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Human Resources: Read an Extract

Ordinary items take on new meanings when you cast them in different light. The origins of tea, coffee and sugar are well known, but when you discover that gym treadmills were pioneered on plantations or that denim jeans were once clothing for enslaved people, you can’t help but ask where else the legacy of slavery hides in plain sight.

Through the stories of thirty-nine everyday places and objects, Renay Richardson and Arisa Loomba unpick the threads of the history that we never learned in school, revealing the truth of how Britain’s present is bound to a darker past.

Taking us from art galleries to football stands, banks to hospitals, from grand country houses to the backs of our kitchen cupboards, Human Resources is an eye-opening inquiry that gives a voice to the enslaved people who built modern Britain.


This book was inspired by a podcast, also called Human Resources. We wanted to create an accessible entry point into this history, and we thought the best way would be to show people the links between their own lives and the (not so) distant past. So we took modern (or familiar) people, items and companies and explored their direct – or indirect – links to the slave trade. We soon discovered that, far from being a closed historical chapter, the slave trade continues to shape our lives: from the food we eat to the clothes we wear; from the way our workplaces are structured to the financial products we use; from the statues we put up in our towns and museums to the gyms and holiday resorts of our leisure time, the transatlantic slave trade is completely enmeshed with modern life.

However, it still often seems that the subject of slavery is regarded as a Black issue. You can anticipate the familiar eye roll when Britain’s history of slavery is brought up – and those of us who are descendants of slaves are often made to feel as if it’s something we should just move on from and forget. It’s not a history we tell, or which is taught, in any detail in school; knowledge is either assumed or you must seek it out yourself. The nuances of this history are rarely explored in a way that considers the narratives of the enslaved themselves, as opposed to those who bought, sold and exploited them. It’s also a history that is completely divorced from the lives we currently live. This separation comes from the difficulty in acknowledging that many of us now benefit from systems developed within the slave trade – and that slavery still exists today.

Why is this, then? Two things we noticed during our research might provide part of the answer.

There is a lack of Black British historians in the formal academic world, especially among experts in this field, although there have been some positive developments in recent years. Systemic problems in education and academia have a lot to answer for. Black children, particularly those of Caribbean heritage, often find themselves punished and discouraged – and eventually written off – for even minor acts of misconduct such as talking in class, when their white counterparts are given opportunity after opportunity to turn around bad behaviour. An exclusive analysis by the Guardian found ‘exclusion rates for Black Caribbean students in English schools are up to six times higher than those of their white peers in some local authorities’. A report into the underachievement of Black Caribbean students in English schools found that poor leadership on equality issues, a low expectation of Black students and a lack of a diverse workforce were just some of the factors that contributed to poor outcomes for Black Caribbean students. We can’t ignore the fact that Black Caribbean children in the UK may be disconnected from their history, which is why we believe that this book is important as an entry point to the complexities of the past. Systemic biases that see Black students excluded from lessons where they might learn more about their past, and that doubtlessly contribute to fewer of them entering higher education, have certainly played a big part in preventing more of us from knowing about the legacy of slavery. Following the shocking case of ‘Child Q’, a Black child who was strip-searched by police at a Hackney secondary school in 2020, the Children’s Commissioner released a report that found ‘Black children are now four times more likely to be strip-searched compared to the national population figures’. Statistics like these recall the stereotypes used to justify slavery and racial inequality, and the fact that, in the eyes of the authorities, Black people are somehow more violent and less trustworthy than the white population.

For Arisa, being a British Indian historian of race, empire and migration is political, and stakes a claim on a subject that people like her were told was not for them. But the aim of this book is not the uncovering of contentious information. Rather, it hopes to enrich the story of Britain, bringing the whole country, including Scotland, Wales and the North of England, as well as Ireland, into the narrative of how the modern UK was made. The podcast gave us a chance to work with scholars who are women, people of colour and early career researchers from Britain and the US, but also, importantly, from Africa and the Caribbean. A focus of the project was also to speak to community workers, activists and local historians, to diversify the types of historical research typically considered reliable and valid. It has been an honour to highlight such new and innovative research and the fresh stories uncovered by all the incredible people involved.

