Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „1939-1945 Peace“

‘The characteristic feature of the crisis of the twenty years between 1919 and 1939 was the abrupt descent from the visionary hopes of the first decade to the grim despair of the second, from a Utopia which took little account of reality to a reality from which every element of Utopia was rigorously excluded… The Utopia of 1919 was hollow and without substance,’ So wrote E. H. Carr in the conclusion to his Twenty Years Crisis, which he sent to the press in the middle of July 1939. Fifty years later one cannot but agree with him that the peace settlement of 1919 ‘failed’: Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin wiped it off the map of Europe. But though the Second World War created a very different ‘realistic’ world, some of the ‘Utopian’ ideals of 1919, so brusquely dismissed by Carr, re-surfaced irrepressibly after 1945, and some of their practical applications returned to the agenda of international politics.

The role of private organizations and think tanks in the United States have been well documented. The Council on Foreign Relations in particular has been much discussed—less so, the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. This article seeks to fill that gap by exploring its influence on American public opinion during World War II. Based upon archival research, the essay examines the background of the key members of the Endowment, their outlook and the impact their work had in shaping US attitudes. Using Gramsci's notion of an ‘historic bloc’ wedded to the insights of the ‘corporatist’ school of American foreign relations, the conclusion reached is that the organization—along with other key bodies situated at the interface between the private and public spheres—played a not inconsiderable part in educating Americans for internationalism before the end of the war and the onset of the Cold War two years later.

Ann Taylor Allen, The Transatlantic Kindergarten: Education and Women’s Movements in Germany and the United States (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017).Christoph Becker-Schaum, Philipp Gassert, Martin Klimke, Wilfried Mausbach, and Marianne Zepp, ed., The Nuclear Crisis. The Arms Race, Cold War Anxiety, and the German Peace Movement of the 1980s (New York: Berghahn Books, 2016).Armin Grünbacher, West German Industrialists and the Making of the Economic Miracle: A History of Mentality and Recovery (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017).Dan Bednarz, East German Intellectuals and The Unification of Germany (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017).Cornelia Wilhelm, ed. Migration, Memory, and Diversity: Germany from 1945 to the Present (New York: Berghahn Books, 2017).Britta Schilling, Postcolonial Germany: Memories of Empire in a Decolonized Nation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).Jenny Wüstenberg, Civil Society and Memory in Postwar Germany (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017).John J. Kulczycki, Belonging to the Nation: Inclusion and Exclusion in the Polish-German Borderlands 1939-1951 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2016).

The purpose of the article is to analyze the representation’s report of the Western Ukrainian People’s Republic in Prague on the attitude of the president of Czechoslovakia T. G. Masaryk to the Ukrainian question. The research methodology is based on the research principles of historicism, scientificity, objectivity, general scientific methods (source analysis, historical and logical) and special historical methods (narrative and problem-chronological). The scientific novelty of the work is that the article on the basis of archival and published materials, in particular, the letters of the heads of the representation of the Western Ukrainian People's Republic in Prague to the foreign ministers of the state, analyzes the attitude of the first president of Czechoslovakia to the Ukrainian question. Conclusions. Masaryk’s attitude to the Ukrainian question is considered in the context of establishing relations between Czechoslovakia and the Western Ukrainian People’s Republic in late 1918 – early 1919, the desire of ones in 1920-1923 to gain the support of Prague in ensuring the recognition of the Entente countries the independence of this state, discussion of the case of assisting for Ukrainian emigrants in Czechoslovakia. In the article were noted the changes in the position of the Czechoslovak president in the Ukrainian question. In his work «New Europe» (1918), he supported the idea of the uniting of the Dnieper region, Eastern Galicia and Bukovina considering it necessary to preserve it as part of the federal democratic Russian state. In early 1919 president of the Czechoslovak Republic was ready to recognize the independence of the Ukrainian People’s Republic, which was revived during the anti-Hetman uprising. But made the final decision dependent on the position of the Entente states at the peace conference in Paris. The coverage of the perception of the Ukrainian question by T. G. Masaryk in 1920-1921 by the representatives of the Western Ukrainian People’s Republic in Prague testifies to his return to the concept set forth in the work «New Europe». Reports from representatives of the Western Ukrainian People’s Republic allow a more complete study of the circumstances that made it impossible for it to gain political support from Czechoslovakia. Given this, as well as the issues of the Czechoslovak Republic’s policy in Transcarpathia and on emigration were raised in the reports of the representation, these documents are an important source for studying the history of Czechoslovak-Ukrainian relations.

