Добірка наукової літератури з теми "Sussex (Ship)"

When the town of Lewes in Sussex commissioned a plaque to commemorate an ex-American destroyer adopted as a part of their Warship Week in the Autumn of 1942, an Admiralty representative stated that the ship symbolised the ‘imperishable’ and ‘unbreakable’ links existent between Britain and America. 1 The local newspaper also reported, ‘The people living in the country did not fully appreciate all that was meant by the term ‘sea power’ and that ‘they existed today through the work of ships like HMS Lewes.’ 2 This article examines the symbolic role of the fifty destroyers transferred under the 1940 destroyers for bases deal, and argues that they became potent emblems of Anglo-American unity. It explores the rhetoric, propaganda, adoptions and naming practices which surrounded the transfer of the destroyers to argue that they were tangible symbols used to publicly navigate issues of British identity and naval power raised by the deal. By examining the ways in which the ships were renamed, repurposed and adopted by regional communities, this paper will demonstrate that the ships were predominantly valuable for their perceived promotion of the relationship between the two navies, governments and nations.

Five cobbles of metamorphosed ultramafic rock from the shores of southern Ireland are believed to have been derived from the ship Emanuel of Bridgwater in 1578. The Emanuel, one of Martin Frobisher's fleet, had loaded what was thought to be gold ore from three localities in southeast Baffin Island and, on the return journey, was wrecked and then beached on the western side of Smerwick Harbour, close to where the cobbles were found. One type of cobble, with brown hornblende, forsterite, and ilmenite, is similar to rock collected from Countess of Sussex mine, Baffin Island, which accounted for 25% of the Emanuel's lading and 30% of the ore mined by Frobisher in 1577 and 1578. It was Frobisher's largest mine, and the rock resembled ore stored by Frobisher in Dartford, England. The other type of cobble, composed of green hornblende, diopside, and ilmenite, could not be matched with Baffin Island or Dartford rock. K–Ar ages of the two rock types were 1810 Ma (hornblende + diopside) and 1881 Ma (hornblende + forsterite), consistent with a Hudsonian overprint on southeast Baffin Island. Hornblende-rich "ore" from Frobisher's first mine (not loaded on the Emanuel) gave a K–Ar age of 1722 Ma. The K–Ar ages and ultramafic rocks are unlike any known in Ireland.

Aiming to investigate the role of governance in modifying the relationship between public finance and economic growth, this study applied a seemingly unrelated regression model for the panel data of 38 developed and 44 developing countries from 1996 to 2016. It is easy to see that this research measures public finance by two parts of the subcomponents: total tax revenue and general government expenditure. We also call governance the “control of corruption indicator”. The finding indicates that governance always positively affects the economy. However, when it interacts with public finance, this interaction has a diverse effect on economic growth in developed countries, depending on tax revenue or government expenditure. Nevertheless, in developing countries, this interaction has a beneficial impact on the growth of an economy. Keywords: Governance, public finance, economic growth, developed and developing countries. References [1] Bird, R. M., Martinez-Vazquez, J. and Torgler, B., “Tax Effort in Developing Countries and High Income Countries: The Impact of Corruption, Voice and Accountability”, Economic Analysis and Policy, 38 (2008) 1, 55-71. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0313-5926(08)50006-3.[2] Dzhumashev, R. (2014) ‘Corruption and growth: The role of governance, public spending, and economic development’, Economic Modelling. Elsevier B.V., 37, pp. 202–215. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.econmod.2013.11.007.[3] d’Agostino, G., Dunne, J.P., & Pieroni, L. (2012). Corruption, military spending and growth. Defence and Peace Economics, 23(6), 591–604.[4] Ugur, M. (2014) ‘Corruption’s direct effects on per-capita income growth: A meta-analysis’, Journal of Economic Surveys, 28(3), pp. 472–490. https://doi.org/10.1111/joes.12035.[5] d’Agostino, G., Dunne, J. P. and Pieroni, L. (2016) ‘Government Spending, Corruption and Economic Growth’, World Development. Elsevier Ltd, 84(1997), pp. 190–205. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.worlddev.2016.03.011.[6] Kaul, I., & ConceiÇÃo, P.