J D Davies - Historian and Author

The website and blog of naval historian and bestselling author J D Davies

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More Spinned Against Than Spinning

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For those who are getting confused, I thought I’d provide a helpful guide to what Carmarthenshire County Council’s public statements regarding the archives situation actually mean. Please refer to this as and when attempts are made to spin against future posts on this blog, or when the Council puts out a story in the press.

 

Statement – ‘We are committed to the future of the archives’.

Meaning 1 – ‘Only because it’s a statutory duty, otherwise we’d have binned all that c**p years ago and got the Chief Executive a bigger car’.

Meaning 2 – ‘Which means we don’t have to talk about the complete shambles we’ve made of the past or present state of the archives’.

 

Statement – ‘Carmarthenshire is proud of its heritage’.

Meaning 1 – ‘Dylan Thomas. Dylan Thomas. Dylan Thomas.’

Meaning 2 – ‘What, you mean there’s more?’

 

Statement – ‘We are actively seeking a location for a new record office in Carmarthenshire’.

Meaning 1 – ‘”Actively seeking” doesn’t mean we’re going to find one.’

And we all know what that means…

Meaning 2 – ‘Swansea. What d’you mean, Swansea isn’t in Carmarthenshire? If we say it is, then it is. Besides, people in Bynea, are you good with that? There, told you so.’

 

Statement – ‘We are working closely with the National Archives and CyMal’.

Meaning 1 – ‘This is because they’ve sent several burly men in dark suits and sunglasses who are standing over us as we type’.

Meaning 2 – ‘This is because they’re panicking that they’ll be implicated for not throwing the book at us earlier’.

 

Statement – ‘Look at the wonderful shiny family history outreach service that we’ve set up in local libraries!’

Meaning 1 – ‘Yes, sir, this really, really means that we’re fulfilling our statutory duties. Honest, sir.’

Meaning 2 – ‘Which we’ll shut down like a shot and conveniently forget about as and when a new record office opens. Fund enough staff to operate both? Are you having a laugh?’

 

Statement – ‘We resent these unfounded rumours.’

Meaning 1 – ‘In a year’s time, these will be called “the truth”’.

Meaning 2 – ‘They’re  “unfounded rumours” because we’re not prepared to tell you what’s really going on, which is actually significantly worse than anything you can possibly imagine’.

 

Finally, a thought – if the ‘county’ record office does end up in Swansea, minus many collections that might be withdrawn by anxious depositors, and with the same pitiful number of overstretched staff as at present, then the county council will have ensured that the ‘Carmarthenshire Archives Service’ becomes the present day equivalent of Voltaire’s definition of the Holy Roman Empire: not Holy, not Roman, and not an Empire.

 

 

 

 

The Power of the Internet

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A very quick update, particularly for anybody who follows this blog but isn’t on Facebook.

We’re just coming up to the one week anniversary of the ‘Save Carmarthenshire Archives’ campaign going live online, and we’ve just chalked up a remarkable milestone – 1,000 ‘likes’ on the Facebook page! This, and the hugely supportive comments both there and on this blog (including some from as far afield as Australia and New Zealand), really demonstrates the tremendous strength of feeling about this issue, and sends out a very powerful message to Carmarthenshire County Council. The campaign is also front page news in the current ‘hard copy’ issue of The Carmarthenshire Herald. So thank you, all!

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Unless something unexpected happens, I don’t anticipate blogging about the archives issue for the next 2-3 weeks, partly because of other commitments, partly because I’m now waiting for replies to correspondence and FoI requests. However, I do expect to be able to post some news about developments with my books during that period, so the next post or two will probably be about matters seventeenth century and naval!

The Photocopier of Doom

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In the near future, I promise to start blogging again about matters other than the situation at Carmarthenshire Archives, the subject of my last two posts and of a remarkable and gratifying response from individuals and online communities around the world. But while I’m waiting for responses to the letters I’ve sent to the Keeper of Public Records and the Director of CyMal, and to the Freedom of Information requests I’m about to lodge with Carmarthenshire County Council, I thought I’d raise a side issue that’s been placed in sharp focus by the discovery of mould among these valuable papers and the subsequent closure of the county record office: namely, the sheer, blinkered folly, in this day and age, of a repository housing original documents banning researchers from taking their own digital photographs.

