Enid is a 2009 British
biographical television film first broadcast on 16 November on BBC
Four. Directed by James Hawes it is based on the life of children's
writer Enid Blyton, portrayed by Helena Bonham Carter. The film
introduced the two main lovers of Blyton's life. Her first husband
Hugh Pollock, who was also her publisher, was played by Matthew
Macfadyen. Kenneth Darrell Waters, a London surgeon who became
Blyton's second husband, was portrayed by Denis Lawson. The film
explored how the orderly, reassuringly clear worlds Blyton created
within her stories contrasted with the complexity of her own personal
life.
Helena
Bonham Carter on being Enid Blyton
"Appealing
and appalling." Helena Bonham Carter talks about how she was
drawn in by the writer’s creative fire – and her dark deeds.
There is a scene in Enid, the
BBC’s new biopic of Enid Blyton, where the children’s author,
played by Helena Bonham Carter, is asked by a radio journalist how
she maintains the balance between work and motherhood.
“Of course
children need their mothers,” she replies, before the camera cuts
away to show her two neglected daughters at home, listening to the
broadcast in a state of sombre bemusement. “Mothers are the heart
of any household. I try to spend as much time with my children as I
possibly can while also fulfilling my professional duties. It is
tricky, but I think I manage it.”
Bonham Carter
chuckles as she quotes these lines in our own interview in a London
members’ club. She has something of an affinity for Blyton and
thinks these words will do as her personal response to the same
question. Although, she concedes, her six-year-old son Billy may beg
to differ: “Bill threw my script to the opposite end of the room
just before I started filming, saying, ‘I like you but I don’t
like what you do ’cos it takes such a very long time.’”
It’s a coup, of
course, that the BBC has persuaded a film star of Bonham Carter’s
standing to appear in a low-budget biopic. “I did it for the
money,” she says with a grin, in a jest that is almost cruel. The
frenetic 15-day shoot suggests otherwise. The 43-year-old actress, a
one-time Oscar nominee for The Wings of a Dove, is more used these
days to working in the lavish Hollywood productions of her partner,
director Tim Burton. She has recently finished work on his Alice in
Wonderland adaptation, due for release in the spring, in which she
will play the Red Queen.
Bonham Carter is
perhaps the biggest name so far to join the honourable list of actors
who have starred in these TV one-offs. Ken Stott, David Walliams and
Anne Reid are among those that went before her. And coming after
Enid, completing a trio of films on idolised British women, will be
Jane Horrocks playing Gracie Fields and Anne-Marie Duff as Margot
Fonteyn. The salient feature of all these pieces – and the real
draw for such quality casts – has been the writing. “It’s sort
of ironic,” says Bonham Carter, “but I always find the better the
script the less money you have to do it and the less time.”
Blyton’s is a
corker of a story, and this is the first time it’s been turned into
a straight drama, after a drama documentary in the early 1990s. The
film’s director, James Hawes, is adamant that his feature is,
“Neither a hagiography nor a hatchet job”, although the woman
that scriptwriter Lindsay Shapero has created here would strike most
as first and foremost a vindictive egotist.
Early and sudden
fame in the 1920s (“She was the JK Rowling of her day – and then
some,” says Hawes) went quickly to Blyton’s head and she soon
lost interest in her downtrodden publisher husband, Hugh Pollock
(played here by Matthew Macfadyen). She struggled to bond with her
younger daughter, Imogen, whomshe left to scream in her cot. “She
put the baby in a cupboard and carried on writing and it all fell
apart,” as Bonham Carter neatly summarises.
Although both
parties were adulterous Blyton persuaded Pollock to take the rap when
they divorced, on the promise he would have unlimited access to the
children – then refused to let him see them again, telling everyone
her second husband, surgeon Kenneth Waters, was their father. She
then contacted the major London publishers and used her literary
clout to get Pollock blacklisted, so destroying his career. She also
pretended her mother was dead because she hated her so much. There’s
more, but too much will spoil the story.
The film was made in
consultation with Blyton’s main biographer Barbara Stoney and
Imogen, the surviving daughter, and the essential facts are easy to
corroborate. It doesn’t even venture into the terrain of her
possible lesbian affair, which received press attention a few years
ago when Pollock’s second wife Ida went public with her own version
of why Blyton’s first marriage collapsed.
But just as over the
decades public opinion of the literary skills of the creator of
Noddy, the Famous Five and around 750 further titles has yo-yoed, so
Blyton can’t be painted only as unpleasant. The biopic encourages
our sympathy through its depiction of Blyton’s difficult childhood:
her father, a cutlery salesman, abandoned the family when she was 13.
Her uterus stopped growing at the same age and, at the time, it was
thought that this could prevent her having children. The parental
trauma is a key reason why Bonham Carter herself finds the author
“appealing as well as appalling”.
“Her writing was
possibly a response to her father leaving her,” she explains. “That
sort of painful encounter with reality meant that she wrote a world
that was much more comfortable. My father fell really chronically ill
when I was 13 and that’s when I phoned up an agent and started to
act. So I had a very similar response and have always had great
comfort from living imaginatively.”
But surely all
Blyton’s deceits regarding her own family – she once pretended
her dog was still alive when it wasn’t; she eulogised her
womanising father – they’re not living imaginatively, they’re
pathological fantasy? “Yes, her fantasy was so divorced from
reality she was virtually insane,” says Bonham Carter. “It is
very hard to have that creative force married to a totally sane
brain.”
Bonham Carter
couldn’t be more different from Blyton in real life. Demonstrating
her customary disregard for fashion, the flouncy, lacy, multilayered
get-up she wears for the interview includes bloomers, while her hair
is a bird’s nest of a quality that any member of the Famous Five
would be proud to discover. She looks about 25 and engages with
candour with nearly every subject thrown at her. She says she only
read a little Blyton growing up “but I’m reading Noddy to Billy
now whether he likes it or not,” she laughs (she has another child,
Nell, but she’s too young even for Blyton).