(2006). The new public finance: Responding to global challenges United Nations development programme, New York.[7] McGee, R. W. (2008) Taxation and public finance in transition and developing economies. Edited by R. W. Mcgee. North Miami: Springer.[8] Hague, R. and Martin, H. (2004) Comparative government and politics an introduction. 6th Editio. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.[9] Schumpeter, J. A. (1942). The Theory of Economic Development, Harvard Univer- sity Press, Cambridge, MA. [10] Cobb, C. W., & Douglas, P. H. (1928). A Theory of Production. American Economic Association, 18(1), 139–165.[11] Solow, R.M., 1956. A contribution to the theory of economic growth. The Quarterly Journal of Econometrics, 70(1), pp.65–94.[12] Mankiw, N.G., Romer, D. & Weil, D.N., 1992. A contribution to the empirics of economic growth*. Quarterly Journal of Economics, May(1992), pp.407–437.[13] Islam, Nazrul. (1995). “Growth empirics: A panel data approach.” TheQuarterly Journal of Economics, 110(4), pp. 1127-1170.[14] Barro, R. J. and Sala-i-Martin, X. (2004) Economic Growth. Second. London: The MIT press.[15] Devarajan, S., Swaroop, V., & Heng-fu, Z. (1996). The composition of public expenditure and economic growth. Journal of Monetary Economics, 37(2–3), pp.313–344.[16] Kneller, R., Bleaney, M.F., & Gemmell, N.(1999). Fiscal policy and growth: Evidence from OECD countries. Journal of Public Economics, 74(2), 171–190.[17] Ojede, A., & Yamarik, S. (2012). Tax policy and state economic growth: The long-run and short-run of it. Economics Letters, 116(2), 161–165.[18] Azam, M., Qayyum, A., Bakhtyar, B. and Emirullah, C. (2015) ‘The causal relationship between energy consumption and economic growth in the ASEAN-5 countries’, Renewable and Sustainable Energy Reviews. Elsevier, 47(2015), pp. 732–745. doi: 10.1016/j.rser.2015.03.023.[19] Ramírez, J. M., Díaz, Y. and Bedoya, J. G. (2017) ‘Property tax revenues and multidimensional poverty reduction in Colombia: A spatial approach’, World Development, 94, pp. 406–421. doi: 10.1016/j.worlddev.2017.02.005.[20] Stiglitz, J.E., (2000). Economics of the public sector Third edit. E. Parsons et al., eds., New York/London.[21] Hillman, A.L., 2009. Public Finance and Public policy, New York: Cambridge University Press.[22] Zellner, A. (1962) ‘An efficient method of estimating seemingly unrelated regressions and tests for aggregation bias’, Journal of the American Statistical Association, 57(298), pp. 348–368.[23] Yanev, P. I. and Kontoghiorghes, E. J. (2007) ‘Computationally efficient methods for estimating the updated-observations SUR models’, Applied Numerical Mathematics, 57(11-12), pp. 1245-1258. doi: 10.1016/j.apnum.2007.01.004.[24] Blundell, R. and Bond, S. (1998) ‘GMM estimation with persistent panel data : an application to production functions’, Journal of Econometrics, 87(1), pp. 115–143.[25] [25] Baltagi, B.H.(2005). Econometric analysis of panel data, JohnWiley & Sons Ltd., West Sussex PO19 8SQ, England.[26] Sasaki, Y. (2015). Heterogeneity and selection in dynamic panel data. Journal of Econometrics, 188(2015), 236–249.[27] Acemoglu, D. and Robinson, J. (2001) ‘A Theory of Political Transitions.pdf’, The American Economic Review, pp. 938–963. doi: Doi 10.1257/Aer.91.4.938.[28] Windmeijer, F. (2005). A finite sample correction for the variance of linear e cient two-step GMM estimators. Journal of Econometrics, 126(2005), 25-51. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jeconom.2004.02.005.[29] Law, S. H., Lim, T. C., & Ismail, N. W. (2013). Institutions and economic development: A Granger causality analysis of panel data evidence. Economic Systems, 37(4), 610–624.[30] Harris, R. D. F., and Tzavalis, E. (1999). Inference for unit roots in dynamic panels where the time dimension is fixed. Journal of Econometrics 91, 201-226.[31] Im, K. S., Pesaran, M. H., and Shin, Y. (2003). Testing for unit roots in heterogeneous panels. Journal of Econometrics 115, 53-74.[32] Levin, A., Lin, C.-F. and Chu, C.-S. J. (2002), ‘Unit Root Tests in Panel Data: Asymptotic and Finite Sample Properties’, Journal of Econometrics, 108, pp. 1-24. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0304-4076(01)00098-7.[33] Lien, N. P. and Thanh, S. D. (2017) ‘Tax revenue, expenditure, and economic growth : An analysis of long-run relationships’, Journal of Economic Development, 24(3), pp. 4-26.[34] http://databank.worldbank.org/data/reports.aspx?source=world-development-indicators. Accessed in May 16, 2017.[35] Imam, P. A and Jacobs, D. F. (2007) ‘Effect of corruption on tax revenues in the Middle East’, IMF Journal, WP/07/270(1), pp. 1-36. doi: 10.1515/rmeef-2014-0001.