The other thing we noticed was a squeamishness around how organisations describe their links with the trade, if they disclose them at all. An imaginary border seems to have been established, between indirect and direct involvement in slavery. A direct link would mean that a company or organisation actually owned enslaved people, whereas an indirect one would involve more general financial entanglement – trading merchandise that was produced on plantations, for example. This is frustrating, because it suggests that profiting from slavery at one remove is somehow more acceptable than, say, owning a plantation, and because it seems to gloss over one of the most important reasons why Europe grew vastly richer and more developed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries – its trade in human beings. In fact, slavery was so fundamental to the way British society then worked that, in many cases, it simply wasn’t possible to separate yourself from it. From factory workers in remote Scottish villages to the politicians, scientists and religious leaders of the time, everyone was involved (and often benefited) in one way or another from slavery. An analogy might be the internet today: you might not work for Apple, Meta or Google, but you wouldn’t be able to get through your day without using their services, and they make life easier, simpler and cheaper than if you were to cut them out entirely. It’s all too easy to ignore the hidden costs of modern life to the environment, to global democracy, or simply to the person who made your smartphone or mined the minerals in your laptop. We have no idea what our luxuries rely on, just as those during slavery pleaded ignorance to the realities of what happened on plantations.

Leaving aside distinctions between direct and indirect involvement, however, we can understand why many people today feel more comfortable speaking about their connections to the trade as long as they are situated firmly in the past. It’s a history that no one wants to be associated with – but it’s one that we have to reckon with. We need to find a way to deal with the discomfort, so that we can truly understand what these traumatic histories represent, and perhaps then begin to dismantle their toxic legacies in the modern day. If we do not, we continue the harm to those whose lives the slave trade destroyed, and we fail to recognise the true consequences of this history for present-day Britain. We are not here to reprimand or condemn companies for their pasts. We’re here to reveal our shared history so that we can properly understand our present and future.

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Native Nations wins the Pulitzer Prize

We are delighted that Native Nations: A Millennium in North America by Kathleen DuVal has won this year’s Pulitzer Prize for History. A magisterial history of a millennium in North America, putting indigenous Americans back at the heart of the story. Described by the judges as ‘a panoramic portrait of Native American nations and communities over a thousand years, a vivid and accessible account of their endurance, ingenuity and achievement in the face of conflict and dispossession’.

Discover the other 2025 Pulitzer winners here.

Read more about Native Nations below:

WINNER OF THE 2025 PULITZER PRIZE FOR HISTORY
WINNER OF THE 2024 CUNDILL HISTORY PRIZE
WINNER OF THE BANCROFT PRIZE 2025
WINNER OF THE MARK LYNTON HISTORY PRIZE 2025 

For centuries, Europeans assumed that indigenous Americans lacked the sophistication to build cities and establish hierarchies. For over a millennium, prior to and after the arrival of white colonialists, however, native nations had been adapting to changing climates, founding and abandoning urban centres and forging complex, democratic societies.

In this magisterial new history of North America, Kathleen DuVal puts indigenous people back at the heart of the story. From the splendour of ancient cities like Cahokia and Moundsville to the careful diplomacy of native leaders in the face of colonial expansion, Native Nations reveals the diversity of indigenous civilisation and shows how a 1,000-year legacy still shapes America today, in struggles over sovereignty, climate and indigenous rights.

 

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Collared: Read an Extract

‘Essential reading’ John Bradshaw, author of In Defence of Dogs

‘Fascinating’ Telegraph


‘Funny, irreverent and enthusiastic, [Pearson] parades his love for all things canine’ The Times

‘Thought-provoking and often surprising’ Country Life

In Collared, historian and dog lover Chris Pearson reveals how the shifting fortunes of dogs hold a mirror to our changing society, from the evolution of breeding standards to the fight for animal rights. Wherever humans have gone, dogs have followed, changing size, appearance and even jobs along the way – from the forests of medieval Europe, where greyhounds chased down game for royalty, to the frontlines of twentieth-century conflicts, where dogs carried messages and hauled gun carriages.

Despite vast social change, however, the power of the human-canine bond has never diminished. By turns charming, thought-provoking and surprising, this is the fascinating tale of how we made the modern dog.

Read an extract below, taken from Chapter 5: Constant Companions.


