HistoryExtra
type: channel
link: https://www.historyextra.com
description: Home of Britain’s bestselling history magazine and award-winning podcast
date: 2024-02-29T16:05:08.000Z
update period: hourly
update frequency: 1
update base: 2000-01-01T12:00+00:00
items: David Olusoga on the extraordinary story of Olaudah Equiano
items: David Olusoga's hidden histories: Victorian temperance
items: David Olusoga’s hidden histories: the homeworking revolution
items: David Olusoga’s hidden histories: the massacre of Britain’s pets
items: David Olusoga: "Black history affects all of us – it is British history"
items: David Olusoga: "Thousands of Britons opposed abolition – because they owned slaves"
items: From riches to rags: David Olusoga reveals how Britain's grand houses descended into Victorian slums
items: David Olusoga on house histories: "Our homes are often the sites of great dramas and tragedies"
items: “London is the place for me”: David Olusoga on the Windrush generation

David Olusoga on the extraordinary story of Olaudah Equiano
type: item
date: 2021-10-14T06:58:05.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: Georgian
subject: Membership
subject: Period
description: Olaudah Equiano’s dramatic biography of his perilous journey from slavery to freedom added a powerful black voice to the burgeoning abolition movement. David Olusoga reflects on his extraordinary story
encoded: –Listen to this article: The history of black people in Britain during the 18th century is a series of unknowns. We don’t know the size of the black “community”, or even if black Georgians formed discrete communities. We only have fleeting glimpses as to how they interacted with one another and are unsure what proportion of them were free and what proportion lived in forms of unfreedom. While some were clearly servants, others were undoubtedly enslaved. Instead of detail, we have passing references which hint at lives that can never be better understood. What makes this all the more frustrating is that black Georgians themselves, despite these gaps in the historical record, are literally visible to us. They appear in hundreds of portraits, as servants, footmen, maids and stable-boys. Usually pushed up against the picture frames, they were painted not as individuals but as fashionable accessories, the exotic property of the main sitters, their masters and mistresses. Only a handful of black Georgians were the subjects of their own portraits. Yet despite this mountain of unknowns and frustrations, there are a tiny number of black Georgians who emerge from the historical record, not as fleeting apparitions, but fully formed characters. Those few were men and women who left behind their own words, in the form of letters, memoirs and biographies. The most significant of those rare texts was written by the most famous black person to appear in Britain of the late 18th century – Olaudah Equiano. Escaping enslavement Although the exact circumstances of his birth are the subject of a historical controversy, which will be discussed in more detail later in the feature, what is certain is that Equiano experienced slavery and was able to escape from it. In 1789, having been a freeman for 23 years he published his autobiography, The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, Gustavus Vassa, the African. Written by Himself. In the early chapters Equiano describes his ch…

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David Olusoga's hidden histories: Victorian temperance
type: item
date: 2020-12-12T11:00:17.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: Membership
subject: Period
subject: Victorian
subject: Column
description: “The Victorians constructed a great empire of abstinence”, writes David Olusoga
encoded: Although largely forgotten today, Victorian temperance was, at its height, one of the biggest and most influential movements in British history. While the more extreme of the many temperance societies sought a legal ban on the sale of alcohol, most temperance activists aimed merely to persuade their fellow citizens of the social ills that it caused. From the 1830s onwards they persuaded millions to sign the temperance pledge, and commit to abstinence. Thousands of children joined the temperance youth organisation the Band of Hope. New members signed a pledge that read: “I do agree that I will not use intoxicating liquors as a beverage.” As well as condemning the ‘Demon Drink’ through a ceaseless stream of pamphlets, posters, marches and songs, the temperance movement set out to make it easier for people to keep their pledge by creating an alternative world in which those who had abandoned alcohol could socialise together. The first organised excursion in Britain was a temperance outing, a day trip from Leicester to Loughborough arranged, in 1841, for 500 temperance society members. The organiser was himself a committed temperance campaigner named Thomas Cook, the inventor of modern tourism. Yet to loosen the grip that alcohol had on Victorian society, the temperance movement needed more than day trips. It had to take on one of the nation’s most beloved institutions – the public house. To do this, the most forward-thinking among the temperance activists began to open temperance bars – alcohol-free spaces that offered those who had pledged themselves to abstinence a place in which they could meet and talk, free from temptation. Instead of beer, wines and spirits, the temperance bars offered cordials: sarsaparilla wine, dandelion and burdock, cream soda and ginger beer. Coca-Cola began as a temperance bar favourite. Considering most of these drinks were loaded with enormous quantities of sugar and syrup, we have to wonder whether some of the health benefits derived fro…

