Ruminations on History, 2013

With all of the discussions in the press and the internet as of late about Canadian history, its value, its interpretation, and of course calls of history wars, I have had cause to think about what history actually is and why it is important. This is a complex question, of course, particularly as I am a trained historian, and make my living researching and disseminating it to a larger public.

I will begin with a journey back in time:

It is 1918 on a crowded street in a part of Birmingham, England. A young man is visiting with his mother, who owns a haberdashery shop there. He spots in the distance, a lovely young woman dressed in black. He goes to introduce himself. This was a pivotal moment in history.

This was a time of great change for all coming out of a World War, for both the soldier who was that young man visiting his mother, and for his mother, who had run her business there since 1913. The economy was changing, society was changing. For the young woman wearing black it was not only the coping with a pre-War Britain, but with the impact of the recent death of her mother in the Influenza epidemic. These people lived and were influenced by the greater historical moments of their times, but were themselves actors in their own history. Like the great waves of history, they were themselves making ripples in time, which can be felt today.

It was in that moment that my Grandfather met my Grandmother. They married had my aunt, and then my mother, and so goes my own history. ‘So what?’ you ask. This is not important at all, except to you. Yes and no. You are reading this aren’t you? Without that moment these reflections would not have been possible. Everything is interconnected, and the ripples, large and small somehow touch us, through time, to shape us today.

The study of history is not just about the great men and women, the conflicts and the great inventions, but the people who lived around them. The great moments that we commemorate in our statues and national narratives are but a small part of the greater whole. They are certainly important, impactful, and deserve to be studied, but they did not happen in a vacuum, and cannot account for the whole of the human experience.

If we take the twentieth century as an example, World War One lasted four years (1914-1918), the Second World War six years (1939-1945), the Korean Conflict three years (1950-1953) and the First Gulf War one (1990-1991), for a total of fourteen years. Narrowing your focus to only on this aspect, and such a limited amount of time, is not realistic.

Historians study not only the big moments but the smaller ones too, for in the end their impact is just as important. I understand that my grandparents were a part of a larger group of people, adjusting to a new world after the war, dealing with the economic and social impacts of the war, and the influenza epidemic. The war itself marked them all, my Grandfather as a soldier, and his family as people living through the pain and uncertainty of war. My Grandfather survived the war, and commemorated the passing of his friends who were not as fortunate. But his history did not end with the war, he built a life, got a job, married, had children, participated in society as a citizen (voting in elections, paying taxes), as a member of voluntary societies such as social clubs, raising money for charities, as a participant and observer in the cultural landscape (television, music, theatre) and as a consumer, keeping up with the new technological developments. The war was only a part of his life, as with others. History is the large and the small, which ripples through our lived experience to make us what we are today. Even when we are not aware of these moments they touch us. In studying these details, we understand more about ourselves and the society in which we live.

The press has lately been featuring discussions about the teaching and interpretation of Canadian history, as the current federal government has instituted policies and financed specific interpretations of history, while restricting the budgets and mandates of those institutions which are held to preserve the fabric of Canada’s history. It has become a debate as to what value we as Canadians place on history, and to whom do we allow to interpret it.

History belongs to all of us. The ripples of time of which I spoke came from all, not just the heads of governments. As citizens of this country, we have the right to access not just these pre-selected moments of time, valued by politicians as identity-defining and thus important, but those other aspects which shaped us, our institutions (large and small), our culture (popular and highbrow), and our ancestors.

Many interpret the actions of the government as an attack on those who actually make a living in the historically-based industries, academics, librarians and archivists. But this is merely smoke and mirrors, hiding that through these appointed professionals history, large and small, is disseminated to a wider public, hiding that the wider public also is invested in these institutions. There are no signs above the doors of the Library and Archives Canada that state that access is limited to professionals. It is a public institution, open to all. And the visitors our institutions understand this, for not only do academics comb its depths, but ‘amateurs’ interested in their own stories, and stories of moments and events in time, not already uncovered. These are not necessarily the sign posts of identity promoted by the government, but important nonetheless to the understanding of Canada’s history.