 

In 1944, the New York Times reported how the American army granted Private Gregory Osterman a week’s furlough so that he could return home to the Bronx to comfort Snowflake, his Spitz dog who pined terribly for him. Osterman’s father had implored his son to come home: ‘He misses you and eats hardly enough to keep him alive . . . come home and save your pal’s life.’ Snowflake’s emotional needs trumped the American war effort, and once Osterman returned home the lonely pooch soon ‘perked up’ and ‘again showed signs of enjoying life. He rarely let his master out of his sight.’ However, disaster beckoned when the reinvigorated Snowflake escaped the family apartment, unmuzzled, while his master was having his morning shave. An ASPCA agent named William Comiskey seized Snowflake, who was in breach of New York’s dog-control laws. Half-dressed, Osterman ran out in pursuit of his beloved pooch. He asked Comiskey to return Snowflake, but the agent refused. Seeing red, Osterman punched Comiskey in the face and was subsequently arrested, while Snowflake was transported to the Bronx ASPCA shelter. Following appeals from Bronx residents, Snowflake was released and, after Osterman apologised profusely in court, the judge dismissed the charges against him. Osterman and Snowflake were happily reunited. This fraught but ultimately heartwarming episode is illustrative of the new model of petkeeping that emerged in the West. Dogs, as deeply emotional creatures, have always formed bonds of incredible strength with their humans, and this form of companionship required maintenance and respect. Owners, meanwhile, now had greater obligations towards their pets and wider society.

By the time of Snowflake’s brush with the law, the contours of modern Western dog ownership had crystallised. Petkeeping, a once marginal corner of human-canine relations, had now become the dominant mode of human-canine companionship. The collar, alongside the leash, connected pet dog to human. It enabled the latter to direct the former through the city, and was designed to make sure that the pet did not run off to frolic or fornicate. It was a physical and visual way for owners to demonstrate that they cared for their dog and for their fellow citizens. In practice, however, dogs still roamed.

But, on the whole, if pet dogs were now part of the family, they too would need to follow the sensibilities of a proper middle-class life. With animal protectionists and overzealous authorities set on reducing the number of street dogs in the city, proper petkeeping sidelined the informal human–canine camaraderie of plucky street dogs and friendly scavengers. Sceptics might have mocked the new army of petkeepers and their pampered pooches, but they could not dislodge their new place at the centre of modern Western dogdom. Pets were here to stay.

Despite the fear of rabies, plenty of working people invited animals into their home in the Victorian age. Dogs were, of course, familiar companions, whether or not they worked as guard dogs, cart-dogs or as fighters, but middle-class commentators were dubious about working-class people owning dogs in any case. They accused poorer people of wasting food and money on supposedly useless animals, of allowing them to breed indiscriminately, and of letting them wander the streets spreading disease and disorder. In 1813, French army officer Alexandre Roger grumbled about the dogs who roamed Paris. He blamed the city’s poorest residents, who he branded the canaille (a term meaning ‘rabble’ or  ‘riff-raff’ that has its roots in the Italian word for a pack of dogs, canaglia) for the problem. He demanded, unsuccessfully, that police approval be a condition of dog ownership. Wealthy Londoners also berated the dogs of the poor during the rabies scare of 1830. Physician Anthony Todd Thompson called for their number to be reduced, while Union Hall Magistrate Lancelot Baugh Allen lamented the ‘great number of loose dogs, who follow persons, particularly idle and disorderly persons’. Although such experts were keen to present their views as neutral and objective, they in fact dripped with condemnation of the dogs owned by the working classes, who they felt were to blame for the large street-dog population.

However, flying in the face of such criticisms, a vibrant working-class dog-keeping culture emerged. The British working classes made dogs household family members, appreciating their affection, loyalty and companionship. They fed them food scraps and horsemeat purchased from cats’ meat sellers, as well as improvising leashes from pieces of string or rope. Men tended to control tight family budgets and spent their leisure money on their dogs, sometimes paying to be photographed with their beloved canine companions. However, most of the day-to-day work usually fell to women. A dog in the home meant that they had one more mouth to feed, an extra body to clean, and another bed to find (unless the dog slept outside in a kennel). But men did sometimes take charge of washing and grooming dogs. These acts of care became times for fathers to bond with their children, who would lend a hand, and offered dads a chance to show their softer sides. A Durham tea dealer, for instance, chewed up food for his elderly terrier during the mealtimes they shared. Working-class women also showed great affection for dogs. Sidney Day, who was born in London, remembered how his mother took in a stray Whippet called Nel, who she invited into her bed to keep her feet warm at night. For all the added work they made, dogs were a beloved part of working-class homes, and caring for them brought families together. Some things haven’t changed.

