On summer schools

Throughout the US and UK, the summer school was a distinctive feature of the progressive age before

The New Statesman

21 June 1913

We must, I suppose, assume that the Summer School is an American invention, although the student of social origins could easily frame for it a European pedigree, and might put in a claim on behalf of those little reading parties among the mountains of Wales or Scotland which, during last century, played their modest part in English university life. But the summer school as we have it today - had a much later beginning. It is just forty years since an American Methodist bishop conceived the idea for the Chautauqua Institution - the first, still the largest, and by far the most astonishing summer school in the world.

In order to reach it you must travel some sixty miles from the peculiarly unideal town of Buffalo. The electric car will put you down at the gate of a noble enclosure - a garden city planted among lawns and woodland by the shining waters of Lake Chautauqua. Here during the two months of high summer, not less than 20,000 holiday students are provided with an overflowing banquet of lectures, classes, debates, concerts, the volume and variety of which suggest unlimited resources.

Chautauqua can command the services - as lecturers, teachers and speakers - of the most eminent men in America, as well as those of the most admired foreigners within their borders. Its original inspiration was evangelical: it was designed by its founder as a summer educational retreat for Sunday-school teachers; and its puritan strictness has been maintained throughout, despite its astounding growth and success. In this city enclosed you may not play cards, or dance, although, I believe, there is no official ban on tobacco; you cannot get, by either purchase or persuasion, a single drop of liquor; you must keep the Sabbath with the rigidity of a vanished New England: while the life of the week day - with its fourteen hours of classes and meetings - is reckoned a quite sufficient safeguard against the slacker who may have found his way in by mistake. Such is the parent institution, which has had an almost unimaginable progeny in the United States.

The pioneer of summer schools in these islands is, beyond question, Professor Patrick Geddes. His school, on Castle Hill, Edinburgh, was the first successful experiment in Britain. Today the schools are so numerous that to frame a complete list would be a practical impossibility. They take every kind of colour - social, philosophical, literary, political and religious. Needless to say, it is the small minorities, the little eager cults, the groups of idealists, who have seen most clearly and exploited most cleverly the possibilities of the summer school as an agency of propaganda.

Consider the delights of the old Irish world presented through the medium of the summer school of the Gaelic League in John Bull's Other Island. The study of Gaelic in a region where Irish may with truth be described as the language of the people, has a fascination which, one may suppose, is almost irresistible to the young Irish patriot.

The reading of a batch of prospectuses, however, leaves the impression that the inspiration of the summer school is to be sought in one stream or another of the New Thought. Here, to begin with, in the charmingly situated town of Peebles there will be held in July an International Summer School "to promote unity in religion, philosophy, science, and art, and its expression in all branches of social service". Above the delightful shore of Colwyn Bay the northern Vegetarians foregather. Three times a week some aspect of the humane diet question is made the subject of debate.

But the Social Question is the real and avowed basis of those schools which may claim to be most nearly related to the vital interests of the time. Here, we have the Fabian Summer School, fortunate beyond almost all others in its superb situation on Derwentwater as also in the concreteness of its programme and the surprisingly varied interests represented by the men and women whom it attracts.

Out of the two months of its regular session, one week will be given up to discussions connected with the Control of Industry, and another to a joint conference between the Executives of the Fabian Society and the Independent Labour Party on the forthcoming autumn and winter campaign. For the rest of the time, until the middle of September, the Fabians will roam at large among modern problems of all sorts. They will consider, with Mrs Sidney Webb, the Spheres of Science and Religion in Social Reconstruction, and with Sir Sydney Olivier the momentous interaction of White Capital and Coloured Labour; they will seek to thread the appalling maze of Casual Labour, and turn their holiday experiences to account in piling up the case for the Nationalisation of Railways.