If these history ‘wars’ can have any impact, perhaps it is that through them we realise the value of our history, the understanding Canada’s story is a complex and amazing thing, worthy of investment by our society, and of benefit to our society.

Coffee and How to Make it, Montreal, 1911

Montreal Standard, 28 October 1911, page 17

Coffee and How to Make it
By Mrs Stanley Wrench

Coffee should be freshly ground at home if possible, if not procure it from a grocer who will get it roasted and ground for each customer.
There are two or three little coffee shops in Soho where most delicious coffee is sold thus, and one may rest assured that the powder is unadulterated but absolutely fresh from the bean. If liked, the best French chicory will be mixed with it, but one should be careful to remember the proportions and to add only two teaspoonfuls of it to a pound of pure coffee.
It must also be remembered that a perfectly made coffee should have generous proportions allowed for it; in fact, there is little doubt but that a too niggardly allowance to the pot is often the reason why the coveted cup of fragrant coffee turns out to be a failure.
A Frenchwoman whose café au lait was the most exquisite I have ever tasted , confided to me that she allowed a generous tablespoonful of ground coffee to every person, so that the proportions ran – a tablespoon of coffee for every large breakfast-cupful of coffee made.
Freshly boiled water should be used when making coffee. As in making tea, the water should be used in the instant that it becomes to the boil. If it has been boiling even for a few minutes, it should not be used, as it will have lost some of its gases, and the coffee made with such water will taste flat and insipid. It is such a little thing; and many housewives may deem it unimportant yet really it makes a veritable world of difference.
First make the coffee pot very hot, by pouring in some of the boiling water, and if possible, put the powder in the oven or before the fire, so that it may get hot too. Another minor point, maybe, but this serves to bring out all the flavour and aroma of the berries. Place the hot powder in the upper part of the coffee pot, together with a pinch of salt, the latter also serving to bring out the full flavor.
Press the coffee down rather than tightly, and pour over the required quantity of boiling water very slowly. A saucepan or bain-marie containing boiling water should be at hand, and the coffee pot should be stood in this whilst the process of filtration is going on. This keeps the coffee at the right heat, and as tepid coffee is not a pleasant drink, therefore try to achieve the more perfect condition.
Coffee roasting machines may be bought, but the homely frying pan will quite well serve the purpose. Very great care must be taken; however, that the berries do not burn as one burnt berry will spoil a whole brew of coffee. Hence, it is wiser to roast only a few at a time. Three tablespoonfuls of berries will be found amply sufficient for the amateur to cook. A tiny piece of butter should be placed in the pan, which must be held over a clear but slow fire, and the berries should be shaken about. The butter tends to lubricate the beans and prevents the escape of much of their fragrance, so that before the roasting is complete this is absorbed. The berries should be of a rich dark brown, when the roasting process is complete.
Hot milk should always accompany coffee, and this too, needs delicate preparation. First-rinse out the milk saucepan with cold water, as this tends to prevent the milk from burning, of course making sure that the pan is perfectly clean. Pour in the milk, and slowly heat it until it reaches the boiling point.
Milk which comes to a boil very rapidly is never so good as the casein or albumen of milk hardens, mixes with the cream, forms a skin, which thus carries off the best products of the milk, leaving the remainder poor and thin instead of rich and creamy. Milk which comes slowly to the boil has a far more delicious flavour.
Heat the cups by rinsing them with hot water before the coffee is poured out. The milk jug should also be heated before the hot milk is poured in.

