J D Davies

A somewhat scary realisation – this week marks the fortieth anniversary of starting my first teaching job! I’m not entirely sure where that time has gone; for one thing, I can still remember my first staff meeting (probably one of the few I stayed awake in over the years, including the ones later in my career that I was actually chairing), and I can also recall quite a few of the pupils I was teaching back then. I wonder what became of them all…worryingly, even the youngest of them would be in their fifties now, while the oldest student I taught in my first year was only three years younger than me… Still, I owe a huge thank you to all the students I taught and colleagues I worked with during those years, both during my first post in Newquay, Cornwall (not a bad place for a maritime nut to be) and above all in the school where I spent most of my career, in Bedford (a pretty terrible place for a maritime nut to be).

The anniversary isn’t the only reason why my thoughts have focused a lot on schools during the last few days. I’ve also been reading a superb new book, Sailing School: Navigating Science and Skill, 1550-1800, by Margaret Schotte, assistant professor of History at York University, Toronto. The author was kind enough to send me a complimentary copy because of my ‘important work in the field’ (much blushing) and with a request to spread about the word about it, which I’m more than happy to do. The book tackles one of the most fundamental questions about seamanship in the age of sail – how, exactly, did sailors learn to navigate? This is one of those issues that most authors and historians, myself included, have largely taken for granted, but it raises all sorts of interesting questions, not the least being the balance between theoretical and practical learning, a debate common to so many other disciplines over many centuries. (One of those, indeed, is teaching itself, where no amount of rose-tinted theory about child-centred learning during the training course can prepare one for the reality of trying to teach bored and hormonal 15 year olds on a wet Friday afternoon.) Schotte’s approach is innovative, breaking away from conventional chronological narrative to focus instead on a specific place at a specific time, using this as the ‘hook’ on which to hang her broader analysis of the subject. Thus her chapters are set in Seville in c.1552, Amsterdam in c.1600, Dieppe in 1675, London in 1683, the Netherlands in c.1710, and aboard HMS Guardian in 1789, where Lieutenant Edward Riou faces the challenges of navigating the southern Indian Ocean.

I’m not going to attempt a full book review here (partly because I’m still a fair way off finishing it, partly because it’s not officially published in the UK for another three weeks!) Suffice to say that Schotte’s book is beautifully written and highly readable, especially in light of the fact that she’s often dealing with some quite complex scientific and mathematical issues. The book has also been superbly produced by Johns Hopkins University Press; there are nine colour plates and many black and white illustrations. Moreover, her research has been remarkably broad, covering original sources in English, French and Dutch, and calling on archives from Quebec to Sydney by way of Plymouth, Kew, Rouen, Vincennes, Amsterdam and others besides. In short, this is a hugely important book about a hugely important topic, and it’s a pleasure and a privilege to have received a copy of it!

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Meanwhile, back in the land of make-believe – in other words, my fiction – I’m delighted to announce that I’ve recently finished the first draft of the second novel in ‘Jack Stannard of the Navy Royal’, my trilogy set in the Tudor period. I’m currently waiting for feedback from my publisher et al, but in the very near future – maybe even in next week’s post – I hope to be able to announce the title, provide a ‘cover reveal’, announce the publication date, and perhaps even provide a ‘teaser trailer’ of the story!

In the shorter term, though, I’ll be in Bristol at the end of the week to take part in the ‘Connecting the Oceans’ conference, which I’ve blogged about here. It’s still not too late to get a ticket, which you can obtain here!

Our recent trip to the US included some great sightseeing opportunities, and one of them was a wander around lower Manhattan, looking for traces of the original New Amsterdam colony. One unexpected but fascinating by-product of this was the discovery of Trinity Church and its graveyard, and virtually the first monument we came across bore a familiar name – that of Captain James Lawrence, USN, commanding officer of USS Chesapeake in its heroic but doomed battle against HMS Shannon in 1813. For the British, of course, this was essentially the one redeeming naval action of the War of 1812 after a series of humiliating defeats at the hands of big, powerful American frigates like USS Constitution, but Lawrence’s defeat at the hands of a bigger ship, manned by perhaps the Royal Navy’s best-trained gunnery crew, was certainly no disgrace, as his large tomb, in what would then have been one of New York’s most prestigious locations, suggests. Moreover, Lawrence’s famous last words, ‘Don’t give up the ship!’, have become mythic in the United States Navy.