Occasionally, a working-class dog found fame. Take Greyfriars Bobby. His owner, John Grey, died of TB in 1858, and was buried in Old Greyfriars churchyard in Edinburgh. The story went that Bobby returned each day to his deceased master’s grave. Although dogs were banned from the graveyard, its custodian, James Brown, took pity on the starving and bedraggled terrier and allowed him to stay. Bobby kept a constant vigil at the unmarked grave for fourteen years, even in the Scottish rain: ‘Nothing can induce him to forsake the hallowed spot.’ Local restaurateur John Trail made sure that Bobby’s tummy was full. When questions arose about who owned Bobby (and therefore who had to pay the annual dog tax), Edinburgh’s Lord Provost stepped in to foot the bill. The locals’ devotion overlooked Bobby’s lowly origins, and wealthy philanthropist Baroness Burdett-Coutts erected a statue in his honour, which remains a much-loved feature on the Edinburgh tourist trail. The veracity of the story has been questioned, but Bobby’s tale has reached far beyond Edinburgh as a legend of canine love and devotion.

 

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The Audacity Spectrum: Read an Extract

A transformational guide to stepping up and standing out

Good leadership requires authenticity, assertiveness and adaptability. It takes courage. Yet many of us are stuck playing it safe and striving to fit in.

Dispelling the myth that caring is a weakness, Alina Addison shows how the things we care about most can fuel our most courageous acts. Combining deep research with her own expertise – as a pioneering corporate leader, Emotional Intelligence coach, and mother to a son on the autism spectrum – Addison presents the eight life-changing principles behind audacious leadership.

These practical, proven methods will help you identify the things that set you apart, inspire others and dare to create the life and career you truly want.

Read an extract of The Audacity Spectrum below.

 


 

 Acknowledge

Uncertainty.

Dare

Authentically.

Care

Intensely.

Trust

Your yes.

 

Audacity Unpacked

When people ask me what I do, I often reply: ‘I give people courage.’ Much of my work with clients focuses on helping them reframe the aspects of themselves they feel they have to tone down or smooth out.

Too often, leaders think of themselves in terms of ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’. We are told we are not patient enough, or not nice enough, or not polite enough. We are too emotional, too intense, too demanding, too bold, too direct. When you hear this from a young age, you spend your entire life trying to be less than your most authentic self because you make others uncomfortable. And when this is the case, you are likely to approach self-development as self-improvement, making the assumption that there is an ideal leadership norm – a perfectly balanced, generalist ideal to aspire to.

We are flooded with messages that too much of anything is bad, even when it starts as something good. Too much resilience makes you stubborn and inflexible. Too much persistence and you don’t know when quitting is right. Too much excitement makes you susceptible to anger. Too much perseverance turns into obsession. Too much compassion leads to burnout. Too much bravery can lead to recklessness.

But what if we thought about it in a different way? When you feel ‘too much’ in one way or another, you often experience the world deeply: when something affects you, it moves you to your core. If you’re a high performer then you’ve likely had lots of extraordinary highs, as well as some epic lows. You can be extremely perceptive. You know when someone is in a bad mood or masking their emotions: your bullshit radar is hypersensitive. You won’t put up with hypocrisy or inauthenticity. Yet, being told you’re too much often makes you feel not enough. You need to remember that ‘too much’ is someone else’s perception and has nothing to do with you.

In my work, I find that these ‘extra’ abilities aren’t ‘too much’ at all. When they are channelled in the right way, ‘too much’ traits can be found in many of the best leaders; leaders who are able to use their gifts to better the world.

 

An Unconventional Definition of Audacity

What do you think of when you hear the word audacious? Do you see it as a positive or a negative? Your relationship with this one word can change your life.

The noun ‘audacity’ comes from the Latin word audacitas, meaning boldness and daring. Someone who shows audacity makes bold moves and isn’t afraid of the consequences. Over the years, some negative overtones have crept into our use of the term. The Cambridge Dictionary defines audacity as ‘courage or confidence of a kind that other people find shocking or rude’. Dictionary.com defines it as ‘boldness or daring, with confident or arrogant disregard for personal safety’. Often people use audacity in a way that suggests a mixture of awe and judgement. Think of expressions such as: ‘They had the audacity to. . . [say/do such and such]’, which combine admiration for someone’s courage and disapproval of their breaking of ‘rules’. Inherent in the idea of audacity is a tension between opposite, yet coexisting, impulses.

