Introduction, and Hidden History
Historians call it presenteeism. This is not judging a worker only effective when they are present in the traditional workplace, but a bias towards present-day attitudes when examining written or oral output produced in the past. The aggressive corollary of bias towards today's attitudes is or can be an unconditional vilification of work produced in line with past attitudes.
This is a challenging area to analyse. As a positive, what has been termed hidden history - where the recording of verifiable happenings in the past has ignored (for whatever reason) inconvenient truths surrounding them but where more recent research has brought out those truths so as to demonstrate past attitudes as being fallacious - serves a good purpose in helping us understand the past better.
Lest this is staring to sound ponderously theoretical, I will jump in with an example. Almost as recognisable to an ordinary person as the story of Henry VIII's wives, is the story of Jack the Ripper, in which between 31st August and 9th November 1888 five women, Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes and Mary Jane Kelly, were gruesomely murdered in the Whitechapel area of London.The popular narrative, and one that has spawned a cadre of Ripperologists, contended experts on the subject, is that all five of those women were prostitutes. Popular narratives have a viral spread, and as an example, a book I have just read on the history of music hall describes the women as indeed being prostitutes. Lazy, but probably a case of the author knew no better.
In 'The Five - The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper', the social historian Hallie Rubenhold dives into the archives and brings to the surface material on the background of the women that tells us in detail their lives from childhood and the most reliable accounts of events leading up to and on the nights of their respective murders. Rubenhold's conclusions are stark:
- For three of the women there was no evidence that they were prostitutes.
- All of the women were killed in reclining positions, probably asleep (four on the streets and one in her bed).
- In no case was there evidence of a struggle.
- In no case was there evidence of the killer having had sex with the victim.
Yet, as Rubenhold points out, a more convenient narrative for the police, the press and the general public, was that Jack the Ripper was a murderer of prostitutes, and that '...the police were so committed to their theories about the killer's choice of victims that they failed to conclude the obvious: the Ripper targeted women while they were asleep.'
Beyond this, and beyond my scope here, is the back story of the women's lives; Rubehhold looks at what had led to a diet of rough sleeping and (for two of them) what had drawn them into the trade of prostitution. This is valuable material, but even for those of you who have no close interest in 19th century social history, having read the book you should not feel the same turning up outside the Tower of London for a Jack the Ripper night-time tour.
We would readily say here that our present-day progressive attitudes make us incontrovertibly confident in dismissing the attitudes of late Victorian society as demonstrated by the Ripper story. Our confidence can be enhanced through those Victorian attitudes blatantly, if we accept Rubenhold's research, misrepresenting the story of the five women. But does this use of presenteeism give us licence to dismiss out of hand any work produced in the past that evinces attitudes of the time that we would today consider grossly dated?
'East and West - the Story of a Missionary Band', by Mary N Tuck
This came to me via a friend, from a lady whose great-aunt had received a copy of the book as a Sunday School prize in 1901. The lady wanted the book to get a good home. I promised to look after it and write something concerning it. I am now happily fulfilling the promise I made. (BTW I have described the individual passing on the book as a lady. I think she would be happy to be described as a lady. Small point made on correctness).
As far as I can see, the book was published in 1901. 1901: Queen Victoria had died in January of the year, and the British Empire had reached geriatric state. What an opportunity today to get one's claws into a work easily perceived as validating the superior worth of white, Christian men and women travelling overseas to civilse the locals and convert them to the 'true faith'.
The book centres on Marjorie, a ten year-old girl lying on a sofa in a 'large and comfortably-furnished room'. I immediately assumed that the house must be in Surrey and that the fall involved a horse. There is an illustration of Marjorie - she has pale white skin, and blonde tresses falling over her shoulders. Of course.
Marjorie's Aunty Ruth is returning home in a few days. Aunty Ruth has spent five years in India as a missionary. What stories would Aunty Ruth have to tell?
Yes indeed, there would be plenty of these stories, but there is more in the structure of the book. Aunty Ruth's plan was to start a Missionary Band. This would comprise Marjorie and her local friends, being four girls and two boys. Each of the boys appeared to be there as a brother of the girls and not through independent friendship with Marjorie. The Band would meet for two hours each Saturday afternoon, and as Aunty Ruth explained:
' Mother says that she will give them tea, and we will all work for the little brown boys and girls away in India, and while we work I will tell you stories about them.'