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David Olusoga’s hidden histories: the homeworking revolution
type: item
date: 2020-12-02T11:00:45.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: 20th Century
subject: General Modern
subject: Industrial revolution
subject: Medieval
subject: Membership
subject: Period
subject: Stuart
subject: Tudor
subject: Victorian
subject: Column
description: “Desks went from a niche furniture item to the work station of millions,” writes David Olusoga
encoded: It seems that the age of the office may be coming to an end. Few people now imagine that after the great experiment in homeworking brought about by the pandemic there will be a wholesale return to the office. For centuries going to the office meant sitting for hours at a desk, an item of furniture firmly associated in our minds with the workplace. Yet for the desk, the homeworking revolution of 2020 represents a return to an earlier chapter of its history, because the desk was formerly part of the domestic realm. The first desks used in the home took their cue from those that had been used by scribes in medieval monasteries. These were small, portable and box-like, usually made from oak. In the 15th century, after the invention of the printing press, they became not just surfaces to write upon, but also containers in which books could be stored. Over time the tops of these portable desks were built to incline downwards, each of their bottom edges fitted with a lip to keep books in place. Inside were compartments for inks and quills, as well as books. William Shakespeare almost certainly wrote his plays at such a desk. The 17th century heralded the beginnings of what became a national postal system. There was a great boom in letter writing, and desks became increasingly common. After the Great Fire of London in 1666 and the destruction of over 13,000 homes in the capital, new types of desk became fashionable. As wealthy Londoners built new homes for themselves in the ashes of the old medieval city, they furnished them with larger, free-standing and more elaborate desks – true items of furniture rather than portable boxes. New desks like the escritoire or secretaire were brought over from France, with fronts that could be unfolded to create writing surfaces. These desks were known by their French name, ‘bureau’, and over time they became synonymous with the room the writing took place in – the office – which in turn gave rise to the word ‘bureaucracy’. By the 18th cen…

David Olusoga’s hidden histories: the massacre of Britain’s pets
type: item
date: 2020-11-02T11:00:23.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: 20th Century
subject: Membership
subject: Period
subject: Second World War
subject: Column
description: "Half a million cats and dogs were put to death in 1939 – for no good reason," writes David Olusoga
encoded: On the brink of the Second World War, one of the many challenges facing those in government and the civil service tasked with planning for the coming conflict was securing the nation’s supplies of food. When war came and the expected aerial bombardment of Britain’s cities commenced, could a nation of 47 million people, dependent upon imports, be kept fed? By the summer of 1939, with war against Germany seemingly inevitable, plans for food rationing were being developed. In August, the government’s National Air Raid Precautions Animals Committee issued a pamphlet that was printed in national newspapers and broadcast on the BBC. Concerned that pet owners would either share their scarce rations with their pets, leaving themselves underfed, or abandon their animals to starve, the committee offered official Advice to Animal Owners. That advice was that, where possible, pets be sent from the cities to the countryside. But, in what appeared almost a throwaway comment, it concluded that where this was not possible, “it really is kindest to have them destroyed”. When war came in September, thousands of pet owners dutifully flocked to animal shelters to have their beloved pets euthanised. There were queues half a mile long; supplies of chloroform ran out. During the first days of the war, an estimated 400,000 to 750,000 dogs and cats were slaughtered in what the National Canine Defence League called, at the time, the “September Holocaust”. In Memoriam notices appeared in the press. “Happy memories of Iola, sweet faithful friend, given sleep September 4th 1939, to be saved suffering during the war. A short but happy life – 2 years, 12 weeks. Forgive us little pal,” said one in Tail-Wagger magazine. Why were pet owners so compliant? Some clearly feared food supplies would run out, while others felt the ‘luxury’ of owning a pet in wartime could not be justified and was therefore ‘unpatriotic’ – both sentiments that were reinforced by government propaganda. Others simply panicked…