Society Notes by Madame La Bavarde, Montreal, 1911

Montreal Standard, 16 December 1911, page 14

 

By Madame La Bavarde

 

With the arrival of their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Connaught and her Royal Highness Princess Patricia on Tuesday, the past week has been most brilliant.  While the presence of Royalty was sufficient to make the week notable, there were numerous entertainments of note in honour of the distinguished out-of-town visitors.  Quite the most important event was the civic reception in honour of Their Royal Highnesses, the Governor General and Duchess of Connaught, which was held on Tuesday evening at the City Hall, and for which many invitations were issued.

On Wednesday Lady Shaughnessey gave a luncheon in honor of Mrs RB Borden and the following evening Premier and Mrs Borden were the guests of honour at a dinner given by Senator and Mrs T Chase Casgrain at the Mount Royal Club. On Thursday, Mrs Henry Joseph gave a large luncheon for Mrs JD Hazen, of Ottawa; and on Friday, Mrs D Lorne McGibbon gave a tea in honour of Miss Pelly, lady in waiting to her Royal Highness,

The St Andrew’s Ball at the Windsor Hotel on Tuesday evening, which was graced by the presence of Their Royal Highnesses, the Governor General and the Duchess of Connaught, and Princess Patricia, was a brilliant success, and the attendance was record-breaking.  The ballroom presented a most unusual aspect, and the brilliancy of the handsome gowns, officers’ uniforms and the elaborate decorations presented a picturesque and memorable spectacle.

The merry whirl of debutante parties continues to crowd the days and nights with excitement. Each year the formula for bringing out a debutante includes more entertaining. Now the first step is a luncheon usually given by some relative or friend; then the reception proper, followed by a dinner, a party to the play and a dance. Already a large number of the attractive young ‘buds’ have made their formal bow, and during December there is a brilliant array of young girls to be presented. 

Why you need a professional historian!

I have been wrestling with a question that as a professional historian, and researcher for hire, I face on a regular basis. Why do you need to hire a professional historian, or more importantly why should I pay that much for the services of a professional historian. It is a matter of justification. After all lots of people do history, it is a pastime or hobby as well as a profession. if you can do it for free, why shouldn’t others do it for free for you.

I get a lot of requests for research assistance for work at Library and Archives Canada. In this time of increasing fiscal restraint- closing of archival services, hour cuts, and the cancellation of interlibrary loan, the services of private researchers has become important for those wishing to access the collections at LAC. It is not always economical to come to Ottawa for research purposes, and so instead many have decided to hire someone to do it for them. Which is great. But the experience only is positive for them until they hear how much we charge. Actually it is quite reasonable, and for that price they get not only the researcher in the Archives for them, but they also get the benefit of the years of historical research experience accumulated at LAC and other repositories. Professional historians work faster, and more efficiently than someone not familiar with the records. Potential clients don’t see it that way. Sticker shock often sees the project dropped. Often they just fail to answer the email with the quoted price, other times they just say- changed my mind. I am guessing that a lot of the companies in Ottawa offering research services have the same problem.

So how do we justify our expertise? I found this image in the archives yesterday, and for me it summed it up. It was a letter written in 1817. It is not unusual to see the letter writer first write from left to right, then up and down, in order to maximize the amount of things they can say in the penny post. Wouldn’t you rather have someone who knows what they are doing going through this kind of stuff?