Mother and Aunty Ruth prepared the materials for the Missionary Band's Saturday afternoon efforts. They bought four 'dark-haired' dolls, and two scrapbooks. Mother unearthed some bright bits of wool, silk and cotton, and she found a pile of old Christmas cards and scraps. The girls would start by dressing the dolls, and the boys by filling in the scrapbooks. Aunty Ruth would prepare for the first session by sketching on the cards (used as invitations to the party) '...palm trees, funny mud houses, brown babies, and boats on a river.'
How's the blood pressure?
Off they went. Aunty explained the work of the Missionary Band. It was not entirely clear what would happen to the dolls and the scrapbooks, but one assumes that they would be sent out to India to enrich the lives of the little brown boys and girls. However, definitely part of the mix was raising money. Each child was encouraged to contribute a halfpenny every week into the missionary box. Innovative fundraising. and the box was no flimsy thing that you would see at the back of a church - the box was a cow, with a hole in its back to receive money. The cow had a card around its neck, on which was written:
'I am a missionary cow,
No heathen knee to me will bow.
Instead I hope some pence to gain,
To send the Bible o'er the main.'
So the dosh was not to be used for the material needs of the little brown ones, it was going to help to buy Bibles. The children's sewing and sticking would have redoubled in effort...
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It is well-known that those up close and personal with cows give the creatures names, so this cow had a name: 'Crummy'. Sadly, Crummy does not have her own story, but as 97% of the book is these stories, it would be right to summarise one. So here we have 'Podo - A Little Hindoo Girl.'
Podo lived in Bengal. Her father was high-caste, but his house was 'bare and comfortless'. Podo's father and brothers always had their meals first, and her mother, sisters and herself shared what was left. All had become accustomed to sitting cross-legged on a mat and eating with their fingers.
The pictures on the walls of the house were badly drawn and 'very ugly', representing gods that Podo '...was required to worship.' Podo, however, had attended the local Mission School, where she had learnt to read and write, and she '...heard every day something about Jesus and His [sic] love.'
When Podo was ten her father required her to leave the school in order to be ready to get married, but Podo was anxious to learn more, 'especially needlework', so a teacher (Bengali convert to Christianity) came to her house, and after Podo's lesson the teacher '...stayed on, and told them [Podo and her family] of the Saviour who loves them.'
A husband was chosen for Podo. She could not see him before the ceremony, but she felt the 'stir and excitement' at the prospect of the wedding, and '...she much enjoyed the new jewellery and the new clothes that were brought for her.'
The wedding was grand, but sadly within a year Podo's husband had died. The Christian teacher visited the house, to find Podo and her mother distraught. The mother was so upset that she could not even go to her child, but the teacher persuaded her to do this.
Podo's fate as a twelve year-old widow was miserable. No chance of remarrying, and to be judged as having done something to cause her husband's death, whether in this life or in a previous one.
Yes, that is it - no happy ending. Except that Podo had heard of Jesus Christ, and '...she knows that He loves her', and so a good opportunity to close the story with Aunty getting the children to say a prayer for Podo.
Of course the Band was a great success. Marjorie did recover, but she was evidently delicate, and when the time came for Aunty Ruth to return to India it was Marjorie's father and brother who saw her off on to the boat, as '...the excitement might be too much for Marjorie.' There you are.
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Let us leave aside the merits or otherwise of evangelism, and list the issues that could cause offence to the 21st century reader. Thus in no particular order we have colonialism; racism (with a touch of white supremacy); religious supremacy, and gender stereotyping.
Anything on the other side of the slate? Well. love; friendship; compassion, and good intent.
So does one demonise the work? I think one does not. But nor does one attempt to justify it. One notes it as a work of its time. I go further and say that it is a useful work to demonstrate attitudes of that era, and to help us reflect on how far (or not, depending on your personal view) societal attitudes have progressed. It will not be going on the shelves of a library or second-hand bookshop, but it is not to be thrown into the bin.
Yet somehow that seems a patsy conclusion. 'East and West' is benign, and despite the book being chock full of unconscious bias, it is surely inappropriate to finger wag unless you are spoiling to be offended. For something more modern, and seriously up for being attacked, with little obvious chance of there being a defence, we are overwhelmed with choice. Below is my one.
'Have Some Madeira, M'Dear', by Michael Flanders and Donald Swann
The 'Desert Island Discs' Castaway on 4th November 2022 was forensic scientist Prof. Angela Gallop.
She chose as one of her records 'The Gas Man Cometh' by Flanders & Swann. About the working practices of plumbers, carpenters and electricians amongst others, it mercilessly lampoons the tendency of a tradesperson to fix one problem and in doing so to cause another. It is a scream. If you don't know it go and have a listen - it is easy to find on YouTube.
