Pictures

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A peaceful riverside scene with a palm tree in the foreground and a steamship on the river.

The current drone panic on the eastern US seaboard – which started out in New Jersey about a month ago, but has spread to Connecticut, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, Pennsylvania, and even US bases in the UK and Germany – is, of course, hardly unprecedented. Not only does it bear obvious similarities to the 2019 drone panic in the US Midwest, and to the Gatwick drones panic in 2018, but also to a whole series of much earlier panics involving threatening objects in the sky which are at least partly imaginary. (Some of the drones may well be drones. But many, if not most, are nothing more unusual than civilian aircraft on routine flights. When they're not stars, that is.) I'm thinking less here of the post-1947 UFO phenomenon, which by and large was not initially viewed with suspicion or alarm, or even the mystery airships seen across the US in 1896 and 1897, which similarly were generally the object of curiosity, not fear, but the British phantom airship panics of 1909 and 1913, as well the mystery aeroplane panic in Australia and New Zealand in 1918. It's a whole new Scareship Age.

While the sociological mechanisms of the construction and transmission of the idea of mystery aircraft has probably remained fairly constant over the last 160-odd years, it has certainly accelerated with the coming of various modes of mass media, including, now, social media. More interestingly, their cultural form is greatly dependent on the technological context. Hence the progression from balloons to airships to aeroplanes to rockets to spaceships to helicopters and now to drones (which, although a retrograde step in terms of their lack of cosmic scope, are novel technologies in the way that the artefacts of the space age can no longer be). But even more interestingly is the way that the threat or promise of mystery aircraft shifts with (geo)political context. So the American mystery airships of the 1890s were generally supposed to be flown by American inventors; the British phantom airships before 1914 were German surveillance platforms; the Scandinavian mystery aeroplanes in the 1930s were Soviet infiltrators; after the Second World War, flying saucers were piloted by space brothers or nocturnal abductors (actually, that is something of a break: the UFO phenomenon became its own, much bigger thing to a large extent – one reason why I steer clear of it). And so on.

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Bright orange ventilators of a historic ship against a blue sky.

Time to bring this puppy (of a series of blog posts) home! Duriong the last couple of weeks I spent in London researching, I also managed to tick something which had been on my bucket list since my first UK trip in 2007: the Portsmouth Historic Dockyard. Portsmouth is a little over 2 hours from London by train, which somehow seemed to always mean just a little too much advance planning for me to actually make this happen. Not this time!

The Dockyard is part of an active Royal Navy base, HMNB Portsmouth, which is home port for two-thirds of the British fleet. The first naval dockyard on this site was begun in 1194 – that's during the reign of Richard Lionheart – so this area has been at the heart of British seapower for a very long time. Of course, all of the built heritage that remains is far more recent than that, 18th-19th century or so, precisely because it was a working dockyard for so long.

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Horse-drawn carriage with people seated and standing children in front.

Next July, the Australasian Association for European History (AAEH) conference is being held at the University of Auckland. My abstract having been accepted, it looks like I'll be going to New Zealand! My presentation is entitled 'Civil defence from below: street patrols and air raid risk in Britain, 1915-1918' and here's what it's about:

As a marker of total war, civil defence is usually seen as a large-scale activity organised by the state which mobilised civilians in defence of the nation against attack from above, with the development of British air raid precautions before and during the Blitz of 1940-41 as a classic exemplar. However, in Britain's first experience of air raids between 1914 and 1918, the state was often curiously absent from civil defence. To a large extent, it was the demands of local communities which drove civil defence policy and practice. I examine here the development of street patrols, which provided warnings of impending air raids in highly localised urban areas so that inhabitants could take measures for their own protection. These patrols were self-organised, often without official sanction, and so represent a form of civil defence from below. While generally justified by a stated need to protect women, children and the elderly from unnecessary anxiety, they were also presented as a form of working-class mutual aid which was necessitated by the lack of state action in providing public raid warnings. Joining a patrol also enabled the construction of a useful masculinity by allowing men who were too young, too old or otherwise unable to join the fighting forces to perform the defence of their communities. I will focus on three such examples of bottom-up patrols with varying success - Hull in 1915, Burton in 1916, and London in 1917 - as well as an example of top-down patrols - Gloucester in 1916 - to show what they reveal about the changing geography and emotions of air raid risk across Britain in the first bombing war.

