I have been reading more of the Britain in Pictures series. My reaction to these volumes has been sometimes surprised, sometimes irritated, sometimes nostalgic; but always pleased to be led down some rabbit hole to learn something new. However the winnowing process is slow and ruthless: If what here follows is the grain, just picture how much chaff I’ve blown away.
#115 The Port of London by John Selwyn Herbert
These Britain in Pictures volumes have been categorized by the publishers into subject groups, for instance:
* Natural History,
* Literature and Belles-Lettres,
* History and Achievement,
* Social Life and Character,
* Education and Religion,
* Art and Craftsmanship
– sufficiently wide headings to scoop up diverse topics within those groupings. And, as I work through these books I realise that it is never possible for the author simply to describe and comment on a subject as it exists in the 1940s, but that the topical snapshot must invariably be intertwined with the historical perspective. The way things were culminates in the way things are today.
So it is with The Port of London: the way the port has evolved, both physically and commercially over hundreds of years; and the way it is now. A logical and reasonable approach……but somehow a little unsettling, because the story of shipping and the London port as it had evolved to the time of authorship in the mid-1940s, was rendered unrecognisable by the changes of the years that followed. This book, more so than most, is stuck in its own time.
In responding to the author’s word pictures I was reminded of similar journeys through the pages of Port of Melbourne Quarterly, a magazine published by the Port of Melbourne Authority from 1948 to 1984. At this distance I cannot now recall how I came upon this publication, but I do recall visiting the Port Authority building in Market Street to make enquiry and to arrange a subscription – and, if I was acting true to type, to buy back-copies if available. This was in the early 1960s, and I think I subscribed for about a decade, my interest perhaps lapsing with the rise of containerisation and the changing forever of shipping and of the port.
This evolution occurred in London too, and I expect that an updating of Selwyn Herbert’s book, seventy years on, would prove fascinating. (Herbert’s dates: 1924 to 2013.) Much of what we didn’t have in 1947 but which we have in shipping today (and in the ports that go with that shipping), is merely an upscaling of vessels and facilities – tankers have become super-tankers, bulk carriers have become super-sized, passenger liners have become bloated cruise ships. But the really significant change has been revolutionary rather than evolutionary, namely the introduction of container ships, something conceptually new on the shipping horizon since 1947. Taken together, the changes to the Port of London since Herbert’s time have been profound. Back in the late 1940s (leaving aside the lingering infrastructure desolation of the German bombings) the port of London rested happily on its traditions of hundreds of years.
London is a river port, and necessarily inland rather than coastal. It is on the River Thames. In geographical designation the port extends from Teddington lock at its upstream end, through the built-up areas of London and the London docklands, down the reaches, and through the Tilbury complex. Beyond Tilbury the River travels a further 50 kilometres, becoming wide and estuarine before it enters the North Sea beyond Southend.
Although part of “the port”, the Tilbury docks (and Gravesend directly across the river from Tilbury) are some 40 kilometres from London Bridge and from the principal port facilities that extend downstream from that landmark. Tilbury, in the 1940s, was the passenger terminal through which disembarked the majority of long-haul passengers to the United Kingdom. Freight was accommodated through a cluster of separate docks further upstream. Some of these have since ceased to function, and some have been redeveloped: the London Docklands Development Corporation (1991 to 1998) was responsible for the repurposing of five discrete former port areas – the West India Docks, the East India Docks, the Millhall Docks, the Surrey Docks, and the Royal Docks.
So the Port of London today is very different from that of 1947. The one-time nature of freight-handling has been usurped by the growth of container facilities at Tilbury and elsewhere in the realm.
And there has been massive change following upon the completion of the Thames Barrier (‘the Barrage”). The Thames River is tidal, tidal way upstream beyond the metropolitan area of London, and throughout its maritime history the city has had to contend with the vagaries of the twice-daily rise and fall. It also means that the River’s littoral is subject to tidal flooding during some high tides, and during storm surges from the North Sea. Selwyn Herbert points out that the scheme to erect a barrage, and thus to render the river safe from tidal damage, was mooted as early as 1858, and revived a number of times subsequently. A proposal to erect a barrage at Gravesend was rejected by a Royal Commission in 1902; and as of 1947, while schemes had been proposed in 1935 and 1938, there had been no advancement. Herbert, however, was hopeful at the time that earlier concerns about sewage pollution, and silting of the River, had been allayed. Notwithstanding, the Thames Barrier was not realised until 1984.
