In Time of Lockdown: Reflections on Locks, Lockdown, Isolation

IN TIME OF LOCKDOWN

Reflections on Locks, Lockdown, Isolation

Front cover painting: Visual Homage to Allegro molto maestoso from Symphony No.3 by Elgar/Payne by Edward Twohig, Head of Art, one of the series of one meter by one meter oil paintings, created during the experience of lockdown that adorn this publication.

IN TIME OF LOCKDOWN

Reflections on Locks, Lockdown, Isolation

CONTENTS

p9

Master’s Foreword Pupil Editorial Lara Higgins Anderson (LI L6), Jessica Hughes (SU L6), Jessica Macdonald (IH L6), Anouschka Verdon (LI L6)

p 10

Staff Editorial Christopher Moule (CR, Head of Academic Scholars, Head of History)

p 11

Girl at Window. Nadia Johnson (PR U6)

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PART 1: LOCKS AND PRISONS The History and Design of the Lock and Key Georgina Cresswell (MO HU)

p 14

What Makes a Strong Password?

Natasha Johnson (PR U6)

p 16

Prisons: Mental or Physical?

Helvetica Haydn Taylor (NC Hu)

p 17

Evolution of Prisons Jessica Macdonald (IH L6)

p 20

The Myth of Medieval Dungeons Christopher Moule (CR, Head of Academic Scholars, Head of History)

p 22

Was Hitler’s Year in Prison his Key to Power?

George Elvin (PR L6)

p 27

Heroic Prisoners of Nazi Germany: the stories of Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Sophie Scholl Oliver Dickens (C2 Hu)

p 29

Nelson Mandela in Prison Tilly Mobley (MO L6)

p 32

Psychological Effects of Solitary Confinement Jessica Hughes (SU L6)

p 34

White Torture Michael Utku (CO Re)

p 36

Isolation in Special Forces Selection Edward Wolfe (C3 Hu)

p 37

The Isolation of the Unidentified Charlotte Jordan (DA Sh)

p 39

Australia’s History as a Penal Colony Violet Ward (PR L6)

p 41

How Has the Kim Dynasty Stayed in Power and What Will it Take to Topple it?

Cecily Mills (EL Re)

p 43

Life in North Korea and Covid’s Effect on it Thomas Wilson (SU Re)

p 45

PART 2: LOCKDOWNS AND QUARANTINES ‘Disproportionate Impact and Uneven Recovery’ – wealth disparity and the impact of Covid-19 Nadia Johnson (PR U6)

p 48

How Religions Around the World have been Affected by Lockdown Poppy Greville-Collins (MO Re)

p 52

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COVID-19 and Lockdown’s Impact on Neurological Functions and Mental Health Archie Todd-Leask (C1 L6)

p 53

How is the COVID Lockdown Challenging Extrovert and Introvert Characters?

Aoife Guinness (IH Re)

p 54

The Toll Imposed by Confinement on Introverts and Extroverts Oscar Patel (B1 Re)

p 56

Property Through a Pandemic Henry Blatchford (CO L6)

p 57

Bust and Boom: An Investigation Into the Economic Euphoria Following Times of Isolation or Lockdown p 59 William Sankey (B1 L6) Lockdowns and Isolations in Previous Pandemics Arthur Braxton (CO Re)

p 61

Early Quarantines Erin Butler (MM Hu)

p 63

Isolation Cottages- How Social Distancing and Quarantine Helped our Ancestors Overcome Disease Charlotte Greenham (MM Hu)

p 65

Empty Room. Nadia Johnson (PR U6)

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PART 3: ISOLATED SOCIETIES Japan’s Isolation Policy of Sakoku Rosanna Hodgson (EL Hu)

p 70

US Isolationism – selfish or selfless?

Mr W J Molyneux (CR, History Department)

p 72

Culture of Isolation in China Daisy Pank (MM L6)

p 74

Apartheid: Isolation of Race Philippa Blossom (IH L6)

p 76

Exploring Symbiotic Relationships Between Isolated Settlements and their Surrounding Landscape Samuel Elviss (B1 L6)

p 79

The Most Isolated Tribe in the World: The Sentinelese Edmund Pretor-Pinney (B1 L6)

p 81

PART 4: ARTISTS AND WRITERS ISOLATED Locked Down versus Locked In Mr T A Kiggell (CR, Modern Languages Department)

p 84

(C)Ovid and Isolation Mr J F Lloyd (CR, Head of Classics)

p 86

How Did Exile and Isolation Affect Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy’?

Maximilian Woodford (SU Hu)

p 88

Female Authors of the 19th Century ‘Locked Down’ under Male Pseudonyms Zara Blakey (MO L6)

p 90

Isolation in ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ Francesca Strand (SU L6)

p 92

Frida Kahlo – How isolation affected her art Madeleine Hornby (MM L6)

p 93

Isolation: a unique form of artistic liberation Isabel Raper (IH L6)

p 94

Is an Element of Self-isolation Necessary for an Artist to be Successful?

Nina Blakey (MO Re)

p 97

Locks and the Viennese Secession Mrs R L Jerstice (CR, Head of Psychology)

p 99

The Daily Round Atalanta Hue-Williams (DA L6)

p 101

Images for This Lockdown Publication: ‘I Feel Therefore I am’ Mr E F J Twohig (CR, Head of Art)

p 104

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PART 5: LOCKDOWN AND ISOLATION IN WORKS OF ART Homeric Lockdowns Mr J R B Scragg (CR, Deputy Head Co-Curriculum and Outreach)

p 108

Lessons on Loneliness from Homer’s Odyssey Ms V Herrenschmidt (CR, Classics Department)

p 111

Isolation in Shelley’s Frankenstein Alexandra Byrne (CO L6)

p 117

Isolation in Camus’ L’Étranger Ava Dean-Smith (NC L6)

p 119

Die Winterreise – Schubert’s Lockdown Edward Beswick (C1 L6)

p 120

Locks in Lockdown: depictions of Rapunzel in illustrated works from the Golden Age to the present Miss K Lloyd (CR, Artist-in-Residence)

p 121

The Individuality of Chivalric Culture Sophie Smith (DA U6)

p 125

Mountains. Nadia Johnson (PR U6)

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PART 6: SOCIAL ISOLATION, SEPARATION, FREEDOM Rousseau and a Corrupt Society Anouschka Verdon (LI L6)

p 128

The Indian Sadhu Ms V R Brown (CR, Religious Studies and Philosophy Department)

p 129

Looking for Lockdown Difference? Consider the Example of Simeon Stylites Reverend T W G Novis (CR, College Chaplain)

p 131

The Early Christian Desert Movement Lara Higgins Anderson (LI L6)

p 132

Self-isolation for Prayer in the Cells in the San Marco Dominican Friary, Florence Isobel Benster (DA L6)

p 134

‘Dropouts’ William Snooks (C1 Re)

p 135

An Isolation XI – From Sporting History Mr M P L Bush (CR, History Department)

p 137

Isolation in Sport James Fuller (LI Sh)

p 141

Wilfred Thesiger (1910-2003) Dima Montanari (C1 Re)

p 142

Isolation on Mountains Samuel Topley Rubinstein (B1 Re)

p 146

The Allure of Lonely Places Tabitha Lincoln (EL Re)

p 147

The Silent Square: psychoacoustics in anechoic chambers Thomas Phelps (B1 L6) and Mr D C Wills (CR, Music Department)

p 149

The Isolation of the Deep George Honeyborne (LI U6)

p 151

The Third Man Mr J A Genton (Common Room)

p 153

An Afterword Professor Sir John Bell FRS HonFREng PMedSci (Member of Council and Regius Professor of Medicine at Oxford University)

p 155

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E. F. J. Twohig – Visual homage to W.B. Yeats’ poetry read during lockdown, June 2020

Master’s Foreword I remember very clearly my first assembly with Marlborough’s pupils and staff on the 5th September 2018, announcing that the vision for Marlborough was that it should be widely known to be the best co-educational full boarding school in the UK; and that how the community would achieve this, given its already incredible co-curricular standing, and enviable pastoral and collegial strength, was for academic ambition, individuality and diversity to be allowed, and encouraged, to soar.

