for criticism by Nick Robins in his history of the East India Company, The Corporation that Changed the World. In the book, he argued that "the fact that one of Britain's greatest corporate rogues continues to have pride of place at the heart of government suggests that the British elite has not yet confronted its corporate and imperial past." The book concluded by calling for the statue to be removed to a museum.
In June 2020, calls were made for the statue's removal after a wave of anti-racism protests in which a statue of the slave trader Edward Colston in Bristol was pulled down. The Labour politician Lord Adonis asked the Government to begin a public consultation on the statue. Clive's statue will be considered in a review of London's public monuments ordered by Sadiq Khan, the Mayor of London. With Andrew Simms, Nick Robins repeated his call for the statue to be removed and replaced with a monument celebrating a new generation of diverse global heroes. The historian William Dalrymple compared the statue's 20th-century memorialisation of Clive to the Confederate monuments erected in the Southern United States well into the civil rights era. The writer Afua Hirsch similarly said that the statue was "not a piece of history but an attempt – when it was erected centuries after Clive's death – to rewrite it" and called Clive "a symbol of the most morally bankrupt excesses of Empire".
Robert Clive, 1st Baron Clive, KB, FRS (29 September 1725 – 22 November 1774), also known as Clive of India, was the first British Governor of the Bengal Presidency. Clive has been widely credited for laying the foundation of the British East India Company (EIC) rule in Bengal. He began as a writer (the term used then in India for an office clerk) for the EIC in 1744 and established Company rule in Bengal by winning the Battle of Plassey in 1757. In return for supporting the Nawab Mir Jafar as ruler of Bengal, Clive was guaranteed a jagir of £30,000 (equivalent to £4,300,000 in 2021) per year which was the rent the EIC would otherwise pay to the Nawab for their tax-farming concession. When Clive left India in January 1767 he had a fortune of £180,000 (equivalent to £25,700,000 in 2021) which he remitted through the Dutch East India Company.
Blocking impending French mastery of India, Clive improvised a 1751 military expedition that ultimately enabled the EIC to adopt the French strategy of indirect rule via puppet government. Hired by the EIC to return (1755) to India, Clive conspired to secure the company's trade interests by overthrowing the ruler of Bengal, the richest state in India. Back in England from 1760 to 1765, he used the wealth accumulated from India to secure (1762) an Irish barony from the then Whig PM, Thomas Pelham-Holles, 1st Duke of Newcastle, and a seat for himself in Parliament, via Henry Herbert, 1st Earl of Powis, representing the Whigs in Shrewsbury, Shropshire (1761–1774), as he had previously in Mitchell, Cornwall (1754–1755).
Clive's actions on behalf of the EIC have made him one of Britain's most controversial colonial figures. His achievements included checking French imperialist ambitions on the Coromandel Coast and establishing EIC control over Bengal, thereby furthering the establishment of the British Raj, though he worked only as an agent of the East India Company, not of the British government. Vilified by his political rivals in Britain, he went on trial (1772 and 1773) before Parliament, where he was absolved from every charge. Historians have criticised Clive's management of Bengal during his tenure with the EIC, in particular regarding responsibility in contributing to the Great Bengal Famine of 1770, which killed between one and ten million people.
Early life
Robert Clive was born at Styche, the Clive family estate, near Market Drayton in Shropshire, on 29 September 1725 to Richard Clive and Rebecca (née Gaskell) Clive. The family had held the small estate since the time of Henry VII and had a lengthy history of public service: members of the family included a Chancellor of the Exchequer of Ireland under Henry VIII, and a member of the Long Parliament. Robert's father, who supplemented the estate's modest income by practising as a lawyer, also served in Parliament for many years, representing Montgomeryshire. Robert was their eldest son of thirteen children; he had seven sisters and five brothers, six of whom died in infancy.
Clive's father was known to have a temper, which the boy apparently inherited. For reasons that are unknown, Clive was sent to live with his mother's sister in Manchester while still a toddler. The site is now Hope Hospital. Biographer Robert Harvey suggests that this move was made because Clive's father was busy in London trying to provide for the family. Daniel Bayley, the sister's husband, reported that the boy was "out of measure addicted to fighting". He was a regular troublemaker in the schools to which he was sent. When he was older he and a gang of teenagers established a protection racket that vandalised the shops of uncooperative merchants in Market Drayton. [Note : the original of these stories first occurs in John Malcolm's 1836 biography which say these were verbal anecdotes given to him, third hand, in 1827, 53 years after Robert Clive's death] the Clive also exhibited fearlessness at an early age. He is reputed to have climbed the tower of St Mary's Parish Church in Market Drayton and perched on a gargoyle, frightening those down below.
When Clive was nine his aunt died, and, after a brief stint in his father's cramped London quarters, he returned to Shropshire. There he attended the Market Drayton Grammar School, where his unruly behaviour (and an improvement in the family's fortunes) prompted his father to send him to Merchant Taylors' School in London. His bad behaviour continued, and he was then sent to a trade school in Hertfordshire to complete a basic education. Despite his early lack of scholarship, in his later years he devoted himself to improving his education. He eventually developed a distinctive writing style, and a speech in the House of Commons was described by William Pitt as the most eloquent he had ever heard.
First journey to India (1744–1753)
In 1744 Clive's father acquired for him a position as a "factor" or company agent in the service of the East India Company, and Clive set sail for India. After running aground on the coast of Brazil, his ship was detained for nine months while repairs were completed. This enabled him to learn some Portuguese, one of the several languages then in use in south India because of the Portuguese centre at Goa. At this time the East India Company had a small settlement at Fort St. George near the village of Madraspatnam, later Madras, now the major Indian metropolis of Chennai, in addition to others at Calcutta, Bombay, and Cuddalore. Clive arrived at Fort St. George in June 1744, and spent the next two years working as little more than a glorified assistant shopkeeper, tallying books and arguing with suppliers of the East India Company over the quality and quantity of their wares. He was given access to the governor's library, where he became a prolific reader.
Political situation in south India
The India Clive arrived in was divided into a number of successor states to the Mughal Empire. Over the forty years since the death of the Emperor Aurangzeb in 1707, the power of the emperor had gradually fallen into the hands of his provincial viceroys or Subahdars. The dominant rulers on the Coromandel Coast were the Nizam of Hyderabad, Asaf Jah I, and the Nawab of the Carnatic, Anwaruddin Muhammed Khan. The Nawab nominally owed fealty to the nizam, but in many respects acted independently. Fort St. George and the French trading post at Pondicherry were both located in the Nawab's territory.
The relationship between the Europeans in India was influenced by a series of wars and treaties in Europe, and by competing commercial rivalry for trade on the subcontinent. Through the 17th and early 18th centuries, the French, Dutch, Portuguese, and British had vied for control of various trading posts, and for trading rights and favour with local Indian rulers. The European merchant companies raised bodies of troops to protect their commercial interests and latterly to influence local politics to their advantage. Military power was rapidly becoming as important as commercial acumen in securing India's valuable trade, and increasingly it was used to appropriate territory and to collect land revenue.
First Carnatic War
In 1720 France effectively nationalised the French East India Company, and began using it to expand its imperial interests. This became a source of conflict with the British in India with the entry of Britain into the War of the Austrian Succession in 1744. The Indian theatre of the conflict is also known as the First Carnatic War, referring to the Carnatic region on the southeast coast of India. Hostilities in India began with a British naval attack on a French fleet in 1745, which led the French Governor-General Dupleix to request additional forces. On 4 September 1746, Madras was attacked by French forces led by La Bourdonnais. After several days of bombardment the British surrendered and the French entered the city. The British leadership was taken prisoner and sent to Pondicherry. It was originally agreed that the town would be restored to the British after negotiation but this was opposed by Dupleix, who sought to annex Madras to French holdings. The remaining British residents were asked to take an oath promising not to take up arms against the French; Clive and a handful of others refused, and were kept under weak guard as the French prepared to destroy the fort. Disguising themselves as natives, Clive and three others eluded their inattentive sentry, slipped out of the fort, and made their way to Fort St. David (the British post at Cuddalore), some 50 miles (80 km) to the south. Upon his arrival, Clive decided to enlist in the Company army rather than remain idle; in the hierarchy of the company, this was seen as a step down. Clive was, however, recognised for his contribution in the defence of Fort St. David, where the French assault on 11 March 1747 was repulsed with the assistance of the Nawab of the Carnatic, and was given a commission as ensign.
In the conflict, Clive's bravery came to the attention of Major Stringer Lawrence, who arrived in 1748 to take command of the British troops at Fort St. David. During the 1748 Siege of Pondicherry Clive distinguished himself in successfully defending a trench against a French sortie: one witness of the action wrote Clive's "platoon, animated by his exhortation, fired again with new courage and great vivacity upon the enemy." The siege was lifted in October 1748 with the arrival of the monsoons, but the war came to a conclusion with the arrival in December of news of the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. Madras was returned to the British as part of the peace agreement in early 1749.
Tanjore expedition
The end of the war between France and Britain did not, however, end hostilities in India. Even before news of the peace arrived in India, the British had sent an expedition to Tanjore on behalf of a claimant to its throne. This expedition, on which Clive, now promoted to lieutenant, served as a volunteer, was a disastrous failure. Monsoons ravaged the land forces, and the local support claimed by their client was not in evidence. The ignominious retreat of the British force (which lost its baggage train to the pursuing Tanjorean army while crossing a swollen river) was a blow to the British reputation. Major Lawrence, seeking to recover British prestige, led the entire Madras garrison to Tanjore in response. At the fort of Devikottai on the Coleroon River the British force was confronted by the much larger Tanjorean army. Lawrence gave Clive command of 30 British soldiers and 700 sepoys, with orders to lead the assault on the fort. Clive led this force rapidly across the river and toward the fort, where the small British unit became separated from the sepoys and were enveloped by the Tanjorean cavalry. Clive was nearly cut down and the beachhead almost lost before reinforcements sent by Lawrence arrived to save the day. The daring move by Clive had an important consequence: the Tanjoreans abandoned the fort, which the British triumphantly occupied. The success prompted the Tanjorean rajah to open peace talks, which resulted in the British being awarded Devikottai and the costs of their expedition, and the British client was awarded a pension in exchange for renouncing his claim. Lawrence wrote of Clive's action that "he behaved in courage and in judgment much beyond what could be expected from his years."
On the expedition's return the process of restoring Madras was completed. Company officials, concerned about the cost of the military, slashed its size, denying Clive a promotion to captain in the process. Lawrence procured for Clive a position as the commissary at Fort St. George, a potentially lucrative posting (its pay included commissions on all supply contracts).
Second Carnatic War
The death of Asaf Jah I, the Nizam of Hyderabad, in 1748 sparked a struggle to succeed him that is known as the Second Carnatic War, which was also furthered by the expansionist interests of French Governor-General Dupleix. Dupleix had grasped from the first war that small numbers of disciplined European forces (and well-trained sepoys) could be used to tip balances of power between competing interests, and used this idea to greatly expand French influence in southern India. For many years he had been working to negotiate the release of Chanda Sahib, a longtime French ally who had at one time occupied the throne of Tanjore, and sought for himself the throne of the Carnatic. Chanda Sahib had been imprisoned by the Marathas in 1740; by 1748 he had been released from custody and was building an army at Satara.