Increasingly though, audacity is shaking off its negative connotations. It is being embraced as a sign of bold risk-taking, a necessary ingredient to success. The Audacity Spectrum aims to reframe and shift the way we view audacious behaviour and embrace it as a superpower.

Audacity can be associated with both admiration and arrogance. It exists on a broad spectrum, on which leaders are engaged in a constant dance between daring and caring. To better represent this, I have developed my own definition:

Audacity: daring and caring when it matters, and not at all when it doesn’t. Caring enough to dare to take risks where necessary, without caring about other people’s judgements.

Someone who represents this for me is my friend Angela Tennison. I met her through 4PC – the 4 Percent Club, a community of toptier performance coaches and leaders founded by Rich Litvin in 2014 – and she has since become one of my key role models for audacity. In 2007, Tennison was inspired by a man with a vision so big that it sounded crazy. Despite this, Tennison believed in his vision and did what most people thought was an equally crazy thing: she followed her heart, left behind a secure job, and took a year out of her life. She didn’t care about what those around her thought; she cared about supporting this man with his mission. That man was Senator Barack Obama, and his mission was to become president of the United States. The story had a happy ending. He won the presidency and Tennison continued to support him in the White House for almost seven years.

However, like all happy endings, there is a lot of hard work in the middle that gets forgotten; the invisible graft that’s inherent in any success. Central to this graft is often an unshakeable belief: the desire to stand up for something bigger than yourself and to make a positive difference – the audacious moment when you say: ‘I care about this, and I don’t care what other people think.’

When Tennison declared to me that she wanted to care less, I knew she meant the opposite of becoming ‘careless’. She wanted to make an impact in the world by standing up for what she cared about and caring less that other people believed it was impossible.

And so, we come back to my definition of audacity. Tennison dared and cared when it mattered, and not at all when it didn’t. She cared so strongly about something that she took the risk of quitting her job and moving across the country, without a care for other people’s judgements. Her willingness to take the leap and then keep going in the face of uncertainty and difficulty characterises the sort of life-changing audacity that many of us aspire to, and which we can all find within ourselves to inform our approach to our everyday life and work, if we choose to.

Of course, there is also an ego-driven version of audacity. I am not advocating the type of audacity that shows up as unrestrained, reckless or defiant (think Elon Musk and his controversial behaviour at Twitter, now X). Neither am I advocating for the version that shows up as not caring for yourself or others or for the consequences of your actions. I’m advocating for an emotionally intelligent version of audacity.

The type of audacity that I subscribe to is:

  • Kind confidence that can be creatively bold and inspiring.
  • The audacity to say yes to the right opportunities.
  • The audacity to ask for what you want and graciously accept a no when you don’t get it.
  • The audacity to care deeply enough to ask again.

Here are some of my clients’ ideas of audacity:

  • ‘To speak your truth and have no fear in doing so.’
  • ‘To see the positive side of life every single day. It’s easier to see faults and shortcomings in everyday life. It’s audacious to acknowledge those and yet choose to see the positive side of everything.’
  • ‘Daring to be defiant. Because people want to put you in a box. The world puts labels on you. There are certain things that are expected of you. And so being audacious is defying that gravity.’
  • ‘Being scared and doing it anyway.’ These definitions show a range of ways you can make audacity your own: not just in big life shifts, but in daily ways of showing up for your work, family and life.

I hope this book gives you the courage to show up fully in your work and life. To live audaciously.

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Profile Spring Reading

With the long weekend approaching, it’s time to turn our attention to Spring and with that a whole host of new reading opportunities. We’ve drawn up a list of books that make perfect company for the Easter weekend and the season beyond.

From eighteenth-century graffiti to piracy on the high seas, fraudulent art dealers to murderous puzzles, we’ve got a book for every reader.

 

The High Seas by Olive Heffernan

With two thirds of the ocean lying beyond national boarders, the race is on to control, protect and profit from the high seas. Heffernan has crafted a forceful and deeply researched manifesto, calling for the protection and preservation of our last remaining wilderness.

 

Eat, Poop, Die by Joe Roman

Scientific American Top Ten Book of 2023

If forests are the lungs of the planet, then animals migrating across oceans, streams, and mountains — eating, pooping, and dying along the way — are its heart and arteries. Dr Joe Roman, a leading expert on endangered species, reveals how these fundamental animal functions can help us better understand our world and even help to save us from climate catastrophe.