That these should soar in times of lockdown and be articulated through ‘Locks, Lockdown and Isolation’ seems almost counter-intuitive or perhaps something stronger than that. There can be no more fitting playwright for these times of isolation, uncertainty and endurance than Samuel Beckett. In ‘Endgame’, four characters, spanning three generations, are all locked down together, facing death in a comfortless world. Reduced to living in dustbins, Beckett presents a scene which has followed an apocalyptic disaster but his tragedy sees the characters never cease from infusing their situation with humour. Hamm and Clov ruminate over Nell’s question, “Why this farce, day after day?”. For Beckett, there could be no question of a happy ending for the four, but what he left us with was a work of indisputable poetic genius.

And so, thank you to Christopher Moule for his leadership in this remarkable lockdown project; to pupil editors Lara Higgins Anderson (LI L6), Jessica Hughes (SU L6), Jessica Macdonald (IH L6), Anouschka Verdon (LI L6); to all the pupil and staff contributors; to Edward Twohig for his inspiring paintings and to Nadia Johnson (PR U6), Sophie Smith (DA U6), Isabelle Guthrie (DA Sh) and Helvetica Haydn Taylor (NC Hu) for their wonderful images; to Jackie Jordan and the Marketing/Communications Team; and to Professor Sir John Bell who was there, at the cutting edge, as our lives changed beyond comprehension.

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Pupil Editorial Lara Higgins Anderson (LI L6), Jessica Hughes (SU L6), Jessica Macdonald (IH L6), Anouschka Verdon (LI L6) Locks, Lockdown, and Isolation: everyone was instructed to treat the title however they liked! Indeed, 67 pupils and staff each interpreted the title as they thought best – or rather as they wished. That’s what makes this collection so intriguing. It includes direct and seemingly prosaic (if often actually quite poetic) responses, for instance on locksmiths, passwords, and quarantines, but otherwise heads in every direction, capturing linguistics, psychology, art, music, history, geography, adventure, mythology, disease and the metaphysical. Forced and selfimposed exile is also explored; and nine contributors independently extended the theme to loneliness. Make of that what you will!

The gathering of this collection during various states of lockdown was certainly a deliberate response to events – but not one of our own making! Therefore, we thank Mr Moule for setting up and directing this project – and for putting up with our often-late email replies.

We have many other people to thank too: Mrs Jordan and the Communications Team for helping to prepare this publication, Mr Twohig for his great series of paintings, and Sophie Smith (DA U6), Nadia Johnson (PR U6), Isabelle Guthrie (DA Sh) and Helvetica Haydn Taylor (NC Hu) for their wonderful images. Staff who contributed articles include Mr Bush, Miss Brown, Miss Herrenschmidt, Mrs Jerstice, Mr Kiggell, Mr Lloyd, Mr Moule, Mr Novis, Mr Oxburgh, Mr Scraggs, and Mr Wills, and we thank the Master for her Foreword and Sir John Bell (a member of Council) for his Afterword. We would also like to thank all the fantastic pupils who came forward to write most of the articles that fill the publication. Everyone has given so much of their time, and we are very grateful for the opportunity to have learnt so much through the process. From reading about isolation in the deep sea, to property during COVID-19, to the design of the lock and key, to linguistic developments, we have certainly never met a dull moment in the editing stages (except, we admit, for some of the mechanical admin tasks).

So: a big thank you to everyone involved in the process – it certainly felt like an ambitious and grand undertaking! We are proud to present Locks, Lockdown, and Isolation.

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Staff Editorial Christopher Moule (CR, Head of Academic Scholars, Head of History) This publication has come about because our usual busy schedule of collective academic endeavours was once again wretchedly disrupted in January 2021, and we thought ‘lockdown’ worth capitalising upon in spite of things. No longer could we visit Venice, as we’d planned; nor Avebury nor Savernake; nor even Museum Block or Norwood Hall. Nor could we even meet in the same room, nor see each other, even outside, in groups larger than two. Everybody was dispersed in a way that was unimaginable before March 2020, yet was now feeling almost normal. There was therefore nothing for it: the academic scholars and the members of the History And The Arts Society (HATA) would have to collaborate to consider the whole subject of locks, lockdowns and isolation, with as many approaches as they could.

So, the project was set up in early January, soon after the bleak New Year lockdown started. It follows the happy experience of last year’s publication of Beethoven in Time of Lockdown (which commemorated the 250th anniversary of the composer’s birth), and has a similar format and related – if still very different – content.

It starts with locks and dungeons, passes through quarantines and isolationism, and ends with more positive philosophies of the freedom and power that can attend remote states of mind and empty places. There is a conscious development: from confined space to the openness of space; from psychological struggle (white torture) to psychological freedom (Rousseau, hermits, sadhus), and at last to physical freedom (the positive effects of vaccination on our predicament). The massive variety of articles reflects the principle generally espoused both by the academic scholars and HATA: that it is enormously rewarding and instructive to find as many links as possible between subjects and topics, and to share those links. And so, we have articles that touch on many school subjects, including almost all the humanities and many of the sciences.

As in Beethoven in Time of Lockdown, articles by pupils and staff sit side by side, and I am very grateful indeed to everyone who has taken part. Once again, we have superb images by talented pupils, as well as a breathtaking photograph of the Moon by Gavin James, a professional photographer connected with our Astronomy Department. And of course you can hardly miss the prodigious and magical series of paintings, specially devoted to lockdown, by Edward Twohig, our Head of Art. These paintings refer to the months of the year, and we have generally kept them in that order, starting (in our grim ‘Part 1’) with March and April (when the first lockdown arrived last year), and ending in January and February (with our more recent lockdown, which at least possessed springs of hope). Do note Edward’s introductory article, on page 104. I’m very grateful too to Sir John Bell, who not only sits on the College Council and is a parent of recent academic scholars here, but who has also been in the front line of the Oxford/AstraZeneca vaccine roll-out, advising the government and AstraZeneca. No one, we feel, is better placed to write an Afterword devoted to ‘Escape’. Meanwhile, I’m so grateful to Jackie Jordan and her team – they’ve worked very closely with us, and Jackie’s positive approach and great expertise has allowed this to see the light of day.

Above all, I thank Lara, Anouschka, and the two Jesses (all Lower Sixth) who volunteered to join me in editing this, and who have done a tremendous job communicating with the 66 participants, proof-reading, typesetting, making decisions about the overall structure, the images and the look of the thing as a whole. They were a pleasure to work with, and gave a great deal of energy and time (especially during the Easter holidays when our meetings and the attendant tasks came thick and fast!).

We all hope you enjoy the feast, even if it is somewhat sombre at times!

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PART 1: LOCKS AND PRISONS

March 2020 by Mr E. F. J. Twohig

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The History and Design of the Lock and Key Georgina Cresswell (MO Hu) For millennia, the structure of the mechanical lock has been incorporated into different aspects of society.

Some locks are in place to keep our possessions safe, others to protect us from dangerous people or objects.

However, the design, complexity and strength of locks and keys have altered significantly over time.

The first known locks in history were created over 6000 years ago in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia.

These simple yet effective mechanisms were called pin-tumbler locks and were made entirely from wood.

The lock consisted of a wooden post fixed to the door and a large wooden bolt, which secured the door in place, with a set of holes in its upper surface. Attached to the door would have been an assembly of wooden pins, specially positioned to drop into the holes on the bolt. The key was a large wooden bar, shaped like a toothbrush, with upright pegs that corresponded to the holes and pins in the lock. When inserted into the large keyhole below the vertical pins, the key was simply lifted, raising the pins clear and allowing the bolt to be moved. One of the oldest examples of a pin-tumbler lock was found in the ruins of the palace of Khorsabad near Mosul in Iraq.