For new followers, I should point out that this is something I’ve blogged about before. Here’s what I wrote on the subject in September 2012:

One reader…responded to last week’s post by rightly denouncing the British Library’s perverse camera ban. Now, the BL is one thing, and has always been a law unto itself when it comes to implementing policies that are beyond human ken, but quite another set of criteria apply to, say, Blandshire Record Office. I really cannot see any justification in this day and age for not permitting the use of digital cameras, given how much time this saves readers. Arguments suggesting that their use somehow affects the preservation of the documents are surely just barking: the idea that cameras destroyed whatever they were being pointed at, or captured the souls of the subjects in the picture, were conclusively debunked in the early days of the medium. Moreover, if you have a digital record of a document you’re unlikely to need to order it up again – not so if you need to spend about three days transcribing it or if you need to come back to it at some future point, so surely the use of digital cameras can only be good for the long-term preservation of archives. One Welsh archivist suggested to me that small offices like hers need the income from photocopying, but I really don’t see how that income stacks up against the amount of time staff spend photocopying documents when they could be doing other things (like…umm…helping readers). Besides, surely a reasonable daily charge for a camera permit – say, £5 – might even bring in a larger income than photocopying?

(Of course, I should have added that record offices would still have a significant income from photocopying anyway, namely from orders from those who can’t visit them in person; after all, digital photography of documents is an option available only to those who can actually get there.)

Things have changed since I wrote that post, nearly three years ago: even the British Library, for so long the Jurassic Park of archive repositories, recently started to permit photography (although, true to form, it’s managed to find excuses to declare huge swathes of its collections ineligible). But they hadn’t changed at Carmarthen in those far off heady days before the discovery of mould. There, all copying still had to go through the archivists, who would disappear into the back room, operate a photocopier that seemed to have come out of the Ark, and return in due course with copies that varied in quality from the passable to the illegible. Sometimes, they didn’t even return in due course, depending on the size of the backlog, and one had to pick up one’s copies the next day (or have them posted, if you were only in for one day and happened to live 250 miles away). At the time, this all seemed rather quaint, if somewhat annoying. Now, it appears simply tragic.

To illustrate my point, let me suggest a couple of worst case, ‘9/11’ style scenarios, one real and one hypothetical.

First, any historian who works on pre-20th century Irish history is hamstrung by the fact that, in 1922, the Irish Public Record Office in Dublin’s Four Courts building was destroyed by fire as a result of fighting during the Irish civil war. The vast majority of documents relating to the government of Ireland through a thousand years of history simply went up in flames. (A similar problem bedevils my friends who work on Dutch naval history: most of their records were destroyed by fire in 1844.)

Fortunately, of course, there’s very little chance of civil war breaking out anywhere in the British Isles these days, no matter how heated divisions in Scotland might get from time to time. But let’s consider a very different hypothesis.

The rather ugly building at Kew that houses the National Archives of England and Wales is directly beneath one of the approach flight paths to Heathrow Airport. Very large aircraft fly low, directly over the nation’s most important repository, literally every couple of minutes or so.

Let’s imagine that, for whatever reason, one of them dropped out of the sky, and obliterated the building.

Of course, this would be a catastrophe in all sorts of ways, not least because there would almost certainly be casualties on an unimaginable scale; but as far as the documents held by the National Archives are concerned, it’s probably the case that a very large percentage could be ‘reconstructed’ digitally by appealing to all those researchers who have taken photographs of documents there since TNA implemented its enlightened policy of unrestricted digital photography for non-commercial use. (This would be similar to the ‘crowd-sourced’ reconstructions from digital photographs of priceless artefacts destroyed by the so-called ‘Islamic State’ in Iraq and Syria.) I’ve taken hundreds, perhaps thousands, of photographs of manuscript sources at TNA, while a friend of mine has photographed enormous tracts of classmark ADM106 for the 1670s and 1680s. Every time I go there, scores of researchers are taking literally hundreds of digital photographs. So even if the originals were to be lost to some unforeseeable catastrophe, the most important element of all – the actual contents of very many of the documents – would still survive.

Which brings me back to Carmarthenshire Archives. No matter what the original reasons for its introduction and retention, the ‘no photography’ rule now appears fundamentally misconceived.* Speaking personally, if I’d been able to photograph all of the documents in the Stepney and Gulston collections that I’ve looked at since roughly 1998, then not only might I have been able to finish my book about those families long before now, but I’d be able to make those photographs available to other researchers while the original documents remain inaccessible. If all historians who have worked at the record office within, say, the last 10 years, had taken photographs of what they were working on, then it would have been possible to call on them to pool those photographs for the greater good. And if, as has been rumoured, the Council’s goal in recent years has been to digitise the archives so that they no longer need to produce the originals – why on earth pay people to scan them when there are plenty of researchers around who would be perfectly willing to do it for you, and for free, as an offshoot of their own work? 