1. Make a list of things to do2. Copy list of things left undone from previous list3. Add items to list of new things needing to be done4. Add some of the things already done from previous list and immediately cross off so as to put off the feeling of an interminable list of never accomplishable tasks5. Finish writing list and sit back feeling an overwhelming sense of listlessnessIt started so well. Get up: make list: get on. But lists can breed listlessness. It can’t always be helped. The word “list” referring to a sequence of items comes from the Italian and French words for “strip”—as in a strip of material. The word “list” that you find in the compound “listlessness” comes from the old English word for pleasing (to list is to please and to desire). To be listless is to be without desire, without the desire to please. The etymologies of list and listless don’t correspond but they might seem to conspire in other ways. Oh, and by the way, ships can list when their balance is off.I list, like a ship, itemising my obligations to job, to work, to colleagues, to parenting, to family: write a reference for such and such; buy birthday present for eighty-year-old dad; finish article about lists – and so on. I forget to add to the list my necessary requirements for achieving any of this: keep breathing; eat and drink regularly; visit toilet when required. Lists make visible. Lists hide. I forget to add to my list all my worries that underscore my sense that these lists (or any list) might require an optimism that is always something of a leap of faith: I hope that electricity continues to exist; I hope my computer will still work; I hope that my sore toe isn’t the first sign of bodily paralysis; I hope that this heart will still keep beating.I was brought up on lists: the hit parade (the top one hundred “hit” singles); football leagues (not that I ever really got the hang of them); lists of kings and queens; lists of dates; lists of states; lists of elements (the periodic table). There are lists and there are lists. Some lists are really rankings. These are clearly the important lists. Where do you stand on the list? How near the bottom are you? Where is your university in the list of top universities? Have you gone down or up? To list, then, for some at least is to rank, to prioritise, to value. Is it this that produces listlessness? The sense that while you might want to rank your ten favourite films in a list, listing is something that is constantly happening to you, happening around you; you are always in amongst lists, never on top of them. To hang around the middle of lists might be all that you can hope for: no possibility of sudden lurching from the top spot; no urgent worries that you might be heading for demotion too quickly.But ranking is only one aspect of listing. Sometimes listing has a more flattening effect. I once worked as a cash-in-hand auditor (in this case a posh name for someone who counts things). A group of us (many of whom were seriously stoned) were bussed to factories and warehouses where we had to count the stock. We had to make lists of items and simply count what there was: for large items this was relatively easy, but for the myriad of miniscule parts this seemed a task for Sisyphus. In a power-tool factory in some unprepossessing town on the outskirts of London (was it Slough or Croydon or somewhere else?) we had to count bolts, nuts, washers, flex, rivets, and so on. Of course after a while we just made it up—guesstimates—as they say. A box of thousands of 6mm metal washers is a homogenous set in a list of heterogeneous parts that itself starts looking homogenous as it takes its part in the list. Listing dedifferentiates in the act of differentiating.The task of making lists, of filling-in lists, of having a list of tasks to complete encourages listlessness because to list lists towards exhaustiveness and exhaustion. Archives are lists and lists are often archives and archived. Those that work on lists and on archives constantly battle the fatigue of too many lists, of too much exhaustiveness. But could exhaustion be embraced as a necessary mood with which to deal with lists and archives? Might listlessness be something of a methodological orientation that has its own productivity in the face of so many lists?At my university there resides an archive that can appear to be a list of lists. It is the Mass-Observation archive, begun at the end of 1936 and, with a sizeable hiatus in the 1960s and 1970s, is still going today. (For a full account of Mass-Observation, see Highmore, Everyday Life chapter 6, and Hubble; for examples of Mass-Observation material, see Calder and