During the first millennium bc the Greeks introduced better designs for their locks. The bolt for these locks was moved by a sickle-shaped key made of iron. The key was passed through a hole in the door and turned so that the point of the sickle engaged the bolt and drew it back. However, these locks were very insecure, so the Romans, trying to improve upon Greek and Egyptian locks, introduced metals for their locks, making them mainly from iron. They also invented wards – projections around the keyhole, inside the lock – which ensured that only the correct key with slots on it corresponding to the projections could rotate and move the bolt. These keys were also much smaller than that of the pin-tumbler locks and could be worn in pockets, or as a pendant or ring. For centuries, locks depended on these wards to make them secure. However, they were relatively easy to pick compared with more modern locks.

After the fall of the Roman Empire in the first century ad, innovation of locks halted. Locksmiths in the European Dark Ages had neither the technology nor the funds to invent new locks, but instead used their time to create new ways to confuse lock pickers by designing multiple key mechanisms, increasingly complicated key designs and fake and obscured keyholes.

In the Middle Ages, a large number of workmen were employed in making metal locks: the German metalworkers of Nuremberg are prominent examples. The moving parts of the locks they made were closely fitted and the exteriors were lavishly decorated. Despite their improved appearance, the security of the locks was still dependent on elaborate warding as the mechanism of the lock had hardly been developed at all.

The first major improvement on the ancient Roman warded lock was made in 1778 when Robert Barron created a double-acting tumbler lock. Tumbler locks use a lever that falls into a slot in the bolt of the lock, which prevents it from being moved until the lever is raised by the key to exactly the right height out of the slot, so you can then slide the bolt out. The Barron lock had two tumblers and the key had to raise each of the tumblers by a different amount before the bolt could be moved. From this and the ground-breaking developments of Joseph Bramah, Jeremiah Chubb, Linus Yale Sr., James Sargant, Samuel Segal and Harry Soref, the modern locks that we use to date were designed and manufactured.

Two of the names from that list of locksmiths are well known around the world today as the majority of houses in the developed world will have Chubb or Yale locks, named after Jeremiah Chubb and Linus Yale Sr., securing their doors. Not only did Linus Yale Sr. invent the modern Yale pin-tumbler lock in 1848, he and his son also introduced the modern flat key to the public in 1861. Today the majority of the world uses these flat keys to activate their modernised pin-tumbler locks.

If we were not currently in the midst of the pandemic and could go about our daily lives as normal, we would still be using locks to lock up our shops, lock up our possessions and lock our doors. However, these are not normal times. Currently, we are in a national lockdown, locked in our houses and separated from the rest 14

of society. The symbolism of the lockdown could be interpreted in two ways: either the government trying to protect citizens by locking us up to keep us safe; or locking us up to keep the dangerous people, possibly the infected, away from the rest of society. Depending on how you interpret it, we are either prized possessions or prisoners trapped behind the locks.

Drawing by Isabelle Guthrie (DA Sh)

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What Makes a Strong Password?

Natasha Johnson (PR U6) The 21st century is ripe with technological advances and, with quarantine and lockdown, we have taken advantage of the technology available to us. With email, social media and UCAS Track accounts, the use of passwords to access information and lessons is vital in our virtual learning environment. But even with their integral role in our daily lives, how many of us take care to create strong passwords?

Sure, making your password ‘password’ is much easier to remember than making it ‘QuSxx9k*1zzZ3ki$9*9’, but there is a logical basis as to why some passwords are considered ‘stronger’ than others. Although easier to remember, a weak password can make your account significantly more vulnerable to attack – and we can use mathematics to understand why.

Consider a password consisting of six lower case letters. For each character, you have 26 options to choose from, so you have 26 options for your first letter, second and so on until the sixth letter. So we can multiply to find out the total number of possibilities. The part of mathematics we are involving is called combinatorics – or the mathematics of counting. This results with 26 26 26 26 26 26 (or 266) which is 308,915,776 possible passwords to choose from. This may seem like a lot, but let’s instead consider a password of length 10 characters, that can use both upper case and lower case letters as well as numbers. Now you have 26 upper case letters + 26 lower case letters + 10 digits to choose from for each character in the password, or 6210 possible passwords.

This is significantly more than the number of possible passwords in the first scenario. In fact, 6210 is nearly three billion times larger than 266. If it took a program performing a brute force attack (one where each possible password is considered) one second to scan through 266 possible passwords, it would take over 80 years to scan through 6210 possible passwords. This type of attack was at the centre of the infamous iCloud breach in 2019 that exposed hundreds of celebrities’ personal pictures and, although it works for the first situation, it’s not feasible for the second situation.

Here, the numbers 266 and 6210 are the size of the respective sets of possible passwords. It is the size of the sample spaces that determine whether a password is weak or strong. The more complex and longer a password is, the stronger it is.

Aha! You might say, deciding that the extremely long and complex password of ‘QuAntumElectrodyNamic$602207’ would work but, although long and with a mixture of lower case letters, upper case letters, digits and symbols, this type of password that involves closely related words is vulnerable to so called ‘dictionary attacks’.

As technology improves, it becomes easier to hack an account. As brute force attacks take less time to execute, a password becomes weaker with time, which is why you should make sure to change passwords regularly.

A password deemed strong five years ago, may not be today.

The best passwords are strong, long and complex because of the size of their sets of possible passwords.

However, you can have other good habits to maximise the security of your Netflix account. Regularly changing your password and using multi-factor authentication systems can help protect your account from attack but, with a weak password, the entire system is weakened.

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Prisons: Mental or Physical?

Helvetica Haydn Taylor (NC Hu) At present, England is facing its third lockdown. The majority of last year was spent locked away from society and for many people was incredibly gruelling. But what was really keeping us in? Was it the government-imposed laws? Or the mental turmoil caused by the fear of the invisible killer? As of 2020, there were over 11 million people incarcerated in actual prisons around the world1; these people live every day of their lives in a form of continuous lockdown. By looking at different models of incarceration I want to explore which is the most successful method: mental or physical containment? For the purpose of this essay, I am defining the term ‘most successful’ as the method which produces the lowest reoffending rate, as well as being the least damaging to the prisoners once they have completed their sentence.

The word surveillance, meaning ‘close observation’, is derived from the French words: sur ( from above) and veillance (watching). This concept is very much true to the way in which numerous incarceration systems operate around the world – inundated with overhead security cameras and multiple guards stationed behind glass barriers – probably what comes to mind upon hearing the word ‘prison’. In places such as North America and the UK this has become the classic prison model, including around-the-clock supervision and scrutiny, with any breach of the institution’s code of conduct subject to severe punishment. However, although this may be the model that we are most familiar with as a society, it is only one of many in place around the world today. For many years, the controversy surrounding mental versus physical imprisonment has been rooted in these systems, with many countries in recent years weighing up the most successful ways to manage their crime rates.

Model of the panopticon

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Manipulating people’s minds in the name of control happens in more ways than one may think. The Presidio Modelo prison in Cuba was one of the few panopticon prisons which ever physically existed in the world.

Based on Jeremy Bentham’s concept of mass surveillance, the panopticon prison model involves a single guard stationed in one central tower with thousands of prisoners’ cells wrapped around it in a circular shape known as a rotunda. This set-up allows for many people to be watched by one singular guard, reducing costs and the need for extra staff. Rooted at the heart of this concept, and the reason why it should be successful in theory, is the fact that despite the prisoners knowing it is impossible for the guard to be watching them all at once, it is also impossible to know whether or not they are being watched owing to the design of the building and its extremely small windows. Thus, the hypothetical result is that the inmates will be motivated to behave as though they are constantly being observed. This incites a sort of self-discipline system where the prisoners control their own behaviour. On the surface, this plan seems extremely promising as it allows for large scale discipline without the need for physical pain or copious amounts of funding. However, only very few prisons which use this concept are actually still running in the world today since the naturally inquisitive nature of humans has proved its downfall.

As soon as one prisoner takes a risk in doing something against the prison’s rules and happens to not be under surveillance at that moment, the whole system is undermined, and as the inmates realise their strength in numbers compared with the one single guard, the sense of control is suddenly lost. This is the reason why, like most of the other correctional centres built according to this model, the Presidio Modelo prison was abandoned in 2016.