Abstract The Secord World War was a conflict which many British people feared might happen, but they strongly supported the efforts of Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain to seek a peaceful resolution of tensions with Germany over disputes in Continental Europe. Baptists in Scotland shared these concerns of their fellow citizens, but equally supported the declaration of war in 1939 after the German invasion of Poland. They saw the conflict as a struggle for spiritual values and were as concerned about winning the peace that followed as well as the war. During the years 1939 to 1945 they recommitted themselves to sharing the Christian message with their fellow citizens and engaged in varied forms of evangelism and extended times of prayer for the nation. The success of their Armed Forces Chaplains in World War One ensured that Scottish Baptist padres had greater opportunities for service a generation later. Scottish Baptists had seen closer ties established with other churches in their country under the auspices of the Scottish Churches Council. This co-operation in the context of planning for helping refugees and engaging in reconstruction at the conclusion of the war led to proposals for a World Council of Churches. Scottish Baptists were more cautious about this extension of ecumenical relationships. In line with other Scottish Churches they recognised a weakening of Christian commitment in the wider nation, but were committed to the challenge of proclaiming their faith at this time. They had both high hopes and expectations for the post-war years in Scotland.

AbstractAs the clash of aspirations increased among European countries, a European ‘civil war’ started in 1914, which engulfed the whole world. With all the terrible destruction and loss of life, it was felt that an international organization must be established to avert war in future. At the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, the British government succeeded in gaining separate representation for its dominions, including India. This created a rather anomalous situation, since a dependency of a foreign power, a colony which could not control its internal affairs, was accepted as a sovereign state by an international treaty. Europe had hardly recovered from the First World War in the late 1920s when it drifted towards a second holocaust in 1939. India became a founding member of the United Nations in 1945, even though it was still under British rule, participating in the historic founding conference. But Indian national public opinion was neither very hopeful nor enthusiastic about the conference on the new international organization. Not only India, which was not even independent at that time, but Asian countries as such played a very small and insignificant role in the formulation of the UN Charter.

Fathers, families, and the state in France, 1914–1945. By Kristen Stromberg Childers. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2003. Pp. 261. ISBN 0-8014-4122-6. £23.95.Origins of the French welfare state: the struggle for social reform in France, 1914–1947. By Paul V. Dutton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Pp. 251. ISBN 0-521-81334-4. £49.99.Britain, France, and the financing of the First World War. By Martin Horn. Montreal and Kingston: McGill – Queen's University Press, 2002. Pp. 249. ISBN 0-7735-2293-X. £65.00.The gold standard illusion: France, the Bank of France and the International Gold Standard, 1914–1939. By Kenneth Mouré. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Pp. 297. ISBN 0-19-924904-0. £40.00.Workers' participation in post-Liberation France. By Adam Steinhouse. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2001. Pp. 245. ISBN 0-7391-0282-6. $70.00 (hb). ISBN 0-7391-0283-4. $24.95 (pbk).In the traditional historiography of twentieth-century France the period after the Second World War is usually contrasted favourably with that after 1918. After 1945, new men with new ideas, born out of the shock of defeat in 1940 and resistance to Nazi occupation, laid the basis for an economic and social democracy. The welfare state was created, women were given full voting rights, and French security, in both economic and territorial respects, was partially guaranteed by integrating West Germany into a new supranational institutional structure in Western Europe. 1945 was to mark the beginning of the ‘30 glorious years’ of peace and prosperity enjoyed by an expanding population in France. In sharp contrast, the years after 1918 are characterized as a period dominated by France's failed attempts to restore its status as a great power. Policies based on making the German taxpayer finance France's restoration are blamed for contributing to the great depression after 1929 and the rise of Hitler. However, as more research is carried out into the social and economic reconstruction of France after both world wars, it is becoming clear that the basis of what was to become the welfare state after 1945 was laid in the aftermath of the First World War. On the other hand, new reforms adopted in 1945 which did not build on interwar policies, such as those designed to give workers a voice in decision-making at the workplace, proved to be short-lived.

