Sunday, 10 August 2014
By Tony Sharp
Stalin's American Spy tells the remarkable story of Noel Field, a Soviet agent in the US State Department in the mid-1930s. Lured to Prague in May 1949, he was kidnapped and handed over to the Hungarian secret police. Tortured by them and interrogated too by their Soviet superiors, Field's forced 'confessions' were manipulated by Stalin and his East European satraps to launch a devastating series of show-trials that led to the imprisonment and judicial murder of numerous Czechoslovak, German, Polish and Hungarian party members.
Publisher: C Hurst & Co Publishers Ltd
Publication Date: 6 Jun 2014
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Yet there were other events in his very strange career that could give rise to the suspicion that Field was an American spy who had infiltrated the Communist movement at the behest of Allen Dulles, the wartime OSS chief in Switzerland who later headed the CIA.
Field was ideally suited to the Communists' show trials; he had known and assisted many highly placed officials, including resistance fighters and members of the Spanish International Brigades with whom he had maintained contact after the war. In addition, he had had contact with Allen Dulles which allowed the Communists to construct a scenario of cooperation with the U.S. directed against the Soviet bloc. It could even be argued that Field had turned his friends into a spy network penetrating Central Europe. Moscow could thus counteract the ongoing uncovering of its own network in the U.S. with the bogus uncovering of an extensive network of American spies headed by the same Field whom the U.S. had charged with being a Soviet agent.
Never tried, Field and his wife were imprisoned in Budapest until 1954, then granted political asylum in Hungary, where they lived out their last years. Noel Field remained a staunch communist; his final testament, written in Budapest and published in an American political journal, was entitled "Hitching Our Wagon to a Star". In 1956, just out of prison, he had published an angry defence of the Russian counterrevolutionary brutality in Hungary. Noel Field died in 1970.
This new biography takes a fresh look at Field's relationship with Dulles, and his role in the Alger Hiss affair. It sheds fresh light upon Soviet espionage in the United States and Field's relationship with Hede Massing, Ignace Reiss and Walter Krivitsky. It also reassesses how the increasingly anti-Semitic East European show-trials were staged and dissects the 'lessons' which Stalin sought to convey through them.
Thursday, 31 July 2014
Publisher: The History Press
Publication Date: 3 Feb 2014
The First World War was one of the deadliest conflicts in human history, the first instance of modern total war and one of the most far-reaching. As a result, almost all of us have an ancestor family who was involved in or effected by the Great War. In A Tommy in the Family, Gregson explores some of the human stories behind the history of the war, from the heart-warming to the tear-jerking.
He encounters the mystery of the disappearance of the Norfolks; the story of a French girl’s note in a soldier’s pocket book; and the tragic tale of a group of morris dancers who paid the ultimate price while serving their country. The investigations that preceded each discovery are explored in detail, offering an insight into how the researcher found and followed up their leads. They reveal a range of chance findings, some meticulous analysis and the keen detective qualities required of a family historian.
Full of handy research tips and useful background information, A Tommy in the Family will fascinate anyone with an interest in the First World War and help them to find out more about their ancestors who participated in one of the most troubled conflicts in the history of mankind.
When held up with its contemporaries, Gregsons contribution to this extensive published field is a refreshingly detailed introduction to the social history of the Great War, giving an accessible and attractively illustrated insight into what will be for the next few years, the most significant and talked about period of human history. It will be of interest to the general reader and especially local history historians of Norfolk.
Sunday, 22 June 2014
By Bill Bryson
We all have visions of America in the 1920s; flappers, Al Capone, prohibition. They were a time of opportunity, wealth and optimism, coming before the Wall Street Crash and the Great Depression. They were also a period of innovation in technology, shocking political views and striking sporting achievements. It is simply one period of 3-4 months, the Summer of 1927, which are the focus of Bill Bryson’s charming book.