Therefore, in terms of success, this system is relatively effective in retaining control over the inmates. However, not only will living in a constant state of paranoia inevitably harm the inmates’ mental health, but it is also built on a sort of trust system (of the prisoners’ behaviour and in the strength of the unknown) within which there are no concrete measures to stop a rebellion. In modern day society trust is no longer the default as information is both universally available but also easily faked. As a result, we can no longer base a system of control on trust; the panopticon method cannot survive in a society where certainty is so crucial.

A more traditional prison would be one such as the Melrose prison in Mauritius where control is taken to the extreme2: punishments are publicly displayed as a lesson to other inmates to stay within the rules of the prison. Physical imprisonment is a very different path to go down compared with mental captivity, as it is hard to know where to draw the line. The reason for this is rooted in the fact that these criminals’ offences will have most definitely caused harm to other innocent people, leading many to question why we should be treating them well, if they treated their victims so badly. However, Melrose prison takes this to the extreme, believing that prisoners are there to be punished for their wrongdoing - not saved or changed. This brutal approach includes the use of ‘punishment chambers’, where inmates are confined from anywhere between a day to a few weeks. There is one small window and a bed; however, during the day the guards will remove the mattress and flood the floor with water to prevent the prisoner from even being able to sit down. Unsurprisingly, these savage methods seem to be proving extremely unsuccessful, with the constant state of fear leaving the inmates silent and terrified which is clearly harmful to their mental health. Furthermore, the reoffending rate is absurdly high with 85% of prisoners returning for another sentence after leaving the prison.

At this point I would like to focus your attention on something called the formality principle. In simple terms, this states: ‘If you treat people like animals, you will get animals, whereas if you treat them as true human beings, then that is what you will get.’ The situation in Mauritius pleads a strong case for the validity of this statement, as the whole concept of physically injuring and torturing a human can only incite anger, rage and hatred which will subsequently be channelled back into crime and therefore add to this vicious circle. Halden prison, Denmark3, is at the opposite end of the spectrum. Sometimes referred to as the ‘perfect prison’, inmates are allowed to cook, work, learn, socialise and chat to the guards; life is relatively normal with each inmate owning their own room and bathroom rather than having any cells or bars; however, they are still locked in at night.

The idea behind this is that in order to change them, the prisoners must want to do it, and do it themselves. In addition, the prisoners say4 that even though they have all of this normality, there is no freedom, and you are still locked in, providing an underlying reminder of their wrongdoing. In Halden the reoffending rates are only 30% which shows that in eliminating the anger and hatred towards their captors, the criminals can finally take responsibility for their actions and have nobody else to blame but themselves. Although it may not seem like it, this is an extremely cunning method of mental imprisonment and forces the inmates to miss life outside as they live in this sort of limbo.

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Finally, I would like to touch upon solitary confinement, as this is both mentally and physically punishing for the prisoners. Humans are not solitary animals, it is against our human nature to live without a group as this is how we have evolved in order to survive; in solitary confinement you are locked in a cell of, on average, 7.4 square metres, alone, for 23 hours of the day5. Of course, there are the physical aspects such as a deterioration of vision due to only being able to look at things a few metres in front of you and losing one’s voice as the vocal cords are so out of practice from not conversing for weeks. However, it is the mental effects which are so worrying: Dr. Craig Henley, an American social psychologist, said that people who are confined alone for a long period of time ‘lose who they are’6. Since our identities are socially created, they question whether they really have a self, and this leads to complete social withdrawal. Nelson Mandela reported on his experience in solitary, and described it as ‘the most forbidding aspect of prison life. There was no end and no beginning; there’s only one’s own mind, which can begin to play tricks.’7 These effects bring up many debates, as to whether such harsh forms of mental and physical punishment should be allowed and whether they are actually bordering on torture.

When it comes down to it, I think that the only way in which we can decide which method is more effective is by actually knowing what the desired purpose of the prison is in the first place. Is it to protect society, rehabilitate, inflict retribution, vindicate or bring about recompense for the victims? Taking this into account, it is clear to see that for true rehabilitation, mental imprisonment brings about the strongest long-term change, whereas for most of the other purposes, physical bars seem appropriate. However, is manipulating prisoners’ attitudes by tricks morally acceptable? Should it really be seen as less immoral than beatings and torture, when the effects of these two treatments are much the same? The act of incarceration is extremely hard to reconcile with moral behaviour, but will society ever find a better way?

Notes: 1 Anonymous, Global Prison trends 2020, (18/6/20) Online.

Available at: https://www.prison-insider.com/en/articles/global-prison-trends-2020 (accessed:18/1/21) 2 LaRoche, Olivia (Executive Producer). Mauritius: The Extreme Punishment Prison. (S4, E3, 29 July 2020) “Inside the World’s Toughest Prisons”, Emporium Productions for Netflix.

3 LaRoche, Olivia (Executive Producer). Norway: The Perfect Prison?. (S3, E4, 14 December 2018) “Inside the World’s Toughest Prisons”, Emporium Productions for Netflix.

4 ibid.

5 Rovner, Laura. “What happens to people in solitary confinement”. TedxMileHigh, (5 November 2019). https://www.ted.com/talks/laura_rovner_what_happens_to_people_in_solitary_confinement/up-next?language=en Accessed 2 February 2021 6 ibid.

7 ibid.

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Evolution of Prisons Jessica Macdonald (IH L6) Prisons are not something thought much about in everyday life, but they play a crucial part in the society we live in, protecting us from those who are a danger to society, and trying to rehabilitate those who live within them.

Prisons house an estimated ten million people around the world and have seen a 10% increase in the number of inmates since 2004. However, for centuries prisons were very different from what we see today.

The concept of purpose-built prisons is a fairly modern one as right up until the 18th century more than 200 crimes were punishable by death, corporal punishment, or transportation to the colonies. Before purposebuilt prisons existed, people accused of breaking the law would be kept in small village lock-ups (in rural areas), or the towers of castles in towns. Castles were a good place to hold people as they were well defended and hard to escape from. An early example of this would be Anne Boleyn being kept in the Tower of London. The Tower of London was a famous prison of the Middle Ages, not intentionally built as a prison, but rather as a stronghold to strengthen Norman power in England after the coronation of William the Conqueror. People like debtors would often be held in prison until they could pay their debt, and they made up the majority of those in prison. Even in the 19th century, debtors’ prisons were a part of life, a famous example being Charles Dickens’s father who was imprisoned in Marshalsea prison.

Castles were often used to lock up prisoners in a tower or dungeon as they were very secure. Pontefract Castle in Yorkshire was used as a prison in the 1300s and had huge dungeons made out of stone which lay 35 feet below the castle. This demonstrates how impossible it would be to escape and how intimidating it would be for the prisoners. The prisoners would be held in pits for long periods. Its reputation was so great that it featured in Shakespeare’s plays. In contrast, if you were from a noble or royal family then you would be held in decent quarters with access to your servants. For example, Elizabeth I was put in the Tower of London by her sister Mary I for treason and had a suite of rooms. She was not held in a dungeon as someone of a low rank would be. The largest prisons such as Newgate were established in London. It held around 300 prisoners and operated until 1902. In comparison, the largest prison in the UK today in HMP Oakwood in the West Midlands which holds over 2,000 prisoners, although this prison was a purpose built.

In the Middle Ages, it was common for noblemen to be held prisoner until a ransom was paid. They had not necessarily committed a crime but had fallen victim to a dispute between families. On the other end of the spectrum, the majority of people in prison were debtors. In general, these were businessmen who had fallen on hard times. They were being held until their debts were paid and they could be released. Petty criminals who were caught stealing wouldn’t be imprisoned but subjected to harsh, humiliating punishments. Someone who stole a loaf of bread might be held in stocks and have rotten fruit and vegetables thrown at them; however, a repeat offender might have their hand chopped off. A particularly serious crime such as murder, up until 1969, would lead to a hanging. This meant that for a lot of crimes that would land you in prison today, you wouldn’t be imprisoned a few hundred years ago, but would be subject to a more painful punishment that today we would deem inhumane.