“And he does like
it,” she adds. “All the things people criticise her for, such as
repetitive language, he loves it, it makes it really easy to read.”
She points out that all the racism that so bothered detractors during
Blyton’s critical nadir in the Seventies has been taken out these
days, and the sexism doesn’t seem too bad.
“When you write
for very young children what they want is something familiar and safe
and stereotyped. They want to know where they are… Lots of subtle
and very intelligent friends of mine say, ‘Thank God for Blyton,
she brought me up.’”
Blyton, whose books
still sell around 8 million a year, is having a resurgence generally
at the moment. Last year a survey found her Britain’s most popular
author. The ex-Children’s Laureate Anne Fine recently made a Radio
4 programme in her defence. So she’s not the hate figure she once
was. Enid comes out at an apposite time then, although, despite
Bonham Carter’s defence of her, the film is unlikely to further
endear the author to the nation.
New
TV drama reveals Enid Blyton as a barking-mad adulterous bully …
On paper, the world
of Enid Blyton was one populated by happy, carefree children whose
idea of bliss at the end of an adventure-filled day was a slice of
plum cake washed down by lashings of ginger beer.
The setting was an
idyllic Britain, one of thatched cottages and lych gates, a fairytale
time, in an age of innocence.
But the creator of
Noddy, the Famous Five, the Secret Seven and Malory Towers was in
truth a cold-hearted mother and a vindictive adultress who set out to
destroy her former husband.
Barking mad: Enid
Blyton will be played by Helena Bonham Carter (right) in a new
television drama
The darker
revelations, which will dissolve the image of Blyton conveyed by her
753 much-loved books, are part of a brilliant new television biopic,
starring Helena Bonham Carter as the author.
At first glance,
Blyton's life seems unlikely material for gripping drama, as much of
it consisted of her sitting at a desk, knocking off 10,000 words a
day. Her books sold 600million copies around the world and made her
extremely rich and famous. Her works still sell eight million copies
a year.
But Blyton's home
life at her cottage, Old Thatch, near the Thames at Bourne End, then
at Green Hedges, a mock-Tudor house in Beaconsfield, was nothing like
as idyllic as the picture she tried to create.
In spite of the
children's nursery, crumpets for tea, Bimbo the cat and Topsy the
dog, all foisted on the public in convenient photocalls to project
the Blyton brand, the truth was more conflicted.
Enid Blyton pays a
visit to Victoria Palace in 1958 to meet some of the young artists
who will portray her characters in Noddy In Toyland
Fairytale time: The
author pays a visit to Victoria Palace in 1958 to meet some of the
young artists who will portray her characters in Noddy In Toyland
Children's
favourite: Blyton's Famous Five books are still delighting young
readers across the world
'Enid's
self-awareness was brilliant and she was incredibly controlling,
too,' explains Bonham Carter. 'I was attracted to the role because
she was bonkers. She was an emotional mess and quite barking mad.
'What I found
extraordinary, bordering on insane, was the way that Enid reinvented
her own life. She was allergic to reality - if there was something
she didn't like then she either ignored it or re-wrote her life.
'She didn't like her
mother, so let her colleagues assume she was dead. When her mother
died, she refused to attend the funeral. Then the first husband
didn't work out, so she scrubbed him out.
'There's also a
scene in the film where her dog dies, but she carries on pretending
he's still alive because she can't bear the truth.'
Emotionally, Blyton
remained a little girl, stuck in a world of picnics, secret-society
codes and midnight feasts. It acted as a huge comfort blanket.
Many of Blyton's
obsessions can be traced to her father, who left her mother when Enid
was 12. She then seized up emotionally and physically.
'It was my job to
understand how she became like this in the first place, not to judge
her,' explains Bonham Carter.
'When Enid consulted
a gynaecologist about her failure to conceive, she was diagnosed as
having an immature uterus and had to have surgery and hormone
treatment before she could have children.'
Cold-hearted mother:
Blyton with her daughters Gillian and Imogen
The irony was that
when she finally did have two daughters, Gillian and Imogen, with her
first husband, Hugh Pollock, she was unable to relate to them as a
normal mother.
She loved signing
thousands of letters to her 'friends' the fans, encouraging them to
collect milk bottle tops for Great Ormond Street Hospital to help the
war effort, and even ran a competition to name her house, Green
Hedges.
But her neighbours
said Blyton used to complain about the fearful racket made by
children playing.
She was distant and
unkind to her younger daughter Imogen and there was clear favouritism
in the way she privileged her elder daughter Gillian, who died two
years ago aged 75.
Imogen Smallwood,
74, says: 'My mother was arrogant, insecure and without a trace of
maternal instinct. Her approach to life was childlike, and she could
be spiteful, like a teenager.'
Although Imogen
prefers to remain private, she did visit the set to advise Bonham
Carter. 'We had email correspondence before Imogen visited the set.
We agreed that I wasn't going to try to impersonate her mother
because this is a drama,' says Helena.
'Imogen is
sensitive, but was very supportive and gave me a few tips, such as
how her mother did everything at immense speed because she was ruled
by the watch. Enid's domestic life was seen as an interruption to her
writing, which was her escapism.'
There is a poignant
scene in the film where Blyton holds a tea party at home for her
fans, or 'friends' as she preferred to call them. But her daughters
are banished to the nursery.
'Enid is one of the
kids at the Famous Five tea parties - the jelly and ice-cream are as
much for her as they are for her fans,' explains Helena.
'It's also
significant that when her daughters go to school, a large mannequin
of Noddy - her new child - arrives in the hall to take the place of
the children.'
Blyton's first
husband, Hugh, called her 'Little Bunny' and adored her. He helped
launch her career after they met when he was her editor at Newnes,
the publisher.