In his book Awangarda w cieniu Jałty (In the Shadow of Yalta: Art and the Avant-garde in Eastern Europe, 1945–1989), Piotr Piotrowski mentioned that Polish and Czechoslovakian artists were not working in mutual isolation and that they had opportunities to meet, for instance at the Arguments 1962 exhibition in Warsaw in 1962. The extent, nature and intensity of artistic contacts between Poland and Czechoslovakia during their coexistence within the Eastern bloc still remain valid research problems. The archives of the National Museum in Warsaw and the Zachęta – National Gallery of Art which I have investigated yield information on thirty-fi ve exhibitions of art produced in Czechoslovakia that took place in Warsaw in the period of the People’s Republic of Poland. The current essay focuses on exhibitions organised in the late 1940s. The issue of offi cial cultural cooperation between Poland and Czechoslovakia was regulated as early as in the fi rst years after the war. Institutions intended to promote the culture of one country in the other one and associations for international cooperation were established soon after. As early as in 1946, the National Museum in Warsaw hosted an exhibition entitled Czechoslovakia 1939–1945. In 1947 the same museum showed Contemporary Czechoslovakian Graphic Art. A few months after “Victorious February”, i.e. the coup d’état carried out by the Communists in Czechoslovakia in early 1948, the Young Czechoslovakian Art exhibition opened at the Young Artists and Scientists’ Club, a Warsaw gallery supervised by Marian Bogusz. It showed the works of leading artists of the post-war avant-garde, and their authors were invited to the vernissage. Nine artists participated in both exhibitions, i.e. at the National Museum and at the Young Artists and Scientists’ Club. A critical analysis of art produced in one country of the Eastern bloc as exhibited in another country of that bloc enables an art historian to outline a section of the complex history of artistic life. Archival research yields new valuable materials that make it impossible to reduce the narration to a simple opposition contrasting the avant-garde with offi cial institutions.

Combination of internal political and social crisis with armed conflict in the neighbour country behind the less dangerous frontier without any possibility of obtaining fastly any real aid from allies is one of the worst possible political scenarios in the time of peace. France faced such a situation in 1936 after her Popular Front’s electoral victory and the beginnig of military mutiny in Spain provoqued by further escalation of internal political struggle. Mutiny developed into civil war that, beeing local geographically, became a global political problem because it troubled many great powers and first of all France. This article depicts and analyzes position and views on Spanish civil war and its antecedents of French nationalist royalist movement «Action française» leaded by Charles Maurras (1868–1952) and her allies in next generations of French nationalists – philosopher and political writer Henri Massis (1886–1970) and novelist Robert Brasillach (1909–1945). All of them from the first day hailed Spanish Nationalist cause and were sure in her final victory so took side against any French help, first of all military, to Spanish Republican government, propagated Franco’s political program, denounced Soviet intervention into Spanish affairs and “Communist threat”. Staying for Catholic and Latin unity French nationalists were anxious to prevent Franco’s rapprochement with Nazi Germany that they regarded as France’s “hereditary emeny” notwithstanding of political regime. Trips of Maurras and Massis to Spain in 1938 and theirs meetings with Franco were aimed to demonstrate this kind of unity with silent but clear anti-German overtone. Brasillach’s “History of War in Spain” (1939) became the first French overview of the events from Nationalist point of view.

The article describes the international activities of the Russian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate during the “new deal” in the state-church relations (late 1930s – first half of the 1950s). Depending on the direction of the international activities of the Russian Church, which the Soviet leadership considered to be the priority of the moment, the author outlines five main stages of the “new deal”. The first stage dated to the late 1930s – 1943, when the “new policy” remained a secret policy of the Stalinist leadership aimed at including Orthodox religious structures in the new territories, included into the USSR in 1939–1940, into the management system of the Moscow Patriarchate, and then to establish contacts with allies on religious channels through the anti-Hitler coalition. The second stage occurred in 1943–1948, when the main efforts of church diplomacy were aimed at including the Orthodox Churches of Eastern Europe in the orbit the influence of the Moscow Patriarchate and (after 1945) an unsuccessful attempt was made to achieve the leading role of the Russian Orthodox Church in the world Orthodoxy. The third stage occurred in 1948– 1949, when the crisis of the “new deal” took shape. Finally, the fourth stage began after 1949 with the inclusion of the Russian Orthodox Church in the international movement for peace and overcoming the crisis of state-church relations. The author pays special attention to the Moscow meeting of the heads and representatives of the Orthodox Churches of 1948, which revealed a divergence in the interests of the state and the Church and launched a crisis of the “new deal”. In addition, the article makes an excursion into the history of foreign policy activity of representatives of the Russian Orthodox Church in the period before the 1917 revolution, as well as its international relations in the interwar period�

The article offers an overview of modern historical data on the origins, causes of World War II, the decisive role of the USSR in its victorious end, and also records the main results and lessons of World War II.Hitler's Germany was the main cause of World War II. Nazism, racial theory, mixed with far-reaching geopolitical designs, became the combustible mixture that ignited the fire of glob­al conflict. The war with the Soviet Union was planned to be waged with particular cruelty.The preconditions for the outbreak of World War II were the humiliating provisions of the Versailles Peace Treaty for the German people, as well as the attitude of the "Western de­mocracies" to Russia after 1917 and the Soviet Union as an outcast of world development. Great Britain, France, the United States chose for themselves a policy of ignoring Moscow's interests, they were more likely to cooperate with Hitler's Germany than with Soviet Russia. It was the "Munich Agreement" that became the point of no return to the beginning of the Second World War. Under these conditions, for the USSR, its own security and the conclusion of a non-aggression pact with Germany began to come to the fore, defining the "spheres of interests" of the parties in order to limit the advance of German troops towards the Soviet borders in the event of German aggression against Poland. The non-aggression pact gave the USSR just under two years to rebuild the army and consolidate its defensive potential and pushed the Soviet borders hundreds of kilometers westward. The signing of the Pact was preceded by the failure in August 1939 of the negotiations between the military mis­sions of Britain, France and the USSR, although Moscow took the Anglo-French-Soviet nego­tiations with all seriousness.The huge losses of the USSR in the summer of 1941 are explained by the following circum­stances: before the war, a large-scale modernization of the Red Army was launched, a gradu­ate of a military school did not have sufficient experience in managing an entrusted unit by June 22, 1941; the Red Army was going to bleed the enemy in border battles, stop it with short counterattacks by covering units, carry out defensive operations, and then strike a de­cisive blow into the depths of the enemy's territory, so the importance of a multi-echeloned long-term defense in 1941 was underestimated by the command of the Red Army and it was not ready for it; significant groupings of the Western Special Military District were drawn into potential salients, which was used by the Germans at the initial stage of the war; Stalin's fear of provoking Hitler to start a war led to slowness in making the most urgent and necessary decisions to bring troops to combat readiness.The Allies delayed the opening of the second front for an unreasonably long time. They, of course, achieved outstanding success in the landing operation in France, however, the en­emy's losses in only one Soviet strategic operation in the summer of 1944 ("Bagration") are not inferior, and even exceed, the enemy’s losses on the second front. One of the goals of "Bagration" was to help the Allies.Soviet soldiers liberated Europe at the cost of their lives. At the same time, Moscow could not afford to re-establish a cordon sanitaire around its borders after the war, so that anti- Soviet forces would come to power in the border states. The United States and Great Britain took all measures available to them to quickly remove from the governments of Italy, France and other Western states all the left-wing forces that in 1944-1945 had a serious impact on the politics of their countries.

ABSTRACTWhilst quantitive and ‘positivist’ modes of comparative social policy can reveal significant structural factors involved in the making of welfare states, they too often ignore the role of human agency, intention and political processes. A critical-historical comparative case study of the introduction of ‘child endowment’ and of ‘family allowances’ respectively in Australia (1941) and in Canada (1944) reminds us of the interplay between structural constraints and human agency in the history of welfare states. Detailed analysis suggests that institutionalised arrangements in Australia after 1905 to resolve capital-labour conflict via arbitral and wage fixation mechanisms put the question of the adequacy of wages in meeting family needs and with it proposals for child endowment onto the public agenda as early as 1920. In Canada the absence of such mechanisms, and alternative welfare arrangements to deal with family welfare, combined to keep such proposals off the public agenda. After 1939 the development of ‘war economies’ in Australia and Canada created common contradictions for governments, trying to maintain both industrial peace and anti-inflation policies, which the introduction of family allowances in both countries were attempts to resolve. Consideration is also given to a range of political problems and contexts in both countries which this particular policy measure attempted to deal with.