Ultimately, then, not permitting photography of documents in an archive is a wrong-headed policy derived solely from short-term thinking, such as the misplaced belief that a cranky old photocopier will supply a cash-strapped record office with just a tiny bit more income.  Those responsible for such resources, and such institutions, surely have to think of worst case scenarios, too: and in this day and age, the worst case is surely very bad indeed, and significantly worse than an outbreak of mould, as my Kew/Heathrow hypothesis suggests.

If you need further proof of this last point: in November 2010, my ‘significant other’ and I took a holiday in a wonderful country in the Middle East, full of friendly and welcoming people, and went to a stunning World Heritage Site, where we both took scores of digital photographs.

Three months later, civil war broke out in that country, and that war is still continuing.

The country was Syria: the World Heritage Site was Palmyra, the lost city in the desert, now under the control of Daesh/’IS’.

And if the worst were to happen there, then our photographs would be at the immediate and unqualified disposal of any organisation attempting to reconstruct what the lost city looked like.

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* In case anyone is wondering…the photographs on the Save Carmarthenshire Archives Facebook page aren’t from the county record office; despite my frustration with their policy, I never stooped to surreptitiously snapping while the archivists weren’t looking. The genealogical document relating to the Stepney baronets is in a private collection, while the photograph, of women workers at the munitions factory in Llanelli during World War I, is part of my own collection. One of them – one in from the right hand side – is my grandmother. 

 

 

Carmarthenshire Archives: An Update

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In my previous post, I presented the situation at the archives as I understood it, and noted that I had not received any reply to the email that I sent to Carmarthenshire County Council a fortnight earlier. Perhaps coincidentally, I received a detailed email from Jane Davies, Senior Cultural Services Manager, some six hours after that post went ‘live’ and I also simultaneously launched new social media accounts on Twitter and Facebook. Before I consider the Council’s reply to me, I need to thank everyone who has responded so positively to the campaign – quite frankly, I’ve been staggered and deeply humbled by the scale and speed of that response, with over 400 people ‘liking’ the Facebook account in less than 48 hours, not to mention hundreds of hits on the blog (some from as far away as the USA, Russia and New Zealand). There have also been very many supportive comments on both Facebook and Twitter, so this cause certainly seems to have struck a chord, and local media have also picked up the story, which can only be to the good.

In my reply to Jane Davies, I made the courtesy gesture of asking her permission to paraphrase or quote directly from her email to me – or, indeed, to post it in its entirety, without any commentary from me. As I have not received a reply as yet, and as many people on Facebook and Twitter have expressed real eagerness to learn what the situation is, I shall instead provide the main body of my email in response to her, with clarifying commentary.

I am reassured by many of the points that you raise, although I cannot help but feel that many of the concerns that have been expressed about the situation in the archives, and many of the unfounded rumours that have circulated, would have been allayed if the council had engaged as openly and directly with the users of the service throughout the last 15 months or so.

That said, I am delighted to hear that the council remains committed to the preservation of the invaluable archival materials in its care [‘We remain committed to the preservation and retention of these documents…We continue to work closely with The National Archives and the Welsh Government through CyMAL to ensure the long term preservation of the collection as well as delivering an improved service for our visitors’] and that the process of cleaning is under way, contrary to some of the information that previously came to me. [The Council has contracted Harwell Cleaning Services to deal with the mould, and they have completed Phase One, on exposed bound volumes, which are being housed temporarily at the Glamorgan Archives until they can be returned to Carmarthenshire. Phase Two, however, on the remainder of the collection – which would probably be the vast majority of it – is apparently going to take longer than anticipated, with no timescale provided.] I am also pleased to hear that you are considering options for a replacement building within Carmarthenshire, rather than outside the county boundaries, and hope that the search for such accommodation proves successful. [Options both within and outside the Council’s existing estate are apparently being considered, with the appraisal due to be completed by the end of the year; but see the point at the end of this post.]

I am particularly grateful for your point about sending a list of specific manuscripts…I shall certainly act on that in the near future. However, I hope you will be able to reassure me that this is an option that will be available to all other historians who need access to original manuscript material, not just to myself, and that this option will be publicised – say, through a message on the ‘archives’ page of the council’s website.