Blyton's first book,
Child Whispers, a collection of poems, was published in 1922. She
wrote in her diary soon after meeting him: 'I want him for mine.'
They were married
for 19 years, but as Enid's career took off in the Thirties, Hugh
grew depressed and took to nightly drinking sessions in the cellar
while Enid managed to fit affairs in between writing.
The marriage
deteriorated and Hugh moved out. She mocked him in later adventure
stories, such as The Mystery Of The Burnt Cottage, as the clueless
cop, PC Theophilus Goon.
After a bitter
divorce, she married surgeon Kenneth Darrell Waters, with whom she
had a fulfilling sex life.
Although the drama
shows Blyton's flirtatiousness - she entertained servicemen to dinner
at the house while her husband was away at war and found them and
their attention attractive - directors chose to omit some aspects of
Blyton's apparently sensual side, such as visitors arriving to find
her playing tennis naked and suggestions of a lesbian affair with her
children's nanny, Dorothy Richards.
But the drama, which
has been given the thumbs-up by the Enid Blyton Society, does
highlight the author's cruel streak. When Hugh remarried, as she had
done, Blyton was so furious that she banned her daughters from seeing
their father.
According to Ida
Crowe, who later married Hugh, Blyton's revenge was to stop him from
seeing Gillian and Imogen, and to prevent him from finding work in
publishing. He went bankrupt and sank into depression and drinking.
Ms Crowe, 101, is
using her memoir, Starlight, published this month, to break her
silence on her feelings towards Blyton, whom she portrays as cold,
distant and malevolent. Ms Crowe confirms that during her first
marriage, Blyton embarked on a string of affairs, including a
suspected relationship with nanny Richards.
Yet Blyton could
never forgive Hugh for finding happiness of his own when their
marriage ended.
Rosemary Pollock,
66, daughter of Ida and Hugh, says: 'My father. was an honourable man
- not the flawed, inconsequential one which was the deliberate
misconception perpetuated by Enid.'
Ida and Hugh met
when she was 21 and he was 50. In her memoirs, she describes him as
'shatteringly handsome' - tall and slim with golden hair and blue
eyes.
After Ida narrowly
escaped death in an air raid, she says, Hugh asked for a divorce and
Enid agreed. The memoirs claim, however, that Hugh agreed to be
identified as the 'guilty' party in the divorce in return for an
amicable separation and access to their daughters.
But Rosemary says:
'This agreement was a sham because Enid had no intention of allowing
him any kind of contact with either of the girls. She even told
Benenden, the girls' boarding school, that on no account was their
father, who was paying the bills, to be allowed near them.'
Ida and Hugh married
within days of the divorce being granted in October 1943. Gillian and
Imogen were 12 and eight. Rosemary got in touch with her half-sisters
after Enid's death in 1968, at the age of 71.
Rosemary says:
'Gillian said the last time she saw her father was when they were
walking to Beaconsfield station and she had this awful feeling she
was not going to see him again.
'She said that on
her wedding day, she looked around the church and hoped her father
would turn up. My father said he was devastated not to have been
invited to Gillian's wedding.'
Rosemary has also
accused Enid of wrecking Hugh's literary career. 'Enid was capable of
many vindictive things and she didn't want her former husband
occupying a prominent position in London publishing, a world she
dominated.
'My father had to
file for bankruptcy in 1950 because he couldn't find work. She also
put out a story that he was a drunk and an adulterer, and that he had
made her life a misery.
'Incredibly, Enid
even wrote to my mother three years after they had both remarried,
saying: "I hope he doesn't ruin your life as he did mine."
'My father did
drink, but it was in order to numb the pain. I never heard him
criticise Enid. He would praise her remarkable talents.'
Certainly, Blyton is
enjoying a renaissance. Disney UK is planning a new, animated feature
called Famous 5: On The Case, in which the children of the original
Five, and a dog, enjoy some new adventures.
She was also named
Britain's best-loved author in a poll last month.
Imogen attributes
her mother's success to the fact she 'wrote as a child with an
adult's writing skills'.
Despite her private
life, no amount of detraction will diminish Blyton as one of
Britain's great writers who shaped millions of childhood
imaginations. Although it may be harder for the adults they grew into
to imagine what the creator of Noddy got up to in real life.
On 28 August 1924
Blyton married Major Hugh Alexander Pollock, DSO (1888–1971) at
Bromley Register Office, without inviting her family. Pollock was
editor of the book department in the publishing firm of George
Newnes, which became her regular publisher. It was he who requested
that Blyton write a book about animals, The Zoo Book, which was
completed in the month before they married. They initially lived
in a flat in Chelsea before moving to Elfin Cottage in Beckenham in
1926, and then to Old Thatch in Bourne End (called Peterswood in her
books) in 1929.
Blyton's first
daughter Gillian, was born on 15 July 1931, and after a miscarriage
in 1934, she gave birth to a second daughter, Imogen, on 27
October 1935. In 1938 Blyton and her family moved to a house in
Beaconsfield, which was named Green Hedges by Blyton's readers
following a competition in her magazine. By the mid-1930s, Pollock –
possibly due to the trauma he had suffered during the First World War
being revived through his meetings as a publisher with Winston
Churchill – withdrew increasingly from public life and became a
secret alcoholic. With the outbreak of the Second World War, he
became involved in the Home Guard. Pollock entered into a
relationship with a budding young writer, Ida Crowe, and arranged for
her to join him at his posting to a Home Guard training centre at
Denbies, a Gothic mansion in Surrey belonging to Lord Ashcombe, and
work there as his secretary. Blyton's marriage to Pollock became
troubled, and according to Crowe's memoir, Blyton began a series of
affairs, including a lesbian relationship with one of the children's
nannies. In 1941 Blyton met Kenneth Fraser Darrell Waters, a London
surgeon with whom she began an affair. Pollock discovered the
liaison, and threatened to initiate divorce proceedings against
Blyton. Fearing that exposure of her adultery would ruin her public
image, it was ultimately agreed that Blyton would instead file for
divorce against Pollock. According to Crowe's memoir, Blyton promised
that if he admitted to infidelity she would allow him parental access
to their daughters; but after the divorce he was forbidden to contact
them, and Blyton ensured he was subsequently unable to find work in
publishing. Pollock, having married Crowe on 26 October 1943,
eventually resumed his heavy drinking and was forced to petition for
bankruptcy in 1950.