There may be some who suspect that Fabians' celebrated expertness of organisation is applied not only to the debates in the fine room of Barrow House, but to mountain excursions, to bathing parties, and even fancy-dress balls. The truth is that the school affords a happy illustration of the real democracy - the comradeship of public servant and factory operative, tradesman and journalist, university professor, employer, and trade union official, in an atmosphere far removed from the absurd and deadening snobbery of the professional world.

This article first appeared in the 07 July 2008 issue of the New Statesman, British childhood

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As bad as stealing bacon – why did the Victorians treat acid attacks so leniently?

In an era of executions and transportation, 19th century courts were surprisingly laissez-faire about acid attacks. 

"We are rather anxious to see the punishment of death rescinded in all cases except that of Murder," stated the Glasgow publication, The Loyal Reformers’ Gazette, in 1831. But it did not share this opinion when it came to Hugh Kennedy.

Previously of “irreproachable character", Kennedy fell out with a fellow servant and decided to take his revenge by pouring acid on the man while he was asleep. “He awoke in agony, one of his eyes being literally burned out,” The Gazette reported.

Lamenting the rise in acid attacks, the otherwise progressive journal recommended “the severest punishment” for Kennedy:

“We would have their arms cut off by the shoulders, and, in that state, send them to roam as outcasts from society without the power of throwing vitriol again."

More than 180 years later, there are echoes of this sentiment in the home secretary’s response to a spate of acid attacks in London. “I quite understand when victims say they feel the perpetrators themselves should have a life sentence,” Amber Rudd told Sky News. She warned attackers would feel “the full force of the law”.

Acid attacks leave the victims permanently disfigured, and often blinded. Surprisingly, though, the kind of hardline punishment advocated by The Gazette was actually highly unusual, according to Dr Katherine Watson, a lecturer in the history of medicine at Oxford Brookes University. Hugh Kennedy was in fact the only person hung for an acid attack.

“If you look at the cases that made it to court, you see there is a huge amount of sympathy for the perpetrators,” she says.

"You want your victim to suffer but you don’t want them to die”

Acid attacks emerged with the industrial revolution in Britain. From the late 1700s, acid was needed to bleach cotton and prevent metals from rusting, and as a result became widely available.

At first, acid was a weapon of insurrection. “Vitriol throwing (that is, the throwing of corrosive substances like sulphuric acid) was a big problem in 1820s Glasgow trade disputes,” says Shane Ewen, an urban historian at Leeds Beckett University. Other cases involved revenge attacks on landlords and employers.

Faced with this anarchic threat, the authorities struck back. Scotland introduced a strict law against acid attacks in the 1820s, while the 1861 Offences Against the Person Act s.29 placed provided for a maximum sentence of life in England and Wales.

In reality, though, acid attackers could expect to receive far more lenient sentences. Why?

“They had sad stories,” says Watson, a leading historian of acid attacks. “Although they had done something terrible, the journalists and juries could empathise with them.”

Acid attacks were seen as expressions of revenge, even glorified as crimes of passion. As Watson puts it: “The point is you want your victim to suffer but you don’t want them to die.”

Although today, around the world, acid attacks are associated with violence against women, both genders used acid as a weapon in 19th century and early 20th century Britain. Acid crept into popular culture. Arthur Conan Doyle’s 1924 Sherlock Holmes story, The Adventure of the Illustrious Client, featured a mistress throwing vitriol in her former lover’s face. In Brighton Rock, Graham Greene’s 1938 novel, the gangster Pinkie attacks his female nemesis Ida Arnold with his vial of acid, before falling to his death.

Lucy Williams, the author of Wayward Women: Female Offending in Victorian England, agrees that Victorians took a lenient attitude to acid attacks. “Historically speaking sentences for acid attacks were quite low,” she says. “Serious terms of imprisonment would only usually be given if the injury caused permanent blindness, death, or was life-threatening.

“If this was not the case, a defendant might spend just a few months in prison - sometimes even less.”

Courts would weigh up factors including the gender of the attacker and victim, and the strength of the substance.