Yet while the Barrage has rendered the Thames safe from storms, the issues of tidal navigation remain. But this inconvenience has been significantly allayed by the departure of much of the upstream shipping, departure to the container facilities installed downstream of the Barrage.
Herbert could not have foreseen the changes to be wrought by late twentieth century technology, and from today’s perspective his story of the Thames from early times to mid-twentieth-century has a somewhat unreal flavour.
#123 The Conservative Party by Nigel Birch
If you were the editor choosing the would-be author of a Britain in Pictures volume you would surely choose somebody well-versed in the appointed topic. You would choose a writer of some acclaim, and likely that writer would have strong views on the subject matter. Should the topic be political, or a topic where there could be some contention, there would inevitably arise a clash between the strong views of the author and the interests of impartiality.
Nigel Birch (1906 to 1981) was a Conservative Party member of the House of Commons from 1945 to 1958. He held a number of ministerial appointments, was a Privy Councillor and Companion of Honour, and a life peer (Baron Rhyl) from 1970. Certainly well credentialed to write about the British Conservative Party…….but how likely to be impartial?
And does it matter?
In this case it does matter. The Conservative Party is the oldest established political party in the United Kingdom, and while its history is not unbroken its origins are traced by Birch back to the time of Henry VIII. The wedding of Henry to Anne Boleyn signalled the disunion of England from Catholic Europe, and the foundation of the Church of England. The new church was conservative, and happy to align church and nation, to acknowledge the religious basis of the state. For much of their history the Conservatives (a.k.a. the Tories) have been the Church party.
The 500-year history of the Conservative Party is extensive, too extensive to attempt a summary; but Birch’s sentiments are easy to spot. He speaks from a position of entitlement, certainly, but the dominant flavour seems to be fear of communism and socialism, fear of working folk, indeed fear of change - that is, change not sanctioned by the conservative establishment. The depth of his convictions is revealed in his endorsement of this sentence: “When this country is in opposition to a tyranny of the right, sympathisers with the tyrant will be few – they were virtually non-existent in the First and Second World Wars – but when the country is in opposition to a tyranny of the left there is sure to be a fifth column or, possibly more accurately, there are sure to be 'fellow travellers'." At face, these appear to be reasonable assertions, albeit unprovable. But a closer look is warranted. Taking Birch’s propositions in reverse order: when Britain was faced with a tyranny of the Left (surely Soviet Russia in Birch’s time), there were undoubtedly fifth columnists, although the existence of the Cambridge five did not emerge until some years later. Sure their impact was far-reaching, but this bunch of traitors hardly constituted a merry band of “fellow travellers”. They were a rather exclusive club. Contrariwise, when Britain was faced with the tyranny of the right from Germany and Italy, although sympathies with “the tyrant” were few, Britain still had Hitler sympathisers, and still had Mosley and his British Union of Fascists – and given Mosley’s public persona, these sympathisers for “the Right” were certainly more than non-existent. Interesting to note that Mosley was never prosecuted. He was, however, interned in 1942 and 1943 – together with his wife in a separate residence within the grounds of Holloway Prison! The sympathisers for “the Left”, likewise, were never prosecuted for their espionage. Donald Maclean, Guy Burgess and Kim Philby each defected to the Soviet Union (the first two in 1951, Philby in 1963). John Cairncross made a full confession in 1964, but it was not until1981 that Prime Minister Thatcher advised Parliament that Cairncross had been a Soviet secret agent. The case of the fifth spy is the most egregious. Anthony Blunt, art historian (Sir Anthony, KCVO – the personal knighthood of the Sovereign, bestowed in 1956), confessed in 1964 and dobbed in the others. In return, he was given immunity from prosecution. Even though the Queen was informed forthwith in 1964 of Blunt’s treachery, it was not until 1979 that he was outed by Prime Minister Thatcher, and stripped of his knighthood.