Lawrence lies a few feet from the grave of Alexander Hamilton; I’m sure I could hear distinct sounds of spinning below ground over there, presumably the occupant expressing his ongoing displeasure about that musical.

I thought I’d complement the images of Lawrence’s tomb with the memorial at Nacton church, Suffolk, to the victor of the action, the gunnery fanatic Philip Broke. It couldn’t be a more different location, or a more different memorial – a relatively small, understated wall tablet in a quiet, obscure country church, far from London and well off the beaten track. But it was adjacent to Broke’s ancestral home, and another memorial in the same church records his ancestor Packington Brooke, one of those whom I’ve always called ‘my officers’, who was killed in battle in 1665.

The contrast between the nature and location of the two memorials provides an unwitting insight into the different attitudes of the two countries to the War of 1812. In the US, of course, the war is iconic, providing the country with both its most revered historic ship, USS Constitution, and its national anthem (we saw the original ‘Star Spangl’d Banner’ at the Smithsonian, where it has its own large room and is treated with awed veneration). Washington still makes much of the burning of the Capitol and the White House by British forces – and it has to be said that the destruction of the original Library of Congress was hardly Britannia’s finest hour. In Britain, though, I suspect that only a tiny minority of people know that the two countries fought each other in 1812-15, and an even smaller number know what was done to Washington. After all, the war wasn’t against the French and/or the Germans and it didn’t involve Spitfires, so as far as the average Brit is concerned, it’s probably not worth knowing about.

But then, if the current President of the United States is hazy on the difference between the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812, maybe I won’t judge my fellow countrymen too harshly…

About a month ago, Gijs Rommelse’s guest post on this site introduced the book that he, Alan James and I have co-edited. This has now been published, and last week the three of us discussed several of its themes at the Bangor conference on the Restoration period. We will be reuniting at Vlaardingen in the Netherlands in September, and in today’s post, Gijs provides more detail about this, including details of how to come along if you’re interested in doing so.

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Early modern navies were not just real entities, with ships, dockyards, officers, sailors and bureaucracies, but also cultural constructs. Because navies were manifestations of the state, and required the permanent investment of a significant percentage of the nation’s fiscal resources, it was only natural that the composition, financing and organisation of the fleet, and the strategies underlying its operations, were ideologized for political and commercial purposes. Regimes used art, architecture, monuments, printed news and magnificent ships to associate themselves with sea power, emphasizing how a strong fleet served the nation’s interests. Individual politicians, as well as officers, used similar propagandistic tools to underline their own social-political relevance. Painters, engravers, poets and writers eagerly catered for these political agendas, while at the same time feeding the public’s appetite for naval stories. Thus, sea power was constantly ideologized within the overarching context of national identities. These ideologies created a shared sense of purpose, which explains why nations were prepared to sacrifice so much to sustain their naval capacity.

This politico-cultural approach of sea power is new, at least in the Netherlands. For this reason, the Netherlands Institute of Military History and Museum Vlaardingen have decided to jointly organise a symposium. Four distinguished historians will explain how these naval ideologies came to be, what their socio-political functions were, and how they tied in with national identities. Alan James (King’s College London) is a specialist on the fleet of the ‘Sun King’ Louis XIV. David Davies is a leading authority on the Royal Navy in the second half of the seventeenth century (allegedly – ed.). Gijs Rommelse (University of Leicester) focuses on Dutch naval ideology. These three authors are co-editors of the new book Ideologies of Western Naval Power, c.1500-1815 (Routledge). Professor Andrew Lambert (King’s College London) has been called ‘one of the most eminent naval historians of our age’. Drawing from his latest book, he will lecture on his fascinating concept of ‘seapower states’.  

When: 27 September 2019, 13.30-17.30  

Where: Museum Vlaardingen, Westhavenkade 54, 3131 AG Vlaardingen (The Netherlands)

Cost: € 7,50

Program:

13.30: Welcome

14.00: Léanne Selles (director Museum Vlaardingen) – Welcome 

14.10: Professor Michiel van Groesen (Leiden) – Introduction

14.20: Dr. David Davies, ‘Myths and broadsides in the naval ideology of the Later Stuart Age: or, how to make Christopher Columbus an Englishman’

14.55: Dr. Alan James, ‘Imagining a Royal Navy in France: the imperial ambitions of Louis XIV’.