But there was another factor, far removed from compassion “Many of the sentences that we would now consider extremely lenient were a product of a judicial system that valued property over people,” says Williams. It was quite common for violent offences to receive just a few weeks or months in prison.

One case Williams has researched is that of the 28 year old Sarah Newman, who threw sulphuric acid at Cornelius Mahoney, and was tried for the “intent to burn and disfigure him” at the Old Bailey in 1883. The attacker and victim had been living together, and had three children together, but Mahoney had abandoned Newman to marry another woman.

Although Mahoney lost the sight in his right eye, his attacker received just 12 months imprisonment with hard labour.

Two other cases, uncovered by Ancestry.co.uk, illustrate the Victorian attitude to people and property. Mary Morrison, a servant in her 40s, threw acid in the face of her estranged husband after he didn’t give her a weekly allowance. The attack disfigured and blinded him.

In 1883, Morrison was jailed for five years, but released after two and a half. The same year, Dorcas Snell, also in her 40s, received a very similar sentence – for stealing a piece of bacon.

"People just had more options"

If Victorian attitudes become clearer with research, why acid attacks receded in the 20th century remains something of a mystery.

“My theory is people just had more options,” says Watson. With manufacturing on the wane, it became a little harder to get hold of corrosive fluid. But more importantly, the underlying motivation for acid attacks was disappearing. “Women can just walk away from relationships, they can get divorced, get a job. And maybe men don’t feel the same shame if women leave.”

Acid attacks did not disappear completely, though. Yardie gangs – mainly comprised of Jamaican immigrants – used acid as a weapon in the 1960s. Other gangs may have used it too, against victims who would rather suffer in silence than reveal themselves to the police.

Meanwhile, in 1967, the first acid attacks in Bangladesh and India were recorded. This would be the start of a disturbing, misogynistic trend of attacks across Asia. “Acid attacks, like other forms of violence against women, are not random or natural phenomena,” Professor Yakin Ertürk, the UN’s special rapporteur on violence against women, wrote in 2011. “Rather, they are social phenomena deeply embedded in a gender order that has historically privileged patriarchal control over women and justified the use of violence to ‘keep women in their places’.”

The re-emergence of acid attacks in Britain has been interpreted by some as another example of multiculturalism gone wrong. “The acid attacks of London’s Muslim no-go zones”, declared the right-wing, US-based Front Page magazine.

In fact, descriptions of the recent attackers include white men, and black and minority ethnic groups are disproportionately among the victims. A protest by delivery drivers against acid attacks was led by Asian men. 

Jaf Shah, from the Acid Survivors Trust International, suspects the current spate of attacks in fact originates from gang-related warfare that has in turn inspired copycat attacks. “In the UK because of the number of men attacked, it goes against the global pattern,” he says. “It’s complicated by multiple motivations behind these attacks.” Unlike other weapons in the UK, acid is easy to obtain and carry, while acid attacks are prosecuted under the non-specific category of grievous bodily harm. 

Among the recent victims is a British Muslim businessman from Luton, who says he was attacked by a bald white man, two teenage boys in east London, a delivery man, also in east London, who had his moped stolen at the same time, and a man in Leicester whose girlfriend – in a move Hugh Kennedy would recognise – poured acid on him while he slept.

Shah believes the current anxiety about acid attacks stems from the fact the general public is being attacked, rather than simply other members of gangs. Perhaps, also, it relates to the fact that, thanks to advances in our understanding of trauma since the Victorian period, 21st century lawmakers are less interested in the theft of a moped than the lifetime of scars left on the driver who was attacked.

With Rudd promising a crackdown, the penalties for acid throwing are only likely to get harsher. “Many survivors feel the sentencing is too lenient,” Shah says. Still, the rise and fall and rise again of acid throwing in the UK suggests the best way to eradicate the crime may lie outside the courts.

Julia Rampen is the digital news editor of the New Statesman (previously editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog). She has also been deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines. 

This article first appeared in the 07 July 2008 issue of the New Statesman, British childhood