In 1777, John Howard published a book promoting the improvement of conditions in prisons to reduce disease and to abolish the process of jailers being allowed to charge prisoners. Though his book was well regarded, many of his ideas weren’t implemented until the 19th century, which is when, for example, prison staff were given a salary. This made a change because it meant that staff were more likely to treat all prisoners equally rather than favouring those with more money. The Howard League for Penal Reform was named after him and is still relevant. The concept of a purpose-built prison was encouraged by the philosopher Jeremy Bentham who was against the death penalty and looked for an alternative punishment. Purpose-built prisons started being built in the 18th century as a deterrent. There were conflicting views about whether they would help or hinder matters, as some argued that they could be used to rehabilitate offenders rather than just deter them. Others felt that it would be more likely to be encourage criminal activity as criminals would be in one place, networking with each other. Currently in the UK there is a 30% reoffending rate, suggesting that not enough effective rehabilitation and post prison support is taking place.

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A famous purpose-built prison is HMP Wormwood Scrubs, which was designed in the 1860s–80s to hold 1,400 inmates. The prison design was innovative with four different blocks linked by a corridor. Originally three blocks were for men and one for women, but today it is solely a men’s prison. Each block runs north to south so that every cell can benefit from daylight at some point during the day. The gate is very famous, and the prison also benefits from having the largest church in any English prison. Having a church in prison is significant because it offers a place for prisoners to reflect and potentially be influenced by the clergy on their rehabilitation journey.

During the period it was built, church attendance was far more commonplace, and it could offer support and continuity of worship. Churches in prisons can be important as when inmates are released, it’s a support structure in society that they can continue to use.

Dartmoor prison was built by the Admiralty in 1808–9 and holds 659 male inmates. The structure of Dartmoor is very different from Wormwood Scrubs, where instead of the prison blocks being in rows, the buildings all face inwards around a point forming a circular perimeter. It was originally built to house prisoners from the Napoleonic Wars and has been in constant use throughout to the present day; however, it is scheduled for closure in 2023, as part of a plan to replace older prisons. It’s built of granite and is a very dark and foreboding building, not fitting with future prison design plans which are intended to help prisoners integrate more easily into society.

The design of a prison will have an impact on how effective it is in terms of managing the prison population during daily life inside, and for the provision of opportunities for inmates to make the necessary life changes on leaving prison to avoid further prison sentences in the future. Prisoner health and well-being, the opportunity to educate, and the encouragement of prisoners to learn new skills is crucial to rehabilitation and their long-term prospects in society. Having features in prison such as a library can have a positive impact on prisoner prospects after release. Many inmates enter prison with very poor or no literacy skills and by learning to read they greatly improve employment prospects thereafter, raising their self-esteem and increasing their sense of self-worth. These are all factors that can help prevent re-offending on release.

Currently, the government plans to build four new prisons in the UK to provide an extra 10,000 prison places. These prisons will use modern construction methods, technology and features that will improve security and prisoner welfare. For example, barless windows will prevent prisoners from accessing drugs that are currently being delivered by drones. New prisons will aim to reduce sharing and provide prisoners with a shower, toilet and digital technology to reflect a modern society that aspires to rehabilitate its inmates rather than to focus on punishment as the key tool to deter people from reoffending. Prisoners will have the opportunity to learn proper skills, gain qualifications, and provide environments where families can visit; this should help to prevent the family breakdown that is linked to people being awarded custodial sentences.

March 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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The Myth of Medieval Dungeons Christopher Moule (CR, Head of Academic Scholars, Head of History) Deep inside Chillingham Castle, a rugged Northumbrian pile owned by Dominic Cummings’s father-in-law, there’s a large ‘dungeon’ full of skeletons in cupboards, mannequins on the rack or in cages or tied to wheels, spiky chairs, nasty uncomfortable shoes made of iron, and a lot more of that sort of thing. I can’t remember if there were background groans and whimpers when I visited, though I’ve certainly heard them in equivalent exhibitions. The substantial space given over to this cheerful display at Chillingham wasn’t actually intended to be a dungeon when it was built; but the original prison spaces in Chillingham and its cousins were pretty small, and they wouldn’t have been able to house all the mannequins and visitors all together. Nor would they really have supported the spooky ‘Gothic’ image that Chillingham projects as ‘the most haunted place in Britain’.

Chillingham is not alone in its anachronistic approach: in Bamburgh Castle the gloomy ‘medieval dungeon’ and its ghoulish exhibits occupy some Victorian cellars near the shop, and in Duart Castle in the Hebrides there are poor isolated prisoners, survivors from the Spanish galleon that sank in Tobermory Bay in 1588, still cooped up in cells that were created as part of the kitchen area in 1911. Many a touristy castle makes great play of dungeons, feeding that general and tenacious sense of the Middle Ages as a time devoted to barbarous and gloomy imprisonment.

Indeed, for centuries dungeons have provided some of the most pervasive and influential images of the Middle Ages. Not only are they at the core of many a ‘medieval’ narrative, from Byron’s Prisoner of Chillon to modern Dungeons and Dragons games, but they have even helped to spawn a major cultural genre, the modern Gothic (of the 18th century to the present, as opposed to the medieval Gothic), which is devoted to pseudomedieval darkness and which manifests itself in anything from literature, movies and music to clothes and jewellery.

But the medieval period wasn’t really a great age of imprisonment, at least compared with many that came before or after it. For mass incarceration no period rivals the 20th and early 21st centuries: the prison systems of modern countries, whether large and small, democratic or dictatorial, all easily outdo those of the Middle Ages in scale; often they are, or recently have been, far more vicious and unpleasant too, with systematic and ‘scientific’ cruelty. Prison states such as Stalin’s Russia, Nazi Germany, or the Kims’ North Korea match the myth of Gothic gloom and horror far more fully than any medieval state, and the numbers of prisoners involved have been vastly greater; and such prisons remain common in today’s world. Meanwhile large-scale slave labour has been more a feature of pre-medieval societies (including Greece and Rome) and post-medieval societies (including the British Empire, America, Russia and China). Though serfdom permeated much of the early medieval countryside, the system was breaking down in much of Europe, including England, Italy and large parts of France, from the 12th century: it would be wrong to single the Middle Ages out as a period of mass slave labour.

So the common association between the Middle Ages and imprisonment is misleading, and a ‘dungeon’ association for almost any other period would be more appropriate. That’s not to say that there wasn’t viciousness and cruelty in the Middle Ages: of course there was, as in all ages. But it more often took the form of instant violence: immediate corporal or capital punishment (very often public), or the removal and destruction of property. It’s hard to generalise about a period of nearly a thousand years, covering most of Europe, though it’s very often been done, but it’s fair to say that it was often a violent and unstable age (as indeed were most ages in most places). However, prisons and prisoners are expensive, and prisoners were usually not deemed to be of much use to society except as slave labour or hostages, and medieval authorities weren’t much inclined to bother.

Why then does the myth endure? Well, I should start by admitting that there were of course plenty of prisoners and dungeons in the Middle Ages, even though there were fewer than at most other times, and some of these have become disproportionately famous due to nature of national histories and the cultivation of a particular perception of the period. Medieval authorities – kings, nobles, petty knights, the Church – used imprisonment when they believed that it would advantage them to do so: debtors, political rivals and hostages (including prisoners of war) were most commonly held. If the prisoners were rich, like King John the Good of France (captured by the Black Prince in 1356 at the Battle of Poitiers), they would be imprisoned comfortably, 22

wined and dined and taken hunting by their hosts while the latter awaited a ransom; if not, they wouldn’t, and they might well end up in a nasty dark space. Dodgy rulers, like Thomas ‘Raging Wolf ’ de Marle in early 12th century France, might imprison people to extort money and property, Mafia-style. The lack of functioning law and order in some places meant that extortion rackets were common at times: this was the case, for instance, in the chaos of 11th century France, and again in the war-torn France of the mid-14th century. Some rulers exhibited a capricious fury, especially associated with vengeance, which occasionally resulted in long, cruel imprisonment: the Visconti rulers of Milan (whose family badge showed a snake consuming a man) produced generations of people who liked inflicting this sort of thing. Meanwhile rulers, in tandem with the Church, might imprison heretics until they gave up being heretics: notable examples include the many thousands of Templar knights and men-at-arms who languished for years in French dungeons after King Philip IV decided (entirely cynically, I believe) to label them heretics in 1307. This behaviour smacks of the Kims and feels oddly modern, although the Templars were at least able to get out in the end. Finally, and most famously, dynastic squabbles in unstable political systems have resulted in any number of imprisonments and murders, and these, I feel, have enhanced the dark reputation of the Middle Ages because they have a pretty high profile and most people have engaged with history by focusing on kings and other ‘great men’.