Sheridan, and Highmore, Ordinary chapter 4; for analysis of Mass-Observation from the point of view of the observer, see Sheridan, Street, and Bloome. The flavour of the project as it emerges in the late 1930s is best conveyed by consulting Mass-Observation, Mass-Observation, First Year’s Work, and Britain.) It was begun by three men: the filmmaker Humphrey Jennings, the poet and sociologist Charles Madge, and the ornithologist and anthropologist-of-the-near Tom Harrisson. Both Jennings and Madge were heavily involved in promoting a form of social surrealism that might see buried forces in the coincidences of daily life as well as in the machinations and contingency of large political and social events (the abdication crisis, the burning of the Crystal Palace—both in late 1936). Harrisson brought a form of amateur anthropology with him that would scour football crowds, pub clientele, and cinema queues for ritualistic and symbolic forms. Mass-Observation quickly recruited a large group of voluntary observers (about a thousand) who would be “the meteorological stations from whose reports a weather-map of popular feeling can be compiled” (Mass-Observation, Mass-Observation 30). Mass-Observation combined the social survey with a relentless interest in the irrational and in what the world felt like to those who lived in it. As a consequence the file reports often seem banal and bizarre in equal measure (accounts of nightmares, housework routines, betting activities). When Mass-Observation restarted in the 1980s the surrealistic impetus became less pronounced, but it was still there, implicit in the methodology. Today, both as an on-going project and as an archive of previous observational reports, Mass-Observation lives in archival boxes. You can find a list of what topics are addressed in each box; you can also find lists of the contributors, the voluntary Mass-Observers whose observations are recorded in the boxes. What better way to give you a flavour of these boxes than to offer you a sample of their listing activities. Here are observers, observing in 1983 the objects that reside on their mantelpieces. Here’s one:champagne cork, rubber band, drawing pin, two hearing aid batteries, appointment card for chiropodist, piece of dog biscuit.Does this conjure up a world? Do we have a set of clues, of material evidence, a small cosmology of relics, a reduced Wunderkammer, out of which we can construct not the exotic but something else, something more ordinary? Do you smell camphor and imagine antimacassars? Do you hear conversations with lots of mishearing? Are the hearing aid batteries shared? Is this a single person living with a dog, or do we imagine an assembly of chiropodist-goers, dog-owners, hearing aid-users, rubber band-pingers, champagne-drinkers?But don’t get caught imagining a life out of these fragments. Don’t get stuck on this list: there are hundreds to get through. After all, what sort of an archive would it be if it included a single list? We need more lists.Here’s another mantelpiece: three penknives, a tube of cement [which I assume is the sort of rubber cement that you get in bicycle puncture repair kits], a pocket microscope, a clinical thermometer.Who is this? A hypochondriacal explorer? Or a grown-up boy-scout, botanising on the asphalt? Why so many penknives? But on, on... And another:1 letter awaiting postage stamp1 diet book1 pair of spare spectacles1 recipe for daughter’s home economics1 notepad1 pen1 bottle of indigestion tablets1 envelope containing 13 pence which is owed a friend1 pair of stick-on heels for home shoe repairing session3 letters in day’s post1 envelope containing money for week’s milk bill1 recipe cut from magazine2 out of date letters from schoolWhat is the connection between the daughter’s home economics recipe and the indigestion tablets? Is the homework gastronomy not quite going to plan? Or is the diet book causing side-effects? And what sort of financial stickler remembers that they owe 13p; even in 1983 this was hardly much money? Or is it the friend who is the stickler? Perhaps this is just prying...?But you need more. Here’s yet another:an ashtray, a pipe, pipe tamper and tobacco pouch, one decorated stone and one plain stone, a painted clay model of an alien, an enamelled metal egg from Hong Kong, a copper bracelet, a polished shell, a snowstorm of Father Christmas in his sleigh...Ah, a pipe smoker, this much is clear. But apart from this the display sounds ritualistic – one stone decorated the other not. What sort of religion is this? What sort of magic? An alien and Santa. An egg, a shell, a bracelet. A riddle.And another:Two 12 gauge shotgun cartridges