FROM 1887, the Café Central (or Centrál Kávéház, in Magyar) has been a meeting place for artists, intellectuals, professionals, and others located on Budapest's Károlyi Mihály street. One of its most famous patrons was the novelist and dramatist Ferenc Molnár (born Ferenc Neumann and often anglicized as Franz Molnar), whose 1906 book The Paul Street Boys is perhaps the most widely-read Hungarian novel. His 1909 play "Liliom" was later adapted by Rodgers and Hammerstein into the musical "Carousel". Both his plays "The Guardsman" and "The Swan" were later made into films (the latter being Grace Kelly's final appearance on the silver screen), while "The Play at the Castle" was adapted by P.G. Wodehouse into "The Play's the Thing" and by Tom Stoppard into "Rough Crossing".

Prime Minister of Rhodesia

The Rt. Hon. Ian Douglas Smith, who died on November 20 (the same day as Franco), was born on April 8, 1919 in the farming and mining town of Selukwe, Rhodesia. The youngest of three children, his father was a Scottish butcher who moved to Rhodesia and became a cattle rancher and horse breeder. Smith attended the Chaplin School in Gwelo from 1930 to 1937, becoming Head Boy, as well as Captain of Rugby, Cricket, Athletics, Tennis, and Boxing.

In 1939, Great Britain declared war on Germany, and Ian Smith left the family farm to join the Royal Air Force. Commissioned a Lieutenant in 237 (Rhodesia) Squadron, a crash in North Africa in 1943 injured him so gravely that his face had to be reconstructed, giving him a very fixed look on one side of his face. In July 1944, he was shot down over Italy and evaded capture, linking up with Italian partisan guerrillas and eventually escaping to England to rejoin the RAF.

He returned to Rhodesia after the war, and in 1948 married Janet Watt, a widow with two children, Robert and Jean, with their own son Alex born a year later. In 1948, Smith also ran in the general election for the Legislative Assembly as a candidate for the Liberal Party (a party that was, as Lord Blake wrote in his History of Rhodesia, "in accordance with the Rhodesian tradition of adopting the most misleading political nomenclature possible").

"I was the youngest person ever to go into the Rhodesian parliament. I was twenty-nine years old. It so happened that in my little home town of Selukwe, which is a big mining camp, there were people who said 'Look, surely you don't expect us to vote for this chap Ian Smith. We remember him when he was in junior school here! And now you're asking me to accept him as my Member of Parliament?' Well it so happened that a few of my colleagues in the pub at the same time when the nominations had gone forward said 'You know, when he decided to go to fight the war for Britain, and that was a number of years ago, you didn't complain then, did you? What's your case now?' Well obviously they did not have a case and that pretty quickly scotched that one!"

In 1964, Prime Minister Winston Field resigned after the members of his party, the Rhodesian Front, felt he was unwilling to take on Britain in the fight for Rhodesian independence. (The British government was unwilling to grant Rhodesia dominion status unless a system of one-man, one-vote was instituted, a prospect considered anathema to Rhodesia's property-based electorate). Ian Smith, a member of the Rhodesian Front, was chosen to succeed Field as Prime Minister. A year later, in November 1965, Prime Minister Smith and the cabinet declared independence from Great Britain. "We have struck a blow," Smith told Rhodesia that day, "for the preservation of justice, civilization, and Christianity." The Declaration of Independence was signed and enacted at 11:00 London time, on November 11 — Remembrance Day — a time particularly chosen to remind Britain of the great sacrifices the people of Rhodesia had made to preserve Britain's independence in two world wars.

Smith led Rhodesia as Prime Minister for the next fifteen years, continuing the battle against the Communist terrorists whose ferocity only grew with each passing year. The economic sanctions leveled against Rhodesia by the United Nations had the reverse effect of encouraging internal investment and sparking a boom in the Rhodesian economy. The sanctions-busting smuggling of oil was the most difficult aspect of sanctions economically. But the governments of South Africa (then under apartheid) and Portuguese Moçambique (ruled by the Catholic dictator Antonio Salazar), while refusing to officially recognize Rhodesia were helpful in ensuring that the sanctions and embargo could be ignored.

For over ten years Rhodesia prospered, but towards the end of the 1970s, things began to change. Portugal's Salazar, who had been on such friendly terms with Smith, died in 1970, and Moçambique became independent in 1975 and immediately became a one-party state ruled by the Soviet-backed FRELIMO. While Rhodesia, South Africa, and the United States backed the RENAMO resistance movement in Moçambique, the Communist control of the important port of Lourenço Marques (now Maputo) made breaking the oil embargo much more difficult. Furthermore, South African Prime Minister John Vorster started a policy of engagement with that country's independent black-ruled neighbors in contrast to the previous policy of isolation. Wooing these countries, however, meant giving the cold shoulder to Rhodesia, and South African economic help trailed off.

Smith soon saw that the only way to prevent Rhodesia falling into the hands of the Communists was to compromise with the country's non-violent Black moderates, chief among them Methodist Bishop Abel Muzorewa. An agreement was worked out whereby power, once held by the overwhelmingly (but not completely) white property-qualified electorate, would now be shared by white and black Rhodesians alike. There would be an Assembly of 100 members: 72 elected by the non-racial common roll (i.e. universal adult suffrage), 20 elected from the non-racial property role (previously the only electorate, in which voters had to own a certain level of property), and the remaining 8 reserved for white members who would be selected by 92 elected members. A Senate would exist as an upper house: 10 members elected by the lower house, 5 members elected by the Mashonaland council of chiefs, 5 members elected by the Matabeleland council of chiefs, and the remaining members appointed by the President on the advice of the Prime Minister.

In 1979, under the new settlement, a general election was held which international observers had confirmed as free and fair. Bishop Muzorewa and his moderate nationalist UANC party gained a majority of seats in the Assembly and so formed the government. Muzorewa became Prime Minister, and changed the name of the country to Zimbabwe-Rhodesia. Out of respect for the old leader and to include whites in the new government, Ian Smith was included in the Cabinet, though only as a Minister-without-portfolio.