Upon the death of Asaf Jah I, his son, Nasir Jung, seized the throne of Hyderabad, although Asaf Jah had designated as his successor his grandson, Muzaffar Jung. The grandson, who was ruler of Bijapur, fled west to join Chanda Sahib, whose army was also reinforced by French troops sent by Dupleix. These forces met those of Anwaruddin Mohammed Khan in the Battle of Ambur in August 1749; Anwaruddin was slain, and Chanda Sahib victorious entered the Carnatic capital, Arcot. Anwaruddin's son, Muhammed Ali Khan Wallajah, fled to Trichinopoly where he sought the protection and assistance of the British. In thanks for French assistance, the victors awarded them a number of villages, including territory nominally under British sway near Cuddalore and Madras. The British began sending additional arms to Muhammed Ali Khan Wallajah and sought to bring Nasir Jung into the fray to oppose Chanda Sahib. Nasir Jung came south to Gingee in 1750, where he requested and received a detachment of British troops. Chanda Sahib's forces advanced to meet them, but retreated after a brief long-range cannonade. Nasir Jung pursued, and was able to capture Arcot and his nephew, Muzaffar Jung. Following a series of fruitless negotiations and intrigues, Nasir Jung was assassinated by a rebellious soldier. This made Muzaffar Jung nizam and confirmed Chanda Sahib as Nawab of the Carnatic, both with French support. Dupleix was rewarded for French assistance with titled nobility and rule of the nizam's territories south of the Kistna River. His territories were "said to yield an annual revenue of over 350,000 rupees".
Robert Clive was not in southern India for many of these events. In 1750 Clive was afflicted with some sort of nervous disorder, and was sent north to Bengal to recuperate. It was there that he met and befriended Robert Orme, who became his principal chronicler and biographer. Clive returned to Madras in 1751.
Siege of Arcot
In the summer of 1751, Chanda Sahib left Arcot to besiege Muhammed Ali Khan Wallajah at Trichinopoly. This placed the British at Madras in a precarious position, since the latter was the last of their major allies in the area. The British company's military was also in some disarray, as Stringer Lawrence had returned to England in 1750 over a pay dispute, and much of the company was apathetic about the dangers the expanding French influence and declining British influence posed. The weakness of the British military command was exposed when a force was sent from Madras to support Muhammad Ali at Trichinopoly, but its commander, a Swiss mercenary, refused to attack an outpost at Valikondapuram. Clive, who accompanied the force as commissary, was outraged at the decision to abandon the siege. He rode to Cuddalore, and offered his services to lead an attack on Arcot if he was given a captain's commission, arguing this would force Chanda Sahib to either abandon the siege of Trichinopoly or significantly reduce the force there.
Madras and Fort St. David could supply him with only 200 Europeans, 300 sepoys, and three small cannons; furthermore, of the eight officers who led them, four were civilians like Clive, and six had never been in action. Clive, hoping to surprise the small garrison at Arcot, made a series of forced marches, including some under extremely rainy conditions. Although he did fail to achieve surprise, the garrison, hearing of the march being made under such arduous conditions, opted to abandon the fort and town; Clive occupied Arcot without firing a shot.
The fort was a rambling structure with a dilapidated wall a mile long (too long for his small force to effectively man), and it was surrounded by the densely packed housing of the town. Its moat was shallow or dry, and some of its towers were insufficiently strong to use as artillery mounts. Clive did the best he could to prepare for the onslaught he expected. He made a foray against the fort's former garrison, encamped a few miles away, which had no significant effect. When the former garrison was reinforced by 2,000 men Chanda Sahib sent from Trichinopoly it reoccupied the town on 15 September. That night Clive led most of his force out of the fort and launched a surprise attack on the besiegers. Because of the darkness, the besiegers had no idea how large Clive's force was, and they fled in panic.
The next day Clive learned that heavy guns he had requested from Madras were approaching, so he sent most of his garrison out to escort them into the fort. That night the besiegers, who had spotted the movement, launched an attack on the fort. With only 70 men in the fort, Clive once again was able to disguise his small numbers, and sowed sufficient confusion against his enemies that multiple assaults against the fort were successfully repulsed. That morning the guns arrived, and Chanda Sahib's men again retreated.
Over the next week Clive and his men worked feverishly to improve the defences, aware that another 4,000 men, led by Chanda Sahib's son Raza Sahib and accompanied by a small contingent of French troops, was on its way. (Most of these troops came from Pondicherry, not Trichinopoly, and thus did not have the effect Clive desired of raising that siege.) Clive was forced to reduce his garrison to about 300 men, sending the rest of his force to Madras in case the enemy army decided to go there instead. Raza Sahib arrived at Arcot, and on 23 September occupied the town. That night Clive launched a daring attack against the French artillery, seeking to capture their guns. The attack very nearly succeeded in its object, but was reversed when enemy sniper fire tore into the small British force. Clive himself was targeted on more than one occasion; one man pulled him down and was shot dead. The affair was a serious blow: 15 of Clive's men were killed, and another 15 wounded.
Over the next month the besiegers slowly tightened their grips on the fort. Clive's men were subjected to frequent sniper attacks and disease, lowering the garrison size to 200. He was heartened to learn that some 6,000 Maratha forces had been convinced to come to his relief, but that they were awaiting payment before proceeding. The approach of this force prompted Raza Sahib to demand Clive's surrender; Clive's response was an immediate rejection, and he further insulted Raza Sahib by suggesting that he should reconsider sending his rabble of troops against a British-held position. The siege finally reached critical when Raza Sahib launched an all-out assault against the fort on 14 November. Clive's small force maintained its composure, and established killing fields outside the walls of the fort where the attackers sought to gain entry. Several hundred attackers were killed and many more wounded, while Clive's small force suffered only four British and two sepoy casualties.
The historian Thomas Babington Macaulay wrote a century later of the siege:
... the commander who had to conduct the defence ... was a young man of five and twenty, who had been bred as a book-keeper ... Clive ... had made his arrangements, and, exhausted by fatigue, had thrown himself on his bed. He was awakened by the alarm, and was instantly at his post ... After three desperate onsets, the besiegers retired behind the ditch. The struggle lasted about an hour ... the garrison lost only five or six men.
His conduct during the siege made Clive famous in Europe. The Prime Minister William Pitt the Elder described Clive, who had received no formal military training whatsoever, as the "heaven-born general", endorsing the generous appreciation of his early commander, Major Lawrence. The Court of Directors of the East India Company voted him a sword worth £700, which he refused to receive unless Lawrence was similarly honoured.
Clive and Major Lawrence were able to bring the campaign to a successful conclusion. In 1754, the first of the provisional Carnatic treaties was signed between Thomas Saunders, the Company president at Madras, and Charles Godeheu, the French commander who displaced Dupleix. Mohammed Ali Khan Wallajah was recognised as Nawab, and both nations agreed to equalise their possessions. When war again broke out in 1756, during Clive's absence in Bengal, the French obtained successes in the northern districts, and it was Mohammed Ali Khan Wallajah's efforts which drove them from their settlements. The Treaty of Paris (1763) formally confirmed Mohammed Ali Khan Wallajah as Nawab of the Carnatic. It was a result of this action and the increased British influence that in 1765 a firman (decree) came from the Emperor of Delhi, recognising the British possessions in southern India.
Margaret Maskelyne had set out to find Clive who reportedly had fallen in love with her portrait. When she arrived Clive was a national hero. They were married at St. Mary's Church in (then) Madras on 18 February 1753. They then returned to England.
Clive also briefly sat as Member of Parliament for the Cornwall rotten borough of St Michael's, which then returned two Members, from 1754 to 1755. He and his colleague, John Stephenson were later unseated by petition of their defeated opponents, Richard Hussey and Simon Luttrell.
Second journey to India (1755–1760)
Further information: Great Britain in the Seven Years War
In July 1755, Clive returned to India to act as deputy governor of Fort St. David at Cuddalore. He arrived after having lost a considerable fortune en route, as the Doddington, the lead ship of his convoy, was wrecked near Port Elizabeth, losing a chest of gold coins belonging to Clive worth £33,000 (equivalent to £5,500,000 in 2021). Nearly 250 years later in 1998, illegally salvaged coins from Clive's treasure chest were offered for sale, and in 2002 a portion of the coins were given to the South African government after protracted legal wrangling.
Clive, now promoted to lieutenant-colonel in the British Army, took part in the capture of the fortress of Gheriah, a stronghold of the Maratha Admiral Tuloji Angre. The action was led by Admiral James Watson and the British had several ships available, some Royal troops and some Maratha allies. The overwhelming strength of the joint British and Maratha forces ensured that the battle was won with few losses. A fleet surgeon, Edward Ives, noted that Clive refused to take any part of the treasure divided among the victorious forces as was custom at the time.
Fall and recapture of Calcutta (1756–57)
Following this action Clive headed to his post at Fort St. David and it was there he received news of twin disasters for the British. Early in 1756, Siraj ud-Daulah had succeeded his grandfather Alivardi Khan as Nawab of Bengal. In June, Clive received news that the new Nawab had attacked the British at Kasimbazar and shortly afterwards on 20 June he had taken the fort at Calcutta. The losses to the Company because of the fall of Calcutta were estimated by investors at £2,000,000 (equivalent to £320,000,000 in 2021). Those British who were captured were placed in a punishment cell which became infamous as the Black Hole of Calcutta. In stifling summer heat, it was reported that 43 of the 64 prisoners died as a result of suffocation or heat stroke. While the Black Hole became infamous in Britain, it is debatable whether the Nawab was aware of the incident.
By Christmas 1756, as no response had been received to diplomatic letters to the Nawab, Admiral Charles Watson and Clive were dispatched to attack the Nawab's army and remove him from Calcutta by force. Their first target was the fortress of Baj-Baj which Clive approached by land while Admiral Watson bombarded it from the sea. The fortress was quickly taken with minimal British casualties. Shortly afterwards, on 2 January 1757, Calcutta itself was taken with similar ease.
Approximately a month later, on 3 February 1757, Clive encountered the army of the Nawab itself. For two days, the army marched past Clive's camp to take up a position east of Calcutta. Sir Eyre Coote, serving in the British forces, estimated the enemy's strength as 40,000 cavalry, 60,000 infantry and thirty cannon. Even allowing for overestimation this was considerably more than Clive's force of approximately 540 British infantry, 600 Royal Navy sailors, 800 local sepoys, fourteen field guns and no cavalry. The British forces attacked the Nawab's camp during the early morning hours of 5 February 1757. In this battle, unofficially called the 'Calcutta Gauntlet', Clive marched his small force through the entire Nawab's camp, despite being under heavy fire from all sides. By noon, Clive's force broke through the besieging camp and arrived safely at Fort William. During the assault, around one tenth of the British attackers became casualties. (Clive reported his losses at 57 killed and 137 wounded.) While technically not a victory in military terms, the sudden British assault intimidated the Nawab. He sought to make terms with Clive, and surrendered control of Calcutta on 9 February, promising to compensate the East India Company for damages suffered and to restore its privileges.
War with Siraj Ud Daulah
As Britain and France were once more at war, Clive sent the fleet up the river against the French colony of Chandannagar, while he besieged it by land. There was a strong incentive to capture the colony, as capture of a previous French settlement near Pondicherry had yielded the combined forces prizes valued at £130,000 (equivalent to £18,500,000 in 2021). After consenting to the siege, the Nawab unsuccessfully sought to assist the French. Some officials of the Nawab's court formed a confederacy to depose him. Jafar Ali Khan, also known as Mir Jafar, the Nawab's commander-in-chief, led the conspirators. With Admiral Watson, Governor Drake and Mr. Watts, Clive made a gentlemen's agreement in which it was agreed to give the office of viceroy of Bengal, Bihar and Odisha to Mir Jafar, who was to pay £1,000,000 (equivalent to £140,000,000 in 2021) to the company for its losses in Calcutta and the cost of its troops, £500,000 (equivalent to £70,000,000 in 2021) to the British inhabitants of Calcutta, £200,000 (equivalent to £28,500,000 in 2021) to the native inhabitants, and £70,000 (equivalent to £10,000,000 in 2021) to its Armenian merchants.