At the conclusion of his historical survey of Conservatism, Birch comments: “We have seen in the Liberals [the Liberals in the U.K., that is] an inability to deal with the dangers that face us, and in the Socialists an absence of the will and faith that are needed. The Conservatives remain. They have the organisation, the strength, the faith and the courage which the hour demands. They are united and clear where they stand with regard to Russian Communism, they know that in the present age it is their task to defend the free society……..They know that if Britain is to regain her position in world trade, if she is to compete with America, she will need to have American standards of efficiency and that these are not likely to be attained by wholesale collectivism but by a revived, reinvigorated and up-to-date capitalism………..As a country we have been abundantly blessed in the past; the heart and spirit of the people are still sound and we have not lost our skill or brains. Our sun has not yet set.” In my view, these ramblings do discredit to Birch and to the Conservative Party.
This tub-thumping was written in 1949. Atlee’s socialists (Labor Party) had been in power since 1945; Churchill’s Conservatives were in eclipse, and didn’t return to power until October 1951. So Birch’s words in 1949 were a defiant lament which didn’t really bear fruit for another couple of years. Such a lot has happened to the Conservatives and the Conservative Party in the two generations since, a fair bit of it ignoble, I suggest, culminating in Boris Johnson and the current disastrous national situation. The journalist and commentator, George Monbiot, says it all in this grim column from the Guardian of 5thJune, 2020. Not just tragic stuff, but viscerally alarming. Pray god that the Australian democracy never succumbs to such malevolent political forces.
Posted: 05 Jun 2020 07:55 AM PDT
The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom is not so much a democratic leader as a monarch with a five-year term.
By George Monbiot, published in the Guardian 3rd June 2020
Do we live in a democracy? You may well ask. An unelected adviser seems to exercise more power than the Prime Minister, and appears unanswerable to people or Parliament. The Prime Minister makes reckless public health decisions that could put thousands of lives at risk, apparently to dig himself out of a political hole. Parliament is truncated, as the government arbitrarily decides that MPs can no longer join remotely. As the government blunders from one disaster to the next, there seem to be no effective ways of holding it to account.
Established power in this country is surrounded by a series of defensive rings. As soon as you begin to name them, you see that the UK is a democracy only in the weakest and shallowest sense.
Let’s begin with political funding. Our system permits billionaires and corporations to outspend and outmuscle the electorate. The great majority of money for the Conservative party comes from a small number of very rich people. Just five hedge fund managers have given it £18 million over the past 10 years. The secretive Leader’s Group grants big donors special access to the Prime Minister and his frontbenchers in return for their money. Courting and cultivating rich people to win elections corrupts our politics, replacing democracy with plutocracy.
This grossly unfair system is supplemented by outright cheating, such as breaching spending limits and secretly funding mendacious online ads. The Electoral Commission, which is supposed to regulate the system, has deliberately been kept powerless. The maximum fine for winning an election (or a referendum) by fraud is £20,000 per offence. Democracy is cheap in this country.
Despite such assistance, the Conservatives still failed to win a majority of votes at the last election. But, thanks to our preposterous, outdated first-past-the-post electoral system, the 43.6% of the vote they won granted them a crushing majority. With proportional representation, we would have a hung parliament. Five years of unassailable power for Johnson’s Conservatives, even as popular support collapses, would have been impossible.
The structure and symbolism of Parliament, with its preposterous rituals and incomprehensible procedures, could scarcely be better designed to alienate people, or to favour former public schoolboys, educated in a similar environment. Even its official emblem tells us we are shut out. It’s a portcullis: the means by which people are excluded from the fortress of power. The portcullis is topped by a crown, reminding us that power is still vested symbolically in an unelected head of state. Many of her actual powers have been assumed, in the absence of a codified constitution, by the Prime Minister.
These powers are routinely abused, by all governments. Prime ministers bypass Parliament, governing through special advisers like Dominic Cummings. When they make catastrophic mistakes, they have the power to decide whether or not there should be a public inquiry, and, if there should, what its terms and who its chair should be. It’s as if a defendant in a criminal trial were allowed to decide whether the trial goes ahead and, if so, what the charges should be, and to appoint the judge and jury.