The war against the Communists continued, albeit now under black leadership, but remarkably the international community refused to accept the compromise settlement and declined to recognize the new Republic of Zimbabwe-Rhodesia. Neither sanctions nor the oil embargo were lifted and thus the country still suffered an energy crisis. The British government under Thatcher forced Muzorewa to the bargaining table. Thatcher invited both Muzorewa and the Communist guerrillas (the Patriotic Front under Robert Mugabe) to participate in roundtable talks in London at Lancaster House.

It was agreed that Zimbabwe-Rhodesia would revert to its previous role as a British colony while elections could be held which were not restricted to non-violent parties. In exchange for being allowed to participate in these elections, the Patriotic Front agreed to abide by a cease-fire agreement, to renounce the use of force for political ends, to campaign peacefully and without intimidation, and to accept the outcome of the election. The black moderates and whites were assured that, should any party violate these strictures the Governor was bound to forbid them from standing in the elections. Predictably, Mugabe's guerrillas did not abide by a cease-fire, but engaged upon an active campaign of violent intimidation of the electorate. The British turned a blind eye, hoping to hold the elections and then "get out of Dodge" as soon as possible, handing over power to the victor.

Mugabe was declared the victor by a landslide and the rest is history.

THE DEATH OF Ian Smith struck me in particular as he was always a sort of hero to me. (I will always remember having his picture on my wall during my university days). He steered Rhodesia clear of both the stagnant racialist waters of South African-style apartheid as well as the destructive materialist waters of Communism and embraced a common-sense approach the chief aim of which was the preservation and advancement of peace and prosperity for the greatest number of Rhodesians. His deep love of his country was obvious, as he devoted his entire life to its service. But most of all, from all quarters, Ian Smith is continually hailed as a gentleman, and gentlemen are fewer and fewer in the realm of politics these days.

May God in His mercy grant eternal rest to the soul of Ian Douglas Smith, and may perpetual light shine upon him. Amen.

THE FOLLOWING ARE remembrances of Ian Smith which had been left on various internet sites and Facebook groups dedicated to him. I think these words speak for themselves.

From the Australian and the Sunday Times of London, I decided to excerpt these two articles to give our readers a better glimpse at Ian Smith, the man. (All boldface is mine).

From Graham Davis, writing in the Australian, 22 November 2007.

From R.W. Johnson, writing in the Sunday Times of London, 25 November 2007.

'The Last Word in Rhodesian', sung by John Edmond

"The first word in Rhodesian is 'Rhodes':
That's a word that everybody knows.
It may be as Rhodesian as the flag of white and green,
but the last word in Rhodesian is 'Ian'"

A Selection of Quotations from Il Duce

"The Socialists ask us for our program?
Our program is to smash the heads of the Socialists."

Mussolini himself had been a very prominent Socialist, working for leftist newspapers and was even once deported from Italy when his anti-Catholicism and anti-royalism became too much for the authorities to handle.

EVERY NOW AND THEN, there is a minor hubbub; perhaps not even enough to be called a hubbub, but call it a hubbub we shall. The hubbub in question is on the subject of James II (seen above, with his father Charles I), our last Catholic king, and the man who (as Duke of York) gave his name to the great city and land of New York. We have previously expounded upon King James on this little corner of the web, but fresh notice was brought by Fr. Nicholas Schofield on his Roman Miscellany blog. In the blog post A Royal Penitent, Fr. Nicholas writes:

AROUND THIS TIME of year we like to remind our dear readers that out there in the countryside the fox-hunting season has commenced. Charles Moore reports in the Spectator that "there have now been several convictions under the Hunting Act," the Quantock Staghounds being the most recent victims. "This week, the wretched Ann Widdecombe held a meeting in the House of Commons in which she showed police officers and others a film about how the ban is, in her view, being flouted. Politics has only to change a bit," Moore continues, "for the police to turn nasty. If politics changes the other way, and there is a Conservative government (no Widdecombe, thank God: she is retiring), the promise of repeal must be cashed in straightaway." Don't hold your breath, Mr. Moore!

Of course, the season has begun in earnest not only in Great Britain & Ireland but also here in the New World. The Montreal Hunt Club is the oldest hunt in existence on these shores, having been founded back in 1826. (The same year as the Old Guard of the City of New York). For many years, the club lead a triple life as a social organization, a hunt, and even as a military unit, the Royal Montreal Cavalry. The guidon of the Royal Montreal Calvary was presented by the Earl of Dalhousie in 1828 and is the oldest in Canada. (It is currently housed in the armory of the Royal Canadian Hussars, the successor unit to the Royal Montreal Cavalry).

Whilst perambulating the internet the other day I stumbled upon this 1880s evening coat of the Montreal Hunt Club, amongst the collection of the McCord Museum. The accompanying notes, of course, get quite anthropological:

In The British Empire in the Nineteenth Century: Its Progress and Expansion at Home and Abroad, Comprising a Description and History of the British Colonies and Dendencies (1898), Edgar Sanderson writes in his entry on Quebec that "the Montreal Hunt Club affords the best sport of its kind in America." Happily, the Montreal Hunt Club carries on its activities to this very day. While it originally drew its members from the Anglophone portion of the city's elite, French speakers began to dominate the club from the post-war period onwards. (Accordingly, its official legal names is "Le Club de Chasse à Courre de Montréal"). We hope and pray that as the Montreal Hunt has carried on from centuries past, it will continue to carry on into the future.

Previously: Tally Ho, Empire State! | The New Yorker Hunts | New York in November | The Vicar's Remorse

Officers of the New-York Light Guard, an antecedent of the Old Guard of the City of New York. The City Guard and the Light Guard combined in 1826 to form the Old Guard.

Categories: The Old Guard | Militaria

DEPRIVED OF THE hereditary principle by the lamentable break with Great Britain in 1783, Americans were eventually driven to inventing a hereditary social hierarchy, even more stringent than that of the mother country. Blood is the only qualification for membership of the numerous hereditary societies that dot the United States, unquestionably foremost among which is the Society of the Cincinnati. The Society of Colonial Wars, however, is one of the more prominent of the dozens of hereditary societies, and each state organization has devised its own seal or emblem. Below are exhibited a handful of examples.