15.30: Dr. Gijs Rommelse, ‘National flags as key components in Dutch naval ideology, 1600-1800’

16.05: Coffee / tea

16.20: Professor Andrew Lambert, ‘Seapower states as culture and identity’

17.00: Discussion

17.30: Drinks (and further discussion)

Registation via the registration form. You will then receive an email requesting payment of € 7,50 into the museum’s bank account. This sum is used to cover coffee, tea and final drinks. Payment secures a place on the guest list.

The symposium is kindly sponsored by the Delta Hotel in Vlaardingen. The hotel offers a special lunch deal, prior to the symposium (from 12.00 o’clock, Maasboulevard 15, 3133 AK Vlaardingen). Registration via the same form.

Questions or comments? Please contact Gijs Rommelse, via gijsrommelse.weebly.com

This week, I’m giving a plug to a conference that I’m involved in co-organising. Just over fifty years ago, the future of Brunel’s iconic steamship SS Great Britain was in serious doubt. The ship had been a hulk in the Falkland Islands for many years, and was slowly deteriorating. There was a proposal to take it to the USA and moor it alongside the Queen Mary, but nothing was being done in the UK, the country where the ship was built. In November 1967, though, Ewan Corlett, a prominent member of the Society for Nautical Research, wrote a letter to The Times, suggesting that something should be done to save the ‘SSGB’. This idea went forward, with the inaugural meeting of the ‘SS Great Britain Project’ taking place at Bristol in May 1968. In its early days, this leaned heavily on the SNR, which held its funds and provided substantial moral support, and during 1969, it was Dr Corlett who organised the salvage tugs which brought the ship back to the UK.

To mark the 50th anniversary of the society’s role in securing SSGB’s future, a conference is being held at Bristol on 6-7 September of this year under the joint auspices of the SNR and the SS Great Britain Trust. Entitled Connecting the Oceans: the Impact of Global Steam in the Nineteenth Century, this promises to be a lively and stimulating occasion, with a very wide range of contributions. The keynote speakers are Dr Helen Doe, Dr Graeme Milne and Captain Peter King, and session papers cover such diverse themes as migration, the experience of steamship travel, health at sea, female maritime entrepreneurship in Greece, the impact of steam on the German and US navies, and Brunel’s Crimean War ‘stealth’ gunboats. The conference venue is immediately adjacent to the ship itself, so there’ll be plenty of opportunity to explore this astonishing survival of the Victorian era. Booking is now open at Eventbrite, where further details can be found. (If you’re reblogging or retweeting this post, then please use the conference hashtag, #connectingoceans)

From a personal point of view, this conference sees me come full circle, in one sense. Today, I’m a vice-president of the SNR and chair of its Research and Programmes Committee, which initiates the society’s role in conferences such as this. But back then, I was a schoolboy whose interest in all things maritime was already all-pervasive, and I managed to track down this photo of me aboard SSGB not long after the hull arrived back in Bristol, alongside my grandfather, who was undoubtedly the biggest influence on my younger self. I also have scrapbooks from the time with newspaper cuttings chronicling the saga of the ship’s long tow and its triumphant return to Bristol. So it’s nice to be in a position to do something to mark the anniversary of a remarkable story that so absorbed me at the time!

This week, I’m delighted to welcome back guest blogger Gijs Rommelse to introduce the book on naval ideology that he, Alan James and I have co-edited. This is now available for pre-order from Routledge. In addition to the symposium in Vlaardingen, mentioned in the blog, the three of us are forming a panel at the Bangor Restoration Conference at the end of this month, and I’ll be talking on a similar theme at a conference in Rostock, Germany, in September.

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It was a complex painting that the famous Renaissance painter Titian produced for King Philip II on the occasion of the Spanish-Venetian-Papal victory at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571. At the same time, however, it was easy for politically aware viewers to interpret. We see the Spanish prince raising his new-born son, Don Fernando, to Heaven, to make it clear that both the victory over the Ottomans and the birth of the potential heir to his throne must be seen as a clear proof of God’s favour. An angel has descended from Heaven to salute the offer of the young prince, carrying in his hand a palm branch with the accompanying text “maiora tibi”. To emphasize the fame, the civilization and the brilliance of the victorious Spanish royal dynasty, Titian has portrayed a captive Ottoman in the left foreground, complete with a turban, a shield with a green crescent and a Turkish drum. The unfortunate Ottoman is seated on the ground and handcuffed, as a result of which he is at the mercy of the victor. His nakedness conveniently contrasts with the splendid armor and precious clothing of Philips. In the background we see the famous naval battle taking place.