Women as Scandal Mongers, Montreal, 1911

“A Little Tea and Gossip” 1859, by Robert Payton Reid, Cider House Galleries

Montreal Standard, 1 July 1911, page 14

Women as Scandal Mongers

A cynical old bachelor, upon being asked what he thought women liked best, replied, “Afternoon tea and scandal, Least ways” corrected he, “I ought to have said afternoon scandal and tea.” A woman, he contended, would do without the tea altogether, but without the scandal, never- it is to her as the very spice of life.
And as the nectar flows from the teapot, so flows the breath of scandal from the fair tea-drinkers, whose conversation waxes more confidential as cup after cup of the fragrant beverage is drained. To the masculine mind, it is incomprehensible that a bevy of refined, daintily clad, cultured women, who would not hurt a fly, can sit down and calmly destroy the reputations of those whom they count among their friends.
Deprive a woman of her companion scandal-mongers, and you deprive her of the very cream of joy.
Generally, every little social clique has its champion scandal-monger, and she it is who heads every meeting whereas the sayings, doings, and beings of others are discussed. No teapot meeting is complete unless graced or shall I say disgraced? – by her presence. Here she is queen, as she sits confidently wagging her head sagely, now this way, now that, as she informs her listeners in a mysterious whisper that she knows Mrs So-and-so is this, and Mrs So-and-so is that, until one really wonders that she has a friend in the world left to slander.
Now, the next worst thing is being an actually scandal-mongers is listening to scandal. It is no business of ours as to what people may or may not be as long as their conduct is within the bounds of propriety, and so long as they are not insistent in the matter of forcing their society where it is not required.
The scandal-monger is very provoking too, in that she invariably chooses to consider herself an example of real perfection. If only she would just pause and ask herself a few direct questions, she would soon learn how thoroughly bad and horrible her conduct is. For instance, what right has she to conclude that because Mrs Newly-Wed’s eyes were red with weeping she and her husband do not hit it, and that their marriage is a failure?
What right has she to criticize people because they do not choose to detail their whole life history for the benefit of the curious? What right has she to take it for a fact that others are wrong, simply because they have not take the trouble to vindicate themselves? Probably they had a reason for maintaining silence.
No, the scandal-monger has no right to presume these things, and if she minded her own business she would have quite enough to do without taxing her brains with any such imaginary details. There is only one right absolutely our won and that is to mind our own business.

The Pass-it-on Library, Montreal, 1911

Montreal Daily Star, 27 November 1911, page 8

The Pass-it-on Library
The following excellent suggestion comes from a reader of this page and might well be followed by others who find themselves encumbered with books.
`We are living in a temporary quarters in a strange city,“ writes this correspondent for whom hearty thanks are due, “and we are anxious not to accumulate impediments, as several moves of all our effects have made us realize the necessity of reducing our belongings to their lowest terms. One of the constant problems which has confronted us is, what shall we do with superfluous books?
“We are fond of reading, and books seem to gather about us in an astonishing fashion. We have limited ourselves to two small bookcases, and have agreed to keep in them only such books as may bear re-reading. This we find is a severe test and few of the books which we buy for ourselves or which are given to us come up to this standard, so they must be disposed of. So many of the books of today are charming ephemera. They give great pleasure at a first reading but their shares consists in some unusual situation or surprise, and beyond this they have little title to consideration.
To give them away is not always a kindness, for it is putting upon some friend the obligation of housing the book and the friend too may be hampered for space, and grudge the book room and still be possessed of a conscience which prevents her giving a gift-book.
The idea of a pass-it-on library occurred to me, and I put it into operation this Christmas. I do not claim it as original. The longer I live the more I find that all my original ideas were someone else’s original idea long before I thought of them. Still on the chance that no one else has thought of it. I pass on the idea.
I took twenty books and wrote inside the cover of each “the pass-it-on library”. Conditions of membership. When you are through with this book write your name and the date on it, and pass it on to a friend.
You will see that this puts the responsibilities or restrictions on the receiver. He or she may keep the book indefinitely or forever, if desired. On the other hand if the book is familiar, or if on skimming the first few pages it makes no appeal, it may be sent on its travels at once.
It is the encouragement of friends which has led me to give this little outline of the plan to your paper. AC.

[Note from Gilliandr- sorry, there are never too many books in a library, and just two shelves? Not in this house!]