Tarascon, Provence: a magnificent castle-palace built by the dukes of Anjou in the 15th century, converted into a large prison in the 17th century. This conversion of medieval castles from grand residences into prisons has been extremely common, and has to some degree unfairly enhanced the reputation of castles (and, by extension, the Middle Ages) as grim and dungeon-filled.

Some of these imprisonments have resonated across the ages, and become part of the colourful story-book narrative that generations have encountered. In England Bad King John would be deemed far less bad without his penchant for starving those who angered him, including 22 French knights he captured at the Battle of Mirebeau in 1202, who died in a grim tower at Corfe Castle, as well as Matilda de Braose and her children. He’s also supposed to have personally blinded and then murdered his nephew Prince Arthur. But we should note that he stands out: considered exceptional for his cruelty, both by his contemporaries and most modern historians.

Henry Bolingbroke seems to have let his cousin Richard II starve to death at Pontefract Castle in 1399, Edward II suffered a short imprisonment and (possibly) frightful murder at Berkeley Castle (1327), thanks to his wife, and the mad old Henry VI was dispatched in the Tower of London in 1471 by his cousin Edward IV. None of these people languished for long, at least not compared with William the Conqueror’s elder son Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy, who was imprisoned by his brother King Henry I at Devizes and then Cardiff castles for 28 years until he died in 1134: but I don’t think his prisons resembled classic medieval dungeons (he wouldn’t have lasted so long if they had). Most famous and pitiable is the story of the Princes in the Tower (including the young King Edward V), who were probably murdered by their uncle Richard III around 1483. But everything was hushed up because regicide, though common enough, wasn’t really an acceptable thing to admit to.

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The high profile nature of these famous prisoners, as well as the dastardly means by which they supposedly met their ends (from red hot pokers to cushions), has charged the medieval narrative with a sense of story-book myth. And that’s met too by the spectacular nature of some of the prisons themselves, including of course the most famous of them all, the Tower of London. Some castles, especially in Scotland and in the north of England (and including Chillingham), have ‘oubliettes’, subterranean chambers beneath a guardroom, accessible only by trapdoor. They are grim indeed and enhance the shudders we feel at the thought of the Middle Ages, but they are not very large and are hardly symptomatic of a society that liked to lock people up in large numbers.

Still, architecture matters. Some of the casual association between captivity and the Middle Ages is likely to be a subliminal response to the fact that many celebrated post-medieval prisons have been in famous medieval buildings: especially urban palaces or citadels which, as fashion and technology changed, rulers didn’t much wish to inhabit or fortify anymore. England’s premiere state prison, the Tower of London (more and more of which, from the 15th century onwards, was given over to prisoners) is a good example, as is the Conciergerie in Paris, which started life as the magnificent ceremonial core of a royal palace but became a prison from around 1400.

It ended up housing hundreds of prisoners in the French Revolution, including Marie Antoinette. Today the building still holds the central court of Paris.

Once medieval castles and palaces became unfashionable and uncomfortable to live in, and lost most of their military value, the relative importance of their other functions – as centres of local administration, law courts, or prisons – grew. This has been particularly true of urban royal castles, which – unlike many of their noble country cousins – were not much appreciated by their owners except as functional centres of power. (Most of Europe’s touristy ‘fairy-tale castles’, by contrast (Pierrefonds, Chateaudun, the Marksburg, Eltz, Krivoklat, Warwick, Alnwick, Kenilworth, Windsor – and scores more) are attached to small towns or villages rather than large cities, and they don’t tend to feed the stereotype of ‘gloomy medieval dungeons’ very well). Until recently, courts and large post-medieval prisons still existed in the royal English castles of York, Lancaster, Oxford, Norwich, Chester and Lincoln, among others. And various medieval citadels have exuded a particularly sinister power, captured in literature by Kafka in The Castle (1926), but easily sensed in the actual Prague Castle (the centre of Czech government not only for the emperors who staffed it in Kafka’s youth, but also for Nazis and communists). Moscow’s Kremlin, Paris’s Bastille, Dublin Castle and the Castle of the Seven Towers in Istanbul (Yedikule) are other urban citadels which have in some periods accrued sinister reputations as actual and symbolic centres of oppressive power.

The practical appeal of medieval castles as prisons is obvious: their thick walls, small windows and relatively few entrances, though built for security from without, might equally serve for security within. So it’s common enough to find pitiful prisoners’ graffiti all over castle walls, for instance at London, Portchester, Carlisle, Tarascon, and Loches (where, in one subterranean cell, Ludovico Sforza, formerly Duke of Milan (and Leonardo’s patron) spent a long time writing his name). But most of these reflect post-medieval periods when such places were sometimes stuffed with prisoners (Portchester, for instance, housed French prisoners of war in the early 19th century). The very term ‘dungeon’ did not originally mean prison, but rather the ‘great tower’ (the donjon) of a castle, which often (as at Portchester) formed the most secure place to put prisoners in later times: the etymology reflects the change of function.

No doubt people notice castle prisons more than the far larger prisons of later times because castles are much more appealing, prominent and accessible to visit, and because the historical, functional and aesthetic diversity of castles puts them on the map rather more. Moreover, a ghoulish enjoyment is experienced by many people when they encounter dark story-book oubliettes in a crumbling old castle tower, and this is quite at odds with the emotions likely encountered at HMP Oakwood on the one hand, or amid the doleful wastes of Terezin and Auschwitz and the old prisons of Nazis and communists on the other. The London Dungeon and similar kitsch exhibits milk ‘medieval’ gloom; but they steer clear of equivalent modern horrors, which are taboo for good reason.

So the prominence of dungeons in our perception of the Middle Ages is enhanced by our sense of history and myth as well as our likely experiences as tourists. But the most interesting side of all, in this matter, is the degree to which this attitude has been deliberately and enthusiastically cultivated by later ages. Since the 24

16th century (or, in Italy, even earlier) the chief characteristics of medieval society have been regularly portrayed as barbaric, backward, violent and primitive; even when (as is usually the case) subsequent ages have more than matched the medieval for barbarity and violence. But it’s suited generation after generation to write off and condemn the Middle Ages, mostly in order to glorify themselves either as overtly ‘modern’ and ‘civilised’ by comparison, or at least to show that they are more in tune with Ancient Romans or Greeks, who have generally been portrayed as far more advanced and cultured than medieval people.

Such condemnation of the Middle Ages has occurred in different ways. Initially, in the 15th–17th century Renaissance, it was fed by a notion of the superiority of the classical world in the arts and in letters. This has seduced historians right up to the present. The textbook from which I teach the A level ‘Renaissance’ course is full of assumptions that Renaissance society was gentler, brighter and more open than medieval society: that cultured Renaissance princes, suddenly freed from their grim castle keeps and basking in the loggias of their classical villas (reading Virgil? listening to lutes?), were somehow less aggressive than their medieval forebears. But even a cursory examination of violence (including wars, massacres, slavery and mass imprisonments – especially for heresy) between 1400 and 1650 does not support this view. Certainly, more of the gentry could read than before, and scientific advances multiplied; but so did dungeons in the age of the Reformation and wars of religion, of the witch trials, of the conquest of the Americas and the slave raids across the Mediterranean.