THE CATHOLIC COLONY of Maryland was first planted in 1634 at St. Mary's, which became the first capital city of the Calvert family's palatinate. The attempt to run Terra Mariae as a Catholic feudal state was continually frustrated by a number of fiery Protestant settlers, who eventually broke out into open rebellion in the 1650s while the Civil Wars raged back in England. Happily, Cecil Calvert, 2nd Baron Baltimore, sent out an army under Gov. William Stone to restore order to the colony, but was defeated by the Puritan force in March, 1655 at the Battle of the Severn. During the Puritans' persecution of the Church, all the Catholic churches in Maryland were destroyed, and in 1667 a new ecclesiastical edifice was raised in St. Mary's: the Brick Chapel.

100 Years Since the Proclamation of Dominion

ON 26 SEPTEMBER, 1907, Edward VII, By the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the British Dominions beyond the Seas King, Defender of the Faith, Emperor of India, declared the Colony of Newfoundland, having enjoyed responsible government since 1854, the status of an independent Dominion within the British Empire. As it happens, the King-Emperor similarly declared New Zealand a dominion on the very same day. While New Zealand still enjoys dominion status as a free realm within the British Commonwealth of Nations, Newfoundland was profoundly struck by the Great Depression, and surrendered its independence in 1934. From that year it was administered by a Commission of Government headed by a Governor, all appointed by the imperial government in Whitehall.

The Red Ensign of Newfoundland, most commonly used as Newfoundland's national flag, though the official national flag was the Union Jack.

The shield from Newfoundland's coat of arms, adopted in 1653.

The Newfoundlanders proudly fought during the Second World War for the freedom of the Empire, but the post-war socialist government was only too keen to give up its responsibility in governing the colony. London and Ottawa both pressed for Newfoundland to join the Canadian Confederation, despite a significant portion of the populace being in favor of returning to responsible self-government. Many hoped that a once-again independent Newfoundland could negotiate an economic and customs union with the United States.

For Irish Elk.

Saint Alban, June 22

These were the words to the school hymn at St. Alban's College down in Argentina, which I briefly had the privilege of attending and which is currently celebrating its centenary year (more on that in another post). It was down beneath the Southern Cross that I first became more closely acquainted with good Saint Alban, who was the first Christian martyr of Britain.

THE QUEEN HAS once again visited Williamsburg, Virginia's ancient capital, after an absence of half a century. His Excellency Mr. Timothy Kaine, the Governor of the Commonwealth Virginia, was good enough to call a public holiday in the state, giving public workers the day off in celebration of the Queen's visit. During the trip, Her Majesty spoke to the General Assembly of Virginia, the oldest legislature in the New World, in Richmond (the current capitol), as well as meeting privately with the friends and relatives of the victims of the recent tragedy at Virginia Tech. In Williamsburg, she received an honorary degree from the College of William and Mary and was the guest at a luncheon at the Governor's Palace, once the official residence of her predecessors' viceroys in Virginia.

Ian Smith, the Grand Old Man of Africa, Speaks

Here is an interesting nine-minute-long clip from a documentary on Ian Smith, the former Prime Minister of Rhodesia, featuring the Hon. Mr. Smith himself, now eighty-eight years of age, as well as Kathy Olds, a landowner, and Ernest Mtunzi, a former aide to ZAPU terrorist leader Joshua Nkomo.

"What we believed in was responsible majority rule, as opposed to irresponsible majority rule and I stand by that," Mr. Smith tells the interviewer. "I think it is important that before you give a person the vote you ensure that his roots go down, that he's part of the whole structure of the country."

"Smith is an African," Ernest Mtunzi says. "He understands the African mentality. [...] Smith was being realistic. If you give people something before they're ready, they're going to mess it up. And that has happened."

Why did he and Muzorewa finally give in to British and Soviet demands for universal suffrage? The Lancaster House accord which was agreed by the various Zimbabwe-Rhodesian factions guaranteed a certain number of white Members of Parliament, and Smith was convinced that these, along with the Matabele people, would never give in to Mugabe.

"We were satisfied," Smith explains, "that what we were doing was absolutely in keeping with the traditions and the culture and what was expected of us."

Of course Mugabe eliminated the Matabele threat by sending in his "5th Brigade" which committed brutal widespread massacres in Matabeleland, relayed to us in this clip by Kathy Olds.

"Africa is a continent which is subject to a great deal of friction and argument and change," Smith concludes. "That's part of the world generally but more so Africa than anywhere else. So because of that we live in hope. We think that the people they in the end will say we've had enough."

"In the interest of our people and of other people this part of the world, let's work together. [...] Let's just accept that we are all part of Africa, all part of the world. Let's all work together and the more we can get people to accept that philosophy I think the greater the hope for the whole world."

An article (two versions of which are reproduced here below) recently printed exemplifies one of the tragic aspects of the Falklands War: the Anglo-Argentines who, out of loyalty to their homeland, were forced into waging war against their mother country. The subject of the article, Mr. Alan Craig, happens to be a former student of St. Alban's College, a fine institution in the Provincia de Buenos Aires (currently celebrating its centenary) which I had the great privilege of briefly attending. (C.f. How Andrew Cusack Became a Tea Drinker). Another sad aspect of the Falklands War is that if there are any two nations which should enjoy the bonds of friendship, it is Britain and Argentina. It is a shame when two countries which should be natural companions, perhaps allies, have deep-seated and long-lasting emotions in the way. (One thinks of Germany and Poland in particular).

Interestingly, Argentine textbooks contain maps of the Falkland Islands in which all the towns and geographical features have contrived names en Castellano. Port Stanley, for example, is called Puerto Argentino, while the Falklands themselves are known to Argentines as las Malvinas.

I remember one day in geography class at St. Alban's, exhibiting the typical brash arrogance of a youthful Anglo-Saxon, raising my hand, being called on by the teacher, and pronouncing "Sir, I have studied geography all my life, and I spend a lot of time reading maps. I don't believe there exists such a place called 'the Malvinas' though the Falklands...". I was going to continue that the Falklands "are roughly the shame shape and size and in the same place as this map depicts" (or something to that effect) but I had been interrupted by such a hail of paper, pens, and whatever moveable objects my fellow students could get their hands on (I think Nico, that Russian bastard, had actually thrown a book) that I found it more prudent to take cover underneath my desk rather than continue upon the particular oratorical course upon which I had embarked.

Nonetheless, we pray eternal rest to all the soldiers who fell on those windy isles a quarter-century ago, and that those who survived will live in the peace which their sacrifice has earned for them.