This last point was particularly important to me; the offer made was not of immediate access to any documents, but of the production of a timescale in which the documents I require to complete my book might become available for consultation, so even though this might not have much effect in the immediate term, I was determined that this option should be available to all.

So while the response I received provides some reassurance, it also leaves several unanswered questions, and there might well be a case for filing Freedom of Information requests to address at least some of these. There is, of course, the question of why the catastrophic mould outbreak happened in the first place, but I didn’t see much point in indulging in finger pointing in this particular correspondence, which was concerned with what ought to happen in the future. (Others, of course, are free to point as many fingers as they wish.) Above all, though, there’s the question of timescale. I strongly suspect that the Council itself, and even Harwell Cleaning Services, have little idea of how long the process of cleaning will take; knowing the extent of even the fairly limited fraction of the archives that I’ve worked on over the years, I imagine it will be a very lengthy process indeed, even leaving aside considerations of cost in an age of severe cuts in council budgets. That being so, and given the provisos about the timescale of the search for new accommodation, it’s difficult to see how there can possibly be a functioning record office before late 2016 at the very earliest, which will mean that the great bulk of the Carmarthenshire Archives will have been completely inaccessible for the best part of three years, quite possibly longer. Whether depositors of important collections will accept that sort of timescale, or will continue to trust the Council with their papers, remains to be seen, and is, of course, completely beyond the Council’s control in any case; as far as the perceptions of depositors are concerned, I suspect that the damage has probably already been done, both literally and metaphorically. The complete absence of any reference to original documents on the council’s inaccurately titled ‘Archives’ page of its website – and, indeed, the complete absence of any reference to the mould problem anywhere on that website – also remains a concern, as I noted in my previous post. Finally, the wording of Ms Davies’ email to me is also slightly ambiguous on the issue of the future location of a record office, seeming to allow the possibility of it being outside the county if no suitable building can be provided within it; if I am misinterpreting her words, though, I’ll gladly provide a clarification.

Given these unanswered questions, then, I think the case for maintaining an ongoing campaign to save the Carmarthenshire Archives is overwhelming. So please keep following the Facebook and Twitter accounts, and above all, keep spreading the word!

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Finally, I’m very glad to be able to publicise another online campaign to raise awareness of another threatened part of Carmarthenshire’s heritage, Parc Howard in Llanelli, where I spent many happy hours as a child and which contains a museum with some superb local history collections. Please follow the link from the previous sentence and support this cause, too!

 

 

Carmarthenshire Archives: Farce or Greek Tragedy?

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A warning: if you’re in search of a short and cheerful read, I suggest you leave this post now and click on something like Buzzfeed instead.

On the other hand, if you have a few minutes to spare to read a woeful tale of institutional failure, threatening access to – and the very existence of – some unique and irreplaceable heritage of national importance, then read on. And if, at the end of reading this, you feel as angry about the situation I’m about to describe as I do, then I’ll suggest a few things you can do to help.

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As many of you know, I’m originally from Carmarthenshire in west Wales, and over the years, I’ve made a great deal of use of its county record office. This has holdings that go well beyond the bounds of local history, and are of national or even wider importance. For example, there’s the Golden Grove Book, a priceless eighteenth century collection of early Welsh pedigrees. This was transferred to Carmarthen from the National Archives at Kew only a few years ago, on the basis that it was more appropriate for the local repository to hold it – a decision that now seems catastrophically misjudged in the light of what has transpired, as will become clear shortly. In my principal field of naval history, the record office holds a remarkable series of letters from ‘Jacky’ Fisher to Earl Cawdor when the latter was First Lord of the Admiralty in 1905; these cast considerable light on the origins of the ‘Dreadnought revolution’, and on Fisher’s larger than life personality. There are also important letters of Admiral Sir Robert Mansel from when he was commanding the Algiers expedition of 1620 – the first English naval deployment into the Mediterranean, and thus a key event in the country’s development into a global power. I made extensive use of the archives in two of my non-fiction books, Britannia’s Dragon: A Naval History of Wales and Blood of the Kings: the Stuarts, the Ruthvens and the Gowrie Conspiracy. Indeed, the latter was inspired directly by discoveries I’d made in the Carmarthen record office, such as the only known written record of Lord Macaulay’s opinion about the conspiracy. For over fifteen years, I’ve been working on a history of the Ruthvens’ descendants, the Stepney baronets of Llanelli, and the vast majority of research material for this book is held in Carmarthen. I’ve written about 70,000 words of the first draft, and many people in west Wales have expressed a desire to see it in print as soon as possible – notably the team running Llanelly House, the recently reopened and remarkably impressive seat of the Stepneys.