Mysterious White Races in the Tropics, 1911

Montreal Standard, 2 September 1911, page 3

[Warning! Please keep in mind this was written in 1911, and the strong racist language used was common at the time. The opinions expressed in this article do not reflect those of the blogger]

Mysterious White Races in the Tropics

There always has existed a curious fascination for the civilised world in the idea that in remote parts of the tropics, amid the dark skinned races, there exist mysterious isolated white tribes bearing a strong resemblance to the civilized branches of the Caucasion races.
The early adventurers in Central and South America brought home many tales of extraordinary cities beyond the mountains, and vague stories afloat in South Africa forty years or so age furnished Rider Haggard with a theme for one of his best known novels.
Who these white tribes are and whence they came no one knows; native fables afford no explanation. Once it was thought that forgotten white explorers might have built up unknown kingdoms in the wild places of the earth, but upon examination of these theories vanish as rapidly as do the white tribes themselves, and the ultimate explanation is almost prosaic.
Yet so strong a hold has the idea gained that even in the twentieth century the possibility of the existence of genuine white races in tropical countries is not altogether scoffed at. It is less than seven years ago that an American officer engaged in the operations against the Moros in the Philipines collected apparently substantial evidence relating to a mysterious white race in the Island of Mindanao. The mountainous district in the centre of this island has never been explored and even the coast is not well kknown.
But along the seaboard many stories are told of the fierce white people who have thir home in the forest clad mountains of the interior. Eyewitnesses depose to having seen a strange fair complexioned girl, who fled towards the hills as soon as she was addressed. Other men and women of a light complexioned race are said to have been seen by more venturesome natives who wore bold enough to the approach the wild mountain district. The American officer was so impressed that he determined to conduct an exploring party across the centre of the island. But apparently the mysterious white folk had vanished, for the world has as yet heard nothing of his search being crowned with success.
Arabia however can be more reason boast of a white tribe. For years, stories of such a race have been told in the Persian Gulf, and an American missionary stationed at Muscat alluded some years ago to coffee house babble in Eastern Oman concerning a mysterious race of light complexioned people, who live somewhere in the mountains, shun strangers and speak a language all their own.
Various theories have been propounded to explain the fable, but probably the explanation is to be found in the narrative of a journey made in Oman in 1876 by Colonel SB Miles, a British Officer. Colonel Miles in the course of his travels nearly thirty-five years ago, came across a town named Sheraizi in the heart of the Green Mountains. This strange place was perched like an eagle’s nest on the top of a great cliff and was inhabited by a people of lighter skin than the rest of the tribes of the interior. They rarely descended to the plains and refused to mix or intermarry with the Arabs.
The explorer found they were descendants of a portion of the Persian army that invaded Oman in the tenth century. The isolation of the town and the curious behaviour of its people gave rise to exaggerated stories in the bazaars on the distant coast, and in this case the origin of the fable may be regarded as fairly certain.
The world is comparatively small to-day. The trail of the explorer is over every land from Paraguay to Thibet. Forbidden lands are entered, hidden cities exist only in the imagination of the fiction writer. In a period when trains run to Bokhara and the great African lakes, when the tourist appears at Khartoum, and Lhassa itself is entered there is little room for a mysterious white race.
Rider Haggard’s splendid race is probably only the Ba-hima originally discovered by Speke in South Western Uganda. At least, Sir Harry Johnston claims to have discovered in them the clue to many of the mysterious white race legends found in the Dark Continent. He was engaged in nothing more thrilling than a tour of inspection of Ankole when he came across them. They are of a very light complexion and are the aristocrats of this region. Sir Harry holds that they are obviously descended from a Gala, Somali or other Hamitic stock, and adds that some of them are more like Egyptians than is the case with the Galas and Somalia. Romance disappears before the tread of the explorer. The Dark Continent is dark no more.