live 0 spread Rubber plantBrass carriage clockInternational press clock1950s cigarette dispenser Model of Panzer MKIV tankWWI shell fuseWWI shell case ash tray containing an acorn, twelve .22 rounds of ammunition, a .455 Eley round and a drawing pinPhoto of Eric Liddell (Chariots of Fire)Souvenir of Algerian ash tray containing marbles and beach stonesThree 1930s plastic duck clothes brushesLetter holder containing postcards and invitations. Holder in shape of a cow1970s Whizzwheels toy carWooden box of jeweller’s rottenstone (Victorian)Incense holderWorld war one German fuse (used)Jim Beam bottle with candle thereinSol beer bottle with candle therein I’m getting worried now. Who are these people who write for Mass-Observation? Why so much military paraphernalia? Why such detail as to the calibrations? Should I concern myself that small militias are holding out behind the net curtains and aspidistra plants of suburban England?And another:1930s AA BadgeAvocado PlantWooden cat from MexicoKahlua bottle with candle there in1950s matchbook with “merry widow” cocktail printed thereonTwo Britain’s model cannonOne brass “Carronade” from the Carron Iron Works factory shopPhotography pass from Parkhead 12/11/88Grouse foot kilt pinBrass incense holderPheasant featherNovitake cupBlack ash tray with beach pebbles there inFull packet of Mary Long cigarettes from HollandPewter cocktail shaker made in ShanghaiI’m feeling distance. Who says “there in” and “there on?” What is a Novitake cup? Perhaps I wrote it down incorrectly? An avocado plant stirs memories of trying to grow one from an avocado stone skewered in a cup with one “point” dunked in a bit of water. Did it ever grow, or just rot? I’m getting distracted now, drifting off, feeling sleepy...Some more then – let’s feed the listlessness of the list:Wood sculpture (Tenerife)A Rubber bandBirdJunior aspirinToy dinosaur Small photo of daughterSmall paint brushAh yes the banal bizarreness of ordinary life: dinosaurs and aspirins, paint brushes and rubber bands.But then a list comes along and pierces you:Six inch piece of grey eyeliner1 pair of nail clippers1 large box of matches1 Rubber band2 large hair gripsHalf a piece of cough candy1 screwed up tissue1 small bottle with tranquillizers in1 dead (but still in good condition) butterfly (which I intended to draw but placed it now to rest in the garden) it was already dead when I found it.The dead butterfly, the tranquillizers, the insistence that the mantelpiece user didn’t actually kill the butterfly, the half piece of cough candy, the screwed up tissue. In amongst the rubber bands and matches, signs of something desperate. Or maybe not: a holding on (the truly desperate haven’t found their way to the giant tranquillizer cupboard), a keeping a lid on it, a desire (to draw, to place a dead butterfly at rest in the garden)...And here is the methodology emerging: the lists works on the reader, listing them, and making them listless. After a while the lists (and there are hundreds of these lists of mantle-shelf items) begin to merge. One giant mantle shelf filled with small stacks of foreign coins, rubber bands and dead insects. They invite you to be both magical ethnographer and deadpan sociologist at one and the same time (for example, see Hurdley). The “Martian” ethnographer imagines the mantelpiece as a shrine where this culture worships the lone rubber band and itinerant button. Clearly a place of reliquary—on this planet the residents set up altars where they place their sacred objects: clocks and clippers; ammunition and amulets; coins and pills; candles and cosmetics. Or else something more sober, more sombre: late twentieth century petite-bourgeois taste required the mantelpiece to hold the signs of aspirant propriety in the form of emblems of tradition (forget the coins and the dead insects and weaponry: focus on the carriage clocks). And yet, either way, it is the final shelf that gets me every time. But it only got me, I think, because the archive had worked its magic: ransacked my will, my need to please, my desire. It had, for a while at least, made me listless, and listless enough to be touched by something that was really a minor catalogue of remainders. This sense of listlessness is the way that the archive productively defeats the “desire for the archive.” It is hard to visit an archive without an expectation, without an “image repertoire,” already in mind. This could be thought of as the apperception-schema of archival searching: the desire to see patterns already imagined; the desire to find the evidence for the thought whose shape has already formed. Such apperception is hard to avoid (probably