But the book remains unfinished, and there’s a very real possibility that it might remain so. This is through no prevarication on my part; but to complete it, I need to get back into the archives at Carmarthen in order to finish the research for the final chapters, and about fifteen months ago, the record office closed indefinitely following the discovery of mould among the collections in its strongrooms. I won’t speculate on why this happened, or go into detail about what’s happened, or not happened, during those fifteen months; those interested in finding out should take a look at this excellent blog that casts a critical eye over the doings of the local authority. Some of us felt that the authority made a serious mistake some 16-18 years ago, when it moved the record office from its previous unsuitable premises; rather than investing then in a modern, purpose-built building, as many Welsh authorities have done in the last twenty years or so, it converted a former school housed in a rambling nineteenth century building, a solution that seemed even at the time to have a distinct odour of misplaced penny-pinching about it. Ironically, too, most of the original manuscript material held at the library in my home town of Llanelli – including a lot of the sources I need to consult in order to finish my book, and other gems such as some rare pro- and anti-Jacobite poetry – was transferred to Carmarthen record office a few years ago, on the grounds that it would be stored more safely there. 

But all of that is ancient history now: my concern is with the present situation, and with what might happen to this nationally important collection of archives in the future.

And that brings me to the body responsible for the record office, Carmarthenshire County Council.

Now, if one believes the Council’s critics, this is an institution characterised by North Korean levels of transparency, Qatari-style intolerance of criticism, and Zimbabwean standards of governmental competence. On the other hand, though, I don’t live in the area permanently (unlike many of the critics), although I still have many family members living in Carmarthenshire, whom I visit regularly, and am heavily involved with the work of the excellent Llanelli Community Heritage group. Therefore, I’d be the first to admit that I have relatively little direct experience of the Council’s wider work. Besides, as someone who spent some thirty years drumming into my students the old adage that there are always two sides to any case, I was very willing to be charitable and to give the Council the benefit of the doubt; which is partly why I’ve waited for fifteen months before raising the issue, in the optimistic (some will undoubtedly say ‘naive’) belief that ‘they’re bound to sort it out some time soon’.

In this spirit, I emailed the Council on Sunday 21 June to pose the following four questions:

  1. Is it possible to obtain access to individual named manuscripts, if sufficient notice is given?
  2. Is there a timescale for the resumption of full public access to the archive holdings of the county record office?
  3. I understand that the positions of County Archivist and Records Management Officer have been dispensed with. This causes me considerable concern, given how important such positions are to the care of the records and the provision of advice and support to historians. Are there plans for filling these posts?
  4. What are the council’s intentions with regard to providing a permanent replacement for the former county record office?

As there is now no dedicated email address for the county record office, or for any archives-related issue whatsoever, I sent my email to the general contact address provided on the Council’s website, with a request that it should be forwarded to ‘the individual or department with current responsibility for the manuscript collections held at Carmarthenshire County Record Office’. In the cases of the vast majority of institutions that I contact, such an email would, at the very least, receive an automated holding response indicating that the institution in question aims to respond to all communications within a given period of time.

Not so in Carmarthenshire.

Again, the vast majority of institutions that I contact, even those in such exemplars of openness as, say, Russia or Slovakia, actually deign to send one a response at some point.

Not so in Carmarthenshire; or at least, not in the fortnight that has now passed since I sent my email.

But it seems I’m not alone in this. On 27 June, I attended an excellent study day on the landed gentry of south-west Wales at the conference centre in the National Botanic Garden of Wales, a meeting organised by Bangor University’s new Institute for the Study of Welsh Estates. Inevitably, as many of the attendees came from the Carmarthenshire area, there was heated discussion about the closure of the record office; it emerged that two other delegates had written to the Council to express their concerns, but like me, neither had received the courtesy of even a holding reply. At least the Council is consistent: it seems that the Friends of the Archives have written to every single Carmarthenshire councillor individually, and have not received a single response. Not one, out of 74 Councillors. 