It is interesting how little-valued accuracy was in the depiction of flags "back in the day". In this illustration, for example, the flags of Wales and "Ireland (North)" are mere inventions while the Scottish and Indian ones are arguable yet imprecise.

The "Welsh" flag depicted is a red ensign that is defaced with the three feathers of the Prince of Wales.

The "Ireland (North)" flag is handsome, but nonexistent. Northern Ireland had an official flag in use from 1953 until the Parliament of Northern Ireland was prorogued in 1972. (It was never recalled, and has since been superseded by the Northern Ireland Assembly). The flag of "Norn Iron" was a banner of the province's coat of arms.

The flag of Scotland shown here is not actually the national flag (depicted above as the "St. Andrew" flag) but rather the Scottish royal standard, which is often (and improperly) used as an alternative national flag.

The Indian flag depicted is actually the flag of the Viceroy of India, which (admittedly) was sometimes used as a national flag for India. More often, however, a blue or red ensign was used, defaced with the Star of India.

The Canadian flag depicted here was changed in 1957, when the arms of Canada were themselves changed. The maple leaves in the bottom compartment of the sheild were specified to be "gules" (red). Up to that point, they had previously almost always been rendered "vert" (green). The Canadian flag itself was very controversially and unpopularly replaced by Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson with the Maple Leaf Flag. The Leader of the Opposition, the Rt. Hon. John Diefenbaker, derided the Liberal premier's decision:

"We have had a flag. Flags can be changed. But flags cannot be imposed — the sacred symbols of a people's hopes and aspirations — by the simple capricious personal choice of a prime minister of Canada. Now then, whenever the overwhelming majority of Canadian people want a new version, and when the design is meaningful and acceptable to most Canadians, that's democracy. … I asked him [Prime Minister Pearson] this question: as to whether or not, under the circumstance, he would permit or he would arrange for a national referendum and his answer was no."

THE FEAST OF IRELAND'S patron saint is an occasion for parading if ever there was one. For this, we can send part of our thanks to the British Army, which happened to initiate the most famous St. Patrick's Day Parade of them all, namely, New York's. It was 1762 when a number of Irish troops in the service of the Crown took it upon themselves to parade up Gotham's own Broadway on the 17th of March. (More recently, the Duke of Edinburgh was invited to partake in the New York parade during his 1966 visit to America). Despite the lamentable outbreak of separatist republicanism in much of Ireland, the sons of Erin continue to take the Queen's shilling and serve proudly in Her Majesty's forces, and true to form they are sure to mark their patron's feast day.

Sir James Henry Mussen Campbell, Bt., 1st Baron Glenavy, PC, QC. was born in Dublin in 1851. Campbell graduated from the University of Dublin (Trinity College) a Bachelor of the Arts in 1874. He was called to the Irish bar in 1878, being made a Queen's Counsel in 1892. Campbell was elected to parliament in 1898, being called to the English bar a year later. He was made Solicitor General for Ireland in 1903, as well as being appointed an Irish Privy Counsellor. He rose to become Lord Chief Justice of Ireland in 1916, being made a baronet the following year, and Lord Chancellor of Ireland the year after that (1918). Sir James was ennobled as 1st Baron Glenavy upon relinquishing office in 1921.

Ireland was partitioned in the following year, and Lord Glenavy became the first Cathaoirleach of the Seanad Eireann (Presiding officer of the Irish senate). In 1923, he chaired the judicial committee investigating the establishment of a new courts system for the Irish Free State. His proposals were implemented the following year in the Courts of Justice Act 1924, forming the Irish courts as they remain today. Having served one six-year term in the Seanad, he did not seek re-elected in 1928, and died three years later in 1931. Holding the largely honorary position of President of the College Historical Society ("the Hist"), Dublin University's debating society, from 1925, he was succeeded upon his death by his fellow Irish Protestant, Douglas Hyde, who himself later became the first President of Ireland from 1938 until 1945.

The British Crown's toleration of Catholicism in Quebec was cited by the rebel colonists of the 1770's as, ironically, an 'intolerable act'. That the Church of Rome, that bastion of backwards conservatism and slavish hierarchy, could be tolerated in the lands under the power of the British parliament riled the Whigs—the enlightened liberal progressives of the day. Indeed, Benjamin Franklin was even so foolish as to go to Quebec as an emissary of the 'Continental Congress' to persuade the natives to rebel against the Crown; Congress's proposals to ban Catholicism and prohibit the use of the French language ensured he was not successful.

The modern orthodox opinion of historians on the Quebec Act of 1774—the act that granted toleration to the Church—is that it was merely a persuasive exercise to keep les Canadiens from rebelling. A 1989 book challenged this perspective, arguing instead that a handful of British aristocrats were determined to ensure that Quebec did not become another Ireland: where Protestant ascendancy was thrust upon an unwilling nation of Catholic nobles, merchants, and peasants.

The following review by Gary Caldwell was published in a Canadian journal in 2001.

Philip Lawson. The Imperial Challenge: Quebec and Britain in the Age of the American Revolution. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press. 192 pages. US$27.95.

WHY REVIEW A BOOK published twelve years ago? I will explain. But first, let me tell you what it's about.

When Britain took possession of Canada at the Treaty of Versailles in 1763, it faced an "imperial challenge:" how to integrate into the empire a society fundamentally different from England - in language, religion, and legal and political institutions. At the time, England was vigorously intolerant of Roman Catholicism or "popery," the religion of its major enemies, France and Spain. British Protestantism was closely tied to the dominant Whig political ideology born of the Glorious Revolution of 1688-89. This doctrinal legacy prescribed that all British subjects were possessed of very definite and equal liberties, liberties endowed upon and limited to those who conformed to the Whig-Protestant definition of being British.

Hence the problem of 1763. English law and constitutional practice allowed only for protestant public officials and elected representatives. This meant excluding the entire French-speaking population, some 70,000 to 80,000 (the "new subjects") as compared to some 300 Protestants established in the colony (the "old subjects").

There were two schools of thought as to what should be done. The Whig position, favoured by much of the English political leadership and commercial class on both sides of the Atlantic, was not to accommodate the new subjects. It amounted to an attempted destruction of the local culture and to exclusion of the French-speaking population from all juridical, political and social positions, the hoped-for consequence being assimilation in one, perhaps two, generations. In short, what had been imposed in Ireland with the "protestant ascendancy."