Blyton and Darrell
Waters married at the City of Westminster Register Office on 20
October 1943. She changed the surname of her daughters to Darrell
Waters and publicly embraced her new role as a happily married and
devoted doctor's wife. After discovering she was pregnant in the
spring of 1945, Blyton miscarried five months later, following a fall
from a ladder. The baby would have been Darrell Waters's first child
and it would also have been the son for which both of them longed.
Her love of tennis
included playing naked, with nude tennis "a common practice in
those days among the more louche members of the middle classes".
Blyton's health
began to deteriorate in 1957, when during a round of golf she started
to complain of feeling faint and breathless, and by 1960 she was
displaying signs of dementia. Her agent George Greenfield
recalled that it was "unthinkable" for the "most
famous and successful of children's authors with her enormous energy
and computer-like memory" to be losing her mind and suffering
from what is now known as Alzheimer's disease in her
mid-sixties. Blyton's situation was worsened by her husband's
declining health throughout the 1960s; he suffered from severe
arthritis in his neck and hips, deafness, and became increasingly
ill-tempered and erratic until his death on 15 September 1967.
The story of
Blyton's life was dramatised in a BBC film entitled Enid, which aired
in the United Kingdom on BBC Four on 16 November 2009. Helena Bonham
Carter, who played the title role, described Blyton as "a
complete workaholic, an achievement junkie and an extremely canny
businesswoman" who "knew how to brand herself, right down
to the famous signature".
“Remember that each new round of auctions goes up
every Thursday. They run for ten days and end on Sunday evenings. The last
round of auctions will be going up on March 30th “
A group of
French-language activists has launched a legal action over signs at Notre Dame
Cathedral being translated only into English and not any other language.
The
association, which won a similar case brought against the Eiffel Tower,
believes failing to include other foreign languages leads to the increasing
global domination of English.
Louis
Maisonneuve, a spokesperson for the Défense de la langue française (Defence of
the French language), said the legal complaint was lodged with the Paris court
on Monday, the Journée internationale de la Francophonie (international
French-speaking day).
While
campaigners are more generally opposed to the use of English words and terms in
French documents, communications, signs and advertisements – among others –
they say the signs at Notre Dame and other public buildings contravene the 1994
regulation requiring all public buildings to translate their signs and
information into at least two other languages.
“The law
protects French because it promotes linguistic pluralism,” Maisonneuve told
AFP.
The 1994
Toubon law requires the use of French in official government publications, all
advertising, in workplaces, commercial contracts and all state schools. It also
requires a “double translation” of public signs and translated official
documents into two foreign languages, usually English and one other in order to
promote multilingualism.
The
association points out that certain information boards explaining the work to
repair the cathedral, devastated by fire in 2019, are in French and English
only. Its legal complaint cites Gen Jean-Louis Georgelin, who was appointed by
the culture ministry to oversee the Notre Dame repair work.
Maisonneuve
said the association had persuaded Paris city hall to add a Spanish translation
to signs at the Eiffel Tower last November. “We threatened to take them to
court. It took a year … in the end they changed them all to include Spanish,”
he said.
It has also
complained to 20 other public bodies over their use of English, including in an
advert by the national postal service La Poste for its banking service with the
title “Ma French Bank” instead of Ma banque française.
Legal
action is also being taken against the Bouches du Rhône authorities for their
“Pass my Provence” visitors’ scheme, the Sorbonne for describing itself on its
website as a “business school”, the EPF engineering school for its sign
“Creating the future together” and Charles de Gaulle airport for using
bilingual signs in French and English.
The
Académie Française, the “official” defenders of the French language founded in
1634 and with 40 members known as “Immortals”, is famous for its long campaign
against the creep of Anglicisms into French.
Its latest
edition of “Dire-ne pas dire” (say-don’t say) list includes dark as in “Dark
Ages” – use “sombre, obscur, inquétant” it says – wishlist, fake, Crazy Monday,
sticker, Trojan horse, mass event, millénial, game, gamer and loser.
Boycotting English: France’s Reaction to a Linguistic
Invasion
English as
today’s lingua franca can be a double-edged sword; not only does it make it
easier for me personally to travel and communicate with people from different
countries, but it makes it easier for people of all nationalities to do so,
safe in the knowledge that wherever they go, someone somewhere is bound to
speak a little bit of English.However,
this also places the spotlight on the hegemony the English language has over
the rest of the world, bringing with it an un-asked for cultural invasion as
our products, movies, and advertising goes global.
It’s common
knowledge how European countries like Germany and France are using English words
in their own vernacular, ex. le weekend.In some Middle Eastern countries, Arabic is verging on a second
language, with educated youths switching back and forth in conversation between
English and Arabic (the hybrid language they call Arabizi, a combination of
Arabic and Inglizi).The Politecnico di
Milano, one of Italy’s oldest and most esteemed universities, has declared
that, starting in the fall of 2014, all their graduate-level courses will be
taught solely in English.Scholars and
linguists have argued that diplomacy and international relations are unfairly
balanced toward the English-speaking crowd, and that this causes
misunderstandings, discrimination, and worse.
In France,
a country notoriously proud of their language, organizations for the
preservation of French culture and language are taking up arms against this
English intrusion.Former president
Jacques Chirac once led a walkout of his fellow Frenchmen from an EU summit
after one of them made the social blunder of speaking in English.More recently, the French government has
urged nationals to abandon the use of such English words as email, blog,
hashtag, supermodel, and takeaway in favor of French replacement terms.