AbstractMircea Eliade, the writer and historian of religions, and Ernst Jünger, the hero of the Great War, novelist, and essayist, met in the 1950s and co-edited twelve issues of the periodical Antaios. Before they met and cooperated, however, and while the German writer knew about Eliade from their common friend, Carl Schmitt, they both dealt with the subject of human sacrifice. Eliade began to do so in the thirties, and his interest in that theme was at least in part an aspect of his political activism on behalf of the Legion of the Archangel Michael, or the Iron Guard, the nationalistic and anti-Semitic movement lead by Corneliu Codreanu. Sacrificial ideology was a central aspect of the Legion's political theories, as well as of the practice of its members. After the Iron Guard was outlawed by its allies, and many of its members had been killed, and while the Romanian regime of Marshal Ion Antonescu was still fighting alongside the National Socialist regime in the Second World War, Eliade turned to other aspects of sacrificial ideology. In 1939 he wrote the play Iphigenia, celebrating Agamemnon's daughter as a willing victim whose death made the Greek conquest of Troy possible; and as a member of the regime's diplomatic service in Lisbon he published a book in Portuguese on Romanian virtues (1943), in which he presented what he called Two Myths of Romanian Spirituality, extolling his nation's readiness to die through the description of the sacrificial traditions of Master Manole and of the Ewe Lamb (Mioritza). Jünger's attitude to sacrifice ran along lines that were less traditional: possibly already while serving as a Wehrmacht officer, in his pamphlet Der Friede, the German writer attributed sacrificial status to all the victims of the Second World War, soldiers, workmen, and unknowing innocents, and saw their death as the ransom of a peace "without victory or defeat." In this article, the sacrificial ideologies of the two intellectuals are compared in order to reflect upon the complex interplay between traditional religious themes, more or less freely re-interpreted and transformed, political power, and violent conflict, in an age of warfare marked by fascisms and by the terrible massacre some refer to by the name of an ancient Greek sacrificial practice.

Martin K. Sorge. The Other Price of Hitler's War. German Military and Civilian Losses Resulting from World War II. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1986. Pp. xx, 175. Cloth, $32.95; M. K. Dziewanowski. War At Any Price: World War II in Europe, 1939-1945. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1987. Pp. xiv, 386. Paper, $25.67. Review by Lawrence S. Rines of Quincy Community College. David Goldfield. Promised Land: The South Since 1945. Arlington Heights, IL: Harlan Davidson, Inc., 1987. Pp. xiii, 262. Cloth, $19.95, Paper, $9.95; Alexander P. Lamis. The Two Party South. New York: Oxford University Press, 1984. Pp. x, 317. Cloth, $25.00; Paper, $8.95. Review by Ann W. Ellis of Kennesaw College. Walter J. Fraser, Jr., R. Frank Saunders, Jr., and Jon L. Wakelyn, eds. The Web of Southern Social Relations: Women, Family, and Education. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1985. Pp. XVII, 257. Paper, $12.95. Review by Thomas F. Armstrong of Georgia College. William H. Pease and Jane H. Pease. The Web of Progress: Private Values and Public Styles in Boston and Charleston, 1828-1842. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985. Pp. xiv, 334. Paper, $12.95. Review by Peter Gregg Slater of Mercy College. Stephen J. Lee. The European Dictatorships, 1918-1945. London and New York: Methuen, 1987. Pp. xv, 343. Cloth, $47.50; Paper, $15.95. Review by Brian Boland of Lockport Central High School, Lockport, IL. Todd Gitlin. The Sixties: Days of Hope, Days of Rage. New York: Bantam, 1987. Pp. 483. Cloth, $19.95; Maurice Isserman. IF I HAD A HAMMER... : The Death of the Old Left and the Birth of the New Left. New York: Basic Books, 1987. Pp. xx, 244. Cloth, $18.95. Review by Charles T. Banner-Haley of Martin Luther King, Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change, Inc. Donald Alexander Downs. Nazis in Skokie: Freedom, Community, and the First Amendment. Notre Dame IN: Notre Dame Press, 1985. Pp. 227. Paper, $9.95. Review by Benjamin Tate of Macon Junior College. Paul Preston, The Triumph of Democracy in Spain. London and New York: Methuen, 1986. Pp. 227. Cloth, $32.00. Review by Victoria L. Enders of Northern Arizona University. Robert B. Downs. Images of America: Travelers from Abroad in the New World. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1987. Pp. 232. Cloth, $24.95. Review by James F. Marran of New Trier Township High School, Winnetka, IL. Joel H. Silbey. The Partisan Imperative: The Dynamics of American Politics Before the Civil War. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985. Pp. viii, 234. Paper, $8.95. Review by John T. Reilly of Mount Saint Mary College. Barbara J. Howe, Dolores A. Fleming, Emory L. Kemp, and Ruth Ann Overbeck. Houses and Homes: Exploring Their History. Nashville: The American Association for State and Local History, 1987. Pp. xii, 168. Paper, $13.95; $11.95 to AASLH members. Review by Marsha L. Frey of Kansas State University. Thomas C. Cochran. Challenges to American Values: Society, Business and Religion. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987. Pp. 147. Paper, $6.95. Review by H. Roger Grant of University of Akron. M.S. Anderson. Europe in the Eighteenth Century, 1713-1783. London and New York: Longman, 1987. Third Edition. Pp. xii, 539. Cloth, $34.95. Review by Robert Lindsay of the University of Montana.