The opposing school of thought, still marginal in 1763, believed such a policy both impracticable and undesirable. James Murray, Lord Shelburne, Lord Dorchester (Gary Carleton), H. T. Cramahe, Alexander Wedderburn, Lord Mansfield and William Knox not only held that a Protestant ascendancy in Quebec would ruin the colony, they also believed that Quebec society was deserving of being preserved. Murray and Dorchester, who knew Quebec and its people, were adamant: the Canadians were a good "race"—in Murray's words, "perhaps the best and bravest race on the globe" (p. 48)—and if protected they and their society would flourish and be loyal to the Crown. As it happened, all of these administrators and Crown legal officers, with the exception of Cramahe, were Anglo-Irish or Scottish; not one of them was of English origin.

But how were the Canadians and their culture to be accommodated? There were, as Lawson demonstrates, three distinct dimensions to this accommodation. The first was to respect the prevailing legal code and custom in civil and property matters; the second, to refrain from putting into place an English representative assembly because it would be the instrument of the 300 or so English and American voters in the colony. By far the most important was the third dimension, tolerance in Quebec of Roman Catholicism, which meant the nomination of a Bishop, the tithe and the right of Catholics to hold public office. Dorchester and the others successfully won these concessions in London by 1770, and they were contained in the Quebec Act in 1774, to the horror of much of English public sentiment, and especially the Americans who were more resolutely against "popery" and more Whig than the English themselves.

When Benjamin Franklin arrived in Montreal in 1775 with the invading army of the Continental Congress, he carried secret orders to ban the popish religion and the French language. Fortunately, the Americans were stopped in Quebec by no other than Dorchester, back from getting the Quebec Act through Parliament. At the head of an army of old and new subjects he broke the 1775-76 siege of Quebec.

Lawson's interpretation is insightful in putting the events into the context of the Irish question. The major players in promoting the accommodation that became the Quebec Act had in mind "the Irish Imbroglio," and were determined not to repeat the error of the "protestant ascendancy" in Ireland. The Quebec Act emerges clearly as the culmination of thoughtful and courageous policy formulation, a model of generous statesmanship. Hence, as Lawson goes on to argue, the "toleration" of Roman Catholicism in the Quebec Act paved the way for the British Acts of Toleration of 1778.

Lawson also helps understand why Murray, Dorchester and the others came to the conclusions they did about the Canathan problem. These men were essentially empirical conservatives who found the answer "in the past"—Quebec society as they had known it in the 1760s—and the "elastic nature of the British Constitution." And here Lawson runs smack into the prevailing wisdom in Canadian historiography.

Lawson is insistent on the coincidental nature of any link between the Quebec Act and the American Revolution, affirming that there is no evidence that the inspiration for the Quebec Act was to placate the Canadians so as to keep them apart from the Americans. As this alleged link is one of the most tenacious myths in the Canadian historical consciousness, it is worth citing Lawson:

What can be done to dispose of this myth once and for all? Fifty years ago both Coupland and Burt said that they could find no evidence to justify such an assertion with Lanctot repeating the message in the 1960s, and nothing has yet come to light to contradict them (pp. 123-124).

When I first read this book in the early 1990s and realized how revolutionary his thesis was, I contacted Lawson to talk about his work. In passing, I mentioned that I supposed that The Imperial Challenge must have created quite a controversy in Canadian academic circles. His reply was "No, it has attracted very little attention in Canada." (I never saw him again. I had arranged to see him a few years later, but just before I arrived in Edmonton he was admitted to hospital for terminal cancer and died shortly afterwards.) In subsequent years, I have been to McGill-Queens Press in Montreal to buy copies of his book to give to friends. Inquiring as to sales, I was told that only a few hundred copies had been sold. And, so far, I have encountered only one reference to Lawson's book (in Yves Lamonde's Histoire sociale des politiques au Quebec).

I was curious enough to go back recently to the reviews written when the book came out. There were 16 in Canada in French and English, in the United States and in the United Kingdom; all reviewers were quite positive except one (who wrote two of the reviews). They all commented positively on the extent and depth of the documentation, as well as the fresh reading from parliamentary debates, the personal archives of the principal players, and the press of the day. As for his interpretation of how the Quebec Act came to be, there is no suggestion that he was wrong in any respect. The negative reviewer suggests only that it is pretentious of Lawson to think he has added much to existing work on the Quebec Act. Of the 15 reviewers, a full half explicitly accredit Lawson with drawing out the intention of avoiding the error of Ireland.

Why, then, did a book, critically acclaimed by the author's peers, which sheds considerable light on a pivotal period in the history of Quebec and Canada, drop out of sight in Quebec, and I suspect in the rest of Canada? Lawson calls into question the conventional wisdom on a very important subject in Canadian history, and no one takes notice. For instance, two prominent Canadians, Gerard Bouchard and John Raulston Saul, social thinkers who are presently reinterpreting Canadian history, make no mention, to my knowledge, of this book. A book that should have caused waves has generated scarcely a ripple.

Perhaps my assessment, as a non-professional historian, is faulty and I would welcome a demonstration of where I have erred. What are the factors that explain the untimely eclipse of Lawson's work? Could it be simply that Canadian intellectual discourse is shallow, that a seminal work can be dropped into the water and hit bottom generating nothing more than a superficial ripple of perfunctory reviews and listings in compendiums? This is one possible explanation; a more certain explanation lies in ideology.

The ideological axe, starkly put, goes as follows. Quebec's nationalist, republican-leaning contemporary intellectuals are loath to entertain the idea that a coterie of British Conservatives (half of them aristocrats) literally saved Quebec society by helping to keep it strong enough to withstand the renewed neo-liberal assault led by Lord Durham three quarters of a century later and, then, begin to rehabilitate the Quebec polity (under British institutions) in 1867. Such an idea being beyond the pale (again, the ghost of Ireland), they maintain the myth that the Quebec Act was political opportunism inspired by the American threat. What will it take for Quebec nationalist thinkers to recognize and appropriate the historical reality that Dorchester twice—in the Quebec Act and the siege of Quebec—saved Quebec? It is no exaggeration to assert that, had it not been for this one Anglo-Irish aristocrat, Quebec would likely have become anglicized and, subsequently, integrated into the American empire.