Publication Date: 2013
Publication Date: 2013
Bryson brings us the more famous events from this period, most notably, as shown on the alluring art deco cover (I always enjoy a good book jacket), the flight of Charles Lindbergh across the Atlantic in the Spirit of St Louis. This story is fascinating not so much for the story of Lindbergh himself, who frankly appears to have been a fairly morose and shy character, totally unprepared for the universal fame and adulation which awaited him post-flight; instead, it is the story of all the other amateur and professional aviators, investors and enthusiasts around the world as well as in America, who were competing for the Orteig Prize, as Lindbergh was. Bryson introduces a catalogue of unfortunate accidents, excessive egos and a surprising number of men and women who set off on a flight across an ocean, never to be heard of again. It is these stories, which give a context to the more famous Lindbergh tale, which are the most compelling.
Other events which Bryson covers are numerous and diverse; the great 1927 baseball season of Babe Ruth, who hit more home runs than any other player in history; the beginning of the end for Al Capone; the introduction of the talking pictures into American Cinema; the possible mistrial of 2 Italian Fascists, and the ongoing problems with the social experiment which was Prohibition.
As one has come to expect from this new brand of Bryson book, there are funny elements balanced with more thoughtful moments. One cannot read about the flirtation with eugenics which occurred in America’s academic and conservative circles, and their legal achievements in sterilising those they considered too imbecilic to be allowed to breed, without a sense of horror and sadness. Equally, the knowledge that the American government deliberately poisoned some of its citizens by denaturing industrial alcohol – which was then misappropriated to make bootleg drinks – with poisons such as strychnine, as a ‘moral lesson’, is difficult to swallow.
Bryson incorporates all his story elements into a flowing narrative, ostensibly in chapters covering different months, but actually with a broader sense of time. He provides context which allows the reader to understand where the characters have come from, and where they are going into the years beyond the book’s focus.
Bryson’s book is thoughtful, entertaining and broad without ever feeling scattered. Babe Ruth was once described by a team mate as ‘a constant source of joy’; Bryson’s book deserves no less a tagline.
By Guest Reviewer: Martha Stoneham
Sunday, 25 May 2014
Publication Date: Feb 2014
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His fresh approach is apparent right from the opening. He starts the book not with Germany or Britain or even Poland, but with the bombing of Bulgaria. His message is clear: bombing was not solely a German phenomenon, it was a fact of life for almost every country on the Continent. Nearly a third of the bombs that the Allied air forces dropped on Europe fell not on Germany but on countries they were supposed to be liberating. Furthermore the author repeatedly and critically calls into question the value of all such large-scale bombing. When conducted in support of an army, it can often cause more harm than good: the devastation of Caen or the Nazi bombing of Stalingrad, for example, the latter creating the perfect environment for urban guerrilla warfare.
'The Bombers and the Bombed' is both refreshing and litigious in its lambasting of the common mythology of the famous bombing campaigns of the Second World War. Overy argues the economic effects of bombing were hugely exaggerated on all sides: German production was dented but not destroyed, largely due to the relocation and dispersal of arms factories to safer areas.
He goes on to point out that bombing was surprisingly inefficient, poor visibility, the sudden deterioration of weather conditions, malfunctioning equipment, outdated and slow-moving aircraft, pilot inexperience or crew exhaustion, and enemy action varying from anti-aircraft batteries to night-fighters or the jamming of navigation beams, all reduced the effectiveness of the bomber fleets. Aircraft regularly crashed, ran out of fuel or suffered engine failure with astonishing frequency. In its raids on Britain from January to June 1941, for example, 216 German bombers were lost and 190 damaged; 282 of these were as a result of flying accidents!
Moreover, bombing was appallingly inaccurate. Bombers had to fly high to avoid anti-aircraft fire from the ground, so even if the weather was clear, they were often unable to locate their targets effectively. In 1944, during the controversial bomb attacks on the Italian monastery of Monte Cassino, used by the Germans as a military and communication base, the headquarters of general Oliver Leese, three miles from the abbey, was destroyed, as was the French corps headquarters 12 miles away.