Clive employed Umichand, a rich Bengali trader, as an agent between Mir Jafar and the British officials. Umichand threatened to betray Clive unless he was guaranteed, in the agreement itself, £300,000 (equivalent to £47,500,000 in 2021). To dupe him a fictitious agreement was shown to him with a clause to this effect. Admiral Watson refused to sign it. Clive deposed later to the House of Commons that, "to the best of his remembrance, he gave the gentleman who carried it leave to sign his name upon it; his lordship never made any secret of it; he thinks it warrantable in such a case, and would do it again a hundred times; he had no interested motive in doing it, and did it with a design of disappointing the expectations of a rapacious man."
Plassey
The whole hot season of 1757 was spent in negotiations with the Nawab of Bengal. In the middle of June Clive began his march from Chandannagar, with the British in boats and the sepoys along the right bank of the Hooghly River. During the rainy season, the Hooghly is fed by the overflow of the Ganges to the north through three streams, which in the hot months are nearly dry. On the left bank of the Bhagirathi, the most westerly of these, 100 miles (160 km) above Chandernagore, stands Murshidabad, the capital of the Mughal viceroys of Bengal. Some miles farther down is the field of Plassey, then an extensive grove of mango trees.
On 21 June 1757, Clive arrived on the bank opposite Plassey, in the midst of the first outburst of monsoon rain. His whole army amounted to 1,100 Europeans and 2,100 sepoy troops, with nine field-pieces. The Nawab had drawn up 18,000 horse, 50,000-foot and 53 pieces of heavy ordnance, served by French artillerymen. For once in his career Clive hesitated, and called a council of sixteen officers to decide, as he put it, "whether in our present situation, without assistance, and on our own bottom, it would be prudent to attack the Nawab, or whether we should wait till joined by some country (Indian) power." Clive himself headed the nine who voted for delay; Major Eyre Coote led the seven who counselled immediate attack. But, either because his daring asserted itself, or because of a letter received from Mir Jafar, Clive was the first to change his mind and to communicate with Major Eyre Coote. One tradition, followed by Macaulay, represents him as spending an hour in thought under the shade of some trees, while he resolved the issues of what was to prove one of the decisive battles of the world. Another, turned into verse by Sir Alfred Lyall, pictures his resolution as the result of a dream. However that may be, he did well as a soldier to trust to the dash and even rashness that had gained Arcot and triumphed at Calcutta since retreat, or even delay, might have resulted in defeat.
After heavy rain, Clive's 3,200 men and the nine guns crossed the river and took possession of the grove and its tanks of water, while Clive established his headquarters in a hunting lodge. On 23 June, the engagement took place and lasted the whole day, during which remarkably little actual fighting took place. Gunpowder for the cannons of the Nawab was not well protected from rain. That impaired those cannons. Except for the 40 Frenchmen and the guns they worked, the Indian side could do little to reply to the British cannonade (after a spell of rain), which, with the 39th Regiment, scattered the host, inflicting on it a loss of 500 men. Clive had already made a secret agreement with aristocrats in Bengal, including Jagat Seth and Mir Jafar. Clive restrained Major Kilpatrick, for he trusted to Mir Jafar's abstinence, if not desertion to his ranks, and knew the importance of sparing his own small force.[16] He was fully justified in his confidence in Mir Jafar's treachery to his master, for he led a large portion of the Nawab's army away from the battlefield, ensuring his defeat.
Clive lost hardly any European troops; in all 22 sepoys were killed and 50 wounded. It is curious in many ways that Clive is now best-remembered for this battle, which was essentially won by suborning the opposition rather than through fighting or brilliant military tactics. Whilst it established British military supremacy in Bengal, it did not secure the East India Company's control over Upper India, as is sometimes claimed. That would come only seven years later in 1764 at the Battle of Buxar, where Sir Hector Munro defeated the combined forces of the Mughal Emperor and the Nawab of Awadh in a much more closely fought encounter.
Siraj Ud Daulah fled from the field on a camel, securing what wealth he could. He was soon captured by Mir Jafar's forces and later executed by the assassin Mohammadi Beg. Clive entered Murshidabad and established Mir Jafar as Nawab, the price which had been agreed beforehand for his treachery. Clive was taken through the treasury, amid £1,500,000 (equivalent to £210,000,000 in 2021) sterling's worth of rupees, gold and silver plate, jewels and rich goods, and besought to ask what he would. Clive took £160,000 (equivalent to £22,800,000 in 2021), a vast fortune for the day, while £500,000 (equivalent to £70,000,000 in 2021) was distributed among the army and navy of the East India Company, and provided gifts of £24,000 (equivalent to £3,400,000 in 2021) to each member of the company's committee, as well as the public compensation stipulated for in the treaty.
In this extraction of wealth Clive followed a usage fully recognised by the company, although this was the source of future corruption which Clive was later sent to India again to correct. The company itself acquired revenue of £100,000 (equivalent to £14,300,000 in 2021) a year, and a contribution towards its losses and military expenditure of £1,500,000 sterling (equivalent to £210,000,000 in 2021). Mir Jafar further discharged his debt to Clive by afterwards presenting him with the quit-rent of the company's lands in and around Calcutta, amounting to an annuity of £27,000 (equivalent to £3,900,000 in 2021) for life, and leaving him by will the sum of £70,000 (equivalent to £10,000,000 in 2021), which Clive devoted to the army.
Further campaigns
Battle of Condore
While busy with the civil administration, Clive continued to follow up his military success. He sent Major Coote in pursuit of the French almost as far as Benares. He dispatched Colonel Forde to Vizagapatam and the northern districts of Madras, where Forde won the Battle of Condore (1758), pronounced by Broome "one of the most brilliant actions on military record".
Mughals
Clive came into direct contact with the Mughal himself, for the first time, a meeting which would prove beneficial in his later career. Prince Ali Gauhar escaped from Delhi after his father, the Mughal Emperor Alamgir II, had been murdered by the usurping Vizier Imad-ul-Mulk and his Maratha associate Sadashivrao Bhau.
Prince Ali Gauhar was welcomed and protected by Shuja-ud-Daula, the Nawab of Awadh. In 1760, after gaining control over Bihar, Odisha and some parts of the Bengal, Ali Gauhar and his Mughal Army of 30,000 intended to overthrow Mir Jafar and the Company in order to reconquer the riches of the eastern Subahs for the Mughal Empire. Ali Gauhar was accompanied by Muhammad Quli Khan, Hidayat Ali, Mir Afzal, Kadim Husein and Ghulam Husain Tabatabai. Their forces were reinforced by the forces of Shuja-ud-Daula and Najib-ud-Daula. The Mughals were also joined by Jean Law and 200 Frenchmen, and waged a campaign against the British during the Seven Years' War.
Prince Ali Gauhar successfully advanced as far as Patna, which he later besieged with a combined army of over 40,000 in order to capture or kill Ramnarian, a sworn enemy of the Mughals. Mir Jafar was terrified at the near demise of his cohort and sent his own son Miran to relieve Ramnarian and retake Patna. Mir Jafar also implored the aid of Robert Clive, but it was Major John Caillaud, who defeated and dispersed Prince Ali Gauhar's army.
Dutch aggression
While Clive was preoccupied with fighting the French, the Dutch directors of the outpost at Chinsurah, not far from Chandernagore, seeing an opportunity to expand their influence, agreed to send additional troops to Chinsurah. Despite Britain and the Dutch Republic not formally being at war, a Dutch fleet of seven ships, containing more than fifteen hundred European and Malay troops, came from Batavia and arrived at the mouth of the Hooghly River in October 1759, while Mir Jafar, the Nawab of Bengal, was meeting with Clive in Calcutta. They met a mixed force of British and local troops at Chinsurah, just outside Calcutta. The British, under Colonel Francis Forde, defeated the Dutch in the Battle of Chinsurah, forcing them to withdraw. The British engaged and defeated the ships the Dutch used to deliver the troops in a separate naval battle on 24 November. Thus Clive avenged the massacre of Amboyna – the occasion when he wrote his famous letter; "Dear Forde, fight them immediately; I will send you the order of council to-morrow".
Meanwhile, Clive improved the organisation and drill of the sepoy army, after a European model, and enlisted into it many Muslims from upper regions of the Mughal Empire. He re-fortified Calcutta. In 1760, after four years of hard labour, his health gave way and he returned to England. "It appeared", wrote a contemporary on the spot, "as if the soul was departing from the Government of Bengal". He had been formally made Governor of Bengal by the Court of Directors at a time when his nominal superiors in Madras sought to recall him to their help there. But he had discerned the importance of the province even during his first visit to its rich delta, mighty rivers and teeming population. Clive selected some able subordinates, notably a young Warren Hastings, who, a year after Plassey, was made Resident at the Nawab's court.
The long-term outcome of Plassey was to place a very heavy revenue burden upon Bengal. The company sought to extract the maximum revenue possible from the peasantry to fund military campaigns, and corruption was widespread amongst its officials. Mir Jafar was compelled to engage in extortion on a vast scale in order to replenish his treasury, which had been emptied by the company's demand for an indemnity of 2.8 crores of rupees (£3 million).
Return to Great Britain
In 1760, the 35-year-old Clive returned to Great Britain with a fortune of at least £300,000 (equivalent to £48,300,000 in 2021) and the quit-rent of £27,000 (equivalent to £4,300,000 in 2021) a year. He financially supported his parents and sisters, while also providing Major Lawrence, the commanding officer who had early encouraged his military genius, with a stipend of £500 (equivalent to £100,000 in 2021) a year. In the five years of his conquests and administration in Bengal, the young man had crowded together a succession of exploits that led Lord Macaulay, in what that historian termed his "flashy" essay on the subject, to compare him to Napoleon Bonaparte, declaring that "[Clive] gave peace, security, prosperity and such liberty as the case allowed of to millions of Indians, who had for centuries been the prey of oppression, while Napoleon's career of conquest was inspired only by personal ambition, and the absolutism he established vanished with his fall." Macaulay's ringing endorsement of Clive seems more controversial today, as some would argue that Clive's ambition and desire for personal gain set the tone for the administration of Bengal until the Permanent Settlement 30 years later. The immediate consequence of Clive's victory at Plassey was an increase in the revenue demand on Bengal by at least 20%, which led to considerable hardship for the rural population, particularly during the famine of 1770.
During the three years that Clive remained in Great Britain, he sought a political position, chiefly that he might influence the course of events in India, which he had left full of promise. He had been well received at court, was elevated to the peerage as Baron Clive of Plassey, County Clare; had bought estates, and returned a few friends as well as himself to the House of Commons. Clive was MP for Shrewsbury from 1761 until his death. He was allowed to sit in the Commons because his peerage was Irish. He was also elected Mayor of Shrewsbury for 1762–63. The non-graduate Clive received an honorary degree as DCL from Oxford University in 1760, and in 1764 he was appointed Knight of the Order of the Bath.
Clive set himself to reform the home system of the East India Company, and began a bitter dispute with the chairman of the Court of Directors, Laurence Sulivan, whom he defeated in the end. In this he was aided by the news of reverses in Bengal. Mir Jafar had finally rebelled over payments to British officials, and Clive's successor had put Qasim Ali Khan, Mir Jafar's son-in-law upon the musnud (throne). After a brief tenure, Mir Qasim had fled, ordering Walter Reinhardt Sombre (known to the Muslims as Sumru), a Swiss mercenary of his, to butcher the garrison of 150 British at Patna, and had disappeared under the protection of his brother, the Viceroy of Awadh. The whole company's service, civil and military, had become mired in corruption, demoralised by gifts and by the monopoly of inland and export trade, to such an extent that the Indians were pauperised, and the company was plundered of the revenues Clive had acquired. For this Clive himself must bear much responsibility, as he had set a very poor example during his tenure as Governor. Nevertheless, the Court of Proprietors, forced the Directors to hurry Lord Clive to Bengal with the double powers of Governor and Commander-in-Chief.
