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The non-atrocity of Getafe

11 October 2009 in 1930s, Art, Books, Ephemera, Pictures by Brett Holman | 7 comments

[Cross-posted at Cliopatria.]

If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next

While in Wales recently I chanced upon a copy of Robert Stradling’s Your Children Will Be Next: Bombing and Propaganda in the Spanish Civil War 1936-1939 (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2008). My description at the time was that this book ‘Argues that the memory of Guernica has obscured earlier atrocities, especially the 1936 bombing of Getafe near Madrid’. Now that I’ve read Your Children Will Be Next, it’s clear that I seriously misrepresented Stradling’s argument in one crucial respect: he doesn’t believe the Getafe atrocity ever actually happened, or at least if it did, there’s no good evidence for it now. And that, nevertheless, this non-event had important consequences for the propaganda battle in Spain, for the subsequent memory of the Spanish Republic, and for our own reactions to the use of airpower against civilian targets. It’s such an interesting and important book that it’s worth correcting my mistake, and digging bit deeper into Stradling’s thesis.

Firstly, what was supposed to have happened at Getafe? I must admit to not having heard of the incident before. It was claimed (mainly in the foreign left-wing press) that on 30 October 1936, Nationalist (meaning German) bombers deliberately bombed civilians in Getafe, a small town near Madrid, flying low to mark their victims and killing dozens of children. Photographs of their bodies, with identification labels on their chests, were used in several Republican propaganda productions, the best-known of which is shown above: ‘If you tolerate this, your children will be next’, a combined appeal to humanity and self-interest. Stradling traces the propagation and influence of The Poster, as he calls it: it was used by both the Communists and the Labour Party in Britain for their pamphlets (below is the Imperial War Museum’s copy of the latter’s). It helped turn opinion in the democracies against the Nationalists in this crucial early part of the war, when a swift victory by Franco had seemed assured. Memoirs and poems from the period attest to the power of its imagery.
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Not all of me shall die

6 September 2009 in 1910s, 1920s, Art, Australia, Pictures by Brett Holman | 3 comments

1888 Building - Gryphon Gallery

I recently attended a function in the Gryphon Gallery of the 1888 Building at the University of Melbourne, where there’s a local war memorial I missed out on when I last wrote on the topic. It was dedicated in 1920 in what was then the Teachers’ College, and takes the form of three stained glass windows. The central window — seen above and below — depicts an Australian soldier, rifle to the ready, bayonet fixed. He represents all those former students and staff members who served in the Australian Imperial Force (including at least two women).
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The first bombers

27 July 2009 in Art, Before 1900, Civil defence, Pictures by Brett Holman | 9 comments

The Battle of Copenhagen, 1801

The first bombers didn’t fly but sailed: they were warships known as bomb vessels, which mounted heavy mortars firing explosive shells. These could be used in naval battles, but weren’t very accurate and so were usually used to attack targets on land, including cities. The French navy used bomb vessels to bombard Genoa in 1684, which according to N. A. M. Rodger was ‘a demonstration of terrorism which had horrified Europe and gone far to isolate France’.1 The Royal Navy developed the idea further (putting the mortars on turntables to make them easier to aim, sometimes replacing the mortars with rocket launchers) and used them against Copenhagen in 1807.

Mats Fridlund is doing some very interesting work tying together the bombing of cities across the ages and the technologies used in their defence, from Copenhagen to 9/11 and after, water buckets gas masks, bomb shelters and bollards. He sees these as aspects of something he calls terrormindedness, the way that ‘terror becomes incorporated into citizens’ everyday lives’, precisely by way of those defensive technologies. There’s definitely something in that, though I would add that processes such as evacuation were also important.

Image: The Battle of Copenhagen, 2 April 1801 by Nicholas Pocock (Wikipedia) — the British only threatened to bombard that time, but I suspect it looked much the same in 1807.

  1. N. A. M. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean: A Naval History of Britain, 1649-1815 (London: Penguin, 2004), 155.

Why we fought?

22 June 2009 in 1940s, Art, Australia, Maps, Periodicals, Pictures by Brett Holman | 6 comments

KEEP IT WHITE / Argus, 9 December 1941, p. 4

The editorial cartoon from the Melbourne Argus of 9 December 1941, the issue which reported the Japanese landings in Malaya and air raid on Pearl Harbor. I guess it’s nice to know I can still be surprised, though, of course, there’s really no reason why I should have been.