impossible), but the boredom of the archive, its ceaselessness, has a way of undoing it, of emptying it. It corresponds to two aesthetic positions and propositions. One is well-known: it is Barthes’s distinction between “studium” and “punctum.” For Barthes, studium refers to a sort of social interest that is always, to some degree, satisfied by a document (his concern, of course, is with photographs). The punctum, on the other hand, spills out from the photograph as a sort of metonymical excess, quite distinct from social interest (but for all that, not asocial). While Barthes is clearly offering a phenomenology of viewing photographs, he isn’t overly interested (here at any rate) with the sort of perceptional-state the viewer might need to be in to be pierced by the puntum of an image. My sense, though, is that boredom, listlessness, tiredness, a sort of aching indifference, a mood of inattentiveness, a sense of satiated interest (but not the sort of disinterest of Kantian aesthetics), could all be beneficial to a punctum-like experience. The second aesthetic position is not so well-known. The Austrian dye-technician, lawyer and art-educationalist Anton Ehrenzweig wrote, during the 1950s and 1960s, about a form of inattentive-attention, and a form of afocal-rendering (eye-repelling rather than eye-catching), that encouraged eye-wandering, scanning, and the “‘full’ emptiness of attention” (Ehrenzweig, The Hidden Order 39). His was an aesthetics attuned to the kind of art produced by Paul Klee, but it was also an aesthetic propensity useful for making wallpaper and for productively connecting to unconscious processes. Like Barthes, Ehrenzweig doesn’t pursue the sort of affective state of being that might enhance such inattentive-attention, but it is not hard to imagine that the sort of library-tiredness of the archive would be a fitting preparation for “full emptiness.” Ehrenzweig and Barthes can be useful for exploring this archival mood, this orientation and attunement, which is also a disorientation and mis-attunement. Trawling through lists encourages scanning: your sensibilities are prepared; your attention is being trained. After a while, though, the lists blur, concentration starts to loosen its grip. The lists are not innocent recipients here. Shrapnel shards pull at you. You start to notice the patterns but also the spaces in-between that don’t seem to fit sociological categorisations. The strangeness of the patterns hypnotises you and while the effect can generate a sense of sociological-anthropological homogeneity-with-difference, sometimes the singularity of an item leaps out catching you unawares. An archive is an orchestration of order and disorder: however contained and constrained it appears it is always spilling out beyond its organisational structures (amongst the many accounts of archives in terms of their orderings, see Sekula, and Stoler, Race and Along). Like “Probate Inventories,” the mantelpiece archive presents material objects that connect us (however indirectly) to embodied practices and living spaces (Evans). The Mass-Observation archive, especially in its mantelpiece collection, is an accretion of temporalities and spaces. More crucially, it is an accumulation of temporalities materialised in a mass of spaces. A thousand mantelpieces in a thousand rooms scattered across the United Kingdom. Each shelf is syncopated to the rhythms of diverse durations, while being synchronised to the perpetual now of the shelf: a carriage clock, for instance, inherited from a deceased parent, its brass detailing relating to a different age, its mechanism perpetually telling you that the time of this space is now. The archive carries you away to a thousand living rooms filled with the momentary (dead insects) and the eternal (pebbles) and everything in-between. Its centrifugal force propels you out to a vast accrual of things: ashtrays, rubber bands, military paraphernalia, toy dinosaurs; a thousand living museums of the incidental and the memorial. This vertiginous archive threatens to undo you; each shelf a montage of times held materially together in space. It is too much. It pushes me towards the mantelshelves I know, the ones I’ve had a hand in. Each one an archive in itself: my grandfather’s green glass paperweight holding a fragile silver foil flower in its eternal grasp; the potions and lotions that feed my hypochondria; used train tickets. Each item pushes outwards to other times, other spaces, other people, other things. It is hard to focus, hard to cling onto anything. Was it the dead butterfly, or the tranquillizers, or both, that finally nailed me? Or was it the half a cough-candy? I know what she means by leaving the remnants of this sweet. You remember the taste, you think you loved them as a child, they have such a distinctive candy twist and colour, but actually their taste is harsh, challenging, bitter. There is nothing as ephemeral and as “useless” as a sweet; and yet few things are similarly evocative of times past, of times lost. Yes, I think I’d leave half a cough-candy on a shelf, gathering dust.