Third journey to India
On 11 April 1765, Clive's ship docked at Madras. Upon learning of Mir Jafar's death and the aftermath of the Battle of Buxar, he sent a coded letter to a friend back in England, directing him to mortgage all his property and to buy as much stock in the Company as possible before the news broke, anticipating that its value would rise. On 3 May 1765 Clive landed at Calcutta to learn that Mir Jafar left him personally £70,000 (equivalent to £10,200,000 in 2021). Mir Jafar was succeeded by his son-in-law Kasim Ali, though not before the government had been further demoralised by taking £100,000 (equivalent to £14,500,000 in 2021) as a gift from the new Nawab; while Kasim Ali had induced not only the viceroy of Awadh, but the emperor of Delhi himself, to invade Bihar. At this point a mutiny in the Bengal army occurred, which was a grim precursor of the Indian rebellion of 1857, but on this occasion it was quickly suppressed by blowing the sepoy ringleader from a gun. Major Munro, "the Napier of those times", scattered the united armies on the hard-fought field of Buxar. The emperor, Shah Alam II, detached himself from the league, while the Awadh viceroy threw himself on the mercy of the British.
Clive had now an opportunity of repeating in Hindustan, or Upper India, what he had accomplished in Bengal. He might have secured what is now called Uttar Pradesh, and have rendered unnecessary the campaigns of Wellesley and Lake. But he believed he had other work in the exploitation of the revenues and resources of rich Bengal itself, making it a base from which British India would afterwards steadily grow. Hence he returned to the Awadh viceroy all his territory save the provinces of Allahabad and Kora, which he presented to the weak emperor.
Mughal Firman
In return for the Awadhian provinces Clive secured from the emperor one of the most important documents in British history in India, effectively granting title of Bengal to Clive. It appears in the records as "firman from the King Shah Aalum, granting the diwani rights of Bengal, Bihar and Odisha to the Company 1765." The date was 12 August 1765, the place Benares, the throne an English dining-table covered with embroidered cloth and surmounted by a chair in Clive's tent. It is all pictured by a Muslim contemporary, who indignantly exclaims that so great a "transaction was done and finished in less time than would have been taken up in the sale of a jackass". By this deed the company became the real sovereign rulers of thirty million people, yielding a revenue of £4,000,000 sterling (equivalent to £580,000,000 in 2021).
On the same date Clive obtained not only an imperial charter for the company's possessions in the Carnatic, completing the work he began at Arcot, but a third firman for the highest of all the lieutenancies of the empire, that of the Deccan itself. This fact is mentioned in a letter from the secret committee of the court of directors to the Madras government, dated 27 April 1768. The British presence in India was still tiny compared to the number and strength of the princes and people of India, but also compared to the forces of their ambitious French, Dutch and Danish rivals. Clive had this in mind when he penned his last advice to the directors, as he finally left India in 1767:
"We are sensible that, since the acquisition of the dewany, the power formerly belonging to the soubah of those provinces is totally, in fact, vested in the East India Company. Nothing remains to him but the name and shadow of authority. This name, however, this shadow, it is indispensably necessary we should seem to venerate."
Attempts at administrative reform
Having thus founded the Empire of British India, Clive sought to put in place a strong administration. The salaries of civil servants were increased, the acceptance of gifts from Indians was forbidden, and Clive exacted covenants under which participation in the inland trade was stopped. Unfortunately this had very little impact in reducing corruption, which remained widespread until the days of Warren Hastings. Clive's military reforms were more effective. He put down a mutiny of the British officers, who chose to resent the veto against receiving presents and the reduction of batta (extra pay) at a time when two Maratha armies were marching on Bengal. His reorganisation of the army, on the lines of that which he had begun after Plassey, neglected during his absence in Great Britain, subsequently attracted the admiration of Indian officers. He divided the whole army into three brigades, making each a complete force, in itself equal to any single Indian army that could be brought against it.
Clive was also instrumental in making the company virtual master of North India by introducing his policy of "Dual system of government". According to the new arrangement enforced by him, the company became liable only for revenue affairs of Bengal (Diwani) and Bihar while the administration and law and order was made a prerogative of the Nawab. An office of "Deputy Nawab" was created, who was at the helms of all the affairs vis a vis revenue of two of the richest provinces of India besides being the company's representative while the Nizamat (Law and order) remained in the hands of the Nawab who appointed his own representative to deal with the company. This system proved to be detrimental for the administration of Bengal and ultimately the "Dual system of government" was abolished by Clive.
Retirement and death
Clive left India for the last time in February 1767. In 1768, he lived at the Chateau de Larzac in Pézenas, Hérault, Languedoc-Roussillon in southern France. Local tradition is that he introduced local bakers to a sweet pastry, Petit pâté de Pézenas, and that he (more obviously, his chef) had brought the recipe from India as a refined version of the savoury keema naan. Pézenas is known for such delicacies.
Later in 1768, Clive was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society and served as treasurer of the Royal Salop Infirmary in Shrewsbury.
In 1769, he acquired the house and gardens of Claremont near Esher in Surrey, and commissioned Capability Brown to remodel the garden and house.
In 1772 Parliament opened an inquiry into the company's practices in India. Clive's political opponents turned these hearings into attacks on Clive. Questioned about some of the large sums of money he had received while in India, Clive pointed out that they were not contrary to accepted company practice, and defended his behaviour by stating "I stand astonished at my own moderation" given opportunities for greater gain. The hearings highlighted the need for reform of the company; a vote to censure Clive for his actions failed. Later in 1772, Clive was invested Knight of the Bath (eight years after he had been made knight bachelor), and was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Shropshire.
A great famine between 1769 and 1773 reduced the population of Bengal by a third. It was argued that the activities and aggrandisement of company officials caused the famine, particularly abuse of trade monopoly and land tax used for the personal benefit of company officials. These revelations and subsequent debates in Parliament reduced Clive's political popularity.
Clive continued to be involved in Parliamentary discussions on company reforms. In 1773, General John Burgoyne, one of Clive's most vocal critics, pressed the case that some of Clive's gains were made at the expense of the company and of the government. Clive again made a spirited defence of his actions, and closed his testimony by stating "Take my fortune, but save my honour." The vote that followed exonerated Clive, who was commended for the "great and meritorious service" he rendered to the country. Immediately thereafter Parliament began debating the Regulating Act of 1773, which significantly reformed the East India Company's practices.
On 22 November 1774 Clive died, aged 49, at his Berkeley Square home. His death was caused by a cut to his throat from a penknife he held. The manner of his death has long been the subject of controversy. No inquest was carried out, the absence of which caused contemporary newspapers to report his death as due to an apoplectic fit or stroke. 20th-century biographer, John Watney, concluded: "He did not die from a self-inflicted wound ... He died as he severed his jugular with a blunt paper knife brought on by an overdose of drugs". While Clive left no suicide note, Samuel Johnson wrote that he "had acquired his fortune by such crimes that his consciousness of them impelled him to cut his own throat". Clive's demise has been linked to his history of depression and to opium addiction, but the likely immediate impetus was excruciating pain resulting from illness (he was known to suffer from gallstones) which he had been attempting to abate with opium[citation needed]. Shortly beforehand, he had been offered and declined command of British forces in North America. He was buried in St Margaret's Parish Church at Moreton Say, near his birthplace in Shropshire.
Clive was awarded an Irish peerage in 1762, created Baron Clive of Plassey, County Clare; he bought lands in County Limerick and County Clare, Ireland, naming part of his lands near Limerick City, Plassey. Following Irish independence, these lands became state property. In the 1970s a technical college, later the University of Limerick, was built at Plassey.
Family
Edward Clive, 1st Earl of Powis (b. 7 March 1754, d. 16 May 1839)
Rebecca Clive (b. 15 September 1760, bapt 10 October 1760 Moreton Say, d. December 1795, married in 1780 to Lt-Gen John Robinson of Denston Hall Suffolk, MP (d. 1798.)
Charlotte Clive (b. 19 January 1762, d. unm 20 October 1795)
Margaret Clive (bapt 18 September 1763 Condover, Shropshire, d. June 1814, married 11 April 1780 Lt-Col Lambert Theodore Walpole (d. in Wexford Rebellion 1798)
Elizabeth Clive (bapt 18 November 1764 Condover, d. young)
Richard Clive (d. young)
Robert Clive (d. young)
Robert Clive Jnr (b. 14 August 1769, d. unm 28 July 1833), Lt-Col.
Jane Clive (d. young)
Criticism
Clive's actions have been criticised by modern historians due to actions in India, particularly his involvement in the Bengal Famine of 1770 and his economic management of India. The famine killed between one and ten million people. The 21st-century British historian William Dalrymple has called Clive an "unstable sociopath". Changes caused by Clive to the Indian revenue system and agricultural practices, designed to maximize profits for the East India Company, increased poverty in Bengal. Clive commented on the poor conditions of Bengal under Company rule,
I shall only say that such a scene of anarchy, confusion, bribery, corruption, and extortion was never seen or heard of in any country but Bengal; nor did such and so many fortunes acquire in so unjust and rapacious a manner. The three provinces of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa producing a clear revenue of £3 million sterling, have been under the absolute management of the company's servants, ever since Mir Jafar's restoration to the subahship; and they have, both civil and military, exacted and levied contributions from every man of power and consequence, from the Nawab down to the lowest zamindar.
In January 2021, the private school that Clive attended, Merchant Taylors' School, renamed Clive House to "Raphael House" (after the sportsman John Edward Raphael). Petitions have called for removal of a statue of Clive from The Square in Shrewsbury. No more than 20,000 signatures supported such a move, and on 16 July 2020 Shropshire Council voted 28–17 to retain the statue. A similar petition for removal of Clive's statue from outside the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in Whitehall, accrued some 80,000 signatures.
In light of criticism of Clive's legacy, in 2020 Haberdashers' Adams school in Newport, Shropshire announced that Clive House was to be renamed "Owen House" (after the Shropshire poet Wilfred Owen).
Legacy
Robert Clive's desk from his time at Market Drayton Grammar School is on display at Market Drayton museum complete with his carved initials. The town also has a Clive Road.
Robert Clive's pet Aldabra giant tortoise died on 23 March 2006 in the Kolkata zoo. The tortoise, whose name was "Adwaita" (meaning the "One and Only" in Bengali), appeared to be 150–250 years old. Adwaita had been in the zoo since the 1870s and the zoo's documentation showed that he came from Clive's estate in India.
A statue of Clive stands in the main square in the market town of Shrewsbury, as well as a later one in King Charles Street near St James's Park, London.
Clive is a Senior Girls house at the Duke of York's Royal Military School, where all houses are named after prominent military figures.
Clive was a house at Haberdashers' Adams school in Newport, Shropshire which in 2021 was renamed Owen house, after the poet and soldier Wilfred Owen who was born near Oswestry in Shropshire. This follows criticism of Robert Clive in light of the George Floyd protests.