Guernica, mon amour

9 May 2009 in 1930s, 1940s, After 1950, Art, Cold War, Film, Nuclear, biological, chemical, Pictures, Videos by Brett Holman | No comments

[Cross-posted at Cliopatria.]

Guernica

A couple of years ago I outed myself as something of a philistine by admitting that I didn’t ‘get’ Guernica, and thought that direct representations — photographs — of the ruined city were more powerful, more affecting than Picasso’s masterpiece. My incomprehension generated a fair degree of discussion, which was useful, but it was having to teach Guernica this week in tutorials which finally helped me make my peace with it. More specifically, learning something of Picasso’s process of design and composition, and the politics of his commission from the Republican government, led me to a better appreciation of its symbolism. Although it depicts — or rather is inspired by — the bombing of a city, it seems to be set inside as much as outside, somehow. The woman holding a lantern could be leaning out of a window, one who survived the destruction but suffers from what she has seen. Or she could be leaning in, perhaps symbolising the inaction of the international community after seeing what had happened to Guernica. Creative ambiguity, indeed.

But the other source the students looked at this week was the 1959 French-Japanese film Hiroshima mon amour. And while I’ve come to understand something of Guernica’s power, figurative and non-literal though it may be, I now have a problem with Hiroshima mon amour. In the most simplistic terms, it is a love story between a French woman and a Japanese man, who have a doomed affair in Hiroshima, ca. 1957. But the romance is not the point. Marguerite Duras, author of the screenplay, later wrote that:

Nothing is ‘given’ at Hiroshima. Every gesture, every word, takes on an aura of meaning that transcends its literal meaning. And this is one of the principal goals of the film: to have done with the description of horror by horror, for that has been done by the Japanese themselves, but make this horror rise again from its ashes by incorporating it in a love that will necessarily be special and ‘wonderful’, one that will be more credible than if it had occurred any where else in the world a place that death had not preserved.

But if she wanted ‘to have done with the description of horror by horror’, then why did she and director Alain Resnais include — at times harrowing — documentary footage of the ruined city and the victims of the atomic bomb? (Starting from 7.53, continued in the second clip.)
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The fire

10 February 2009 in Art, Australia, Civil defence, Contemporary, Pictures by Brett Holman | 4 comments

Black Thursday, February 6th 1851 by William Strutt (detail)

I don’t have anything deep or moving to say about the bushfires which destroyed several towns on the north-east edge of Melbourne on Saturday (try here instead). Everyone I know is (I think) safe, which is the first thing to say, but beyond that … the official death toll is currently 181, but is sure to go higher. Many have suffered burns. Many more have lost their homes. A temporary morgue has been set up, and tent villages are springing up in nearby towns. I don’t know what I can say about all that. What I guess I can and perhaps should do is put the disaster in some sort of historical context. It’s what I did for New Orleans and London, so let’s see if I can do it for my home town.

Bushfires are an annual event in southern Australia. We’ve had bad ones before: Ash Wednesday (1983), Black Friday (1939), Black Thursday (1851). (The above image is a detail from William Strutt’s massive 1864 painting Black Thursday, February 6th 1851.) Most are started by natural causes (such as lightning), some by arsonists, if you can believe it. Every summer we hear the warnings, and with global warming we can likely expect more frequent and more dangerous fires. Sydney had a close shave in 2001; Canberra had it worse in 2003. The current one is the worst of them all.

We’ve had more than a decade of drought already, so the countryside is very, very dry. A heatwave last week (three consecutive days over 40 degrees) primed the situation; then Melbourne’s highest temperature ever was recorded on Saturday (46.4 degrees) and with it came very strong winds. A firestorm swept through and over towns like Marysville and Kinglake with very little warning; but even those who were prepared often did not survive. The standard advice is stay or go: that is, decide to stay put and defend your house, or decide to go, and go early. Don’t dither, decide on one or the other and stick to it. But the firefront moved so fast and was so intense that people didn’t have time to leave in good order, nor were they able to effectively protect their properties. Some panicked and tried to flee when the fire bore down on them; apparently a number of bodies have been found in burned out cars.

This inevitably reminds me of 1945, or 1941 or 1937, of responses to the danger of bombing. Evacuation was one such response then, as it is now to the threat of bushfires. Householders were given advice on how best to defend against fire. The CFA is somewhat analogous to the AFS, both volunteer, part-time firefighting organisations. Even air-raid shelters are making a comeback. Half a century ago and more, it seems that the use of dugouts as fire refuges was fairly widespread (though with mixed success). There’s some talk of reviving the practice, with updated technology, and I think there’s a lot to be said for the idea. It also seems that stay-or-go is to be reviewed. Maybe it will be changed into just go, or stay-in-a-shelter.