Even when an investigation does take place, the Prime Minister can suppress its conclusions, as Boris Johnson has done with the Russia report by Parliament’s intelligence and security committee, that remains unpublished. Does it contain details of unlawful donations to the Conservative party? Or about Conservative Friends of Russia? This group is closely associated with a man who has subsequently come under suspicion of being a Russian spy. He has been photographed with Boris Johnson, whom he described as a “good friend”. What was going on? Without the report, we can only guess.
The same inordinate powers enabled Johnson to suspend Parliament last autumn, until his decision was struck down by the Supreme Court, and to terminate remote access for MPs this week, preventing many of them from representing us. He is, in effect, a monarch with a five-year term and a council of advisers we call Parliament.
The House of Lords is a further defensive ring within this ring. Some of its seats are reserved for hereditary aristocrats. Some are reserved for bishops, making this the world’s only country, other than Iran, in which religious leaders have an automatic right to sit. The rest are grace and favour appointments, keeping power within existing circles. Many of them are granted to major political donors, reinforcing the power of money. In any other country, they would call it corruption.
Despite a vast array of new democratic techniques, pioneered in other countries, there has been a total failure to balance our supposedly representative system with participatory democracy. This failure grants the winning party a scarcely-challenged power, on the grounds of presumed consent, to do as it pleases, for five years at a time. Even when public trust and consent collapse, as they have now done, there are no effective channels through which we can affect the decisions government makes.
These formal rings of power are supported by further defences beyond government, such as the print media, most of which is owned by billionaires or multi-millionaires living offshore, and the network of opaquely-funded thinktanks, that formulate and test the policies later adopted by government. Their personnel circulate in and out of the Prime Minister’s office.
Our political system has the outward appearance of democracy, but it is largely controlled by undemocratic forces. We find ourselves on the wrong side of the portcullis, watching helplessly as crucial decisions are taken about us, without us. If there’s one thing the coronavirus fiascos show, it’s the need for radical change.
#46 Fairs, Circuses and Music Halls by M. Willson Disher
The blurb, quite without tongue in cheek, describes author M. Willson Disher (1893 to 1969) as “perhaps the greatest living authority on the performers of the past and present in this strange and highly individual world……of clowns, showmen and music hall artists.” Perhaps so, but I have found Disher’s recital of performers and freaks of the past to be less than engaging. Furthermore, his catalogue of London and provincial theatres and other venues turned melancholy when it dawned that all are now gone, indeed were gone by 1942 at the time of writing,
In approaching Disher’s book I had intended to forge a link with Clive James’ book on vaudeville characters, but after a frustrating search I realised the author wasn’t Clive James but J.B. Priestly – his book, Particular Pleasures, which has a section covering “Clowning”. My mistake; memory lapse. And it’s a very tenuous connection with Disher’s book anyway. I also had the intention to begin this commentary with a reference to the book’s opening section, “A Note on Fairs”, by segueing from a preliminary reference to Thomas Hardy’s novel where the principal characters enter on the road to a country fair, circa 1880s. But I can find no such book! Memory lapse again, although not so much a failure of memory, as an overactive memory remembering something that never was!
“A Note on Fairs” is the best part of the book; although, curiously, it is not written by Disher. It’s author is C. Henry Warren, described (elsewhere) as author and broadcaster on the English countryside. Here are some somewhat rose-coloured extracts:
· At the fair there were ponies from the New Forest and Wales: horses the farmers had fattened up for sale: sheep and cattle. There were bullocks penned on the grass verges, and so many horses and ponies that they stretched from the fountain right up to the church. There were stalls down either side of the street, a roundabout in front of each of the three pubs, and all manner of things to buy.
· Come dinnertime we went to the Vine and had dinner out in the yard, sitting at trestle tables. Beef and pudding and peas, and cherry tart with cream: and all for a bob.
· So the farmers replenished their stock-yards, tradesmen appeared on their rounds with new ponies, and a gaudy china vase looked gay on many a cottage mantel-piece.
· Those were the days before men played ducks and drakes with time, and so even in midsummer dusk fell at a reasonable hour. Then the fair for us really came into its own. Hoop-la, cokernut shies, Aunt Sallies, a coloured boxer ready to take on all comers, a shooting range, a peep show – such were the titillations offered for our unspoiled senses. And somewhere a bell sounded as a village lad, testing his muscles with the wooden mallet, won the admiration of glancing eyes.