So the record office remains closed, with no access whatsoever being permitted to any of its ‘hard copy’ sources. There is not even a glimmer of an announcement of a timescale for the resumption of access. Moreover, it seems that none of the archives have yet been sent away for professional cleaning to begin, fifteen months after the problem was discovered. I also have it on very good authority that at least one depositor of a major collection is seriously considering withdrawing it from the record office, on the basis that the Council can no longer be trusted to care for it properly. If that becomes the case, and if other depositors follow suit, any eventual reopening of the office, somewhere or other (see below), perhaps several years down the road, will be largely academic; its holdings will have been decimated and dispersed, and the withdrawn collections will no longer be as readily accessible to the people of Carmarthenshire and beyond.

Ominously, too, the Council seems to be airbrushing its record office from history. The County Archivist has retired and has not been replaced, several months later. The record office’s Twitter account has disappeared. Even worse is the fact that the laughably misnamed new ‘archives’ page on the County Council new website doesn’t even mention the existence of a county record office, nor the existence of original manuscripts in the county’s care, nor any provision whatsoever for historians: it’s surely the only local authority in the United Kingdom which explicitly assumes that anyone who wants to access historically-related services is interested exclusively in genealogy, and that genealogical research services can be provided either online via commercial websites, or else on a ‘drop in basis’ in local libraries. Just as there are no snakes in Ireland, evidently there are no historians in Carmarthenshire either, at least as far as the County Council is concerned.

(Maybe there are no lawyers, too, as the old website’s statement that special arrangements could be made for those requiring access to mouldy documents for legal reasons has also disappeared; but the Council’s own heavy reliance on the legal profession in the recent past would argue otherwise.)

A cynic might conclude from all this that the County Council is attempting to get rid of its record office by stealth – fail to provide one for long enough due to a so-called ‘temporary’ crisis, see if anybody complains, and somehow hope to get away with it.

Alternatively, perhaps there’s an expectation that Carmarthenshire itself will soon cease to exist in any case, if the proposed local government mergers in Wales go ahead, in which case perhaps all the Carmarthenshire archives could be conveniently shipped off to the shiny new Pembrokeshire Record Office in Haverfordwest, assuming the latter has room (which, at present, it almost certainly doesn’t).

Alternatively again, there are very strong rumours to the effect that the Council is already exploring the option of sharing facilities with West Glamorgan Archives and/or the university archives in Swansea, which is outside both the current county and the putative amalgamated one that might be set up under the reorganisation.

Now, both of these potential replacement repositories would involve journey times by public transport of at least 90 minutes for people living in the east or west of Carmarthenshire respectively, and many parts of the county have significantly worse transport connections than that. For example, Google Maps informs me that it could take someone living in the extreme north-western corner of the county some 7 hours and 9 minutes to get to Swansea. Just in time to fit in a whole 51 minutes of worthwhile research, perhaps.

Well, Carmarthenshire can’t be allowed to get away with it. I’m no lawyer, but it would be very interesting to read any legal arguments defending it against the charge of being in breach of its statutory obligations under the Local Government Act 1972 and the Local Government (Wales) Act 1994, either currently with regard to the present ‘temporary’ crisis, or in the longer term if any of the worst case scenarios I’ve outlined above come to pass. Perhaps the Council genuinely believes that providing a page called ‘archives’ on its website, which is actually describing nothing of the sort, along with occasional drop-in sessions in libraries, means that it is somehow fulfilling its statutory obligation to provide an ‘archives service’; one wonders whether someone qualified to judge such matters might view things in quite the same way.

Regardless of legalities, I contend that the present situation is a disgrace on every possible level. It should be protested against by every available means, and as loudly as possible.

I’m not interested in assigning blame for how that situation came to be (although I’ve heard it said that the Council ignored repeated warnings about the conditions in the strongrooms). My sole concern is with the future of the priceless materials held in the county’s archives, and in ensuring that proper access to those materials resumes as quickly as possible.

So if this is going to be a battle, then as far as I’m concerned, it’s a battle that has to be fought.

On a purely selfish level, there’s my personal need for access to materials that are essential for the completion of a book that many Carmarthenshire people want to read, and that an important Carmarthenshire institution wants to have on sale. Then, more altruistically, there’s a need to ensure that other historians, both now and in the future, are able to have such access. There’s the philosophical, moral and legal point that these materials are a vital, priceless part of the heritage of Carmarthenshire, Wales, and Britain, and the Council has a duty to preserve them and enable – indeed, actively to promote – access to them. Finally, though, there’s the concern that Carmarthenshire could be the thin end of the wedge: perhaps the beancounters at other local authorities, keen to save money by cutting such peripheral trivia as archives, libraries, museums and other worthless cultural guff, are watching avidly to see if the County Council really does get away with it, so that they can follow suit.