The historiography of the German opposition to Hitler involved in the putsch on 20 July 1944 is very mature. Nevertheless we still lack a comprehensive view of the involvement in Nazi excesses of many major participants. This article presents new evidence and consolidates earlier knowledge about three key actors, Colonel Claus Schenk Count von Stauffenberg, Brigadier General Henning von Tresckow, and Fritz-Dietlof Count von der Schulenburg. It demonstrates that they were prima facie perpetrators of Crimes against peace, War crimes, and Crimes against humanity, as defined by international jurisprudence after 1945. The article should inform future studies of the conspiracy and of the mental trajectories of its participants.

When the National Trust was established in 1895 its founders, Canon Rawnsley, Sir Robert Hunter and Octavia Hill, were, as Cannadine notes, “primarily concerned with preserving open spaces of outstanding natural beauty which were threatened with development or spoliation.” This was because, like Ruskin, Morris and “many of their contemporaries, they believed that the essence of Englishness was to be found in the fields and hedgerows, not in the suburbs and slums” (Cannadine 227). It was important to protect these sites of beauty and historical interest from development not only for what they were but for what they purportedly represented—an irreplaceable repository of the nation’s “spiritual values”, and thus a vital antidote to the “base materialism” of the day. G.M. Trevelyan, who I am quoting here, noted in two pieces written on behalf of the Trust in the 1920s and 30s, that the “inexorable rise of bricks and mortar” and the “full development of motor traffic” were laying waste to the English countryside. In the face of this assault on England’s heartland, the National Trust provided “an ark of refuge” safeguarding the nation’s cherished physical heritage and preserving its human cargo from the rising waters of materialism and despair (qtd. in Cannadine 231-2).Despite the extension of the road network and increasing private ownership of cars (up from 200,000 registrations in 1918 to “well over one million” in 1930), physical distance and economic hardship denied the majority of the urban population access to the countryside (Taylor 217). For the urban working classes recently or distantly displaced from the land, the dream of a return to rural roots was never more than a fantasy. Ford Madox Ford observed that “the poor and working classes of the towns never really go back” (Ford 58).Through the later nineteenth century the rural nostalgia once most prevalent among the working classes was increasingly noted as a feature of middle class sensibility. Better educated, with more leisure time and money at their disposal, these sentimental ruralists furnished a ready market for a new consumer phenomenon—the commodification of the English countryside and the packaging of the values it notionally embodied. As Valentine Cunningham observes, this was not always an edifying spectacle. By the late 1920s, “the terrible sounds of ‘Ye Olde England’ can already be heard, just off-stage, knocking together its thatched wayside stall where plastic pixies, reproduction beer-mugs, relics of Shakespeare and corn-dollies would soon be on sale” (Cunningham 229). Alongside the standard tourist tat, and the fiction and poetry that romanticised the rural world, a new kind of travel writing emerged around the turn of the century. Through an analysis of early-twentieth century notions of Englishness, this paper considers how the north struggled to find a place in H.V. Morton’s In Search of England (1927).In Haunts of Ancient Peace (1901), the Poet Laureate, Alfred Austin, described a journey through “Old England” as a cultural pilgrimage in quest of surviving vestiges of the nation’s essential identity, “or so much of it as is left” (Austin 18). Austin’s was an early example of what had, by the 1920s and 30s become a “boom market … in books about the national character, traditions and antiquities, usually to be found in the country” (Wiener 73). Longmans began its “English Heritage” series in 1929, introduced by the Prime Minister, Stanley Baldwin, with volumes on “English humour, folk song and dance, the public school, the parish church, [and] wild life”. A year later Batsford launched its series of books on “English Life” with volumes featuring “the countryside, Old English household life, inns, villages, and cottages” (Wiener 73). There was an outpouring of books with an overtly conservationist agenda celebrating journeys through or periods of residence in the countryside, many of them written by “soldiers like Henry Williamson and Edmund Blunden, who returned from the First War determined to preserve the rural England they’d known” (Cunningham 229; Blunden, Face, England; Roberts, Pilgrim, Gone ; Williamson). In turn, these books engendered an efflorescence of critical analyses of the construction of England (Hamilton; Haddow; Keith; Cavaliero; Gervais; Giles and Middleton; Westall and Gardiner).By the 1920s it was clear that a great many people thought they knew what England was, where it might be found, and if threatened, which parts of it needed to be rescued in order to safeguard the survival of its essential identity. By the same point, there were large numbers who felt, in Patrick Wright’s words, that “Some areas of the nation had been lost forever and in these no one should expect to find the traditional nation at all” (Wright 87).A key guide to the nation’s sacred sites in this