 

The Observant Walker by John Wright

Now out in paperback, this charming, thoughtful book takes the reader on eight walks across the British landscape. From wild and weird fungi in woodlands, to colourful lichens on mountainsides, Wright illuminates the science, stories and natural history that can be found just off any beaten path.

 

 

All That She Carried by Tiya Miles

Shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Non-Fiction, Longlisted for the Baillie Gifford Prize, National Book Award Winner

Renowned historian Tiya Miles traces the life of a sack, embroidered with a family history in sparse and haunting language, handed down through three generations of Black women. In this unique and heartfelt book, Miles crafts a deeply layered and insightful testament to people who are left out of History and out of the archives.

 

Writing on the Wall by Madeline Pelling

Hear the voices of the eighteenth century, told through its graffiti. Here are lives, loves, triumphs and failures, scratched into the walls of prisons and latrines, chalked up on doors and etched into windows. The names of their creators may be lost to history, but together they tell the real story of Britain’s most rebellious and transformative century.

 

The Language Puzzle by Steven Mithen

The relationship between language, thought and culture is of concern to anyone with an interest in what it means to be human. This groundbreaking new account of prehistory delves into our construction of language, from one of the most esteemed archaeologists working today.

 

All That Glitters by Orlando Whitfield

Deception is a fine art. When Orlando Whitfield first meets Inigo Philbrick, they are students dreaming of dealing art for a living. Their friendship lasts for fifteen years until one day, Inigo – by then the most successful dealer of his generation – disappears, accused of a fraud so gigantic and audacious it rocks the art world to its core.

 

Impossible City by Simon Kuper

From the bestselling author of Chums comes a captivating memoir of today’s Paris without the clichés. This century, Paris has globalised, gentrified, and been shocked into realising its role as the crucible of civilisational conflict. Sometimes it’s a multicultural paradise, and sometimes it isn’t…

 

Interwar by Gavin Stamp

An authoritative survey of British buildings between the wars by one of Britain’s best-known architecture critics. As the modernists came of age and the traditionalists began to decline, there arose a rich variety of styles and tastes in British architecture, one that reflected the restless zeitgeist of the years before the Second World War.

 

Soothe by Nahid de Belgeonne

Somatic educator Nahid de Belgeonne is here to completely change the way you breathe, move and care for your overworked nervous system. Discover body tranquillity by tuning into your senses and learning to soothe.

 

How to ADHD by Jessica McCabe

The New York Times bestseller

Forget ‘try harder’. When your brain works differently, you need to try different. Packed with practical advice, tools and chapter shortcuts designed with the neurodivergent reader in mind, this is the go to user’s manual to thriving with ADHD from the creator of the wildly popular YouTube channel How to ADHD.

 

Bald by Stuart Heritage

A warm and funny guide to life in the club that nobody wants to join. Can a man go bald with dignity? Maybe. But can a man go bald with more dignity than Stuart Heritage? Oh good god yes, and this book is his attempt to make that happen for you. What really happens, why it matters and how to feel much less crap about it.

 

Murdle by G. T. Karber

Murdle fever has been sweeping the nation, and it’s a good thing because there are no shortages of crimes to be solved and Deductive Logico needs your help! Are you the next Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot? You’ll soon find out, with the latest in the series, Murdle: Even More Killer Puzzles, the thrilling detective casebook for the sleuthing puzzler in us all.

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Little Englanders: Who were the real Peaky Blinders?

An authoritative and entertaining history of the Edwardian age, told through its politics and popular culture.

‘The Edwardians have long been the lost decade of British history, yet they are that history at its climax. Alwyn Turner sets the record straight, bringing its characters, strains and stresses brilliantly to life’ Simon Jenkins

‘Britain’s most electrifying contemporary social historian conjures the forgotten country of more than a century ago … fiercely recommended’ Alan Moore

‘Alwyn Turner is a wonderful raconteur of historical eras … this is history written from below, and above, and all milieus in between’ Simon Kuper

‘Every page grips and delights … a deeply researched yet gorgeously entertaining double vision of a United Kingdom in full Imperial glory – yet unnervingly familiar’ James Hawes

In Little Englanders, Alwyn Turner reconsiders the Edwardian era as a time of profound social change, with the rise of women’s suffrage and the labour movement, unrest in Ireland and the Boer republics, scandals in parliament and culture wars at home. He tells the story of the Edwardians through music halls and male beauty contests, the real Peaky Blinders and the 1908 Summer Olympics. In this colourful, detailed and hugely entertaining social historyTurner shows that, though the golden Victorian age was in the past, the birth of modern Britain was only just beginning.