This will be a great opportunity (read: will force me!) to draw together some of the topics and themes which are emerging in Home Fires Burning. Street patrols are an understudied topic – Mike Reeve has analysed Hull's in depth; see his Bombardment, Public Safety and Resilience in English Coastal Communities During the First World War (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2021), 216–226, as well as his post on the Coastal History Blog – and they've cropped up here on Airminded once or twice. But they were more interesting than I'd realised. The photo above, for example, is from Hull in 1919, and doesn't show a street patrol itself; rather, it's children from around Church-street in Drypool, where 'one of the best systems of night patrols was organized', who were being treated to a 'waggonette outing to Beverley Westwood' out of the 'good sum of money obtained' from over three years' (presumably) worth of the 'weekly collection taken in the district' to cover the cost of the patrols.1 This kind of unofficial, community-based civil defence was clearly very different to the patrols carried out by special constables who are usually associated with air raid patrols in the First World War, but also to the even more familiar air raid wardens of the Second World War. So I want to have a closer look.

It's also an great opportunity to see Auckland (my only previous visit to NZ was to Wellington in 2013, also for the AAEH). It was an unfortunate coincidence that my abstract was accepted on the same day that the NZ government announced that from 2025, its Marsden Fund will no longer be funding humanities and social science research (which means, as far as I can tell, no funding in these areas at all), while 50% everything else will need to show an economic benefit to New Zealand. It doesn't seem like there is any recourse or relief in prospect, so it's going to get grim. (Presciently, the AAEH's theme next year is 'Dark Horizons? New Directions in European History'.) But I'm still looking forward to catching up with my historian colleagues across the Ditch next July!

  1. Daily Mail (Hull), 12 August 1919, 3. []

Close-up of a stone relief sculpture depicting intricately carved armour and shields with floral patterns.

Nearly at the end of these posts! During my two weeks in London researching, I also managed to fit in some sightseeing (it helped that none of my archives were open on Sundays). Mostly this meant the British Museum, but there were also a couple of other favourite haunts plus a museum I'd never managed to make it to before.

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A printed sheet of paper with white text on a red background. The text reads: "AIR RAIDS
OWING TO
INSUFFICIENT COVER
THIS STATION IS
UNSUITABLE FOR
THE PROTECTION OF PERSONS SHELTERING DURING AN AIR RAID"

So, I'm back from my long-overdue and much-needed research trip to the UK. Was it worth it? Yes!

In raw numbers, I took over 11,000 photos across 13 days at 8 archives in 5 cities.1 Obviously, since I'm not a Bomber Command AOC I'm not going to prioritise quantity over quality. But I did pretty much, er, hit all my high priority targets and look at everything I really wanted to see. I struck archival gold nearly every day; there were only one or two places where the findings were meagre, and those visits were always a bit speculative anyway. I would like to have to visited the Tfl Corporate Archives (though check out the Underground posters I did find, above and below, from 1917-18 and 1917 respectively), or one or two other Home Counties archives. But you can't see everything; and what I did see will make Home Fires Burning a much better book.

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  1. About five-sixths of these were taken at the National Archives alone. []

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Our targets are the following archives...

That's right...

Gloucestershire, TNA, LMA, SHC...

... I'm going on a research trip...

Tower Hamlets, Kent, IWM, ESBHRO.

... to the UK!

(I suppose this post should technically be called Archivwochen, but that's a little too pedantic even for me.)

It's been nearly a decade since my last visit, and that was long before I started working on Home Fires Burning. So I've built up a large pile of research questions which can only be answered in the archives. Airminded will therefore be in hiatus until July, while I holiday in England, Scotland, and Wales, and (more importantly for the purposes of this blog) research in the following archives:

I'm hoping to have some sort of Airminded meetup or meetups, so if you're in or near any of these places in late June, drop me a line!