As for English-speaking Canada, the current crop of orthodox historians has long consigned our British imperialist past to the Marxist dust-heap of history: nothing good could possibly have come of it, all imperialisms being, by definition, bad. They are not about to disturb their orthodoxy that in contrast to Imperial Britain, which was incapable of any genuine sympathy for Quebec—only Canadian nationalist intellectuals are enlightened and respectful of Quebec society. So, they too maintain the "political opportunism" interpretation of the Quebec Act, despite its having been refuted by Lawson and his predecessors. Essentially, what we are seeing is a refusal to acknowledge a debt owed to dead white male Protestants (from Ireland and Scotland). But gratitude is not, as the contemporary French philosopher Alain Finkielkraut has pointed out, a hallmark of modern progressive thinkers.

I write this review knowing full well that it is too late for Lawson's work to be rehabilitated. The Imperial Challenge is among the titles in this year's McGill-Queen's clear-the-warehouse sale.

Previously: Hitchcock in Quebec

QUÉBEC, THAT STRANGE and charming province, is a most intriguing nation. It is where the British, French, and American tendencies clash and combine to form that most pecular of all American varities: le Québécois. Of course, since the 1960s Québec has become more French; no, not more French but more like France in that every year it plunges deeper into the depths of self-loathing: that hatred of one's own tradition and history which has so marked out "the new Europe". It is a race to assert one's self by destoying any living connection to one's past. Un jeu du fou. More's the pity, as this once-vibrant melting pot of traditions expressed itself in interesting ways.

A splendid display of this Québec can be found in Alfred Hitchcock's 1953 drama I Confess. The film had been recommended to me often and I finally got around to seeing it tonight. I won't give away any of the plot, which is a good one, but Hitchcock lives up to his reputation with his excellent framing of the scenes. (Though I must admit, half of it is merely the settings in the Ville de Québec themselves). They include a peek into the Québécois Parliament. Above the Speaker's dais is displayed not only the Sovereign's arms, but also a crucifix, exhibiting our loyalties both temporal and spiritual. In the court room you find yet another blend of the Anglo and the French. As you no doubt recall from our handy little map, Quebec is a country with a mixed legal system. Founded as Nouvelle-France it had the civil system derived from the Romans. Captured by the British and later transformed into part of the Canadian Confederation, it has accrued layers of the Common Law so dear to we Anglos. The officials of the court wear British-style robes — the judge even has a tricorn hat — but over the jury looms a large crucifix. English government and French culture tempered by Catholic truth; not a bad mixture.

Anyhow, if you haven't seen the film yet, here are a few snaps to enjoy until your Hitchcockian thirst is satiated.

IN CASE YOU were in need of someone to raise a glass to, why not the 14th Duke of Hamilton and his friends? A reader and friend of ours from the fair Dominion of Virginia sent us a link to this program, which is available for listening to until next Monday, about "a famous flying ace, a top racing driver and an aristocrat" who together lent a helping hand to Christian Spain in her hour of need.

Famously, the four Douglas-Hamilton brothers (below) all simultaneously held the rank of Squadron Leader in the RAF. In the BBC program linked to above, one of the living Douglas-Hamiltons relates the tale of when all four brothers individually flew to a certain aerodrome and when the tower radio operator heard "Squadron Leader Douglas-Hamilton requesting permission to land" one time after another, he thought someone was pulling his leg.

Air Commodore Douglas Douglas-Hamilton, 14th Duke of Hamilton and 11th Duke of Brandon, KT, GCVO, AFC, PC, DL, FRCSE, FRGS, also served as Chancellor of the University of St Andrews.

Previously: The Tomb of Francisco Franco | The Caudillo in Action! | Fun With Franco

STEALING A GLANCE at the photo above, the viewer would easily be forgiven for mistaking the vista for that of a subway entrance in turn-of-the-century Siena, Italy. The proud medieval tower lurks over a comely metal-and-glass structure of continental flavor. However the city fathers of that ancient Italian municipality never deigned to erect an underground railway. The precise locus of the vista is far removed: it is the corner of Park Avenue and 33rd Street, and the building behind the subway entrance is not the town hall of Siena, but rather the armory of the 71st Regiment, New York National Guard.

When the earlier Romanesque Revival armory of the Seventy-First Regiment burnt down in 1902, it was decided to build the new armory on the same, though slightly enlarged, site. The 1905 construction was built to the design of the architectural firm of Clinton and Russell, and was clearly inspired by the Palazzo Pubblico (the town hall, photo at right) of Siena, on that city's Piazza de Campo. While the Seventh Regiment Armory contains the finest interiors of any military building in City, and probably the entire Empire State, the exterior of the Seventy-First's armory was far superior. Even though the interior was not to the same lofty standard as the Seventh, it was by no means lacking, for it had all the wood-panelled rooms filled with military regalia from times gone by which one expects of New York's armories from the period.

Clinton & Russell's design for the 71st Regiment Armory.

Soldiers enjoined in a game of cards in the E Company chambers of the Seventy-First Regiment Armory.

January 1, 1917: A soldier of the 71st bids farewell to his sweetheart as he prepares to leave for Camp Wadsworth, S.C. and then on to Europe, and war.

The subway beneath Park Avenue had a station adjacent to the armory on 33rd Street, which was architecturally signified by the faience eagles, made by Heins & Lafarge, which bedecked the station walls. Whenever you see a subway station's street number held on a shield by an eagle, it means that a National Guard armory was once located above, or nearby. The eagles and shields from a closed platform of the Union Square-14th Street station have been reassembled elsewhere in the large station.

Despite the grandeur of the armory, the building was still somewhat unloved. Only thirty years after it was erected, Time magazine rather unfairly called it "Manhattan's ugly old brownstone 71st Regiment Armory". It was, of course, a place of history. True to its original purpose, it was not only the home of one of the more prominent regiments of New York's National Guard, but also served as the headquarters of the state's reknowed 27th Division — "O'Ryan's Roughnecks" — which included the 71st, the 7th, and other New York regiments. The massive drill hall was not only a functional site for military training but also a prominent civic meeting place. Exhibitions, expositions, labor rallies, fairs, and meetings were held in the hall, which had a capacity of 11,000 people. For example, it was here, in 1964, that the carpetbagging son of a bootlegger named Robert Kennedy won the nomination to the U.S. Senate from the state Democratic caucus. A year later, during the Great Northeastern Blackout, the armory took in 2,500 stranded souls until the lights came back on.