Michael
Serres, a French philosopher, is urging his compatriots to take it one step
further and actually boycott all instances of the English language they
see.He states, “There are more English
words on the walls of Toulouse than there were German words during the Occupation,”
and is calling for the French to refuse to buy products advertised in English,
or to go see Hollywood movies that aren’t translated.Many are hailing Serres for championing the
French language in the face of a relentless juggernaut, pointing out that the
flood of English in their country goes even deeper than pop culture.In 1997, 40% of documents at the European
Commission were written in French, while 45% were written in English; last year
those statistics were 11% French and 72% English.
"Prueba
tu Español"...
While many
are dramatically terming the influx of English as an “Anglo-Saxon ploy” and
“planned assassination of the French language,” accusing President Nicolas
Sarkozy as scheming to make France a completely bilingual country, others are
applauding increased use of English as the way of the future.International companies in particular,
knowing that increased use of English will give them an advantage in the
business playing field, are pushing for documents and meetings to be written
and conducted in English.
In my own
personal experience—that being which it’s very rare to meet an educated person
who doesn’t have at least a conversational level of English—I’ve found that
French people of my generation are more likely to speak as their second
language Spanish, German, Italian, anything except English.Is this wave of Anglophobia the last heroic
defense of an endangered cultural identity, or is it backwards thinking in the
light of changing times?(Remember, the
term lingua franca used to be literal.)Various English-speakers have suggested we could follow suit and cut
French words out of our language: coup, haute couture, malaise, and so on,
engaging in a language war that could lead down many a dark and difficult path.
What do you
think about boycotting a specific language?
The Stone
Cross was placed by the Portuguese in 1486 and features the country's crest
The German
Historical Museum has announced it will return a 15th century monument to Namibia
after it was taken during the colonial era.
The Stone
Cross is a Portuguese navigation landmark placed on the southwest African
coastline in 1486.
But when
the area was under German colonial control in the 1890s, the cross was taken
and moved to Europe.
Namibia
asked for its return in 2017 and on Friday, the Berlin museum formally agreed
to the request.
Germany has
pledged to return artefacts and human remains to its former colonies.
At a
ceremony, German Culture Minister Monika Grütters said it was a "clear
signal that we are committed to coming to terms with our colonial past".
Namibia's
ambassador to Germany, Andreas Guibeb, called it "important as a step for
us to reconcile with our colonial past and the trail of humiliation and
systematic injustice that it left behind".
A museum
press release said the cross would be returned in August.
Portuguese
explorer Diogo Cão first placed the 3.5m (11ft) stone cross - featuring the
country's coat of arms - on Africa's southwest coast during one of his
expeditions.
It became
so well known it featured on old maps of the area.
But a
German naval commander took the cross in 1893, during the country's control of
what became Namibia between 1884 and 1915.
The German
Historical Museum foundation's president, Raphael Gross, wrote in the
Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung that the cross represented "the slow beginning
of colonial rule in present-day Namibia".
A number of
African nations have in recent years called on European museums to return
artefacts taken away during the period of colonial control.
‘Conquerors: How Portugal Forged the First Global
Empire,’ by Roger Crowley
Afonso de
Albuquerque died 500 years ago, after spending a dozen years terrorizing
coastal cities from Yemen to Malaysia. He enriched thousands of men and killed
tens of thousands more. Despite never commanding more than a few dozen ships,
he built one of the first modern intercontinental empires. And this was just
the beginning: The next step, he said, was to sail up the Red Sea, destroy
Mecca, Medina and the Prophet Muhammad’s body and liberate the Holy Land.
Perhaps, he mused, he could destroy Islam altogether.
The 18
years between December 1497, when Vasco da Gama rounded the Cape of Good Hope,
and December 1515, when Albuquerque died off the Indian coast, were a pivotal
point in history, and in “Conquerors” Roger Crowley tells the story with style.
It is a classic ripping yarn, packed with excitement, violence and
cliffhangers. Its larger-than-life characters are at once extraordinary and
repulsive, at one moment imagining the world in entirely new ways and at the
next braying with delight over massacring entire cities.
Crowley’s
craftsmanship comes through most clearly in telling this story of relentless,
one-sided slaughter without glutting the reader with gore. At Mombasa in 1505 the
Portuguese killed 700 Muslims with a loss of five of their own men. At Dabul on
the last day of 1508 “no living thing was left alive.” At Goa in 1510
Albuquerque killed so many people that the city’s infamous crocodiles could not
eat them all. And on the conquerors went, year after bloody year; but Crowley,
the author of “1453” and other works of history, handles this grim tale with
aplomb, keeping a fast-moving narrative in the foreground while nodding just
often enough toward bigger questions in the background.
The biggest
of these is surely how a handful of Europeans managed, for good and ill, to do
so much. Crowley does not give us an explicit answer, but he provides more than
enough information for readers to make up their own minds. Some historians have
suggested that Albuquerque owed his success more to divisions within India than
to any European advantages, but Crowley makes it clear that infighting among
the Portuguese was even worse. The king’s court in Lisbon was a snake pit, and
Albuquerque’s captains repeatedly refused to serve under him; in 1514 an
attempt was made to poison him.
The theory
that Christian civilization was simply superior to Muslim and Hindu cultures
seems equally unconvincing. As Crowley describes it, Lisbon was less a model of
Renaissance reason than a precursor of the Wild West, and most Portuguese were
so ignorant about India that it took them years to work out that Hinduism was a
religion in its own right, not a provincial version of Christianity. When the
Europeans did finally grasp this, many also concluded — as one Italian merchant
put it — that India’s cultures “are superior to us in infinite ways, except
when it comes to fighting.”