Clive Road, in West Dulwich, London, commemorates Baron Clive despite being so named close to a century after his death. Following the completion of the relocation of The Crystal Palace from Hyde Park to what is now Upper Norwood in 1854, the West End of London and Crystal Palace Railway was opened on 10 June 1854 to cope with crowds visiting the Crystal Palace. This led to a huge increase in employment in the area and a subsequent increase in the building of residential properties. Many of the new roads were named after eminent figures in British imperial history, such as Robert Clive.
There is a settlement named after Clive in the Hawke's Bay province of New Zealand.
Clive's coat of arms can be seen (impaled with his wife's) in relief in the pediment at Claremont in Esher, Surrey, which Clive had rebuilt.
A bestselling children's novel, G. A. Henty's With Clive in India: Or, the Beginnings of an Empire (1884), celebrates Clive's life and career from a pro-British point of view.
R. J. Minney's stage play Clive of India (1933) portrays the life of Clive, particularly focusing on his victory at the Battle of Plassey. It was based on a biography of Clive that Minney had written two years earlier.
The 1935 film Clive of India, based on Minney's play, starred Ronald Colman, Loretta Young, and Clive's descendant Colin Clive.
"Clive" was a house at Merchant Taylors' School, Northwood, where he was a student for seven years before his expulsion. Members were distinguished by their red striped ties. In January 2021 the house was renamed after former pupil and sportsman John Raphael.
Robert Clive established the first slaughterhouse in India, in Calcutta in 1760.
"Clive of India" is a brand of curry powder manufactured in Australia by McKenzie's Foods.
With the re-capture of Calcutta by Clive in 1756, the cultivation of poppies for the opium trade soon came to be the mainstay of the East India Trading Company's commerce with Imperial China.
Clive is responsible for opening the first organized brothel within the Army cantonment of Calcutta. He was not interested in eradication of prostitution but in regulation so that their own soldiers and sailors could be protected from venereal diseases. However, two properties in central Calcutta owned by women named Ishwari and Bhobi, whom the Company identified as prostitutes, were seized in 1753.
Robert Browning's 1880 poem Clive recounts a fictional episode in which Clive, as a young clerk, duels a card-sharping soldier. Clive shoots and misses; the cheat then admits his crime and spares Clive's life. The poem's narrator, and those watching the duel, initially believe that the episode shows Clive's courage in standing up honestly; but Clive rebukes them that the magnanimous cheat showed far more honour. The poem largely focuses on the relationship between courage and fear, and closes with an allusion to Clive's suicide ("Clive's worst deed – we'll hope condoned").
At the beginning of 1936, Orwell was looking for somewhere to live that was very cheap and where he could concentrate on writing his book. He heard that the lease was available on a cottage in the village of Wallington, 35 miles from London, in the Hertfordshire countryside for only 7s 6d a week. He caught a train to Baldock, walking the two or three miles to the village. The cottage was a very small sixteenth-century building with a tin roof and almost no modern facilities. Orwell took over the tenancy and moved in on 2 April 1936.
He started work on The Road to Wigan Pier by the end of April, but also spent hours working on the garden. (Roses growing there today are said to be the same ones he purchased from Woolworths in nearby Hitchin). He also opened the front room up as a village shop to supplement his income.
Orwell married Eileen O'Shaughnessy on 9 June 1936 in Wallington church. His parents in law were still trying to talk his fiance out of the marriage the night before in the Plough Inn next door. The reception was also at the Plough (now a private house).
Orwell left the cottage just before Christmas 1936 to take part in the Spanish Civil War but fled Spain in June 1937 after being wounded in the throat and also falling foul of the pro-Soviet Communist faction in Barcelona. Orwell's experiences in the Spanish Civil War gave rise to Homage to Catalonia (1938) but also coloured his later works such as 'Animal Farm' (1945). Although not written until after he left, the farm in his book 'Animal Farm' is thought to be modelled on Manor Farm in the village.
On arrival back in England, he stayed at the O'Shaughnessy home at Greenwich and then returned to the cottage in the first week of July 1937 finding things in disarray after his absence. He acquired some animals including a goat called 'Muriel' (whose namesake features in Animal Farm), a rooster called 'Henry Ford', and a poodle puppy he called 'Marx' and settled down to write 'Homage to Catalonia'.
With the coming of the War, Orwell spent more time living in London whilst working for the BBC and he therefore sub-let the cottage. He didn't finally give up the lease until July 1947 after he had moved to Jura.
At the time of posting, the cottage was for sale at £450,000.
Urquhart Castle;( Scottish Gaelic: Caisteal na Sròine) sits beside Loch Ness in the Highlands of Scotland. The castle is on the A82 road, 21 kilometres (13 mi) south-west of Inverness and 2 kilometres (1.2 mi) east of the village of Drumnadrochit.
The present ruins date from the 13th to the 16th centuries, though built on the site of an early medieval fortification. Founded in the 13th century, Urquhart played a role in the Wars of Scottish Independence in the 14th century. It was subsequently held as a royal castle, and was raided on several occasions by the MacDonald Earls of Ross. The castle was granted to the Clan Grant in 1509, though conflict with the MacDonalds continued. Despite a series of further raids the castle was strengthened, only to be largely abandoned by the middle of the 17th century. Urquhart was partially destroyed in 1692 to prevent its use by Jacobite forces, and subsequently decayed. In the 20th century it was placed in state care and opened to the public: it is now one of the most-visited castles in Scotland.
The castle, situated on a headland overlooking Loch Ness, is one of the largest in Scotland in area.[2] It was approached from the west and defended by a ditch and drawbridge. The buildings of the castle were laid out around two main enclosures on the shore. The northern enclosure or Nether Bailey includes most of the more intact structures, including the gatehouse, and the five-storey Grant Tower at the north end of the castle. The southern enclosure or Upper Bailey, sited on higher ground, comprises the scant remains of earlier buildings.
History
Early Middle Ages
The name Urquhart derives from the 7th-century form Airdchartdan, itself a mix of Gaelic air (by) and Old Welsh cardden (thicket or wood). Pieces of vitrified stone, subjected to intense heat and characteristic of early medieval fortification, had been discovered at Urquhart from the early 20th century.Speculation that Urquhart may have been the fortress of Bridei son of Maelchon, king of the northern Picts, led Professor Leslie Alcock to undertake excavations in 1983. Adomnán's Life of Columba records that St. Columba visited Bridei some time between 562 and 586, though little geographical detail is given. Adomnán also relates that during the visit, Columba converted a Pictish nobleman named Emchath, who was on his deathbed, his son Virolec, and their household, at a place called Airdchartdan. The excavations, supported by radiocarbon dating, indicated that the rocky knoll at the south-west corner of the castle had been the site of an extensive fort between the 5th and 11th centuries. The findings led Professor Alcock to conclude that Urquhart is most likely to have been the site of Emchath's residence, rather than that of Bridei who is more likely to have been based at Inverness, either at the site of the castle or at Craig Phadrig to the west.
The early castle
Some sources state that William the Lion had a royal castle at Urquhart in the 12th century, though Professor Alcock finds no evidence for this.[12] In the 12th and 13th centuries, the Meic Uilleim (MacWilliams), descendents of Malcolm III, staged a series of rebellions against David I and his successors. The last of these rebellions was put down in 1229, and to maintain order Alexander II granted Urquhart to his Hostarius (usher or door-ward), Thomas de Lundin. On de Lundin's death a few years later it passed to his son Alan Durward. It is considered likely that the original castle was built soon after this time, centred on the motte at the south-west of the site.In 1275, after Alan's death, the king granted Urquhart to John II Comyn, Lord of Badenoch.
The first documentary record of Urquhart Castle occurs in 1296, when it was captured by Edward I of England. Edward's invasion marked the beginning of the Wars of Scottish Independence, which would go on intermittently until 1357. Edward appointed Sir William fitz Warin as constable to hold the castle for the English. In 1297 he was ambushed by Sir Andrew de Moray while returning from Inverness, and Moray subsequently laid siege to the castle, launching an unsuccessful night attack. The English must have been dislodged soon after, since in 1298 Urquhart was again controlled by the Scots. In 1303 Sir Alexander de Forbes failed to hold off another English assault. This time Edward installed as governor Alexander Comyn, brother of John, as the family had sided with the English against Robert Bruce. Following his murder of the Red Comyn in 1306, Bruce completed his defeat of the Comyns when he marched through the Great Glen in 1307, taking the castles of Inverlochy, Urquhart and Inverness. After this time Urquhart became a royal castle, held for the crown by a series of constables.
The remains of the 13th-century "shell keep" or motte is the earliest part of the castle to survive
Sir Robert Lauder of Quarrelwood was constable of Urquhart Castle in 1329. After fighting at the Battle of Halidon Hill in 1333, where the Scots were defeated, Lauder returned to hold Urquhart against another threatened English invasion. It is recorded as being one of only five castles in Scotland held by the Scots at this time.[nb 1] In 1342, David II spent the summer hunting at Urquhart, the only king to have stayed here.
Over the next two hundred years, the Great Glen was raided frequently by the MacDonald Lords of the Isles, powerful rulers of a semi-independent kingdom in western Scotland, with a claim to the earldom of Ross. In 1395, Domhnall of Islay seized Urquhart Castle from the crown, and managed to retain it for more than 15 years. In 1411, he marched through the glen to take on the king's supporters at the Battle of Harlaw. Although an indecisive battle, Domhnall subsequently lost the initiative and the crown was soon back in control of Urquhart. In 1437 Domhnall's son Alexander, now Earl of Ross, raided around Glen Urquhart but could not take the castle. Royal funds were granted to shore up the castle's defences. Alexander's son John succeeded his father in 1449, aged 16. In 1452 he too led a raid up the Great Glen, seizing Urquhart, and subsequently obtained a grant of the lands and castle of Urquhart for life. However, in 1462 John made an agreement with Edward IV of England against the Scottish King James III. When this became known to James in 1476, John was stripped of his titles, and Urquhart was turned over to an ally, the Earl of Huntly.
The Grants
The Grant Tower viewed from Loch Ness
Huntly brought in Sir Duncan Grant of Freuchie to restore order to the area around Urquhart Castle. His son John Grant of Freuchie (d.1538) was given a five-year lease of the Glen Urquhart estate in 1502. In 1509, Urquhart Castle, along with the estates of Glen Urquhart and Glenmoriston, was granted by James IV to John Grant in perpetuity, on condition that he repair and rebuild the castle.[20] The Grants maintained their ownership of the castle until 1912, although the raids from the west continued. In 1513, following the disaster of Flodden, Sir Donald MacDonald of Lochalsh attempted to gain from the disarray in Scotland by claiming the Lordship of the Isles and occupying Urquhart Castle. Grant regained the castle before 1517, but not before the MacDonalds had driven off 300 cattle and 1,000 sheep, as well as looting the castle of provisions. Grant unsuccessfully attempted to claim damages from MacDonald. James Grant of Freuchie (d.1553) succeeded his father, and in 1544 became involved with Huntly and Clan Fraser in a feud with the Macdonalds of Clanranald, which culminated in the Battle of the Shirts. In retaliation, the MacDonalds and their allies the Camerons attacked and captured Urquhart in 1545. Known as the "Great Raid", this time the MacDonalds succeeded in taking 2,000 cattle, as well as hundreds of other animals, and stripped the castle of its furniture, cannon, and even the gates. Grant regained the castle, and was also awarded Cameron lands as recompense.
The Great Raid proved to be the last raid. In 1527, the historian Hector Boece wrote of the "rewinous wallis" of Urquhart,[21] but by the close of the 16th century Urquhart had been rebuilt by the Grants, now a powerful force in the Highlands. Repairs and remodelling continued as late as 1623, although the castle was no longer a favoured residence. In 1644 a mob of Covenanters (Presbyterian agitators) broke into the castle when Lady Mary Grant was staying, robbing her and turning her out for her adherence to Episcopalianism. An inventory taken in 1647 shows the castle virtually empty.[25] When Oliver Cromwell invaded Scotland in 1650, he disregarded Urquhart in favour of building forts at either end of the Great Glen.