From now on, then, I’m going to raise this subject loudly and often, publicise it as widely as possible, and I hope that fellow historians, authors, bloggers, and other interested parties will assist me in publicising it even more widely. I intend to write to the Keeper of Public Records and the Welsh government’s culture minister in the first instance, and to other relevant parties thereafter, and I know that several others who were present at the ISWE day are doing the same.

Unfortunately, several of the organisations best placed to campaign on this issue, notably the Friends of Carmarthenshire Archives and the Carmarthenshire Antiquarian Society, have only a limited or non-existent presence online, and no presence whatsoever on social media. But if you support this cause, please use the hashtag #savecarmarthenarchives on social media, where I’ve just launched the account @savecarmarchive on Twitter and Save Carmarthenshire Archives on Facebook; please follow/like these, even if this cause doesn’t directly affect you, as expressions of moral support will send out a powerful message to the County Council.

Finally, if you’re in an organisation with members who have used, or might be likely to use, the archives, or who feel that the wider issues this case raises are important, please get your organisation’s officers to write to the relevant authorities, and publicise the issue on your own websites, social media accounts, etc.

Perhaps there is one glimmer of hope, though. Control of the Council changed hands very recently, and the incoming leader’s very first speech promised greater openness and included the line ‘We have in Carmarthenshire a distinctiveness in culture, language and heritage – these are precious, and ours to retain and nurture…’.  Fine, promising, and apposite words indeed.

Personally, though, I won’t hold my breath. Just as there are said to be no votes in defence, then so, perhaps, there are no votes in archives either, at least as far as councillors standing for re-election next year are concerned.

***

I’ll leave you with the words of an adopted son of Carmarthenshire: The Reverend Eli Jenkins inky in his cool front parlour or poem-room tells only the truth in his Lifework – the Population, Main Industry, Shipping, History, Topography, Flora and Fauna of the town he worships in – the White Book of Llaregyb… 

Fortunately, Dylan Thomas’s archives didn’t end up in Carmarthenshire Record Office. Unfortunately, hundreds of ‘White Books of Llaregyb’ did; and there they lie, mouldy and inaccessible, but not forgotten by those of us who care for them.

Repository Bingo, Part 2

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Last week’s first part of this thread got a big response and clearly struck some chords with people. I wrote then that I intended to use this week’s post to provide my ‘top five’ of UK non-national repositories, i.e. county record offices and the like; at the last count, I think I’ve now visited over forty of them. But as I mulled it over, I realised that I no longer had a top five. (Apologies in advance: grumpy old man / ‘things ain’t what they used to be’ rant follows.) During the early years of my research, several record offices were in stunning locations. For example, Carlisle, Lincoln and Haverfordwest were in castles – to be exact, old gaols within castles – while Worcester was in a converted medieval church. But over the years, more and more archives have decamped to purpose-built new buildings, most of which resemble soulless sheds on industrial estates (and in some cases, are soulless sheds on industrial estates). It’s easy to see why this has been the case: new buildings will provide much better preservation conditions for the documents and usually better, if less characterful, working spaces for readers. But unfortunately this move out of town has had the same effect as that of out-of-town shopping malls: when you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all, and one wonders how on earth elderly people without cars can easily access some of these new repositories. As far as I’m concerned, though, there’s still one local archive which knocks spots off the rest when it comes to location and character: step forward, Gwynedd Archives at Caernarfon, which I first mentioned in this blog a few months ago. The interior is dark, a bit cramped and eccentrically laid out, but the darkness is caused by it being north-facing, and the view to the north is of the quayside immediately outside the office, then of the Victorian dock (now a marina), then the Menai Straits and Anglesey beyond. Bliss.

So rather than focusing on individual locations, which would inevitably become my impressions of the towns and cities rather than the record offices, I thought I’d look instead at my own set of gripes about local archives in Britain. Any archivists reading this may wish to look away now.