Warren concludes: “Country and small town fairs barely managed to survive the last war: it is unlikely that they will even barely survive the present one. They began as a convenient method of buying and selling in days when traders were almost the only travellers. Later on, and in various parts of the country, they were also a sort of rural Labour Exchange whereby farm hands and country servant girls could hire themselves out for the coming year. And when these uses had declined, and in most cases vanished altogether, the fairs lingered on as welcome occasions for amusement………..and if fairs fail to survive this time [wartime] it will be because even their remaining appeal as amusement has lost its hold.”
I finish with a nostalgic note of my own. Widdicombe Fair is
one of the ditties that once amused my children during long road trips – at least the kids used to say so, perhaps because of their inability to escape from their mobile incarceration. The verse concerns a group of travellers on their way to the fair at Widdicombe. They never got there: read the poem to find out why. Despite Warren’s extinction fears, the Fair at Widdicombe continues to this day, “bigger than ever”.
“Tom Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your gray mare,”
All along, down along, out along lee,
“For I want for to go to Widdicombe fair,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.”
“And when shall I see again my gray mare?”
All along, down along, out along lee,
“By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.”
Then Friday came and Saturday noon,
All along, down along, out along lee.
But Tom Pearse’s old mare had not trotted home,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
So Tom Pearse he got up to the top o’ the hill,
All along, down along, out along lee.
And he seed his old mare down a-making her will,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Tom Pearse’s old mare her took sick and her died,
All along, down along, out along lee;
And Tom, he sat down on a stone, and he cried
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
But this isn’t the end o’ this shocking affair,
All along, down along, out along lee.
Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career
Of Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night,
All along, down along, out along lee,
Tom Pearse’s old mare doth appear, ghastly white,
Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
And all the long night be heard skirling and groans,
All along, down along, out along lee,
From Tom Pearse’s old mare in her rattling bones,
And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Davy, Dan’l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.
And a bit of need-to-know trivia: The last time a fair was held on the frozen-over River Thames was in 1814.
#74 The British Red Cross by Dermot Morrah
A lone traveller was robbed, beaten, and left on the roadside. A passing priest observed the fallen traveller, and seeing in the tableau the spiritual degeneracy of the age, resolved to preach his next sermons with such ardour that the people would turn away from all their besetting sins. He passed on by. Then a temple official came along. Indignantly noting the supine traveller, he silently railed against the authorities for tolerating such scandalous insecurity on public highways; and, being a man of some influence, resolved to speak up about the inefficiency of the police. So engrossed was he with his machinations that he ignored the plight of the victim, and moved on. The next to appear was a member of a minority group and, additionally, a man of narrow outlook and limited intelligence. He understood neither the spiritual nor the religious implications of what he saw – he merely saw someone in trouble, someone who needed help. He bound up the traveller’s wounds, conveyed him to a nearby inn, arranged for him to be fed and sheltered while convalescing, and left money to cover the cost.
This story, more than two thousand years old, concludes with the direction: “Go and do thou likewise.” This could well be the foundation story of the Red Cross.
Jump forward a thousand years to the Age of Chivalry – when knights were brave and maidens were fair! The Knights’ code of conduct, described contemporaneously and much embellished later, has numerous dot points. Those referencing the Church, valour, patriotism, truthfulness, and remorseless war against the infidel, do not concern us here. Knights were also commanded by their Code to defend weakness, to give largesse to everyone, and to be the champion of the right and the good everywhere and always. Consistent with these sentiments emerged the chivalric orders, in particular the Knights of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, a group that morphed from the Benedictine charitable foundation that already existed in Jerusalem in 1099 when that city was captured by the crusaders. From simply providing succour to pilgrims to the Holy Land, their expanded role included the protection of those pilgrims on their travels. The Order of St. John survives today, albeit without the military function.
The English Order of St. John (and its subsidiary, the St. John Ambulance Brigade) dates from 1888. No longer part of the original Order, and its members not taking religious vows, it is actuated by the alleviation of human suffering. “Their members played a primary part in the foundation of the British Red Cross Society; and the two bodies have combined their forces and laboured together in intimate collaboration through two world wars.” This quotation is from author, Dermot Morrah.