Flanders was en route to acting success when he was struck down by polio and wheelchair-consigned for the rest of his life. A new career phase emerged when he collaborated with his friend from school, Donald Swann, a composer, to write revue songs (Flanders the words, Swann the music) that became best known through the 1950s show 'At The Drop Of a Hat'.
On to stage they would come, both in evening dress, the bearded Flanders in his wheelchair with the air of a man who had had a good lunch at the Club, and the slightly-built and bespectacled Swann seating himself at the piano, appearing to have taken a wrong turn out of an Oxbridge Senior Common Room.
So to 'Have Some Madeira, M'Dear, billed as an 'Edwardian Song', and again freely available on YouTube. How do I explain it? I fear I can only do so by a detached summary of the narrative:
- A predatory older man invites an attractive seventeen year-old girl up to his flat, on the pretence of her inspecting his collection of stamps.
- Having got her into his flat, he plies her with Madeira.
- Eventually she realises she is losing control and makes a dash for the door.
- The lyrics suggest that she gets some way down the hall...
- ...but the last verse cuts to the following morning, when she wakes up in bed alongside the man, he in Edwardian speak having evidently got his wicked way with her.
A few words and phrases flesh out the story. In the song there is no apology for the man's behaviour: he is 'vile'; 'base'; 'bad'; 'mean'; 'no stranger to vice'; a 'snake in the grass'. He drugged the girl into no or minimal resistance. The girl is 'pure' (suggesting virginal); 'fair'; 'nice'. She has been warned by her mother about the vicissitudes of Madeira. She almost gets away, and there is almost pathos in the man's appeals to get her back into his clutches. Was it rape? Ah, (and remember that this was before the nuances of consent had become relevant in society) there is a clever insertion of a phrase: when she woke up the next morning she had '...a smile on her lips'. But perhaps this is even more excruciating - she apparently enjoyed the experience,
By today's standards the song is vile. One might suggests that it was vile in the 1950s by the standards of any thoughtful person, yet the audience at the Fortune Theatre (there is a live recording) lapped it up.
Maybe dissect the song a bit. It does not condone the man's character; on the contrary see above, but it does not condemn him. The stance is amoral. Flanders' introduction referred back to the Edwardian era, so the man could simply be seen as a gross caricature of a misogynistic brute of the time. On the other hand, the song makes no obvious satirical point. We are bang into what is funny, more particularly what might be funny to some and offensive to others. Here is a topic with which 21st century society is familiar. One contemporary reference, in an attempt to categorise the song, describes it as 'darkly humorous', which strikes me as a pretty desperate attempt at an epithet.
If the song is concluded as no more than vile, vile, vile, is there any mitigation in looking at Flanders & Swann's other output. There are many brilliant ones, including 'The Gas Man Cometh' (quoted above); 'Design for Living' (a shot at pretentious house and garden design); 'First and Second Law' (You can write a song about thermodynamics? Yes); 'The Reluctant Cannibal' (an argument between father and son on eating people); and 'Misalliance' (a political allegory based on a horticultural encounter). I could go on. And there are the animal songs - if I mention 'The Hippopotamus' or 'The Gnu' many will smile with recognition, and I can attest to cries of 'Sing it again!' when I warbled The Gnu to a child recently.
But we are now in the dangerous area of excuse, a debate over whether you can justify artistic output (of any sort) where negatives can be found in certain other outputs or more dangerously still in the attitudes or behaviour of the artist.
In this respect maybe I am not in awful territory with Flanders and Swann - I can find nothing objectionable concerning them personally over which we could have a go. They do not incite objectionable behaviour. Their humour is gentle, if dated in so many ways.
So what do you do with 'Madeira'? Not perform it? Ha, well on a YouTube trawl I found it performed in 1987, live show, by a group called The Limeliters. It was a strange rendition - an American voice attempting posh British - but it got an audience reaction no less positive than from the Fortune Theatre crowd.More generally a tribute pair have performed F&S songs at the Edinburgh Fringe since 2000.
Slowly 'Madeira' will slip into the penumbra of light entertainment. I am on the young side to acknowledge the song, and do so partly because a significantly older brother was fond of Michael and Donald. I like the pair's work because of the wit, and because of the superb writing, with verses perfectly rhymed and scanned, writing that influenced subsequent performers such as Fascinating Aida and Kit & The Widow.
I submit that 'Madeira' is little different from 'East & West', in that its place is to be observed as a thing of its time. Sure it is dated, and there is plenty about it to hate, but it is not for cancellation.
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The author is a writer, speaker, historian, occasional tour guide, and former Managing Partner of a City law firm.