His bibliography provide an excellent source for readers who want to pursue further the many facets of the complex air offensives that Overy covers. Ultimately, this book offers much for both novices and experts to contemplate. I seriously hope that in the wake of this outstanding re-evaluation of a topic, that appears overanalysed on the surface, forces historians to revise many of their long-accepted facts and figures when approaching this subject.
Thursday, 8 May 2014
|Pro-Kremlin activists rally to celebrate the incorporation of Crimea into Russia|
The Crimean Khanate, a vassal from 1441, of the Ottoman Empire, was conquered by the Russian Empire in 1783. Following its incorporation into the Russian Empire, the Crimea became the "heart of Russian Romanticism".
The first Russian ruler to convert to Christianity did so more than a thousand years ago with the aid of a Byzantine Orthodox priest in the former Greek colony of Khersonesos, near the modern Crimean port of Sevastopol. In a speech delivered earlier this year to justify the current incursion, Putin reached back and invoked this narrative. “Everything in Crimea speaks of our shared history and pride, this is the location of ancient [Khersonesos], where Prince Vladimir was baptized in [988 AD]. His spiritual feat of adopting Orthodoxy predetermined the overall basis of the culture, civilization and human values” of all Russians.
Putin is not the first Russian leader to hold up the Crimea, for centuries home to a myriad of innumerable inhabitants, as a sacred site of Russian Orthodox culture. When Tsarina Catherine the Great annexed the peninsula in 1783, she proclaimed it an eternal part of Russia. Her imperial courtiers then adopted the Greek name for Crimea -Taurica - instead of the Turkic Krim (or Crimea) used by the region’s native Muslim Tatars. Russian pre-eminence over the Black Sea, as far as Catherine was concerned, could restore the glory of the fallen Byzantine Empire, lost to the Muslim Ottomans.
With its Black Sea fleet based in Sevastopol, Tsar Nicholas I knocked the Ottoman Empire out of the region – a hugely symbolic feat considering Russia's tricky relationship with its Muslim population and its centuries in need of a fleet with access to the Mediterranean. But Nicholas' superciliousness in the Crimea in part led to the Crimean war with Britain and France, whose leaders attempts to stop Russia's expanding borders and to slow its influence in the Middle East saw somewhere between half a million to a million people die and led to more myth-making. The Russians endured a grinding, year-long siege at Sevastopol that, despite their heroics, resulted in the eventual Russian surrender; nearly a century later, Sevastopol’s Soviet defenders were almost wiped out in a doomed bid to repel the encircling Nazis.
Former Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev told Russian media that the annexation of Crimea, which after decades of resettlement and the slaughter and forced exile of many Tatars had become majority Russian, would redress a Soviet-era “mistake” of attaching the peninsula politically to the Ukrainian republic. Putin subsequently lamented how the disintegration of the U.S.S.R. transformed tens of millions of Russians into minorities living in new states to which they didn’t necessarily want to belong. Russia felt that she had not just been robbed, but plundered. Millions of Russians went to bed in one country and woke up in another, transformed overnight into minorities within the former Soviet republics and the Russian nation became the biggest, partitioned nation in the world.
History haunts arguments about what Putin thinks, how much further he might go, and what should be done. Some commentators focus on how Putin sees himself in history, while others, like me, draw historical analogies. But no matter what parallel people choose to explain Putin’s power play in the Crimea, the region will probably continue to change hands as it has done for the last thousand years.
For those of you out there who do those brilliant weekend breaks in Paris and travel on our wonderful Eurostar, this post is going to make you want to upgrade from standard to first class for your journey from London to Paris. You know what I mean, the lure of a little more leg room, better food, hopefully better service, maybe some complimentary champagne on boarding -just to smooth the journey ahead. That said, what this post will also make you realise is that no matter how many upgrades you pay for, the level of luxury you experience will not be what it used to be.