David Olusoga: "Black history affects all of us – it is British history"
type: item
date: 2020-10-01T10:55:04.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: 20th Century
subject: General Modern
subject: Georgian
subject: Industrial revolution
subject: Membership
subject: Victorian
subject: Period
description: David Olusoga talks to Matt Elton about his book Black and British, charting the story of black people in Britain, from the Roman era up to the challenges and opportunities of the 21st century
encoded: David Olusoga was talking to Matt Elton about the release of Black and British in 2016. An abridged version of the book, for children aged 12+, was released in October 2020. You write that this book is a kind of experiment. In what way? Black history came to Britain in part from an American model, which was largely about uncovering deliberately hidden and forgotten stories. Some very brilliant historians have done that groundwork so, for me, the next stage of black history is to integrate it into what we call ‘mainstream’ British history. Black history can’t just be a specialist subject, a little clearing in the historical forest that only black people want to go to and that is only about black people. It’s the history of a relationship: some of it tragic, some of it more heart-warming; some of it extremely difficult and some of it – believe it or not – more optimistic. It’s a history that affects all of us: it is British history. More from David Olusoga How Britain's grand houses descended into Victorian slums “London is the place for me”: David Olusoga on the Windrush generation "Thousands of Britons opposed abolition – because they owned slaves" You also write that there’s a lot of black history that Britain has managed to forget. How has that happened? The first generations of historians writing black British history were faced with mainstream history books that talked about the 18th century without mentioning slavery, which is like talking about the 19th century without mentioning steam or coal. It’s ludicrous. We had military histories that didn’t mention our impact on other parts of the world, or the multiracial nature of the British navy at various times in its history. A lot of the work those historians were doing was trying to put the black people back into the picture, and some of that still remains to be done. A lot of black British history is hidden in plain view in central London: the bronze reliefs on Nelson’s Column, for instance, depict a black sail…

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David Olusoga: "Thousands of Britons opposed abolition – because they owned slaves"
type: item
date: 2020-06-08T11:00:37.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: Georgian
subject: Membership
subject: Period
subject: Victorian
subject: Slavery
description: Thousands of 'ordinary' Britons profited from the slave trade – and, says David Olusoga, they weren't about to accept abolition without a fight...
encoded: Tucked away under the trees in a shady corner of Clapham Common, south-west London, stands Holy Trinity church. Inside, above the ornate mosaic floor and the neat rows of pews, are three stained-glass windows. They depict the lives of saints – not biblical saints, but the ‘saints’ of the abolition movement. From the late 18th century, Holy Trinity Clapham was the parish church of the Clapham Sect – the ‘Clapham Saints’, as they are sometimes called. This loose affiliation of friends and like-minded men committed their considerable energies to bringing to an end first the British slave trade then slavery itself. On the southern wall of Holy Trinity is a grey marble plaque, set into the red Georgian brickwork. It proudly lists the names of Clapham’s abolitionist heroes – men who, we are told, “laboured… until the curse of slavery was swept away from all parts of the British Dominions”. The last name in that alphabetical list is that of the man who became the moral lodestar around which the Clapham Sect orbited: William Wilberforce. Lord Nelson and slavery: Nelson’s dark side The Clapham Sect was famous in its day, and its legend has not dimmed. The homes of its most celebrated members – Wilberforce, Zachary Macaulay and Thomas Fowell Buxton – are all stamped with approving blue plaques. The crusade they led, against what late Georgians felt comfortable calling ‘negro slavery’, has been the subject of innumerable books and is part of the national curriculum. Abolition has long been the prism through which British slavery is remembered. The other forces – social, economic and military – that also played roles in the demise of slavery have been ushered to the wings to permit the story of abolition to dominate the historical stage. That some of the impetus for abolition came from the enslaved people themselves, who rose up in a series of rebellions, is all too often overlooked. What has similarly been forgotten is that there were two sides in the political battle fought o…

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From riches to rags: David Olusoga reveals how Britain's grand houses descended into Victorian slums
type: item
date: 2020-05-26T16:35:03.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: Membership
subject: Victorian
subject: Period
subject: Life in Victorian Britain
description: Slums were one of the great scandals of the Victorian age. And, all too often, that scandal was played out in once-elegant townhouses that had fallen to rack and ruin. David Olusoga reveals the dark side of social mobility in the 19th century
encoded: In 1849 a letter arrived at the offices of The Times newspaper. Its authors were a group of poor Londoners who lived on Church Lane and Carrier Street in what was then known as the St Giles Rookery. Their names, 54 of them in all, were listed at the end of the letter. The parish of St Giles today stands under the shadow of the Centre Point tower block, at the eastern end of Oxford Street, and includes the wealthy streets and squares of Bloomsbury. The St Giles of the 1840s was a very different place. Home to thousands of impoverished Londoners, many of them of Irish descent, it was an infamous slum, one of the capital’s dirtiest and most unhealthy districts. The letter sent by the slum dwellers to the newspaper editor, written in broken, misspelt, phonetic English, is one of the few documents through which we can hear the voices of the very poorest of our Victorian ancestors speaking directly into the historical record. They describe, in their own words, the appalling conditions in which they were forced to subsist. Their plaintive appeal began: “Sur, May we beg and beseech your proteckshion and power. We are Sur, as it may be, livin in a Wilderniss, so far as the rest of London knows anything of us, or as the rich and great people care about. We live in muck and filth. We aint got no priviz, no dust bins, no drains, no water-splies, and no drain or suer in the hole place.” Listen | David Olusoga delves into the story of Bristol’s past and explains the value of studying history through our own homes Like the millions who today are forced to eke out meagre existences in the slums and favelas of the developing world, the poor of 1840s St Giles well understood the depth of their plight, and were well aware that the absence of basic amenities and elementary sanitation was the cause of their ill health. They rightly concluded that human beings should not be expected to endure such conditions and after going on to express their entirely justifiable fear of a return of “th…