Women and the Census, London, 1911

Montreal Daily Star, 24 April 1911, page 8

WOMEN AND THE CENSUS

The census protest has been a great and unqualified success says Votes for Women. It has demonstrated to the nation two things: Firstly how large is the number of women who are prepared to undertake revolutionary methods in order to enforce their demand for the vote; and, secondly, the impotence of the authorities in the face of the determined resistance of this section of the people to government without their consent.
How many women throughout the country succeeded in evading the classification of the census will, of course, never be accurately known, but from the reports that reach us from different places, it is evident that the number was far larger than anything anticipated by the authorities. In the front line were the householders, men and women who refused to fill in their census forms. Many of these sheltered dozens and some a hundred, and even two or three hundred women for the night. Then, in the second place, in London and in nearly all the large towns, special all night meetings and entertainments were undertaken, the attendance at which ran into hundreds or even thousands. Finally many individual and successful women adopted novel and successful means of escaping enumeration.

Uncle Clair’s War Service- Or My Historical Blind Spot

My Great-Uncle Clair served in the CEF in the First World War.  This was something that I have known for a seriously long time, but not something I really thought much about. 

Really I think it was a blind spot.  There was knowing that he served, and understanding what the service entailed.  Uncle Clair signed up to the McGill University Siege Artillery Draft [10^th Canadian Siege Battery].  I had the first two pages from the Library and Archives Canada website that told me this.  I had pictures of him in his uniform, and there were letters, postcards and snapshots written and taken by him during his service. 

I got that he served, but I never thought that he fought.  Why?  Dumb, really, as he was in a siege battalion, that I never got that he went to France and fought.  I mean, I understood that my Mother’s father fought in France, why not Uncle Clair? All of the material we have from Uncle Clair come from his time at Shorncliff Camp in England, a hospital in Manchester, and a visit to London- all of it comes from England. [These letters and post cards were donated to the Canadian War Museum: MCG: Textual Records 58A 1 146.1; Photo Archives 52A 6 32]  There exists no letters from France at all and certainly in the letters themselves he never talked of going to France, let alone fighting in France.  And when I knew him, granted I was very young, but he never spoke of battle, and my father, his nephew, never talked of his Uncle’s service in the Great War.  In my mind, I just decided he didn’t fight. 

But he did fight, and while his service record at Library and Archives Canada dwells more on pay and health, it states specifically he was in France. [RG 150, Accession 1992-93/166, Box 5560-42].

Herein lies the problem with talking about War and service, we never “understand” as bystanders what being in military service in the war actually means. There is a strong disconnect between understanding that people are in a war, and getting what that actually means for them.  That Uncle Clair, and many veterans like him chose not to speak about their experiences in the War compounds this. 

There must be an understanding that war service means fighting, and for Clair specifically, fighting in France during the First World War.  He was a soldier, and he had to kill.  He also suffered horribly in the trenches and was evacuated because of illness, which kept him in the hospital in Manchester for a while.  It was painful, messy and bad.  He never spoke of it, not then in his letters, or later when he got home.

This Year’s Ugly Blanket Raffle, 2012

The Ugly Blanket, 2012

 

Last year I successfully raffled an ugly blanket for UNICEF.  I was able to raise $200 for famine relief in Africa.  This year I have decided to raffle off an ugly blanket for a cause closer to home.

Cancer killed both my parents (colon cancer and liver cancer) and three of my four grandparents.  It is a real and horrible disease, and I want to take the money for the blanket raffle and donate it to the Canadian Cancer Society.

The tickets are $5 each donated to the Canadian Cancer Society.  I don’t need to see the money itself, just the donation receipt.  Please donate here:  http://www.cancer.ca/canada-wide/how%20you%20can%20help/cw-make%20a%20donation.aspx  and then contact me at gilliandoctor@gmail.com .

I was strongly tempted to have the draw on the 16th of December because that would have been mom’s 80th birthday had cancer not taken her from us, but I understand the lead up to Christmas might make this a bit too soon.  So instead I will make the draw on the 16th of January, 2013.  Please donate!

Many thanks to my friend Jomac, who gave me her spare wool which makes the bulk of this blanket.  Her pink breast cancer balls of w0ol were part of the inspiration for the choice of the Canadian Cancer Society.