Harry Palmer reads the New Statesman

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Now a rather embarrassing confession. I'm reading a book by Len Deighton.

I've always rather liked the Harry Palmer films starring Michael Caine, particularly Funeral in Berlin. Anyway I came across a rather nice hardback edition of the Ipcress File at a National Trust house. Don't worry it was legally acquired, not snatched while my pregnant wife distracted an elderly steward...

Anyway I digress. At the start of Chapter 2 Palmer is walking down London's Charlotte Street towards Soho when he purchased "two packets of Gauloises, sank a quick grappa with Mario and Franco at the Terrazza, bought a Statesman, some Normandy butter and garlic sausage".

Now this got us thinking. The Ipcress File was first published in 1962 - easy to find out if you've got a first edition - so just what could HP have been reading about?

A quick email to walking New Statesman archive, rain expert and media guru Professor Brian Cathcart and we thought we'd worked it out...

To a spy the Vassall affair would have been particularly interesting. John Vassall was a gay civil servant who got photographed in some rather compromising situations with a Soviet citizen enabling the Russians to recruit him as a spy.

He then became a secretary to Tory minister Tam Galbraith which gave him access to all sorts of classified documents which he passed over to the USSR.

Eventually someone realised that Vassall had a rather high standard of living for his salary and it was a top news item for most of autumn 1962.

In a thundering editorial, Paul Johnson wrote about it in the 16 November edition of the NS.

In it Harold Macmillan is castigated by our former editor for regarding the "security chaos in the Admiralty as purely secondary to the political aspects of the affair".

But it can't have been the Vassall piece Palmer was reading. Nor could it have been the review of Ian Fleming's The Spy Who Loved me from the 11 May edition.

We know this because Deighton refers to Palmer's stroll down Charlotte Street taking place on "that sort of January morning that has enough sunshine to point up the dirt without raising the temperature".

So what could our spy have been reading? Was it Bertrand Russell's defence of unilateral disarmament in the letter pages? Or Johnson's profile of the Cold War Earl - foreign secretary Alexander Douglas-Home? A review of such titles as Lenin's Collected Works and Philosophy and Myth in Karl Marx? All were in the 5 January edition. Or perhaps an item on Soviet ideology in the 12 January edition?

Personally I think the clue is in some of the other items Palmer bought.

Deighton wants us to know Palmer is a sophisticate and the reference to the NS indicates that just as surely as the normandy butter shows he is a gourmet.

Ben Davies trained as a journalist after taking most of the 1990s off. Prior to joining the New Statesman he spent five years working as a politics reporter for the BBC News website. He lives in North London.
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"We repealed, then forgot": the long shadow of Section 28 homophobia

Why are deeply conservative views about the "promotion" of homosexuality still being reiterated to Scottish school pupils? 

Grim stories of LGBTI children being bullied in school are all too common. But one which emerged over the weekend garnered particular attention - because of the echoes of the infamous Section 28, nearly two decades after it was scrapped.

A 16-year-old pupil of a West Lothian school, who does not wish to be named, told Pink News that staff asked him to remove his small rainbow pride badge because, though they had "no problem" with his sexuality, it was not appropriate to "promote it" in school. It's a blast from the past - the rules against "promoting" homosexuality were repealed in 2000 in Scotland, but the long legacy of Section 28 seems hard to shake off. 

The local authority responsible said in a statement that non-school related badges are not permitted on uniforms, and says it is "committed to equal rights for LGBT people". 

The small badge depicted a rainbow-striped heart, which the pupil said he had brought back from the Edinburgh Pride march the previous weekend. He reportedly "no longer feels comfortable going to school", and said homophobia from staff members felt "much more scar[y] than when I encountered the same from other pupils". 

At a time when four Scottish party leaders are gay, and the new Westminster parliament included a record number of LGBTQ MPs, the political world is making progress in promoting equality. But education, it seems, has not kept up. According to research from LGBT rights campaigners Stonewall, 40 per cent of LGBT pupils across the UK reported being taught nothing about LGBT issues at school. Among trans students, 44 per cent said school staff didn’t know what "trans" even means.

The need for teacher training and curriculum reform is at the top of campaigners' agendas. "We're disappointed but not surprised by this example," says Jordan Daly, the co-founder of Time for Inclusive Education [TIE]. His grassroots campaign focuses on making politicians and wider society aware of the reality LGBTI school students in Scotland face. "We're in schools on a monthly basis, so we know this is by no means an isolated incident." 

Studies have repeatedly shown a startling level of self-harm and mental illness reported by LGBTI school students. Trans students are particularly at risk. In 2015, Daly and colleagues began a tour of schools. Shocking stories included one in which a teacher singled out a trans pupils for ridicule in front of the class. More commonly, though, staff told them the same story: we just don't know what we're allowed to say about gay relationships. 

This is the point, according to Daly - retraining, or rather the lack of it. For some of those teachers trained during the 1980s and 1990s, when Section 28 prevented local authorities from "promoting homosexuality", confusion still reigns about what they can and cannot teach - or even mention in front of their pupils. 

The infamous clause was specific in its homophobia: the "acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship" could not be mentioned in schools. But it's been 17 years since the clause was repealed in Scotland - indeed, it was one of the very first acts of the new Scottish Parliament (the rest of the UK followed suit three years later). Why are we still hearing this archaic language? 

"We repealed, we clapped and cheered, and then we just forgot," Daly says. After the bitter campaign in Scotland, in which an alliance of churches led by millionaire businessman Brian Souter poured money into "Keeping the Clause", the government was pleased with its victory, which seemed to establish Holyrood as a progressive political space early on in the life of the parliament. But without updating the curriculum or retraining teaching staff, Daly argues, it left a "massive vacuum" of uncertainty. 

The Stonewall research suggests a similar confusion is likely across the UK. Daly doesn't believe the situation in Scotland is notably worse than in England, and disputes the oft-cited allegation that the issue is somehow worse in Scotland's denominational schools. Homophobia may be "wrapped up in the language of religious belief" in certain schools, he says, but it's "just as much of a problem elsewhere. The TIE campaign doesn't have different strategies for different schools." 

After initial disappointments - their thousands-strong petition to change the curriculum was thrown out by parliament in 2016 - the campaign has won the support of leaders such as Nicola Sturgeon and Kezia Dugdale, and recently, the backing of a majority of MSPs. The Scottish government has set up a working group, and promised a national strategy. 

But for Daly, who himself struggled at a young age with his sexuality and society's failure to accept it, the matter remains an urgent one.  At just 21, he can reel off countless painful stories of young LGBTI students - some of which end in tragedy. One of the saddest elements of the story from St Kentigern's is that the pupil claimed his school was the safest place he had to express his identity, because he was not out at home. Perhaps for a gay pupil in ten years time, that will be a guarantee. 

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