Fighting —
or more precisely ships, guns and ferocity — does seem to be what it came down
to. Portuguese sailors learned to build ships that could plunge into the
uncharted Atlantic in search of winds to carry them around Africa’s southern
tip, all the while dying in droves from dysentery, scurvy and thirst. But
getting to India was merely a sufficient condition; without devastating guns,
the Europeans would have accomplished little.
Ships and
guns gave Europeans command of the seas, but even when Indians bought or copied
European weapons and hired European advisers — as they did by 1510 — they still
could not compete with what Crowley calls the Portuguese “berserker fighting
style.” From the humblest foot soldier up to Albuquerque himself, the Europeans
were simply ferocious, throwing themselves at their enemies with reckless
courage. Sometimes indiscipline brought on disaster, but often Africans,
Indians, Arabs and Turks turned and fled.
Portugal’s
leaders were deeply flawed, but they had strategic vision. By 1505 King Manuel
understood that a few Europeans could control the Indian Ocean’s spice trade by
seizing choke points at Aden, Ormuz and Malacca, and in 1510 Albuquerque saw
that Goa could anchor the whole enterprise (“If you lost the whole of India you
could reconquer it from there,” he told Manuel).
Manuel and
Albuquerque came close to pulling off the biggest strategic coup in history,
converting Portugal from the most backward fringe of western Eurasia to the
center of a global empire. It is only when we ask why they failed that
Crowley’s story perhaps fails too. But maybe that will be the subject for
Crowley’s next book; and if it is as good as this one, it will be worth waiting
for.
CONQUERORS
How
Portugal Forged the First Global Empire
By Roger Crowley
Illustrated.
368 pp. Random House. $30.
Ian Morris’s latest book is “Foragers, Farmers,
and Fossil Fuels: How Human Val
Maria Manuela Peleteiro / PUBLICO comment
“We do not agree with his idea that the request for the
restitution of the Standard could be seen as a colonial nostalgia, but rather
as a demonstration of enormous respect for the unbridled courage and
determination that led the Portuguese to explore the African coast. We would
like you to count on us and on our opinion of Portuguese admirers of Namibia
and its People but also of our Past, not the colonial but what led us with a
unique dynamic and boldness, to face the Unknown. If you are aware of any Movement
in Portugal that supports this idea, we will certainly be available to be
contacted.” Lisbon, July 1, 2018 Maria do Céu Fialho Maria da
Conceição Peleteiro Maria da Luz Fialho Maria Manuela Peleteiro
OPINION
The Padrão of Diogo Cão
The restitution of museum objects from the former
colonies is of course a complex problem.
The Museum
of German History in Berlin organized on June 7 a day of debate on the pattern
erected by Diogo Cão in 1486 at Cape Cross, a territory of present-day Namibia.
The pattern had been removed from its site by a German warship in 1893, during
German colonization, having been preserved first in Kiel and then in Berlin,
belonging since 1946 to the collection of the Museum of German History. This
meeting was prompted by the official request for restitution of the standard,
submitted by Namibia last year.
Government
members, ambassadors, academics, journalists and members of heritage
associations were invited, mainly from Namibia but also from other African
countries. Present and speaking were the Minister of Culture of the German
Federal Government, Monika Grütters, and the Ambassador of Namibia Andreas
Guibeb. Panel discussions on the legal and philosophical framework of the
restitution of museum pieces, oral literature and forms of anti-colonial
resistance in Namibia, museum policies and international relations followed. I
would like to highlight here the interventions of Ellen Ndeshi Namhila, from
the University of Namibia, on the fascinating diaries of Hendrik Witbooi, from
the early twentieth century, and Winani Kgwatalala, from the National Museum of
Botswana, on the policy of restitution of objects.
I did the
inaugural session on "Colonial objects: imposition, appropriation,
exchange", in which I analyzed the logic of patterns as forms of
identification of exploration trips, claim of precedence and declaration of
intention of occupation. I tried to place them in the wider context of
political communication and the fate of European objects, particularly statues,
in the post-independence period. I approached the collection of objects from
other continents, in many cases adapted to European taste, such as ivories from
West Africa, Indo-Portuguese furniture, Japanese lacquer objects or Chinese
porcelains, which came to populate European curiosity cabinets along with
minerals and plants. I also spoke of the logic of museums, given the
transformation of the last 40 years: European national and colonial collections
for the purpose of imperial affirmation have become places of contact and
involvement of the communities originating from ethnographic objects, open to
the regeneration of memory and knowledge of the cultures of the world.
Namibia's
request is part of a process of reflection on the colonial past and is
supported by several institutions of memory, such as the Namibian Association
of Museums, National Archives and Citizens' Associations. It is part of a
complex process of negotiation between the two governments over compensation
due for the genocide of the Herrero and Nama by German colonial troops between
1904 and 1908 (it is estimated that 70% of these populations were
exterminated). Descendants of these ethnicities, meanwhile, have filed a
lawsuit against the German government in a New York court. The German government,
which at first paid little attention to this private initiative in absentia of
the Namibian government, had to constitute a defense lawyer given the threat of
kidnapping its properties in the United States.
The
atmosphere in which the meeting took place was extremely cordial, with the
participation of German and Namibian academics of excellent level. The German
head of the German-Namibian bilateral commission Ruprecht Polenz was also a
speaker. The president of the German History Museum, Professor Raphael Gross,
was available for the restitution of the standard. He intends to revise the
exhibition of the permanent collection, as several sections are frankly dated
and ideologically biased; the section on German colonialism in Africa does not
even mention the genocide of the Herrero and Nama in Namibia.
I must
stress the openness of the German authorities, which seem to be in line with
the best international museum practices of liaison with the communities of the
places of origin of the pieces. I had the opportunity to talk with Professor
Hermann Parzinger, president of the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation,
which manages the main museums, archives and the National Library in Berlin.