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David Olusoga on house histories: "Our homes are often the sites of great dramas and tragedies"
type: item
date: 2019-03-21T07:35:51.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: 20th Century
subject: Georgian
subject: Membership
subject: Second World War
subject: Victorian
subject: Period
subject: Housing
description: The first series of BBC Two's A House Through Time turned an unheralded Liverpool townhouse into a media sensation. Now, fresh from filming a second series, David Olusoga reveals why Britons are finding the history of their homes so captivating. Accompanies the four-part BBC Two series A House Through Time
encoded: What are the first things we do when we move into a new house? We immediately set about stamping on to it our tastes and our identity. We redecorate, organise the furniture and methodically arrange our books – the carefully collected volumes that we hope say something about us and our lives. This, and the frenzy of cleaning and scrubbing that precedes it, is about much more than personal taste and domestic hygiene. It is also an attempt to exorcise from our new private space the lingering presence of its past residents. In order to make the empty frame of an old house into a new home, we attempt to disguise an unavoidable truth: that until recently it was the home of other people, and before them yet more people, a line of strangers stretching back decades and sometimes centuries. Our homes – the most private and intimate spaces in our lives, and the most expensive material objects we ever purchase – are, in some ways, things we can never truly own. Because, whatever it might say on the deeds, there’s no escaping the reality that we are merely the latest characters to appear on stage for an inevitably short cameo. People live for decades. Houses last for centuries. We are just passing through, and no matter how many layers of paint we slap on, or how many changes and alterations we make, we can never quite succeed in wiping away the traces of the lives that have been lived before us. Some people find it unsettling to think too deeply about this, but there are others who have no desire to exorcise their home of its former owners and tenants and instead seek to commune with them. The television series A House Through Time, which I present on BBC Two, has tapped into that phenomenon, and perhaps played a small part in accelerating it. What the series demonstrates is that, for some homes, it is possible to excavate from the archives a full genealogy, a list stretching back in time of everyone who has ever lived there. The team behind the series uses deeds, land registry…

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“London is the place for me”: David Olusoga on the Windrush generation
type: item
date: 2018-06-14T07:07:07.000Z
creator: David Olusoga
subject: 20th Century
subject: Membership
subject: Period
description: There's plenty of feelgood symbolism surrounding the 70th anniversary of the arrival of West Indians in Britain on the Windrush. But, argues David Olusoga, Britain's nostalgia for this event obscures a more complex story of imperial subjects attempting to exercise their rights in the face of institutional racism
encoded: On the day that Empire Windrush arrived at Tilbury docks in late June 1948, a contingent of newspaper reporters and a film crew from Pathé News were on hand to film, photograph and interview the hundreds of men and women from the Caribbean who disembarked. Among the press pack was Peter Fryer, a journalist at the Daily Worker who would later write the book Staying Power, the first encyclopedic history of the black presence in Britain. His report, entitled Five Hundred Pairs of Willing Hands, was largely in step with the upbeat and positive tone that characterised how the day’s events were presented to the British public. The film crew from Pathé sought out one of the celebrities on board, the Trinidadian calypso singer Aldwyn Roberts, who performed under the stage name Lord Kitchener. He provided the day with a soundtrack: an impromptu a cappella performance of a song he had composed on the voyage across the Atlantic, ‘London Is the Place for Me’. Both newsreels and newspapers portrayed the unexpected arrival of the West Indians as something of a novelty, but were careful also to frame it within the bigger story of Britain’s slow journey towards economic recovery. The incessantly forward-looking positivity, which was an inescapable feature of news reportage during those less-cynical years, reflected the fact that maintaining public morale in 1948 was almost as essential as it had been during the war. Thus, the new arrivals from the Windrush were depicted as plucky pioneers, victims of economic difficulties in their home islands, who had come to Britain to help the ‘mother country’ in its hour of need. Their misfortune was to be Britain’s gain, but the stress was firmly on the message that they had come here to work, as indeed they had. What few people in the drab, war-ravaged Britain of 1948 could have imagined is that 70 years later the events of that day would be regarded as a landmark in 20th-century British history – the symbolic beginning of a wave of migration…

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