A related but more intellectually effective critique of the Middle Ages developed during the 18th century Enlightenment, when philosophers such as Voltaire and Kant condemned medieval superstition and what they considered the infantile nature of medieval institutions, contrasting this with the development of modern reason, science, and civilised values. Such views were boosted by the noble, liberty-loving sentiments on display in the American and French revolutions. This pitching of ‘modernity’ against the medieval has remained at the core of our casual dismissal of the Middle Ages as a ‘dark age’ ever since, and of course it has much to recommend it. But when it comes to the history of prisons, post-Enlightenment societies could hardly be correct in boasting that imprisonment was more characteristic of the Middle Ages than their own. Indeed, there’s a paradox: as Enlightenment values started to focus on the ‘improvement’ of malefactors (however honourable or cynical that has been), the numbers of prisoners and prisons really mushroomed, and vast purpose-built prisons were constructed in large numbers for the first time. When Stalin died, there were about 2.5 million people in his concentration camps, many of whom were being ‘improved’ with educative communist propaganda, and between 1.2 million and 3 million more had already died in them. In America, democratic land of the free, 2.3 million people were in prison in 2020 (698 per 100,000 people – a higher proportion than almost anywhere else in the whole of history). King John, Bernarbo Visconti, Thomas de Marle and other medieval villains would be staggered at such figures, let alone the especially cruel and intrusive systems and conditions to be found in so many modern prisons.

It’s not just earnest philosophers who have propagated the myth of the medieval dungeon: the greatest contribution of all has probably come from those literary and cultural figures who, from the late 18th century to the present, have celebrated and exaggerated Gothic gloom, largely because they liked it! The modern ‘Gothic’ movement, initially developed as an anarchic response to the buttoned-up platitudes of the Enlightenment, exhibits a vigorous environment of medieval dungeons, gloomy cliff-girt towers in forests, dragons, torture chambers, vampires, phantoms clanking chains, evil barons, Templars, corrupt monks and exotic heresies. And what started as a provocative hobby for a few very rich authors and patrons, like Horace Walpole (who wrote The Castle of Otranto in 1764 and built the ‘Gothick’ Strawberry Hill in Twickenham) soon found a mass market.

Though Jane Austen satirised the trope in Northanger Abbey (1817), savagely mocking her heroine Catherine Morland for her attachment to the lurid gothic fantasies in Mrs Radcliffe’s novels, the movement went from strength to strength (Bram Stoker’s Dracula is of 1897), and remains extremely strong across popular culture today. The myth of medieval dungeons and crypts is common fare in the cinema or on telly, in video games, in best-selling children’s books (like the Harry Potter series), and of course in tourist attractions like Chillingham Castle.

That brings us full circle. The myth of medieval dungeons survives and thrives because we find it entertaining to shiver at the thought of the horrors of the distant (as opposed to recent) past; we also find it comforting to consider our own progress towards greater civilisation and to scoff at the primitive nature of our medieval ancestors; and we associate many of our most famous urban citadels (the Tower, the Conciergerie, the 25

Bastille, Milan Castle) with imprisonment, since they all became major prisons after the Middle Ages. I’ve argued above that such views are misleading, and that dank dungeons might be said to characterise almost any other period more correctly than they do the medieval.

But we should understand this in the wider context of a long general historiography and educational culture which has regularly and repeatedly denigrated the medieval period for its primitive barbarism, stupidity, and idiotic violence both mindless and ideological. If the Middle Ages were not entirely innocent of these negative charges, well, nor has any other historical period been. However, this was also the time of Abelard and Aquinas, Dante and Giotto, the great cathedrals and castle-palaces, of the creation of parliaments and statecraft, legal systems, polyphonic music, modern literary languages, chivalry and romance, as well as so many more of the main ingredients of our culture. It’s odd that so many bright thinkers, especially during the Enlightenment, appear to have missed all this in their rush to trash the entire period.

Never mind. Ultimately, we should celebrate and enjoy the myth of medieval dungeons, since – thanks to skilful writers, artists and filmmakers – the myth itself has become an interesting and entertaining, if occasionally disturbing, part of our past.

J.M.W.Turner’s painting of Dolbadarn Castle (1800) reflects a widespread romantic fascination with wild and gloomy tales of castle-based misery: a Welsh prince, Owen, was imprisoned there for twenty-two years in the 13th century, and Turner, recalling the scene and enhancing the scenery, has inscribed the painting with a few lines (probably written by the artist himself ): ‘How awful is the silence of the waste, Where nature lifts her mountains to the sky.Majestic solitude, behold the towerWhere hopeless OWEN, long imprison’d, pined, And wrung his hands for liberty, in vain.

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Was Hitler’s Year in Prison his Key to Power?

George Elvin (PR L6) On 8th November, 1923 Adolf Hitler was sentenced to five years in prison for his role in the Munich Beer Hall Putsch. In total, he spent less than a year behind bars, but these would be amongst the most formative and influential months in Hitler’s rise to power. His nine-month imprisonment proved to be fruitful, as Hitler dedicated much time to writing his autobiographical manifesto, which played an instrumental role in his ascendancy to Führer. Hitler’s time in prison was further influential in the creation of his newly defined image as a martyr and in presenting his political philosophies.

Beyond doubt, the most significant impact of the time Hitler spent confined in Landsberg prison was the emergence of Mein Kampf. Few books have ever been more generally condemned as the one composed by Hitler (with the assistance of his deputy, Rudolph Hess). The book – although condemned by literary critics who describe it as a poorly written mess – acted as Hitler’s manifesto, its tone in no way concealing the furious philosophy from which thousands of atrocities and millions of casualties would stem.

The scars of history seen during the era of the Nazi Party Government and following Hitler’s dictatorship can all be said to have been suggested – often even planned – in Hitler’s time in jail. The aggregate output resulted from such time and thought was in the tangible form of this book, and this, by the late 1920s had become widely read (or at least widely owned) throughout Germany, propagating Hitler’s ideas on race and political ideology to a large audience. Hitler’s vision for Germany through this book plagued every community in Germany, dismantling stable ideologies and conjuring up hate while Nazifying the population. Such impacts of Mein Kampf resulting from Hitler’s time in prison should not be understated; it led the way as a guide for Nazi Germany, and also German voters prepared to support the Nazis in the elections of the early ’30s.

Lockdown in prison also had unexpected, less quantifiable boons for Hitler. Though there had been a trial before his imprisonment, it had been a show trial which promoted his popularity and brought him to national attention on the German stage.

However, his time in prison also influenced his political philosophies and his public image. Throughout his prison sentence, German people felt sympathetic towards his cause – this is exemplified in the shortness of Hitler’s sentence in comparison with Communist equivalents. The image of Hitler, in the eyes of some German people, significantly changed thanks to his prison time. He became a popular martyr, and a challenge to the injustices and failures rife throughout Germany. This new-found sympathy from the German people spearheaded 27

the idea of him as the man of the people, rising up in the face of communism and in the face of chaos, to build a better Germany while trying to reclaim the glorious attributes associated with monarchical rule before the First World War. Hitler greatly benefited from the label of martyr; it put him at the centre of political discourse and furthered his image as a man behind whom the German people could rally, in the hopes of expelling woes. This idea of martyr and man of the people coincided with his concept of how to obtain power, made in the cells of Landsberg. During his nine months in prison, his roadmap was drastically changed: he diverted from aiming to gain political power through force as he had done in Munich, to attempting to win power through the usual political system. Hitler’s change in policy was crucial in the timeline of his ascendancy – without such changes to his beliefs on obtaining power, it is reasonable to state that he might never have risen through the ranks of politics to become Führer.

The nine months spent in prison were doubtless the beginning of his relatively non-revolutionary, nonviolent political journey, which would quickly snowball into fully-fledged rule after the effects of the Great Depression and political and financial collapse were felt in the early 1930s. Hitler’s jail time also acted as a formative period of reflection: the ideas solidified in his book would go on to be instrumental not only in his rise to power, but also in the following decade where the terrible and awful ideas cemented in Mein Kampf were implemented as policy.