Before the Eurostar, jet-aeroplanes and car-ferries, if you have money, you would have undertaken this journey aboard a train, the train service that got you to your channel ferry from London without stopping was called the Boat Train Express. Amongst the carriage that made up this train you would find ordinary third, second and first class carriages. First class was exclusive and expensive enough and a one way ticket would cost the average yearly wage of a farm labourer at the turn of the last century. But if you had serious money, and you enjoyed the very finest things in life, up at the front of the train you would find a collection of eye catching umber and cream coloured carriages, each with their own name with the word Pullman written in gilded gold lettering across the roof.
Named after its American pioneer, George Pullman, Pullman's were a hyper luxurious form of railway travel, offering a higher standard of comfort and service than even the First Class product offered by the railway companies at the time. For the people who could afford them, Pullman trains were like travelling hotel suites. When international journeys took days, not hours, Pullman passengers could enjoy comfortable single armchairs, luxurious sleeping compartments, all of the compartments were of beautiful inlaid wood, individual reading lamps stood on highly polished tables, and each compartment had its own unique artwork on the walls.
If the passengers wanted a meal they did not have get up and go to a buffet car, there wasn’t one, each meal was served at the passenger’s own tables by white-coated stewards. The tables were set with starched white cloth, shining silverware and glittering crystal. Each meal was accompanied by fine wines and champagnes. When travelling to and from Dover in the evening a seven course dinner would be served typically consisting of: melon, hors d’oeuvres, fish, joint, sweet, dessert, coffee. A dinner such as this cost a supplement of five shillings, lunch was three and six and on early runs a full English breakfast for half a crown.
Passengers headed toward London from the Channel usually boarded in time for afternoon tea and champagne. A typical afternoon tea menu of a 1920s Pullman would include the obligatory selection of finger sandwiches, warm scones served with Devonshire clotted cream and strawberry jam; afternoon tea pastries; Crumpets (when they were in ‘season’) a choice of Indian, Chinese or Russian Tea or Columbian coffee.
During peak periods such as the Continental “seasons,” a full train of Pullmans may be required to facilitate the increased demand. Such trains would usually consist of nine to ten Pullman cars plus two 4-wheeled vans and two 6-wheeled trucks carrying the luggage. Each truck carries four sealed “boxes,” or containers, with the luggage registered through to destinations abroad, and at Dover these containers were hoisted off the trucks direct into the hold of the steamer and at Calais out on to corresponding trucks on the French Railway, thereby saving a great deal of handling time. Pullman passengers would not have to pass through the “customs,” but have their hand luggage examined on the train after leaving Calais.
In 1935 the cost of travelling from London to Calais aboard a Pullman was four pounds thirteen shillings and two pence (Roughly £300 in today’s money) this price did not include food. If passengers already held a first class ticket for another train doing the same journey they could pay a supplement (3 shillings and 6d in 1927) to upgrade to a Pullman carriage.
The service was simply known as the ‘Continental Boat Express’, until 1929 when the Southern Railway decided to introduce their first ever ‘all-fist-class’ Pullman train called ‘The Golden Arrow’. This train usually consisted of 10 first class Pullman cars and purpose-built all-fist-class ferry called the ‘Canterbury’ was constructed to carry Golden Arrow passengers across the channel. Because of the impact of air travel and 'market forces' on the underlying economy, ordinary first- and third-class carriages were added in 1931. Similarly the first-class-only ferry, Canterbury, was modified to allow other classes of passenger.
The rapid expansion during the 1960’s of private motoring and the introduction of new car ferry ships and hovercraft across the Channel, plus the expansion of air services between London and Paris, led to a decline in use. The final service of the ‘Golden Arrow’ ran on 30th September 1972. Some of the Pullman cars that once ran on the ‘Golden Arrow’ have been restored and are now in use in the English portion of the "Venice-Simplon Orient Express", running over much the same route as they did in the past.