Investment in the recovery, restructuring and development of museums is
overwhelming, involving a financial effort of six to seven billion euros that
will be extended until the 2030s. The German federal government's bet on
changing the face of Berlin is bearing fruit, with the affirmation of the
German capital as one of the great points of attraction of international
tourism. The critical attitude towards the colonial past certainly benefits
cooperation with the countries of Africa and Asia.
Portugal
has never submitted any claim for restitution of the standard. At this point,
such a request would be seen as colonial nostalgia by the international
community. The request of the Namibian government is understandable, as its
population has a project of reflection on the colonial past, in which the
pattern can represent one of the focal points. The inventory of the
museological and documentary heritage existing in Germany related to Namibia
was also discussed. I pointed out as a possible model the Rescue project, which
has been developed with microfilming and massive digitization of Brazilian
documentation in Portugal and eight other countries. The restitution of museum
objects from the former colonies is of course a more complex problem. The
international consensus, expressed by Nicholas Thomas's latest book, is that a
single rule is not possible; the decision should be taken on a case-by-case
basis between the institutions involved, taking into account interests that can
be accommodated by various modalities of loan, long-term granting, reply or
return.
HERITAGE
There is a
Portuguese fifteenth-century Padrão boxed since 2019 in a port in Namibia.
Marco that Diogo Cão left on the Skeleton Coast was in
Berlin and arrived in Walvis Bay four years ago, but remains in storage.
Negotiations with Germany concerning the colonial era continue.
For those who
have memories of the Indiana Jones films, it's almost impossible to hear of a
500-year-old pattern arranged in a wooden box in a port warehouse without
thinking about the final scene of The Raiders of the Lost Ark, in which a man
pushes a wheelbarrow down the center aisle of a huge warehouse where dozens of
crates with the "top secret" seal are stacked.containing articles which should be kept
closed under lock and key.
Now, the pattern
Portuguese which for four years has been boxed in a customs house in the port
of Walvis Bay, Namibia's second largest city, is not an imagined object, like
the one that gives its name to Spielberg's film, and so his story is far from
fiction.
Left by the
navigator Diogo Cão in 1486 in a region that is now known as "the Skeleton
Coast", this huge stone landmark with the shield Portuguese – it measures
3.5 meters high and weighs more than a ton – was taken to Berlin in the
nineteenth century, when Namibia was part of the German colonial domains, and
has remained there ever since.
Until, in May
2019, the German History Museum, to whose collection it belongs, announced that
it would return it, in a solemn session in which the then ambassador of Namibia
to Germany, Andreas Guibeb, spoke of the restitution of this territorial
landmark that was also an aid to navigation as a decisive step in the movement
of rapprochement between the two countries. Namibia and Germany share a past
marked by episodes of extreme violence, within the framework of the German
colonization of that African territory. "The origin of the column is
inseparable from the history of Namibia," said the diplomat, quoted here
by Deutsche Welle, the German public broadcaster.
Guibeb thus
placed the pattern – symbol of the Portuguese Expansion removed from Namibian
territory by another European colonial power – on the lot of cultural property
that Germany was to return to Namibia as part of a reconciliation process
between the two countries, which had already involved the restitution of works
of art and human remains in the custody of several German museums.
The Berlin museum
fulfilled the promise made and, that same year, used a company specialized in
the transport of works of art, as sent by international manuals of good
practices, to send the Diogo Cão Pattern to Walvis Bay, by sea, Daniela Lange,
press officer of the German History Museum, confirmed to PÚBLICO.
"The Cape of
the Cross standard is currently in a Namibian port. It has been prepared by a
museum expert in stone conservation so that it can be rebuilt on site,"
Lange said.
"The date of
the official handover is being coordinated between the [German] Federal
Government and the Government of Namibia," added this technician from the
Berlin museum, referring any further clarifications to the Minister of State
for Cultural Affairs, whose spokesman, Jens Althoff, PÚBLICO tried to contact,
without success.
Why is the
standard closed for four years in a port warehouse waiting for an official
refund? Who should return it to the Namibian state? And what will be your fate
as soon as it is delivered?
PÚBLICO sought to
hear from Esther Moombolah Gôagoses, from the Namibian Ministry of Education,
Arts and Culture, but this director of heritage was not available to provide
any clarifications until the closing time of this edition.
On the ground, a
source close to the process who preferred not to be named attributes the delay
in return to a rush by the Berlin museum, which reportedly sent the pattern to
Walvis Bay without properly learning of the state of the reconciliation program
involving the two countries, and without listening to other stakeholders.
Assuring that the
more than five-century-old landmark has been "safe" for four years in
a customs warehouse paid for by the German museum, the same source reports that
its ownership has not been officially transferred to the Namibian Government –
"the Berlin museum still owns the standard" – and that the two
governments are looking for a legal solution that allows for formal
restitution.
"The
standard is from the museum, not the German state, but the Namibian government
wants the state to return it. How can the state return what is not its own?
Both countries are working on a solution." For when? It is not known.
Two patterns instead of one
The pattern that
gave its name to the cable where it was placed – Cabo da Cruz – is a limestone
landmark surmounted by a cube with a cross. On one side of the solid is
engraved the shield Portuguese, already with the changes dictated by D. João II
Portuguese. According to a text released by the Berlin museum in 2018, when it
held a congress there on the standard, in Portuguese current we would say that
it is written: "It was the creation of the world of 6685 and Christ of
1485 the excellent enlightened King D. João II of Portugal ordered to discover
this land and put this pattern by Diogo Cão knight of his house."
Cape Cross is a
small peninsula located 120 kilometres north of Swakopmund, capital of the
Erongo region. A city of sun and beach, strongly marked by German colonial
architecture.
Protected area
since the late 1960s, the cape has a hotel unit, a colony of seals and fur
seals with more than 100 thousand animals and two patterns: one erected in the
nineteenth century by the Germans, with an imperial eagle, and another
evocative of the landmark left by the Portuguese in the fifteenth century,
placed in the 80s.
