Monthly Archives: May 2014

‘If’- Rudyard Kipling’s Benghazi Moment

Here is the remarkable story behind ‘If’. Original source

Kipling was inspired by a failed British raid against the Boers in 1895

Empire building

… the unlikely truth is that [‘If’ was] composed by the Indian-born Kipling to celebrate the achievements of a man betrayed and imprisoned by the British Government – the Scots-born colonial adventurer Dr Leander Starr Jameson.

Although it may not seem so to the millions who can recite its famous first line (‘If you can keep your head when all about you’), If is also a bitter condemnation of the British Government led by Lord Salisbury, and the duplicity of its Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain, for covertly supporting Dr Jameson’s raid against the Boers in South Africa’s Transvaal in 1896, only to condemn him when the raid failed.

Kipling was a friend of Jameson and was introduced to him, so scholars believe, by another colonial friend and adventurer: Cecil Rhodes, the financier and statesman who extracted a vast fortune from Britain’s burgeoning African empire by taking substantial stakes in both diamond and gold mines in southern Africa.

In Kipling’s autobiography, Something Of Myself, published in 1937, the year after his death at the age of 70, he acknowledges the inspiration for If in a single reference: ‘Among the verses in Rewards was one set called If – they were drawn from Jameson’s character, and contained counsels of perfection most easy to give.’

But to explain the nature of Kipling’s admiration for Jameson, we need to return to the veldt of southern Africa in the last years of the 19th century.

What was to become South Africa was divided into two British colonies (the Cape Colony and Natal) and two Boer republics (the Orange Free State and Transvaal). Transvaal contained 30,000 white male voters, of Dutch descent, and 60,000 white male ‘Uitlanders’, primarily British expatriates, whom the Boers had disenfranchised from voting.

Rhodes, then Prime Minister of the Cape Colony, wanted to encourage the disgruntled Uitlanders to rebel against the Transvaal government. He believed that if he sent a force of armed men to overrun Johannesburg, an uprising would follow. By Christmas 1895, the force of 600 armed men was placed under the command of Rhodes’s old friend, Dr Jameson.

Cecil RhodesCecil Rhodes, left, in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) in 1896

Back in Britain, British Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain, father of future Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, had encouraged Rhodes’s plan.

But when he heard the raid was to be launched, he panicked and changed his mind, remarking: ‘If this succeeds, it will ruin me. I’m going up to London to crush it.’

Chamberlain ordered the Governor General of the Cape Colony to condemn the ‘Jameson Raid’ and Rhodes for planning it. He also instructed every British worker in Transvaal not to support it.

That was behind the scenes. On the Transvaal border, the impetuous Jameson was growing frustrated by the politicking between London and Cape Town, and decided to go ahead regardless.

On December 29, 1895, he led his men across the Transvaal border, planning to race to Johannesburg in three days – but the raid failed, miserably.

The Boer government’s troops tracked Jameson’s force from the moment it crossed the border and attacked it in a series of minor skirmishes that cost the raiders vital supplies, horses and indeed the lives of a handful of men, until on the morning of January 2, Jameson was confronted by a major Boer force.

After seeing the Boers kill 30 of his men, Jameson surrendered, and he and the surviving raiders were taken to jail in Pretoria. The raiders never reached Johannesburg and there was no uprising among the Uitlanders.

The Boer government handed the prisoners, including Jameson, over to the London government for trial. A few days after the raid, the German Kaiser sent a telegram congratulating President Kruger’s Transvaal government on its success in suppressing the uprising.

When this was disclosed in the British Press, a storm of anti-German feeling was stirred and Jameson found himself lionised by London society. Fierce anti-Boer and anti-German feelings were inflamed, which soon became known as ‘jingoism’.

Jameson was sentenced to 15 months for leading the raid, and the Transvaal government was paid almost £1million in compensation by the British South Africa Company. Cecil Rhodes was forced to step down as Prime Minister of the Cape Colony.

Jameson never revealed the extent of the British Government’s support for the raid. This has led a string of Kipling scholars to point out that the poem’s lines ‘If you can keep your head when all about you / Are losing theirs and blaming it on you’ were designed specifically to pay tribute to the courage and dignity of Jameson’s silence.

Typical of his spirit, Jameson was not broken by his imprisonment. He decided to return to South Africa after his release and rose to become Prime Minister of the Cape Colony in 1904, leaving office before the creation of the Union of South Africa in 1910.

His stoicism in the face of adversity and his determination not to be deterred from his task are reflected in the lines: ‘If you can make a heap of all your winnings / And risk it at one turn of pitch and toss / And lose, and start again from your beginnings / And never breathe a word about your loss . . .’

As Kipling’s biographer, Andrew Lycett, puts it: ‘In a sense, the poem is a valedictory to Jameson, the politician.’

All in all, an impressive hero for Kipling’s son, John. ‘If you can fill the unforgiving minute/ With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run/ Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it/ And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!’

But Kipling’s anger at Jameson’s treatment by the British establishment never abated.

Even though the poet had become the first English-speaking recipient of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907, he refused a knighthood and the Order of Merit from the British Government and the King, just as he refused the posts of Poet Laureate and Companion of Honour.

The tragedy was that Kipling’s only son, Lieutenant John Kipling, was to die in World War I at the Battle of Loos in 1915, only a handful of years after his father’s most famous poem first appeared. His body was never found.

It was a shock from which Kipling never fully recovered. But his son’s spirit, as well as that of Leander Starr Jameson, lives on in the lines of the poem that continues to inspire millions.