Dermot Morrah (1896 to 1974) was a journalist and a herald. Let me at once allow the internet to paper over my ignorance. “A herald, or herald at arms, is an officer at arms, ranking between pursuivant and king of arms.” Or more helpfully, “an official employed to oversee state ceremonial precedence, and the use of armorial bearings, and (historically) to make proclamations, carry official messages and oversee tournaments”. Specifically, Morrah held the office of Arundel Herald Extraordinary and, accordingly, participated in Elizabeth the Second’s coronation procession. All of this suggests nothing other than that Morrah was “well connected”. In real life he was a journalist, spending more than 30 years as an editorial writer with The Times………and keeping his palace juices flowing with a biography of Prince Charles. My copy of The British Red Cross is minus its dust jacket – which, doubtless, would have explained Morrah’s connection to the Red Cross.
Morrah’s journalistic skill is exemplified in his graphic description of the foundation and early days of the Red Cross. The Crimean War – Britain and France versus Russia, 1853 to 1856 – exposed the medical support for the British troops as deplorable. The French provision for their casualties was also inadequate, but the French at least enjoyed the nursing services provided by devoted nuns – a tradition that had persisted since the middle ages. In response to the almost complete breakdown of British medical services The Times correspondent, William Howard Russell, entreated: “Why have we no Sisters of Charity?” Enter Florence Nightingale and her 38-strong band of nurses, half of them nuns. She gained official support at the highest level, and the enthusiastic support of the indignant British people back home. She bent “statesmen and generals to her imperious will”, and “brought order out of chaos”.
A mere three years later saw the Second Italian War of Independence (in the months of April/June 1859, France and Sardinia versus Austria) and the Battle of Solferino from 21st to 24th June of that year. Stumbling into the battlefield strewn with thousands of dead and wounded abandoned by the retreating Austrians and ignored by the pursuing victors, came Swiss banker, Jean Henry Dunant. He was there to interview the French Emperor and commander, Napoleon III, and to promote an Algerian investment opportunity, but was poleaxed by what he saw. Morrah’s description of the battle’s aftermath is riveting, in particular Dunant’s defence of wounded Austrians being ill-treated. Dunant’s enraged cry siamo fratelli – we are all brothers – was destined to become the enduring watchword of the Red Cross. “Then the self-commissioned envoy of charity set to work to reduce the chaos to some sort of order.” His campaign, emanating from his native Geneva, resulted in the formation of the charitable committee of private citizens – citizens of Switzerland - now known as the International Committee of the Red Cross. This Committee is not the creature of any Government, hence in time of conflict its authority cannot be impugned by accusation of loyalty to any individual combatant country. So out of the drive and vigour of the remarkable Dunant came the establishment of the Red Cross in 1863, and the 1864 Geneva Convention establishing international humanitarian law.
Writing in wartime1944 Morrah asserts that: “The central achievement of the Red Cross………was to give a new privileged status to the medical services attached to the armies, and to the auxiliaries that might form around them under the stress of war. Such services had existed almost as long as war itself. But their only acknowledged purpose had been to increase the efficiency of the armies and navies. What the Red Cross did was to give the medical services a place and a mission apart from the particular forces to which they belonged.”
In 1872 Henry Dunant saluted Florence Nightingale as the true pioneer of the Red Cross; and here Morrah interpolates: “The Red Cross is in fact something much larger than a code of rules regulating the position of the wounded and those who care for them; it stands for the conscience of non-military and non-political humanity.” Struggling a little to encompass the breadth of the remit of the Red Cross, Morrah instances “the service of the sick, the wounded, and the prisoners of the fighting forces;” and notes that the terrible extension of war had necessitated a great expansion of the activities of the Red Cross. He continues: “To-day every state with any pretension to belong to the society of civilized mankind subscribes to the body of international law by which the immunity of the Red Cross is guaranteed.”
Fundamentally, as one of the pioneers of the movement asserted, it was “laid down in 1859 on the very battlefield of Solferino, that Red Cross help should be pioneer help for hitherto undiscovered Ills, or Samaritan help, offered when others have passed by unheeding.”
Gary Andrews
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