Broken masonry from the destruction of the gatehouse
When James VII was deposed in the Revolution of 1688, Ludovic Grant of Freuchie sided with William of Orange and garrisoned the castle with 200 of his own soldiers. Though lacking weapons they were well-provisioned and, when a force of 500 Jacobites (supporters of the exiled James) laid siege, the garrison were able to hold out until after the defeat of the main Jacobite force at Cromdale in May 1690. When the soldiers finally left they blew up the gatehouse to prevent reoccupation of the castle by the Jacobites. Large blocks of collapsed masonry are still visible beside the remains of the gatehouse. Parliament ordered £2,000 compensation to be paid to Grant, but no repairs were undertaken.Subsequent plundering of the stonework and other materials for re-use by locals further reduced the ruins, and the Grant Tower partially collapsed following a storm in 1715.
Later history
By the 1770s the castle was roofless, and was regarded as a romantic ruin by 19th-century painters and visitors to the Highlands.In 1884 the castle came under the control of Caroline, Dowager Countess of Seafield, widow of the 7th Earl of Seafield, on the death of her son the 8th Earl. On Lady Seafield's death in 1911 her will instructed that Urquhart Castle be entrusted into state care, and in October 1913 responsibility for the castle's upkeep was transferred to the Commissioners of His Majesty's Works and Public Buildings. Historic Scotland, the successor to the Office of Works, continues to maintain the castle, which is a category A listed building and a scheduled monument in recognition of its national significance.
In 1994 Historic Scotland proposed construction of a new visitor centre and car park to alleviate the problems of parking on the main A82 road. Strong local opposition led to a public inquiry, which approved the proposals in 1998 .The new building is sunk into the embankment below the road, with provision for parking on the roof of the structure.The visitor centre includes a display on the history of the site, including a series of replicas from the medieval period; a cinema; a restaurant; and shop. The castle is open all year, and can also host wedding ceremonies.[33] In 2011 more than 315,000 people visited Urquhart Castle, making it Historic Scotland's third most visited site after the castles of Edinburgh and Stirling.
Urquhart Castle is sited on Strone Point, a triangular promontory on the north-western shore of Loch Ness, and commands the route along this side of the Great Glen as well as the entrance to Glen Urquhart. The castle is quite close to water level, though there are low cliffs along the north-east sides of the promontory. There is considerable room for muster on the inland side, where a "castle-toun" of service buildings would originally have stood, as well as gardens and orchards in the 17th century.[2] Beyond this area the ground rises steeply to the north-west, up to the visitor centre and the A82. A dry moat, 30 metres (98 ft) across at its widest, defends the landward approach, possibly excavated in the early Middle Ages. A stone-built causeway provides access, with a drawbridge formerly crossing the gap at the centre. The castle side of the causeway was formerly walled-in, forming an enclosed space similar to a barbican .
Urquhart is one of the largest castles in Scotland in area The walled portion of the castle is shaped roughly like a figure-8 aligned northeast-southwest along the bank of the loch, around 150 by 46 metres (492 by 151 ft), forming two baileys (enclosures): the Nether Bailey to the north, and the Upper Bailey to the south.[nb 2] The curtain walls of both enclosures date largely to the 14th century, though much augmented by later building, particularly to the north where most of the remaining structures are located.
Nether Bailey
The remains of the gatehouse
The 16th-century gatehouse is on the inland side of the Nether Bailey, and comprises twin D-plan towers flanking an arched entrance passage. Formerly the passage was defended by a portcullis and a double set of doors, with guard rooms either side. Over the entrance are a series of rooms which may have served as accommodation for the castle's keeper. Collapsed masonry surrounds the gatehouse, dating from its destruction after 1690.
The Nether Bailey, the main focus of activity in the castle since around 1400,[36] is anchored at its northern tip by the Grant Tower, the main tower house or keep. The tower measures 12 by 11 metres (39 by 36 ft), and has walls up to 3 metres (9.8 ft) thick. The tower rests on 14th-century foundations, but is largely the result of 16th-century rebuilding Originally of five storeys, it remains the tallest portion of the castle despite the southern wall collapsing in a storm in the early 18th century. The standing parts of the parapet, remodelled in the 1620s, show that the corners of the tower were topped by corbelled bartizans (turrets). ] Above the main door on the west, and the postern to the east, are machicolations, narrow slots through which objects could be dropped on attackers. The western door is also protected by its own ditch and drawbridge, accessed from a cobbled "Inner Close" separated from the main bailey by a gate. The surviving interior sections can still be accessed via the circular staircase built into the east wall of the tower. The interior would have comprised a hall on the first floor, with rooms on another two floors above, and attic chambers in the turrets. Rooms on the main floors have large 16th-century windows, though with small pistol-holes below to allow for defence.
To the south of the tower is a range of buildings built against the thick, buttressed, 14th-century curtain wall. The great hall occupied the central part of this range, with the lord's private apartments of great chamber and solar in the block to the north, and kitchens to the south. The foundations of a rectangular building stand on a rocky mound within the Nether Bailey, tentatively identified as a chapel.
Upper Bailey
The Upper Bailey is focused on the rocky mound at the south-west corner of the castle. The highest part of the headland, this mound is the site of the earliest defences at Urquhart. Vitrified material, characteristic of early medieval fortification, was discovered on the slopes of the mound, indicating the site of the early medieval fortification identified by Professor Alcock. In the 13th century, the mound became the motte of the original castle built by the Durwards, and the surviving walls represent a "shell keep" (a hollow enclosure) of this date. These ruins are fragmentary, but indicate that there were towers to the north and south of the shell keep.
A 16th-century water gate in the eastern wall of the Upper Bailey gives access to the shore of the loch.The adjacent buildings may have housed the stables. To the south of this, opposite the motte, is the base of a doocot (pigeon house) and the scant remains of 13th-century buildings, possibly once a great hall but more recently re-used as a smithy.
"Date: 1870. Artist: Henri Regnault (French, Paris 1843–1871 Buzenval). Medium: Oil on canvas.
Regnault initially represented this Italian model as an African woman, but later enlarged his canvas at the bottom and right and transformed it into a representation of the biblical temptress Salome. Hair ruffled, clothes in disarray, she has just danced for her stepfather Herod, governor of Judea. The platter and knife allude to her reward: the severed head of John the Baptist. Just months after this picture’s sensational debut at the Salon of 1870, the young Regnault was killed in the Franco-Prussian War. His posthumous fame was such that an outcry arose when the painting left France for America in 1912." - info from the Met.
"The Metropolitan Museum of Art of New York City, colloquially "the Met", is the largest art museum in the Americas. Its permanent collection contains over two million works, divided among 17 curatorial departments. The main building at 1000 Fifth Avenue, along the Museum Mile on the eastern edge of Central Park on Manhattan's Upper East Side, is by area one of the world's largest art museums. A much smaller second location, The Cloisters at Fort Tryon Park in Upper Manhattan, contains an extensive collection of art, architecture, and artifacts from medieval Europe.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art was founded in 1870 with its mission to bring art and art education to the American people. The museum's permanent collection consists of works of art from classical antiquity and ancient Egypt, paintings, and sculptures from nearly all the European masters, and an extensive collection of American and modern art. The Met maintains extensive holdings of African, Asian, Oceanian, Byzantine, and Islamic art. The museum is home to encyclopedic collections of musical instruments, costumes, and accessories, as well as antique weapons and armor from around the world. Several notable interiors, ranging from 1st-century Rome through modern American design, are installed in its galleries.
The Fifth Avenue building opened on March 30, 1880. In 2021, despite the COVID-19 pandemic in New York City, the museum attracted 1,958,000 visitors, ranking fourth on the list of most-visited art museums in the world.
New York, often called New York City or NYC, is the most populous city in the United States. With a 2020 population of 8,804,190 distributed over 300.46 square miles (778.2 km2), New York City is also the most densely populated major city in the United States. The city is within the southern tip of New York State, and constitutes the geographical and demographic center of both the Northeast megalopolis and the New York metropolitan area – the largest metropolitan area in the world by urban landmass. With over 20.1 million people in its metropolitan statistical area and 23.5 million in its combined statistical area as of 2020, New York is one of the world's most populous megacities, and over 58 million people live within 250 mi (400 km) of the city. New York City is a global cultural, financial, and media center with a significant influence on commerce, health care and life sciences, entertainment, research, technology, education, politics, tourism, dining, art, fashion, and sports. New York is the most photographed city in the world. Home to the headquarters of the United Nations, New York is an important center for international diplomacy, an established safe haven for global investors, and is sometimes described as the capital of the world." - info from Wikipedia.
The fall of 2022 I did my 3rd major cycling tour. I began my adventure in Montreal, Canada and finished in Savannah, GA. This tour took me through the oldest parts of Quebec and the 13 original US states. During this adventure I cycled 7,126 km over the course of 2.5 months and took more than 68,000 photos. As with my previous tours, a major focus was to photograph historic architecture.
Now on Instagram.
St Andrew and St Patrick, Elveden, Suffolk
As you approach Elveden, there is Suffolk’s biggest war memorial, to those killed from the three parishes that meet at this point. It is over 30 metres high, and you used to be able to climb up the inside. Someone in the village told me that more people have been killed on the road in Elveden since the end of the War than there are names on the war memorial. I could well believe it. Until about five years ago, the busy traffic of the A11 Norwich to London road hurtled through the village past the church, slowed only to a ridiculously high 50 MPH. If something hits you at that speed, then no way on God's Earth are you going to survive. Now there's a bypass, thank goodness.
Many people will know St Andrew and St Patrick as another familiar landmark on the road, but as you are swept along in the stream of traffic you are unlikely to appreciate quite how extraordinary a building it is. For a start, it has two towers. And a cloister. And two naves, effectively. It has undergone three major building programmes in the space of thirty years, any one of which would have sufficed to transform it utterly.
If you had seen this church before the 1860s, you would have thought it nothing remarkable. A simple aisle-less, clerestory-less building, typical of, and indistinguishable from, hundreds of other East Anglian flint churches. A journey to nearby Barnham will show you what I mean.
The story of the transformation of Elveden church begins in the early 19th century, on the other side of the world. The leader of the Sikhs, Ranjit Singh, controlled a united Punjab that stretched from the Khyber Pass to the borders of Tibet. His capital was at Lahore, but more importantly it included the Sikh holy city of Amritsar. The wealth of this vast Kingdom made him a major power-player in early 19th century politics, and he was a particular thorn in the flesh of the British Imperial war machine. At this time, the Punjab had a great artistic and cultural flowering that was hardly matched anywhere in the world.
It was not to last. The British forced Ranjit Singh to the negotiating table over the disputed border with Afghanistan, and a year later, in 1839, he was dead. A power vacuum ensued, and his six year old son Duleep Singh became a pawn between rival factions. It was exactly the opportunity that the British had been waiting for, and in February 1846 they poured across the borders in their thousands. Within a month, almost half the child-Prince's Kingdom was in foreign hands. The British installed a governor, and started to harvest the fruits of their new territory's wealth.
Over the next three years, the British gradually extended their rule, putting down uprisings and turning local warlords. Given that the Sikh political structures were in disarray, this was achieved at considerable loss to the invaders - thousands of British soldiers were killed. They are hardly remembered today. British losses at the Crimea ten years later were much slighter, but perhaps the invention of photography in the meantime had given people at home a clearer picture of what was happening, and so the Crimea still remains in the British folk memory.