The painting by Titian is of course unique, but at the same time it in not. Indeed, many hundreds or perhaps even thousands of paintings from the early modern age have been preserved that fit naval events into a political-cultural framework in a similar fashion. Princes like Philip were eager to showcase their military successes at sea in order to emphasize the viability and legitimacy of their rule and dynasty. The battle was then depicted in combination with all kinds of allegorical symbols and metaphors that had to express this association. But such ideologization of naval power was not the exclusive domain of princes. Republics, city authorities and admiralties too used maritime successes as an occasion to express or confirm a collective political-cultural self-image and to underline the validity of certain political claims. A good example of this was the annual parade over the Venice Lagoon from the Piazza San Marco to the Sant’ Andrea Fort. The Doge then threw a golden ring in the waves to perpetuate the marriage between the city-state and the sea, thereby speaking the words “Desponsamus te mare, in signo veri perpetuique domini,” “We marry you, o sea, as an expression of real and eternal rule ‘. This dominium was said to have been granted to the Venetians in 1177 by the grateful Pope Alexander III.

Not only princes or governments ideologized naval power, enterprising artists played an equally important role in this. Reputable painters such as Titian understood very well why and how those in power wanted to see their naval claims depicted and subsequently earned a good income from their propagandistic services. But this also applied to the etchers, pamphleteers, poets and songwriters who served the lower end of the market. They too understood very well that large sections of the public considered the navy to be the tool of the nation’s real political and economic interests, and knew fully well what chunk of the state’s fiscal means were taken up by the incredibly expensive warfleet. Patriotism was easy to sell, especially to the urban middle classes, particularly in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. That is why countless media products appeared in the maritime-orientated parts of England, the Dutch Republic and Germany. Together these gave a sense of purpose to the existence of navies, to the strategies used, to the organization and infrastructure, and to the actual course of operations. There was thus a continuous discourse on naval power, a social debate in which all social classes participated, explicitly or implicitly, and which was necessarily conducted within the context of discourses on national identity.

Countless books have been written about early modern naval power, from all sorts of perspectives. States have been portrayed as creative forces, the role of technological innovation has been scrutinized, as has the emergence of permanent bureaucracies, tactics such as the line of battle, and the ways in which navy boards attempted to manipulate the maritime labor market. However, only very occassionally have authors considered navies to be cultural constructs. What cultural significance did governments give to their war fleet and to the large-scale infrastructure needed for their construction and maintenance? Why did maritime societies attribute so much importance to their own naval organization and was there a relatively large preparedness to continue baring the fiscal burden? How did governments use the idea of ​​naval power to legitimize their political ideas, agendas and profiles? How did opposition forces capitalize on naval events to bring political alternatives to the fore? In what ways did discourses on the war fleet influence developments within the concept of a collective identity?

Such questions are extensively addressed in Ideologies or Western Naval Power, c. 1500-1815, the new edited volume of David Davies, Alan James and Gijs Rommelse. The three editors first discuss the long overdue emancipation of naval history as a scholarly subdiscipline, and then clarify what naval ideologies may be and how studying these might increase the overall relevance of naval history. It then treats the reader to fifteen essays, each of which deals with a national case or takes a thematic approach. Among the authors are well-known specialists such as John Hattendorf, Patrick Villiers, Steve Murdoch, David Trim and Richard Harding. Andrew Lambert provided the concluding remarks. The hardback edition is now available at Routledge for a mere £92. A paperback and an e-book will also be available.

Furthermore, an English-language symposium will be held on 27 September in Museum Vlaardingen, in the Netherlands, on the happy occassion of the publication of our edited volume. The organization is partly in the hands of the Netherlands Institute of Military History, based in The Hague. In addition to the three editors, Andrew Lambert will also talk about “seapower cultures”. Professor Michiel van Groesen (Leiden) will chair the day. It promises to be an intellectually stimulating afternoon, while it is expected that an evening in one of the local restaurants and some of the local pubs will be equally enjoyable.

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