  • Cameras – One reader (you know who you are) responded to last week’s post by rightly denouncing the British Library’s perverse camera ban. Now, the BL is one thing, and has always been a law unto itself when it comes to implementing policies that are beyond human ken, but quite another set of criteria apply to, say, Blandshire Record Office. I really cannot see any justification in this day and age for not permitting the use of digital cameras, given how much time this saves readers. Arguments suggesting that their use somehow affects the preservation of the documents are surely just barking: the idea that cameras destroyed whatever they were being point at, or captured the souls of the subjects in the picture, were conclusively debunked in the early days of the medium. Moreover, if you have a digital record of a document you’re unlikely to need to order it up again – not so if you need to spend about three days transcribing it or if you need to come back to it at some future point, so surely the use of digital cameras can only be good for the long-term preservation of archives. One Welsh archivist suggested to me that small offices like hers need the income from photocopying, but I really don’t see how that income stacks up against the amount of time staff spend photocopying documents when they could be doing other things (like…umm…helping readers). Besides, surely a reasonable daily charge for a camera permit – say, £5 – might even bring in a larger income than photocopying? (I won’t get into the question of photocopying charges here, given my rant about the National Maritime Museum last week, but some offices have charges that make train fares look reasonable.)
  • Opening hours – Even if they’re a result of cutbacks, I don’t particularly have a problem with offices being closed on one weekday. I do have a problem with [a] offices that don’t have, say, one late opening per week or one Saturday opening a month (you’re not 1950s banks, for heaven’s sake, so have opening times that mean people with day jobs can actually get to you every now and again) [b] offices that shut for an hour at lunchtime. As far as the latter goes, ‘having too few staff’ is never an acceptable excuse, just as it isn’t in a restaurant. If you have enough staff to open the place at all, presumably you have enough staff to organise a shift system for lunch; and at the end of the day, mes amis, this isn’t France.
  • Readers’ tickets – There’s a perfectly good national system, the CARN ticket, so why oh why do some offices decide they’re too good for it and issue their own cards instead? And why do some offices have subtly different regulations for acceptable ID, so that some accept passports and driving licences as two separate forms and others don’t? (The really idiotic regulation is the insistence on producing a utility bill, especially if all of one’s utility bills are addressed to one’s ‘significant other’…) So a big hurrah for those few remaining record offices that don’t actually demand ID at all and are happy just to let readers sign in!
  • Laptops – I still go to record offices where the appearance of my laptop prompts a reaction very much like a H M Bateman cartoon. Is it really so difficult to arrange a few desks to be adjacent to power sockets? (There are people who will install more of the latter at reasonable rates if you need them; they’re called ‘electricians’.) And is wi-fi really too much to ask for? Why, you could even charge a reasonable daily rate for that, too, thus further offsetting the loss of photocopying income…
  • Chat – When I first started doing proper historical research, in my local library when I was in my teens, the dragon-like librarian ferociously implemented the ‘silence’ rule. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s still what I expect in libraries and archives; but evidently there was some obscure clause in the Human Rights Act which states that telling people to shut up infringes their human right to babble inanely. Mind you, it’s one thing for record office staff not to tell the gaggle of septuagenarian gossipers in the corner to keep quiet; it’s quite another when the record office staff themselves are the worst offenders, talking loudly amongst themselves for much of the day.
  • Document Production – Say, gentle reader, that you wish to look at a folder which contains, perhaps, fifty individual letters. Which is likely to be better for your blood pressure: the kindly archivist who hands you the entire folder and allows you to browse through them at your leisure, or the jobsworth who says ‘our regulations say we can only issue one document at a time’ and thus forces you to come up for one letter, spend thirty seconds scanning it for anything of relevance, then taking it back, then repeating the process ad nauseam… (At the other end of the scale was my experience at the excellent Dundee City Archives, where they produced a large tin trunk and allowed me to sit on the floor for hours on end, happily sifting through the contents.) As for those archives which insist on weighing documents on production and return – DON’T BE SILLY.

Before I’m assailed by hordes of enraged archivists, let me end by saying that the vast majority of my experiences in UK archives have been very positive ones – of exciting discoveries and of really helpful staff who’ve sometimes gone more than the extra mile to assist. And I’d hate it if we ever got to a situation where we had a nationally-organised archival system with every record office being run in exactly the same way; individual local quirks are often endearing and make the whole experience more enjoyable. But the one area where I’d definitely like to see uniformity across the country is in permitting the use of cameras. Frankly, ever since more and more institutions have started to permit them, the arguments against permitting them in others have rung increasingly hollow. King Cnut proved that he couldn’t turn back the tide, and neither can those repositories which still hold out against cameras.