For much of the period of the war, Prince Duleep Singh had remained in the seclusion of his fabulous palace in Lahore. However, once the Punjab was secure, he was sent into remote internal exile.
The missionaries poured in. Bearing in mind the value that Sikh culture places upon education, perhaps it is no surprise that their influence came to bear on the young Prince, and he became a Christian. The extent to which this was forced upon him is lost to us today.
A year later, the Prince sailed for England with his mother. He was admitted to the royal court by Queen Victoria, spending time both at Windsor and, particularly, in Scotland, where he grew up. In the 1860s, the Prince and his mother were significant members of London society, but she died suddenly in 1863. He returned with her ashes to the Punjab, and there he married. His wife, Bamba Muller, was part German, part Ethiopian. As part of the British pacification of India programme, the young couple were granted the lease on a vast, derelict stately home in the depths of the Suffolk countryside. This was Elveden Hall. He would never see India again.
With some considerable energy, Duleep Singh set about transforming the fortunes of the moribund estate. Being particularly fond of hunting (as a six year old, he'd had two tutors - one for learning the court language, Persian, and the other for hunting to hawk) he developed the estate for game. The house was rebuilt in 1870.
The year before, the Prince had begun to glorify the church so that it was more in keeping with the splendour of his court. This church, dedicated to St Andrew, was what now forms the north aisle of the present church. There are many little details, but the restoration includes two major features; firstly, the remarkable roof, with its extraordinary sprung sprung wallposts set on arches suspended in the window embrasures, and, secondly, the font, which Mortlock tells us is in the Sicilian-Norman style. Supported by eight elegant columns, it is very beautiful, and the angel in particular is one of Suffolk's loveliest. You can see him in an image on the left.
Duleep Singh seems to have settled comfortably into the role of an English country gentleman. And then, something extraordinary happened. The Prince, steeped in the proud tradition of his homeland, decided to return to the Punjab to fulfill his destiny as the leader of the Sikh people. He got as far as Aden before the British arrested him, and sent him home. He then set about trying to recruit Russian support for a Sikh uprising, travelling secretly across Europe in the guise of an Irishman, Patrick Casey. In between these times of cloak and dagger espionage, he would return to Elveden to shoot grouse with the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII. It is a remarkable story.
Ultimately, his attempts to save his people from colonial oppression were doomed to failure. He died in Paris in 1893, the British seemingly unshakeable in their control of India. He was buried at Elveden churchyard in a simple grave.
The chancel of the 1869 church is now screened off as a chapel, accessible from the chancel of the new church, but set in it is the 1894 memorial window to Maharaja Prince Duleep Singh, the Adoration of the Magi by Kempe & Co.
And so, the Lion of the North had come to a humble end. His five children, several named after British royal princes, had left Elveden behind; they all died childless, one of them as recently as 1957. The estate reverted to the Crown, being bought by the brewing family, the Guinnesses.
Edward Cecil Guinness, first Earl Iveagh, commemorated bountifully in James Joyce's 1916 Ulysses, took the estate firmly in hand. The English agricultural depression had begun in the 1880s, and it would not be ended until the Second World War drew the greater part of English agriculture back under cultivation. It had hit the Estate hard. But Elveden was transformed, and so was the church.
Iveagh appointed William Caroe to build an entirely new church beside the old. It would be of such a scale that the old church of St Andrew would form the south aisle of the new church. The size may have reflected Iveagh's visions of grandeur, but it was also a practical arrangement, to accommodate the greatly enlarged staff of the estate. Attendance at church was compulsory; non-conformists were also expected to go, and the Guinnesses did not employ Catholics.
Between 1904 and 1906, the new structure went up. Mortlock recalls that Pevsner thought it 'Art Nouveau Gothic', which sums it up well. Lancet windows in the north side of the old church were moved across to the south side, and a wide open nave built beside it. Curiously, although this is much higher than the old and incorporates a Suffolk-style roof, Caroe resisted the temptation of a clerestory. The new church was rebenched throughout, and the woodwork is of a very high quality. The dates of the restoration can be found on bench ends up in the new chancel, and exploring all the symbolism will detain you for hours. Emblems of the nations of the British Isles also feature in the floor tiles.
The new church was dedicated to St Patrick, patron Saint of the Guinnesses' homeland. At this time, of course, Ireland was still a part of the United Kingdom, and despite the tensions and troubles of the previous century the Union was probably stronger at the opening of the 20th century than it had ever been. This was to change very rapidly. From the first shots fired at the General Post Office in April 1916, to complete independence in 1922, was just six years. Dublin, a firmly protestant city, in which the Iveaghs commemorated their dead at the Anglican cathedral of St Patrick, became the capital city of a staunchly Catholic nation. The Anglicans, the so-called Protestant Ascendancy, left in their thousands during the 1920s, depopulating the great houses, and leaving hundreds of Anglican parish churches completely bereft of congregations. Apart from a concentration in the wealthy suburbs of south Dublin, there are hardly any Anglicans left in the Republic today. But St Patrick's cathedral maintains its lonely witness to long years of British rule; the Iveagh transept includes the vast war memorial to WWI dead, and all the colours of the Irish regiments - it is said that 99% of the Union flags in the Republic are in the Guinness chapel of St Patrick's cathedral. Dublin, of course, is famous as the biggest city in Europe without a Catholic cathedral. It still has two Anglican ones.
Against this background then, we arrived at Elveden. The church is uncomfortably close to the busy road, but the sparkle of flint in the recent rain made it a thing of great beauty. The main entrance is now at the west end of the new church. The surviving 14th century tower now forms the west end of the south aisle, and we will come back to the other tower beyond it in a moment.
You step into a wide open space under a high, heavy roof laden with angels. There is a wide aisle off to the south; this is the former nave, and still has something of that quality. The whole space is suffused with gorgeously coloured light from excellent 19th and 20th century windows. These include one by Frank Brangwyn, at the west end of the new nave. Andrew and Patrick look down from a heavenly host on a mother and father entertaining their children and a host of woodland animals by reading them stories. It is quite the loveliest thing in the building.
Other windows, mostly in the south aisle, are also lovely. Hugh Easton's commemorative window for the former USAAF base at Elveden is magnificent. Either side are windows to Iveaghs - a gorgeous George killing a dragon, also by Hugh Easton, and a curious 1971 assemblage depicting images from the lives of Edward Guinness's heir and his wife, which also works rather well. The effect of all three windows together is particularly fine when seen from the new nave.
Turning ahead of you to the new chancel, there is the mighty alabaster reredos. It cost £1,200 in 1906, about a quarter of a million in today’s money. It reflects the woodwork, in depicting patron Saints and East Anglian monarchs, around a surprisingly simple Supper at Emmaus. This reredos, and the Brangwyn window, reminded me of the work at the Guinness’s other spiritual home, St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, which also includes a window by Frank Brangwyn commisioned by them. Everything is of the highest quality. Rarely has the cliché ‘no expense spared’ been as accurate as it is here.
Up at the front, a little brass plate reminds us that Edward VII slept through a sermon here in 1908. How different it must have seemed to him from the carefree days with his old friend the Maharajah! Still, it must have been a great occasion, full of Edwardian pomp, and the glitz that only the fabulously rich can provide. Today, the church is still splendid, but the Guinesses are no longer fabulously rich, and attendance at church is no longer compulsory for estate workers; there are far fewer of them anyway. The Church of England is in decline everywhere; and, let us be honest, particularly so in this part of Suffolk, where it seems to have retreated to a state of siege. Today, the congregation of this mighty citadel is as low as half a dozen. The revolutionary disappearance of Anglican congregations in the Iveagh's homeland is now being repeated in a slow, inexorable English way.
You wander outside, and there are more curiosities. Set in the wall are two linked hands, presumably a relic from a broken 18th century memorial. They must have been set here when the wall was moved back in the 1950s. In the south chancel wall, the bottom of an egg-cup protrudes from among the flints. This is the trademark of the architect WD Caroe. To the east of the new chancel, Duleep Singh’s gravestone is a very simple one. It is quite different in character to the church behind it. A plaque on the east end of the church remembers the centenary of his death.
Continuing around the church, you come to the surprise of a long cloister, connecting the remodelled chancel door of the old church to the new bell tower. It was built in 1922 as a memorial to the wife of the first Earl Iveagh. Caroe was the architect again, and he installed eight bells, dedicated to Mary, Gabriel, Edmund, Andrew, Patrick, Christ, God the Father, and the King. The excellent guidebook recalls that his intention was for the bells to be cast to maintain the hum and tap tones of the renowned ancient Suffolk bells of Lavenham... thus the true bell music of the old type is maintained.
This church is magnificent, obviously enough. It has everything going for it, and is a national treasure. And yet, it has hardly any congregation. So, what is to be done?
If we continue to think of rural historic churches as nothing more than outstations of the Church of England, it is hard to see how some of them will survive. This church in particular has no future in its present form as a village parish church. New roles must be found, new ways to involve local people and encourage their use. One would have thought that this would be easier here than elsewhere.
The other provoking thought was that this building summed up almost two centuries of British imperial adventure, and that we lived in a world that still suffered from the consequences. It is worth remembering where the wealth that rebuilt St Andrew and St Patrick came from.
As so often in British imperial history, interference in other peoples’ problems and the imposition of short-term solutions has left massive scars and long-cast shadows. For the Punjab, as in Ireland, there are no simple solutions. Sheer proximity has, after several centuries of cruel and exploitative involvement, finally encouraged the British government to pursue a solution in Ireland that is not entirely based on self-interest. I fear that the Punjab is too far away for the British to care very much now about what they did there then.
Will mommy appreciate how I've rearranged the living room?
In-camera jpeg processed using PHOTOS OS-X Catalina
Walking through tunnels underground led us to an abandoned machine shop. The office we found there was in complete disarray. I wonder what year the last call was received on this phone.
View large (Press L)
This image can be made available for purchase at Fine Art America upon request.
Nature in disarray
Diamonds every where
Gold has fallen
Greens on the rise
The waves swept everything
Off the casino table
The ball rolled and
Was snookered into the corner
It found the net
When there was no keeper
Yet the score was kept
In ticketed paper
Don’t talk in whisper
Don’t talk at all
Don’t listen to the echo
Bouncing off the wall
Read the rest in -
a1000reasons.blogspot.com/2012/03/nature-in-disarray-diam...
Herbert von Karajan, born April 5, 1908 Salzburg, † July 16, 1989 Anif near Salzburg (cemetery Anif), conductor.
Studied at the Salzburg Mozarteum and at the University of Music in Vienna (resident 1926/1927 7, Neubau alley 54, 1927 1, Stubenbastei 1, 1928/1929 1, Kolowratring (Schubertring) 8, 1930 1, Mölkerbastei 12). After a commitment in Ulm (1930-1934 Opera Director of music), he went to Aachen (1934 General Music Director); when he conducted Wagner's "Tristan" at the Berlin State Opera on October 21, 1938, the word "Miracle Karajan" was coined. In 1941 he became head of the Berlin Staatskapelle (Staatskapelle is a denomination used by several German symphony and theatre orchestras) participated in the Salzburg and Bayreuth festivals and staged at La Scala in Milan.
In 1947 Karajan (after political turmoil and professional ban because he was accused of his [controversial] NSDAP membership) came to Vienna and laid the foundation for an unprecedented career when he became director of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde (Society of Friends of the Music in Vienna) in 1949. Soon after, he went to La Scala in Milan, was in 1954 (as successor of Furtwängler) lifelong chief conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic (May 1988) and was artistic director of the 1956-1964 Vienna State Opera (which he left in disarray) and the Salzburg Festival; in 1967 he founded the Salzburg Easter Festival and became its overall director, in 1969 he founded the Salzburg Karajan Foundation. Karajan has toured extensively throughout Europe and the US, first conducting an orchestral concert during a Vatican service, but increasingly struggling with health issues.