period, an inventory of their relics, and an illustration of how its lost regions might be rescued for or erased from its cultural map, was provided in H.V. Morton’s In Search of England (1927). Initially published as a series of articles in the Daily Express in 1926, In Search of England went through nine editions in the two and a half years after its appearance in book form in 1927. With sales in excess of a million copies, as John Brannigan notes, the book went through a further twenty editions by 1943, and has remained continuously in print since (Brannigan).In his introduction Morton proposes In Search of England is simply “the record of a motor-car journey round England … written without deliberation by the roadside, on farmyard walls, in cathedrals, in little churchyards, on the washstands of country inns, and in many another inconvenient place” (Morton vii). As C.R. Perry notes, “This is a happy image, but also a misleading one” (Perry 434) for there was nothing arbitrary about Morton’s progress. Even a cursory glance at the map of his journey confirms, the England that Morton went in search of was overwhelmingly rural or coastal, and embodied in the historic villages and ancient towns of the Midlands or South.Morton’s biographer, Michael Bartholomew suggests that the “nodal points” of Morton’s journey are the “cathedral cities” (Bartholomew 105).Despite claims to the contrary, his book was written with deliberation and according to a specific cultural objective. Morton’s purpose was not to discover his homeland but to confirm a vision that he and millions of others cherished. He was not in search of England so much as reassuring himself and his readers that in spite of the depredations of the factory and the motor vehicle, it was still out there. These aims determined Morton’s journey; how long he spent in differing parts, what he recorded, and how he presented landscapes, buildings, people and material culture.Morton’s determination to celebrate England as rural and ancient needed to negotiate the journey north into an industrial landscape better known for its manufacturing cities, mining and mill towns, and the densely packed streets of the poor and working classes. Unable to either avoid or ignore this north, Morton needed to settle upon a strategy of passing through it without disturbing his vision of the rural idyll. Narratively, Morton’s touring through the south and west of the country is conducted at a gentle pace. In my 1930 edition of the text, it takes 185 of the book’s 280 pages to bring him from London via the South Coast, Cornwall, the Cotswolds and the Welsh marches, to Chester. The instant Morton crosses the Lancashire border, his bull-nosed Morris accelerates through the extensive northern counties in a mere thirty pages: Warrington to Carlisle (with a side trip to Gretna Green), Carlisle to Durham, and Durham to Lincoln. The final sixty-five pages return to the more leisurely pace of the south and west through Norfolk and the East Midlands, before the journey is completed in an unnamed village somewhere between Stratford upon Avon and Warwick. Morton spends 89 per cent of the text in the South and Midlands (66 per cent and 23 per cent respectively) with only 11 per cent given over to his time in the north.If, as Genette has pointed out, narrative deceleration results in the descriptive pause, it is no coincidence that this is the recurring set piece of Morton’s treatment of the south and west as opposed to the north. His explorations take dwelling moments on river banks and hill tops, in cathedral closes and castle ruins to honour the genius loci and imagine earlier times. On Plymouth Hoe he sees, in his mind’s eye, Sir Walter Raleigh’s fleet set sail to take on the Armada; at Tintagel it is Arthur, wild and Celtic, scaling the cliffs, spear in hand; at Buckler’s Hard amid the rotting slipways he imagines the “stout oak-built ships which helped to found the British Empire”, setting out on their journeys of conquest (Morton 39). At the other extreme, Genette observes, that narrative acceleration produces ellipsis, where details are omitted in order to render a more compact and striking expression. It is the principle of ellipsis, of selective omission, which compresses the geography of Morton’s journey through the north with the effect of shaping reader experiences. Morton hurries past the north’s industrial areas—shuddering at the sight of smoke or chimneys and averting his gaze from factory and slum.As he crosses the border from Cheshire into Lancashire, Morton reflects that “the traveller enters Industrial England”—not that you would know it from his account (Morton 185). Heading north towards the Lake District, he steers a determined path between “red smoke stacks” rising on one side and an “ominous grey haze” on the other, holding to a narrow corridor of rural land where, to his relief, he observes men “raking hay in a field within gunshot of factory chimneys” (Morton 185-6). These redolent, though isolated, farmhands are of greater cultural moment than the citadels of industry towering on either side of them. While the chimneys might symbolise the nation’s economic potency, the farmhands embody the survival of its essential cultural and moral qualities. In an allusion to the Israelites’ passage through the Red Sea from the Book of Exodus, the land that the workers tend holds back the polluted tide of industry, furnishing relief from the factory and the slum, granting Morton safe passage through the perils of modernity and into the Promised Land–or at least the