Diogo Cão was
already on his second voyage as commander of the reconnaissance ships of the
southwest African coast, when he arrived there in 1486. Already in the first of
the voyages in the service of D. João II he had begun to use stone patterns to
mark the Portuguese sovereignty over the territory (initially they were made of
wood) – landmarks that were imposed on the landscape and that, such as their
importance as references for navigation, immediately began to appear on the
nautical charts used by European sailors.
Is it here that
the Government of Namibia wants to put the standard when it is officially
restored to it? Manuel Coelho, a Portuguese who has lived in Namibia for 61
years and is a permanent member of the Council of Portuguese Communities, hopes
that Cabo da Cruz will not be the chosen destination.
"If the
pattern goes back to the place where it was 400 years, it will most likely be
destroyed, or at least damaged, as were many other statues from the time of the
Germans that were here in the capital [Windhoek]," says this businessman,
who travels the country frequently and who guarantees to know the Skeleton
Coast like the back of his hand.
Since 2019,
Manuel Coelho has been trying to find out from the Portuguese diplomatic
authorities in Windhoek and the Namibian Government what can be done to remove
the pattern from the warehouse. To no avail.
"It pains me
to think that a 500-year-old pattern, one of the first left by Europeans on the
African coast, has been boxed there for four years without anything being done.
I was in Walvis Bay with a representative from the Berlin museum – I saw the
pattern in 2019 when it arrived and was arranged in a customs warehouse. I also
came with a box where I was told that there were human bones and other objects,
but these I have not seen them anymore," recalls now this 74-year-old
Portuguese who since the country's independence in 1990 says he wrote to two
presidents of the Namibian Republic to ask for the return of the Cape of the
Cross standard.
"Now I'm
asking the governor of Erongo to let me go see him again, with Ambassador
Portuguese [Luís Gaspar da Silva], to see if everything is in good
condition."
Contacted by
PÚBLICO, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MNE) in Lisbon naturally distanced
itself from bilateral negotiations around a heritage that, being of Portuguese
origin, is not Portuguese.
"With regard
to the Diogo Cão Standard, Portugal is available to evaluate the provision of
the support that is possible for assistance in the field of maintenance or
restoration of that historical heritage, which may correspond to contact in
this sense that may be established by the Namibian authorities, as was done,
for example, in the case of the wreckage of the sixteenth-century Portuguese
ship found in Oranjemund",said
MNE's official source. "The matter essentially concerns the negotiations
on historical reparations that Namibia and Germany have in progress," adds
the note sent to PÚBLICO, referring then to the agreement reached in 2021,
"which includes the restitution of the Diogo Cão Standard."
An agreement in
which Germany undertakes to invest a total of EUR 1.1 billion over 30 years, to
be distributed among the various cooperation and development programmes already
in place in Namibia, but which still seems incapable of guaranteeing the true
reconciliation that both sides seek.
A genocide
To understand the
root of the problem, one must go back in history. In 1884, Bismarck proclaimed
that Namibia would become a German protectorate. Nine years later, Gottlieb
Becker, commander of a ship anchored off the Cape of the Cross, carried the
pattern Portuguese to Germany, where it was offered to Emperor Wilhelm II.
The German
presence in that territory began to be strongly contested at the beginning of
the twentieth century, and ended with tens of thousands of men, women and
children killed, tortured or taken to the Calaari desert, where they would
succumb to hunger, disease and fatigue in forced labor camps between 1904 and
1908. In this period, troops loyal to the German emperor fought against the
Nama and Herero peoples, who rebelled against the colonial power.
Negotiations
between Germany and Namibia to heal the wounds of this historic past gained
intensity in 2015, when then-Foreign Minister Heiko Maas officially
acknowledged that German punitive actions against Hereros and Namas should be
called "genocide."
"Genocide"
was also the word used in the joint declaration of the two states after
reaching the €1.1 billion agreement to invest in rural and health
infrastructure, and in cultural and vocational training programmes, aimed
mainly at the descendants of those who survived the massacres of the 20th
century, the British daily The Guardian wrote in May 2021.
This newspaper
also noted that the joint declaration does not speak of "reparations"
or "compensations" so as not to set a "legal precedent"
capable of leading to similar demands from other countries.
In Namibia, the
agreement between the two governments led to criticism from the representatives
of the Nama and the Hereros, who did not feel represented at the negotiating
table and who still insist today on the need to monetarily compensate their
communities, in addition to the support programs already stipulated.
TNamas and Herero
are minorities in Namibia, with the Ovambo being the dominant ethnicity. It is
the descendants of the former who oppose an agreement that does not provide,
for example, for the restitution of land set aside in the colonial period. And
on their side are, unsurprisingly, the opposition parties.
An agreement of
this nature between the two countries that does not involve the people
decimated in what was the first genocide of the twentieth century is as
paternalistic and humiliating as colonialism itself, they argue.
In the middle of
this negotiation is a pattern Portuguese that Namibia has asked for back in
Germany numerous times, one of them in the 1990s, with the intention of
exhibiting it in its pavilion at Expo-98 in Lisbon.
"Until the
internal question of who gets the money that Germany will pay is resolved, the
standard does not come out of there," says Manuel Coelho. "He was
caught in the middle of a delicate domestic political issue and even out there
it's not easy. Everything that involves heritage from the colonial era,
whatever country it is, is a subject that no one wants to pick up."
This businessman
Portuguese knows that the standard will hardly make a new trip to Europe,
because it is Namibian heritage, but does not deprive himself of dreaming:
"What I really liked is that the standard, which is in the middle of this
confusion of politics and money, was for Portugal, for the Navy Museum in
Lisbon. The Namibian government will not want to spend money to protect it,
because it is a symbol of the colonial era."