In 1977 he returned to the podium of the Vienna State Opera; in 1987 he conducted the Vienna New Year's Concert. Karajan had an ingenious gift for the interpretation of almost all works of orchestral literature from classical to modern; with his pedagogical skills and his successful efforts to achieve technical precision for the perfect reproduction of musical productions (he was extremely interested in technical developments and put the media at the service of classical music), he was one of the greatest conductors in music history.
In January 1997, the "Herbert von Karajan Centrum" was opened in state rooms of the former Königswarter Palace, 1, Carinthian Ring 4. Its main goals are musical performances in the context of spatial possibilities, the construction of a publicly accessible archive about the life's work of Karajan as well as the intensification of the music education of the youth.
Honorary citizen of the city of Vienna (April 24, 1978).
On behalf of the City of Vienna, a Commission of Historians examined the historical significance of those personalities the streets of Vienna have been named after from 2011 to 2013 and made a historical contextualization. According to the final report of this research group Herbert von Karajan was from 1933 a member of the NSDAP. Karajan (1925 Conkneipant (= extraordinary member of a corps which does not fulfill the requirements of the full member) in the Salzburg Fraternity "Pan-German Gymnasium-Rugia") was one of the most important conductors of the Nazi state. From 1934 he served as General Music Director in Aachen and from 1941 in Berlin. He was also used by the Nazi regime before the Second World War for foreign propaganda. After the war Karajan received until 1947 conducting ban.
Herbert von Karajan, * 5. April 1908 Salzburg, † 16. Juli 1989 Anif bei Salzburg (Friedhof Anif), Dirigent.
Studierte am Salzburger Mozarteum und an der Hochschule für Musik in Wien (Wohnhaft 1926/1927 7, Neubaugasse 54, 1927 1, Stubenbastei 1, 1928/1929 1, Kolowratring (Schubertring) 8, 1930 1, Mölkerbastei 12). Nach einem Engagement in Ulm (1930-1934 Opernkapellmeister) ging er nach Aachen (1934 Generalmusikdirektor); als er in dieser Eigenschaft am 21. Oktober 1938 an der Berliner Staatsoper Wagners „Tristan" dirigierte, wurde das Wort vom „Wunder Karajan" geprägt. 1941 wurde er Leiter der Berliner Staatskapelle, wirkte bei den Salzburger und Bayreuther Festspielen mit und inszenierte an der Mailänder Scala.
1947 kam Karajan (nach politischen Turbulenzen und Berufsverbot, weil man ihm seine [umstrittene] NSDAP-Mitgliedschaft vorwarf) nach Wien und legte hier den Grundstein zu einer beispiellosen Karriere, als er 1949 Direktor der Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde wurde. Bald darauf ging er an die Mailänder Scala, wurde 1954 (als Nachfolger Furtwänglers) lebenslänglicher Chefdirigent der Berliner Philharmoniker (Zurücklegung Mai 1988) und war 1956-1964 künstlerischer Leiter der Wiener Staatsoper (die er in Unfrieden verließ) sowie der Salzburger Festspiele; 1967 begründete er die Salzburger Osterfestspiele und wurde deren Gesamtleiter, 1969 begründete er die Salzburger Karajan-Stiftung. Karajan unternahm zahlreiche Tourneen durch Europa und die USA, dirigierte als erster ein Orchesterkonzert während eines Gottesdienstes im Vatikan, kämpfte jedoch zunehmend mit gesundheitlichen Problemen.
1977 kehrte er nochmals ans Pult der Wiener Staatsoper zurück; 1987 dirigierte er das Wiener Neujahrskonzert. Karajan hatte eine geniale Begabung zur Ausdeutung fast sämtlicher Werke der Orchesterliteratur von der Klassik bis zur Moderne; mit seinem pädagogischen Können und seinen erfolgreichen Bemühungen um technische Präzision zur perfekten Wiedergabe von musikalischen Produktionen (er war an technischen Entwicklungen äußerst interessiert und stellte die Medien in den Dienst der klassischen Musik) gehörte er zu den größten Dirigentenpersönlichkeiten der Musikgeschichte.
Im Jänner 1997 wurde in Prunkräumen des ehemaligen Königswarterpalais, 1, Kärntner Ring 4, das "Herbert von Karajan Centrum" eröffnet. Seine Hauptziele sind musikalische Darbietungen im Rahmen der räumlichen Möglichkeiten, der Aufbau eines öffentlich zugänglichen Archivs über das Lebenswerk Karajans sowie die Intensivierung der Musikerziehung der Jugend.
Ehrenbürger der Stadt Wien (24. April 1978).
Im Auftrag der Stadt Wien hat eine HistorikerInnen-Kommission die historische Bedeutung jener Persönlichkeiten, nach denen Wiener Straßen benannt sind, von 2011 bis 2013 untersucht sowie eine zeithistorische Kontextualisierung vorgenommen. Laut Abschlussbericht dieser Forschungsgruppe war Herbert von Karajan ab 1933 Mitglied der NSDAP. Der deutschnational und völkisch sozialisierte Karajan (1925 Konkneipant bei der schlagenden Salzburger „Alldeutschen Gymnasialverbindung Rugia“) zählte zu den wichtigsten Dirigenten des NS-Staates. Ab 1934 fungierte er als Generalmusikdirektor in Aachen und ab 1941 in Berlin. Zudem wurde er vom NS-Regime bereits vor dem Zweiten Weltkrieg auch für die Auslandspropaganda eingesetzt. Nach dem Krieg erhielt Karajan bis 1947 Dirigierverbot.
Herbert-von-Karajan-Platz
How determined are you? How much perseverance do you have? If you knew what it took to succeed do you think could still do it? The daily struggle of making ends meet is an existence I know a lot of people can relate to no matter where they are in life. You may be in a safe place now, but at some point you were, or are going to be, in a tough spot. People have so many qualities, but to have ambition and to have the initiative to act on it is something reserved to a few. Peter, in my mind, is one of those people.
When I first met Peter I didn’t really know what to think. He was just another guy that hung out in the stairwell where my friends and I ate lunch. As the majority of my friends moved away from that area the circle Peter was in got larger. I never really stuck to one group and would alternate my days between them both and others. I couldn’t tell at the time but looking back Peter has always been really charismatic. He would always have something to say, and would stick by his point. He initiated hacky-sack into the group and it helped get everyone talking more and active rather than just sitting down. Whether that was his intention or not I don’t know. Either way, he was helping all of us out. A little later he transferred schools and I didn’t see him for quite some time.
I started to get in touch again once he moved to the Victoria house. I saw him quite a bit for the first little while. I was able to meet some of my better friends during the time Peter lived in that house and together the lot of us had some amazing adventures and created some… interesting stories. Time passed, the roommates changed around and I stopped hanging out as much. I’d still drop by on occasion, though every time I went things seemed to be in a bit more of a disarray. Raving had become a thing and a lot of time was spent out. I never got into the scene and fell out of the loop. One day after maybe a few months of not talking (we were busy), Peter called me up to confess something. He ended up asking me if I could forgive him for something he didn’t have much control over. I had no idea any of the last few months had ever happened and chose to, partially because I couldn’t believe it, partially because I was apathetic to anything not involving my self at the time. Eventually the remaining tenants, including Peter, moved out and Victoria house was no more.
Around this time I started to notice people’s behaviors more, Peter included. I would focus in and try to analyze and solve people, simply for curiosity’s sake. I noticed how he carried himself, his mannerisms, and when he was uncomfortable. I also noticed his drive. Peter has had a number of jobs, though with each one he’s fully committed. He learns every extent of it, figuring out the obvious quickly and dissecting the smallest intricacies as he goes along, even if it isn’t related to his direct title. He wants to succeed. He’s driven. He wants to be at the top so that he can create a future that would allow for him and those he cared about to be taken care of.
Recently I came to him when I wasn’t feeling too well. I spoke to him and his girlfriend about a lot of issues I had been having, which is something I rarely do with anyone. They reassured me about a lot of my worries, and were able to act as sounding boards helping me to reorganize some of priorities. Then he had his turn. Behind this brazen and ambitious figure I had built up it turns out that he’s been having his own share of struggles, some a lot more serious than the trivial ones I had been talking about. But that right there is why I hold him to such high esteem. Despite having his own share of woes he’s still doing everything I mentioned in learning his job, in taking care of himself, in trying to succeed. He’s pushing through so that he can have the life he wants. Not many in this world can say they have the ambition and initiative to aim for the top, regardless of the obstacles. But Peter can. I’m glad to be able to say I know him. He inspires me to do better, and I hope he can inspire you as well.
SET 3 – HLT Remodel: 4-20-2023
Spinning around, this shot gives us a good overview looking all the way down the left-hand wall. You can see here how the removal of entertainment and electronics has left a really big hole up front on this April visit! It’s not too often you see a Target store in this state of disarray, with really only the tiled actionway flowing through an otherwise empty sea of space. Even still, though, it’s a very presentable state of disarray, dare I say even better looking than some stores in their normal state of operations!
(c) 2024 Retail Retell
These places are public so these photos are too, but just as I tell where they came from, I'd appreciate if you'd say who :)
Utah Beach - Normandy, France.
Utah beach is the codename for the westernmost of the 5 Allied landing zones during D-day. It is the only beach on the Cotentin peninsula and closest to the vital harbour city of Cherbourg. Together with Omaha beach it is the sector where the American forces were disembarked. The amphibious assault, primarily by the US 4th Infantry Division and 70th Tank Battalion, was supported by airborne landings of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Division. These Airborne troops were dropped on the Cotentin penisula.
In stark contrast with Omaha beach where the landing turned into a near disaster with most of the troops pinned down for hours with heavy losses in both men and material the landings at Utah went relatively smooth. This does not mean the GI's came ashore unopposed: some 200 casualties were suffered by the 4th division.
One of the factors that contributed to this success was that the preliminary bombing of the target areas here was accurate and the German forces - in contrast with what happened at Omaha beach - were in disarray at H-hour, 06:30, when the first wave of 20 landing craft approached the beach. The GI's of the 2nd Battalion, 8th Infantry landed on Uncle Red and Tare Green sectors. What they didn't know initially was that pushed to the south by strong currents they landed some 1.8 kilometres south of their designated landing spot!
Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. was the first high ranking officer that landed and , not discouraged by the dviation, he decided to "start the war from right here". He ordered further landings to be re-routed. As it was this was a good decision because the Americans landed on a relative weak spot in the German defenses. Only one "Widerstandsnest" (WN5) opposed them and it was severely affected by the preliminary bombardments. It took the GI's about an hour to clear the defenses. Today the remains of this German widestandsnest can still be seen and are partly incorporated into the Utah beach museum. Well worth a visit.
After the succesful landings the real difficulties started because of the inundated areas behind the beach and the increasing German resistance which lead to weeks of fighting on the Cotentin peninsula.
On the Photo:
Uncle Red sector, view towards the north.
Tonemapped using three (handheld) shots made with a Fuji X-T3 and Fujinon 16mm f/1.4 lens, september 2019.
A set of photo's with notes of Utah Beach and the Cotentin peninsula with the Airborne sectors.">
Here's the complete set of photo's made on Pointe du Hoc over the past years
My Omaha beach photo's with several viewpoints, panorama shots and notes on the fighting
These are my photo's and notes of the British and Canadian sectors: Gold, Juno and Sword.