With it's efficacious design, high standard of construction, and architectural beauty, the 71st Regiment Armory was singled out for destruction by the 'monotony monitors' (as my old Latin teacher used to call them). During the 1960s, they demolished this little corner of Siena on Park Avenue. The site lay fallow for a decade before it was redeveloped with a skyscraper, containing a public high school as part of the developer's deal with the City. To add insult to injury, the Board of Education named the school after the pacifist and socialist Norman Thomas; salt in the wounds of New York's fading military heritage. So if ever you're strolling down Park Avenue in Murray Hill and you come upon an ominous modern skyscraper where socialism and capitalism combine, try to think of better days, and pray they soon return.

Category: New York Militaria

The great Marco Foppoli has designed (and very kindly passed along to me) the badge for the committee which has been assembled to commemorate the two-hundredth anniversary of the passing of the Cardinal Duke of York, or King Henry IX and I as was his style according to the Jacobite succession. I'm not entirely sure what events are being planned, but I believe there will be a conference in Rome around the anniversary in August.

WITH THESE SIMPLE and lovely lines, the great Hilaire Belloc superbly expressed the esprit de Noël of the Christian curmudgeon. It amounts, more or less, to "Rend honor to the Holy Child, and to hell with the rest". His Lines for a Christmas Card are obviously meant in a jovial and light-hearted spirit (naturally, we Catholics would not wish Hell on any poor soul), and completely intelligible but for this curious line, "May all good fellows that here agree / Drink Audit Ale in heaven with me". What on earth is Audit Ale?

Before the Reformation, the English year was a calendar of feasts, festivals, and holidays—holy days, even. Four of these holy days, spaced fairly evenly throughout the year, were marked for such things as the collection of rents and the paying of feudal tributes. These four were Lady Day (March 25, the Feast of the Annunciation), Midsummer Day (June 24, the Feast of St. John the Baptist), Michaelmas (September 29, the Feast of St. Michael the Archangel), and Christmas (December 25, of course, the Feast of the Nativity of Christ).

Now, events such as the collection of fees and taxes and the giving of feudal tribute tend towards the dour, and so often a feudal lord would have a special ale brewed for these occasions, to ensure a certain amount of merriment among the commonfolk once their tribute had been paid and the burden lifted. This tended to be called 'audit ale', since it was brewed around the time of audit. They were not, you will be happy to learn, the only seasonal brews around. There was 'leet-ale' for when the manorial court, or court-leet, convened, and there was Whitsun-ale for Whitsuntide, and there were church-ales which went towards the upkeep of the parish church and alms for the poor. Indeed, in village of Sygate in Norfolk, there is an inscription on the gallery of the church which reads:

Also, interestingly, the very word 'bridal' comes not from the -al suffix English developed up from Latin, but rather from the Old English brýd-ealo: bride-ale or wedding-ale.

With the advent of Protestantism—and most especially the Puritan variant thereof—feasts, seasons, and other joviality generally became frowned-upon. England was forced to be less English, as the monotonous bores took over. Still, remnants of the feasts and seasons remained. Lady Day was the first day of the year in the British Empire until 1752, when the Gregorian calendar was finally adopted. Similarly, the fiscal year in the United Kingdom begins on April 6, because that day in the Gregorian calendar corresponds to Lady Day in the old Julian calendar. In Oxford and Cambridge, meanwhile, colleges still brewed special ales for the time when grades were released; either to celebrate the achievement or to soften the blow. These brews kept the old moniker of 'audit ales' and Belloc most likely uses the term in this derivation. Even in my own time at St Andrews we often sipped home-brewed ale from ancient, battered pewter tankards, though we rarely needed the excuse of holy days to continue the tradition.

So this Yuletide perhaps you will consider home-brewing, and brew a special ale for the festal season now that the penetential time of Advent is passing. But, if you're otherwise engaged, head into town and make sure to have a beer, and raise your pint to that Wondrous Babe whose birth brings us such mirth and cheer.

EVERY ONE OF the myriad plans put forth for the 'redevelopment' of the venerable old Governors Island in New York Harbor has so far either stalled, been neglected, or otherwise poo-pooed. In this, we have something to rejoice. As I have often said, realistically speaking there is little that can be done to it which will not neglect or disgrace the island's long military heritage. The officially-approved ideas put forth so far have been horrific: an amusement park, a casino, a 'technology park', as well as a number of other vapid proposals.

Naturally, we'd be enthused if it returned to its former role as swankiest post in the entire Army and the home of Army polo, but don't hold your breath. West Point being the single exception, if it has even a touch of history, tradition, or class, Congress and the Department of Defense will do their best to get rid of it. After all, the National Guard has been pulled out of the Seventh Regiment Armory, the Navy has withdrawn all but a few institutions from Newport, and the Army has left the ancient Presidio of San Francisco; how long will it be until Fort Leavenworth's foxhounds are brought out back and shot by the Monotony Monitors?

Gen. James H. McRae greets polo players on the island, 1927.

The Veteran Corps of Artillery on the Parade Ground, Governors Island.

Nonetheless, while meandering through a book on the history of Governors Island from the 1637 to 1922, I came across a rather excellent depiction of one of the early plans for the improvement of the island, devised just after the First World War. Owing to landfill from subway and tunnel excavations, the island expanded during the period, and it was thought that something proper ought to be done with it rather than just fill it with utilitarian military huts and barracks.

Eventually, a whole complex of neo-Georgian brick buildings was constructed, including Liggett Hall, the longest building in the world at the time of its completion, and the only single building which could house an entire regiment. Before that plan was finalized, however, someone thought of surrounding old Fort Jay, a Revolutionary-era star fortification, with a similarly shaped castellar structure in that particular American military style of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The result was brilliant.

Click [here] for a larger image of the castle depiction. Just imagine what it would have been like to sail into New York Harbor and to be greeted by a castle and a little village on an island, right smack dab next to the towering skyscrapers of lower Manhattan. Genius.