And the firestorm makes me think of Tokyo or Hamburg. The casualties are far lower, of course, but then so are the population densities. (Is there a danger that one of these bushfires could penetrate deep into a big city like Melbourne? Perhaps, but there is far less combustible fuel — meaning dead eucalyptus leaves and the like — lying around in urban areas, so my guess is they’d progress much more slowly.) I saw a photo somewhere of a man standing beside his burnt-out car; there were silvery rivulets on the ground which was where molten metal had flowed from it. Some people spoke of getting into baths and spas when the fire came by. That made me shudder when I recalled those who had been boiled alive when sheltering in water tanks in Dresden. It’s not the same but I guess these images and ideas are part of my intellectual toolkit now and they’re some of the things I use to make sense of the world.

Please consider making a donation for the relief of the bushfire victims through the Australian Red Cross.

Image source: State Library of Victoria.

Mirrors and lenses

8 February 2009 in 1930s, Aircraft, Art, Periodicals, Pictures, Quotes by Brett Holman | 14 comments

Japanese flying bomb / Modern Mechanix, April 1933

Via Modern Mechanix comes this supposed Japanese suicide bomb. It’s from the April 1933 issue of Modern Mechanix, an American magazine. It’s not an aeroplane but a precision guided munition, with the guidance supplied by the pilot inside the bomb itself. The accompanying article claims that Japan was using such bombs in China.

Now, this is a bit outside my area but I’m fairly sure that Japan was doing no such thing. It had pretty complete air superiority in China and it was winning on the ground, so why would it need to resort to suicide tactics? Modern Mechanix has an explanation: it’s because ‘the Nipponese are conscious of their inferiority in developing new and fearful weapons of war, and are forced to rely on man-power’.

The simple truth of the matter is that — a man is practically required to steer Japanese bombs to their mark because they haven’t been able to develop the bomb-sighting machinery which makes Uncle Sam’s flyers, for instance, so deadly in their accuracy.

Contrast this with the American way:

A country like the United States would approach the problem of directing bomb flight in an entirely different way. Some method of mechanical control of the bomb would be sought — in fact, the idea of controlling a bomb or gun shell by radio is already being worked on, as described in Modern Mechanix and Inventions some months ago. It will be seen that, entirely aside from making the sacrifice of a man’s life unnecessary, radio control of a bomb is much more accurate and less liable to error through the failure of the human machine in a moment of critical nervous tension.

So deficiency in Japanese technology + Japanese tradition of suicide = Japanese suicide bomb. Which would be risibly racist — except that it’s not too far from what really happened, only 11 years too early. (The first kamikaze attack was against HMAS Australia at Leyte, in October 1944.) So perhaps I’m being a bit harsh?
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Down under up over

26 January 2009 in 1910s, Art, Australia, Maps by Brett Holman | 5 comments


View Larger Map

It’s Australia Day today, so here’s a map of the land down under, appropriately enough upside down. But the map itself is on a hillside in a land up over — near Compton Chamberlayne in Wiltshire to be precise. It was carved from the chalk downs in 1916 or 1917 by Australian troops who were billeted nearby. A reminder of home, or a great big (60 metres across) ‘we were here’? More the latter, I’d say, since it’s not the only chalk figure carved in the area during the war, and the other ones (at nearby Fovant) are all regimental or other military badges. One of them is the Australian Army Badge, the ‘Rising Sun’ (zoom out to see the rest):
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Phallic symbol envy

15 January 2009 in 1910s, Aircraft, Art, Australia, Periodicals, Pictures by Brett Holman | 16 comments

Review of Reviews for Australasia, May 1913, 248

Source: Review of Reviews for Australasia, May 1913, 248 (link; presumably originally from a British publication).

Our friends the enemy

29 December 2008 in 1940s, Art, Periodicals, Pictures, Quotes by Brett Holman | No comments

OUR FRIENDS THE ENEMY / Flight, 19 December 1940, 536

An impression by “J.P.” of the R.A.F. attack by Whitleys on the snow-covered Skoda armament works at Plzen in Czechoslovakia on the night of October 27 [1940].

Source: Flight, 29 December 1940, 536 (link).

Perhaps I’m just cynical, but I’m guessing that this night raid on the Skoda works was not nearly as accurate as shown here, even if it was carried out at such a low level — though I don’t have access to the Bomber Command war diaries to verify my suspicion.

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