[All these lists of mantelpiece items are taken from the Mass-Observation archive at the University of Sussex. Mass-Observation is a registered charity. For more information about Mass-Observation go to http://www.massobs.org.uk/]ReferencesBarthes, Roland. Camera Lucida. Translated by Richard Howard. London: Fontana, 1984.Calder, Angus, and Dorothy Sheridan, eds. Speak for Yourself: A Mass-Observation Anthology 1937–1949. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1985.Ehrenzweig, Anton. The Psychoanalysis of Artistic Vision and Hearing: An Introduction to a Theory of Unconscious Perception. Third edition. London: Sheldon Press, 1965. [Originally published in 1953.]---. The Hidden Order of Art. London: Paladin, 1970.Evans, Adrian. “Enlivening the Archive: Glimpsing Embodied Consumption Practices in Probate Inventories of Household Possessions.” Historical Geography 36 (2008): 40-72.Highmore, Ben. Everyday Life and Cultural Theory. London: Routledge, 2002.---. Ordinary Lives: Studies in the Everyday. Abingdon: Routledge, 2011.Hubble, Nick. Mass-Observation and Everyday Life: Culture, History, Theory, Houndmills and New York: Palgrave, 2006.Hurdley, Rachel. “Dismantling Mantelpieces: Narrating Identities and Materializing Culture in the Home.” Sociology 40, 4 (2006): 717-733Mass-Observation. Mass-Observation. London: Fredrick Muller, 1937.---. First Year’s Work 1937-38. London: Lindsay Drummond, 1938.---. Britain. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1939.Sekula, Allan. “The Body and the Archive.” October 39 (1986): 3-64.Sheridan, Dorothy, Brian Street, and David Bloome. Writing Ourselves: Mass-Observation and Literary Practices. Cresskill, New Jersey: Hampton Press, 2000.Stoler, Ann Laura. Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things. Durham and London: Duke UP, 1995. Stoler, Ann Laura. Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2009.

I set out for Sussex—consult Mrs. Sagely—atchieve an interview with Narcissa—return to the ship—we get clear of the Channel—I learn our destination—we are chaced by a large ship—the company are dismayed, and encouraged by the captain’s speech—our pursuer happens to be an English man of...

Abstract Buried in local archives, state papers, and the barely catalogued records of the High Court of Admiralty, the correspondence of officials and the depositions of witnesses describe the removal of ‘findalls and things saved’ from English beaches. Vivid first-person testimonies combine the nautical perspective of mariners with the viewpoints and voices of salvors and scavengers. They show how shipwrecks happened, and how shore-dwellers took advantage of them. Wreck recovery emerges here as a social process, embedded in the structures and cultures of the community, animated by relationships of neighbourliness, opportunity, authority, and law. More than a dozen micro histories from the 1550s to the 1670s describe fatal voyages and the landsmen who benefited from them. Wrecking emerges as a community activity, by no means ‘barbarous’, subject to the overview of bailiffs and droit collectors, councils and commissions. Local dramas unfolded over the discovery of ships in distress, the treatment of survivors, the gathering of wreckage, and the concealment and distribution of goods. Highlights include a Northumberland wreck that embroiled the governments of three countries, the looting of a pirate ship from a beach in Elizabethan Sussex, goods ‘embezzled and purloined away’ from wrecks on offshore sandbanks, and the plunder of a stranded ship by tenants of the Earl of Arundel.

Abstract in the bleak, cold spring of1594, plague abated in southern England and players returned under grey skies to London. Few people could remember such an odd, dismal spring. The past two years had punished the acting troupes; none had thrived on the road and plague had brought total chaos to the entertainment world. Pembroke’s men had broken up and had sold their playbooks, which thus came into print like debris from a sinking ship. Keen to advertise themselves, it seems, and stay afloat, other troupes released plays for publication. Hertford’s small troupe faltered, and after losing their own patron, Sussex’s men disbanded.