My only qualm with the plan is that I would orient the main gate towards the rest of the island, rather than towards the sea. Then, a little main street could roll from the castle on its height to a parade ground at the other, lower, end of the island. It would give the units stationed there an excuse to march from their barracks in the castle down to the parade ground—and really, shouldn't life be organized so as to have more parades and military marches? I certainly believe so.

Regardless of how enjoyable that would have been, what actually did end up getting built on the island after the war was certainly commendable nonetheless, as you can see in my previous post giving an overview of Governors Island.

Previously: Governors Island | Old Guard on Governors Island | The Old Guard | New Globe Theater

A photo of the Old Guard of the City of New York on Governors Island, with Manhattan in the background, taken on St. George's Day, 1933. [Click here for larger photo]

Previously: Evacuation Day | Marshal Foch and the Old Guard | A New York Funeral | Old Guardsmen | The Old Guard | Grandpa
Category: New York Militaria

The Old Guard of the City of New York, raising the flag at the Battery on Evacuation Day, 1897. The day commemorates November 25, 1783, when the last royal troops left New York in accordance with the terms of the Treaty of Paris.

Previously: Marshal Foch and the Old Guard | A New York Funeral | Old Guardsmen | The Old Guard | Grandpa
Category: New York Militaria

With these words spoken yesterday in the House of Lords, the Queen revealed the plans for her visit to the Commonwealth of Virginia for the upcoming celebrations surrounding the quatercentenary of the first permanent English settlement in the New World. Her Majesty is no stranger to Virginia, nor even to Jamestown, as her very first visit to the New World took place in 1957 when she attended the 350th anniversary celebrations at Jamestown. Following that 1957 official visit to the United States, the Queen opened her parliament at Ottawa for the first time since her accession to the Canadian throne.

THE NINTH OF November is sometimes known in Germany as 'Schicksalstag' or the 'Day of Fate' owing to the series of events significant to modern German history which took place on the day in 1848, 1918, 1923, 1938, and 1989.

The first and last events (1848 and 1989) were encouraging events, while the three in between (1918, 1923, and 1938) were progressively worse. Indeed, it could easily be said that 1938 could not have happened without 1923, and that 1923 could not have happened without 1918, so these occurrences are not unrelated.

The 22-yard-tall Peace Arch stands between the city of Blaine in Washington state, and the city of Surrey in the province of British Columbia, demarcating the boundary between the United States of America and the Dominion of Canada. The monument, built in 1921, commemorates the 1814 Treaty of Ghent re-establishing peace between the United States and the British Empire.

Nicholas II, Tsar of All the Russias and George V, the King Emperor.

Previously: Father & Son | Tennis, Anyone?

ONE HAS TO feel a certain amount of sympathy poor old Abraham de Peyster. The city fathers, in their infinite and unending wisdom, sought fit to erect a statue of Bram in Bowling Green, the old town square of New York down at the beginning of Broadway, many moons ago. However, having set Bram very nicely upon that green, the first public park in all New York, the city fathers have of late refused to let old Heer de Peyster rest. In 1972, the park was 'renovated' which entailed the statue's forced removal. He ended up four years later in Hanover Square, a quite suitable though less prominent location, where he gazed across the square towards India House. It was then that old rivalries flared anew.

The good old days in Bowling Green.

In a situation quite similar to that of the Year of Our Lord Sixteen-Hundred-and-Sixty-Four, when New Amsterdam became New York at the sight of English warships in the Bay, the British began eyeing old Bram's place of comfort, and they wanted it for themselves. Poor Old Bram could only sigh as the city fathers decided to move him yet again, this time to make way for the British Memorial Garden. As a consolation, however, it has been decided to move him to a place of greater prominence, namely City Hall Park, or 'the Commons' as it was known in de Peyster's day. He has taken advantage of the move to go on holiday though, as he currently sits on Randalls Island enjoying a little rest, relaxation, and refurbishment. We look forward to his arrival at City Hall, and hope they give him a good spot. Still one can't help but think he'd prefer to be back in Hanover Square, where he could keep to himself with naught but a few bankers and businessmen to bother him, and he could peacefully watch the old men slipping in and out of India House for luncheon.

Berenice Abbott took this famous photo of de Peyster in Bowling Green.

Who was the old codger, you ask? De Peyster was born in old New Amsterdam, but spent nine years working on the family farm in the old Netherlands. He returned in 1684 to what had already become New York, becoming a loyal British subject and a prominent citizen of the Province. He was of a thriving mercantile clan, and any significant position which existed in the colony, it was more than likely that Abraham de Peyster held it at one time or another. He was an alderman, mayor of the city, colonel of the militia, member of the King's Council (the upper chamber of New York's provincial legislature), and even acting governor at one point. De Peyster was a wealthy man, and founded a New York dynasty. It was his great-great-great grandson, one John Watts de Peyster, who commissioned the statue of the ancient patriarch from the American sculptor George Edwin Bissell. Bissell depicted de Peyster "sporting a lavish cloak, wig, army boots, and sword in hand denoting his political and military roles in the colonial government". De Peyster was quite proud of his swords, leaving his favorite to his eldest son and dividing the rest among his descendants. The de Peysters are still around, actually, though I suppose it depends on your definition of 'around'; I believe they are currently based way down in Palm Beach.

THIS PAST SATURDAY was the anniversary of the birth of King James II and VII of England and Scotland. The third son of Charles I, he was baptised into the Anglican church six weeks after his birth and was created Duke of York at eleven years of age. In 1660, James married Anne Hyde, the daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, by whom he fathered eight children, though only two survived past childhood. In 1664 the Duke of York equipped an expedition to relieve the Dutch of responsibility for their colonies in North America, and henceforth New Amsterdam and New Netherland were known as New York after their new Lord Proprietor.

A miniature of James, Duke of York, c. 1660.

Sometime during the year 1670 both the Duke and Duchess of York were received into the Catholic Church and stopped attending Anglican services, though the conversion did not become public knowledge until the Test Act (requiring officeholders to receive communion in a Church of England service and take an oath against Transubstantiation) was passed three years later. James was forced to renounce his offices, such as Lord High Admiral of England, though not his titles. At any rate, Anne, the Duchess of York had died in 1671 only a year after her conversion. He married Princess Maria of Modena in 1673.

The Protestant oligarchs felt threatened by the pros