As Andrew Lycett told the Daily Mail: ‘In these straitened times, the old-fashioned virtues of fortitude, responsibilities and resolution, as articulated in If, become ever more important.’

Long may they remain so.

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Filed under 19th Century, article link, Great Britain, literature, propaganda, war

New Photos of the Trenches of WWI

Life and death in the trenches
Never-before-published images show daily life for soldiers during World War I

Soon enough, the front lines became home to millions of soldiers from France, Germany, Russia, the U.S., and many other nations. For the next four years, soldiers slept, ate, bathed, prayed, and died on these front lines.

And now, thanks to a collection of never-before-seen photographs released by Reuters Pictures, we can witness those everyday actions as they unfold in muddy trenches, at camp sites, and across the dried out fields tragically peppered with freshly dug graves. Hundreds of glass plates were reportedly left behind by a viscount who was entrenched with the Armoured Cavalry Branch of the French Army at the time. That the specifics of the photographer and the dates go unknown make the bleak scenes all the more powerful.

Soldiers maneuver a cannon on the rear guard near an unknown front. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

Officers inspect trenches on the Argonne front. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

Artillery officers relay instructions via telephone on how to adjust cannon fire in a trench. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

A soldier aims an anti-aircraft machine gun from his post in a trench at Perthes les Hurlus, in eastern France. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

Carcasses of animals await cooking by soldiers on the Champagne front, in eastern France. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

Troops from the rear guard pause to eat lunch near Arras, in northern France. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

A soldier pauses after taking a shower, next to a placard which reads: “Thermal complex of the Poilu, showers, massages, chiropodist, manicurist. Free massages for women.” | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

Soldiers attend an entertainment show at Suippes, on the Champagne Front. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

A priest conducts mass for French soldiers on the Champagne front. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

Soldiers pose outside their shack, which they called, “The Chalet,” at la Sapiniere, near Lachalade on the Argonne front. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

An officer stands near a cemetery of recently dug graves, at Saint-Jean-sur-Tourbe, on the Champagne front. | (REUTERS/Collection Odette Carrez)

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Helen Keller reviews Beethoven’s 9th Symphony

Original source for this post found here

93 Seminole Avenue,
Forest Hills, L. I.,
February 2, 1924.


The New York Symphony Orchestra,
New York City.

Dear Friends:

I have the joy of being able to tell you that, though deaf and blind, I spent a glorious hour last night listening over the radio to Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony.” I do not mean to say that I “heard” the music in the sense that other people heard it; and I do not know whether I can make you understand how it was possible for me to derive pleasure from the symphony. It was a great surprise to myself. I had been reading in my magazine for the blind of the happiness that the radio was bringing to the sightless everywhere. I was delighted to know that the blind had gained a new source of enjoyment; but I did not dream that I could have any part in their joy. Last night, when the family was listening to your wonderful rendering of the immortal symphony someone suggested that I put my hand on the receiver and see if I could get any of the vibrations. He unscrewed the cap, and I lightly touched the sensitive diaphragm. What was my amazement to discover that I could feel, not only the vibrations, but also the impassioned rhythm, the throb and the urge of the music! The intertwined and intermingling vibrations from different instruments enchanted me. I could actually distinguish the cornets, the roll of the drums, deep-toned violas and violins singing in exquisite unison. How the lovely speech of the violins flowed and plowed over the deepest tones of the other instruments! When the human voice leaped up trilling from the surge of harmony, I recognized them instantly as voices. I felt the chorus grow more exultant, more ecstatic, upcurving swift and flame-like, until my heart almost stood still. The women’s voices seemed an embodiment of all the angelic voices rushing in a harmonious flood of beautiful and inspiring sound. The great chorus throbbed against my fingers with poignant pause and flow. Then all the instruments and voices together burst forth—an ocean of heavenly vibration—and died away like winds when the atom is spent, ending in a delicate shower of sweet notes.

what beautiful music

Of course, this was not “hearing” but I do know that the tones and harmonies conveyed to me moods of great beauty and majesty. I also sensed, or thought I did, the tender sounds of nature that sing into my hand—swaying reeds and winds and the murmur of streams. I have never been so enraptured before by a multitude of tone-vibrations.

As I listened, with darkness and melody, shadow and sound filling all the room, I could not help remembering that the great composer who poured forth such a flood of sweetness into the world was deaf like myself. I marvelled at the power of his quenchless spirit by which out of his pain he wrought such joy for others—and there I sat, feeling with my hand the magnificent symphony which broke like a sea upon the silent shores of his soul and mine.

Let me thank you warmly for all the delight which your beautiful music has brought to my household and to me. I want also to thank Station WEAF for the joy they are broadcasting in the world.

With kindest regards and best wishes, I am,

Sincerely yours, 

(Signed)

HELEN KELLER

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Filed under classical conversations, Language, music

The Insufferable Man Behind The Ugly Duckling

The life and work of Hans Christian Andersen: http://theam.cn/RuDhw5. “On June 11 1857, Hans Christian Andersen arrived at Charles Dickens’s house, having previously arranged to stay for a week. A month later he was still there. ‘We are suffering a great deal from Andersen,’ Dickens wrote to a friend on July 10, and when his guest finally left he put a note on the mantelpiece that read: ‘Hans Andersen slept in this room for five weeks – which seemed to the family AGES!’ His daughter Katey was even harsher, declaring that Andersen was ‘a bony bore” who “stayed on and on’.”

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