Purchase your copy:
Waterstones
Amazon
Bookshop.org


 

The Real Peaky Blinders: extract taken from the chapter Children and Youths

 

At the beginning of the 1880s a new phenomenon had been observed on Sunday evenings in east London: youths promenading in the streets, swaggering around in their best clothes. ‘Well-dressed roughs were pushing people about in the Bow Road and throwing stones and gravel at each other, and anyone else who happened to be passing,’ it was reported. ‘They also caught hold of one or two young girls who were passing quietly along, hugged them round the waist, and behaved towards them in a scandalous manner.’

This weekly ritual became known locally as the monkey parade, and the name – as well as the practice – caught on across the city and beyond.

There was no real harm in the masher or the monkey parader. A couple of steps further down the social ladder, though, the feral youths said to infest large parts of the towns and cities caused real concern. They went by different names in different places: Hooligans in London, Scuttlers in Manchester, High Rippers in Liverpool, Peaky Blinders in Birmingham. Whatever they were called, they were all of a piece: wild, uncontrollable street gangs, whose members attacked the police, each other and sometimes members of the public. They didn’t care much about the names they were given; territorial identity was the important thing. For a working-class youth in Chelsea it mattered only whether you belonged to the Oakum Bay Faction or their fierce rivals the Sandsend Faction. Glasgow gangs included the Hi Hi’s, the Tim Molloys, the San Toys, the Village Boys and the Wellingtonia, and the differences between them were more important than the similarities.

There were established fashions that amounted to a uniform – cap worn forwards over the eyes, no collar, a muffler or neckerchief instead of a tie, bell-bottom trousers, hobnailed boots – but there were also identifying marks to signal allegiance: the Silver Hatchet Gang in London, for example, wore a badge on their lapel, showing an axe with the motto ‘Tried, Tested and True.’  In some quarters there was a fashion for the Newgate fringe: a shaved face with a beard running below the jawline, in imitation of where the hangman’s noose would be placed. ‘The most characteristic part of their uniform,’ read one report, ‘is the substantial leather belt heavily mounted with metal. It is not ornamental, but then it is not intended for ornament.’  Other weapons in the arsenal included knuckledusters, sticks, knives and occasionally guns.

This wasn’t an exclusively male preserve. ‘There are girls as well as boys,’ said Liberal MP and educationalist Thomas Macnamara. ‘Dirty, ragged, unwashed, unkempt, foul-mouthed girls, with tempers like tigers and habits like wild beasts, are roaming about the streets, preying on society every day.’ It was reported in 1906 that Glasgow was ‘experiencing a modified reign of terror’, with gangs that included ‘young girls of ages averaging from fourteen to seventeen, with very long draggled skirt and hair in tightly twisted pigtail’.

The rhetoric was sometimes exaggerated, but the violence was real. Even restricting the examples to assaults on the police by Birmingham’s Peaky Blinders, the charge sheet was serious. In 1900 eighteen-year-old Henry Attwood and sixteen-year-old Percy Langridge were convicted of ‘stabbing two policemen who arrested a couple of their friends for disorderly conduct’. The following year PC Charles Gunter died after being struck on the head with a brick, and three men were given fifteen years’ penal servitude for manslaughter. And the year after that, two brothers, aged twenty-eight and nineteen, were convicted of the attempted murder of PC Blinko and sentenced to penal servitude for life; the policeman had served a summons on the older brother, and in retaliation they ‘smashed in his skull with a chopper. This was in open daylight and in a crowded street.’

Not even the football pitch provided protection. During one match in Birmingham a gang of Peaky Blinders attacked and robbed a goalkeeper, while the rest of his team was in the opponents’ half. Passing sentences of hard labour, ‘Mr Justice Lawrence said he thought the football field was safe for all except the referee, but in Birmingham it was not so for either a player or goalkeeper, if his comrades were away from him.’

It seemed to some that violence had become endemic among the young, whatever their class. Even the pastoral idyll of Olde England was not exempt. The Berkshire village of Cookham was located on a delightful part of the Thames – ‘perhaps the sweetest stretch of all the river’, wrote Jerome K. Jerome in Three Men in a Boat (1889) – but outside the pubs in the village there were signs telling the customers ‘All fighting to be over by 10 o’clock.’

 

Continue reading in Little Englanders: Britain in the Edwardian Era by Alwyn Turner