Lake District. In Morton’s view this green belt is not only more essentially English than trade and industry, it is also expresses a nobler and more authentic Englishness.The “great industrial new-rich cities of northern England—vast and mighty as they are,” Morton observes, “fall into perspective as mere black specks against the mighty background of history and the great green expanse of fine country which is the real North of England” (Morton 208). Thus, the rural land between Manchester and Liverpool expands into a sea of green as the great cities shrink on the horizon, and the north is returned to its origins.What Morton cannot speed past or ignore, what he is compelled or chooses to confront, he transforms, through the agency of history, into something that he and England can bear to own. Tempted into Wigan by its reputation as a comic nowhere-land, a place whose name conjured a thousand music hall gags, Morton confesses that he had expected to find there another kind of cliché, “the apex of the world’s pyramid of gloom … dreary streets and stagnant canals and white-faced Wigonians dragging their weary steps along dull streets haunted by the horror of the place in which they are condemned to live” (Morton 187).In the process of naming what he dreads, Morton does not describe Wigan: he exorcises his deepest fears about what it might hold and offers an incantation intended to hold them at bay. He “discovers” Wigan is not the industrial slum but “a place which still bears all the signs of an old-fashioned country town” (Morton 188). Morton makes no effort to describe Wigan as it is, any more than he describes the north as a whole: he simply overlays them with a vision of them as they should be—he invents the Wigan and the north that he and England need.Having surveyed parks and gardens, historical monuments and the half-timbered mock-Tudor High Street, Morton returns to his car and the road where, with an audible sigh of relief, he finds: “Within five minutes of notorious Wigan we were in the depth of the country,” and that “on either side were fields in which men were making hay” (Morton 189).In little more than three pages he passes from one set of haymakers, south of town, to another on its north. The green world has all but smoothed over the industrial eyesore, and the reader, carefully chaperoned by Morton, can pass on to the Lake District having barely glimpsed the realities of industry and urbanism, reassured that if this is the worst that the north has to show then the rural heartland and the essential identity it sustains are safe. Paradoxically, instead of invalidating his account, Morton’s self-evident exclusions and omissions seem only to have fuelled its popularity.For readers of the Daily Express in the months leading up to and immediately after the General Strike of 1926, the myth of England that Morton proffered, of an unspoilt village where old values and traditional hierarchies still held true, was preferable to the violently polarised urban battlefields that the strike had revealed. As the century progressed and the nation suffered depression, war, and a steady decline in its international standing, as industry, suburban sprawl and the irresistible spread of motorways and traffic blighted the land, Morton’s England offered an imagined refuge, a real England that somehow, magically resisted the march of time.Yet if it was Morton’s triumph to provide England with a vision of its ideal spiritual home, it was his tragedy that this portrait of it hastened the devastation of the cultural survivals he celebrated and sought to preserve: “Even as the sense of idyll and peace was maintained, the forces pulling in another direction had to be acknowledged” (Taylor 74).In his introduction to the 1930 edition of In Search of England Morton approvingly acknowledged that a new enthusiasm for the nation’s history and heritage was abroad and that “never before have so many people been searching for England.” In the next sentence he goes on to laud the “remarkable system of motor-coach services which now penetrates every part of the country [and] has thrown open to ordinary people regions which even after the coming of the railways were remote and inaccessible” (Morton vii).Astonishingly, as the waiting charabancs roared their engines and the village greens of England enjoyed the last hours of their tranquillity, Morton somehow failed to make the obvious connection between these unique cultural and social phenomena or take any measure of their potential consequences. His “motoring pastoral” did more than alert the barbarians to the existence of the nation’s hidden treasures, as David Matless notes it provided them with a route map, itinerary and behavioural guide for their pillages (Matless 64; Peach; Batsford).Yet while cultural preservationists wrung their hands in horror at the advent of the day-tripper slouching towards Barnstaple, for Morton this was never a cause for concern. The nature of his journey and the form of its representation demonstrate that the England he worshipped was more an imaginary than a physical space, an ideal whose precise location no chart could fix and no touring party defile. ReferencesAustin, Alfred. Haunts of Ancient Peace. London: Macmillan, 1902.Bartholomew, Michael. In Search of H.V. Morton. London: Methuen, 2004.Batsford, Harry. How to See the Country. London: B.T. Batsford, 1940.Blunden, Edmund. The Face of England: In a Series of Occasional Sketches. London: Longmans, 1932.———. English Villages. 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