January 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Heroic Prisoners of Nazi Germany: the stories of Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Sophie Scholl Oliver Dickens (C2 Hu) The Nazi Party under Adolf Hitler dominated Germany from January 1933 to the end of the Second World War in 1945. When we consider the atrocities that the Party committed, opposition was scarce. Indeed, the intuitive mind of Joseph Goebbels covered up many of such atrocities with the use of propaganda; yet, Bonhoeffer and Scholl proved that the appetite for a free democratic society remained. The acts of defiance they performed merit the heroic status they have today.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer Dietrich Bonhoeffer was born in 1906 to a Protestant upper-middle-class family. At the age of 14, he decided he wanted to become a Lutheran pastor; before being ordained, he studied and taught in the Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem. It was at this time that Bonhoeffer was exposed to social and racial injustice. He observed the division and oppression of factions of the Christian Church, and this persuaded him to embrace ecumenism (the practice of bringing Christian factions together). His interest in ecumenism eventually proved to be invaluable to the German resistance.

Throughout his short life during the Nazi regime, Bonheffer performed many acts of defiance. Only a few days after Hitler’s rise to power, he gave a damning address on radio. His main message to the German people was that the Führer (Hitler) would one day become the Verführer (seducer): this was the first instance of resistance from the Church. At this time, the Deutsche Christen (Nazi-influenced) faction of the German protestant Church was rapidly gaining power. In September 1933, the Aryan paragraph was approved, effectively removing any pastors and officials with Jewish blood from their posts. Bonhoeffer immediately joined the Pfarrenotbund (Pastor’s Emergency League), which later became the Confessing Church: with support from around 20-25% of German Pastors, Bonhoeffer and others engineered the ‘Barmen Declaration’ which stated that Christ was the head of the Protestant Church, not the Führer.

However, Bonhoeffer became resigned to the fact that the Confessing Church didn’t have the power to rid Nazi influence from the Church. He even said, ‘it was time to go into the desert for a while’, before moving to London for a two-year position at a German church. Although he still encouraged people to oppose the Nazi regime, his influence was insubstantial – he felt guilty throughout his two-year stay in London and his short visit to America in 1939. This guilt shaped Bonhoeffer’s conscience, and he realised action had to be taken to stop further Nazi oppression of the Church. On his return to Germany in 1935, Bonhoeffer bravely continued his vital work, as his fellow members of the Confessing Church were being arrested around him. Bonhoeffer himself was affected by the intense Nazi suppression of the Confessing Church. His teaching licence at Berlin University was revoked, and he was branded “an enemy of the state. Thus, his mission to teach was made more difficult after a decree to make the education of Confessing Church ministers illegal was passed. Therefore, up to the start of the Second World War, Bonhoeffer continued to teach in secret.

In February 1938, Bonhoeffer began down the path of more substantial resistance. He contacted members of the German Resistance who informed him of the imminent war in Europe. During these discussions, Bonhoeffer learnt that joining the military intelligence (Abwehr) was the only way to avoid conscription, and this allowed him to continue his teaching. He joined his brother-in-law Hans von Dohnányi, who was an active member of many plots to assassinate Hitler in the early stages of the war. He used his privileges to travel and helped Dohnányi by contacting allied representatives. Bonhoeffer realised that there were factions in Germany that wanted to overthrow Hitler, and sought their help; however, the Allies were uninterested in such initiatives.

Thus, Bonhoeffer had to explore other avenues of resistance.

Bonhoeffer eventually joined his brother-in-law in planning ‘Operation Seven’, his most notable act of resistance. The Operation facilitated the escape of 14 Jews to Switzerland in the autumn of 1942. Bonhoeffer was integral in supplying funds and resources to the escapees during this time. However, the Gestapo caught wind of the transfers Bonhoeffer made and arrested him and his brother-in-law in April 1943.

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At first, Bonhoeffer’s charge consisted solely of corruption, but, further inquiries into his role in the resistance during his eighteen months at Tegel Prison meant the charge became more serious. Conspiracy to rescue Jews; using travel for non-intelligence matters; misusing his Abwehr position to keep Confessing Church pastors out of the military – these charges could have potentially led to the death penalty. But the failed July 20th assassination plot on Hitler condemned Bonhoeffer to his fate, as he was part of the early group of conspirators in the Abwehr, and so Bonhoeffer was charged with association.

Bonhoeffer’s execution took place on 9th April 1945, tragically close to the war’s conclusion. Bonhoeffer’s last words were, ‘this is the end – for me the beginning of life’. These last words were fitting for a man who devoted his life to God and defeating the scourge of oppression upon his beloved Church.

Sophie Scholl Sophie Scholl was an unsung hero during the later stages of the Second World War; scholars have recognised her work as part of ‘The White Rose’ group as symbolic, rather than necessarily influential in the struggle. Although Bonhoeffer may be more well known for resisting Nazism, Scholl’s passive resistance symbolised the changing views in Germany at the war’s impending climax.

Sophie Scholl was born on the 9th May 1921 into a large upper-middle-class Lutheran Protestant family, much like Bonhoeffer. Her parents were anti-Nazi and at first, she took little interest in German politics.

However, at the age of 12 in 1933, she joined the BDM (League of German Maidens), and her brother Hans also joined the Hitler Youth, much to the disappointment of their father Robert Scholl.

As Scholl went through secondary school, her beliefs began to change. As a result of the concerns of her friends about the Nazis, she herself began to question the Party’s intentions. For example, she disagreed with the Nazi influence in the classroom and education in general. However, after working as a teacher for a short time, she was forced to join the Reich Labour Force to do her obligatory six-month service before university. The period that she was forced to work ignited Scholl’s dislike of the Nazi regime. Like Bonhoeffer, she was a pacifist, so the military-like procedures she endured during her service left her alienated from Nazi beliefs.

Once enrolled at Berlin University, Scholl met people who shared the same views as she did. She was very cultured and enjoyed the outdoors, and during the early stages of the war, she and her friends focused primarily on philosophy and theology. They discussed the current political climate, in terms of dictatorship and morality.

However, her dislike towards the Nazi regime turned into a hunger to passively resist once she learned of ‘The White Rose’ group.

Her attention turned to resistance once she found out that her brother – Hans Scholl – among others, met to discuss the same issues that were troubling her. Hans Scholl and his friends were religious, and were interested in the arts and philosophy. However, they also discussed ways to passively resist the Nazi regime: pamphlets and letters were decided to be the safest way to get their message across to the public. Sophie Scholl’s boyfriend was fighting at Stalingrad at the time, and his letters home about the atrocities proved invaluable. His testimonies along with biblical and philosophical quotations formed the main messages in the pamphlets.

In total, ‘The White Rose’ produced and distributed six pamphlets from 1941 to February 1943. The pamphlets were derogatory about the Nazis and urged the public to resist the oppressive regime. Evidence was given to support their claims, such as the atrocities that took place on the Eastern Front, where Jews were forced to dig their own graves, and in concentration camps. The product of the group’s endeavours were six brilliant pieces of writing which were efficiently distributed across Germany by Scholl and her brother.

Scholl and the group’s downfall came on the 18th February 1943. Sophie and Hans were placing heaps of leaflets around the entrance hall of Munich University. However, on their escape, they noticed there was a pile still left to distribute. In a vividly portrayed act in the film ‘The Final Days’, Scholl scattered the pamphlets into the middle of the forum in a sight reminiscent of heroic mythology. Unfortunately for Scholl, she and her brother were caught and subsequently arrested.

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Scholl was first interrogated by Robert Mohr, where she denied the accusations, hoping for acquittal.

However, when her brother confessed, she sacrificed herself for the safety of the other members. In a tense confrontation with Mohr, she valiantly stuck by her values and beliefs until the very end. She refused to be intimidated and expressed her disgust towards the Nazi regime. Her trial followed days later on the 21st February, and against the bias of the People’s Court and its fearsome judge Ronald Freisler, her last remarks proved that, symbolically, her passive resistance was just as powerful as Bonhoeffer’s. As she said, ‘Somebody, after all, had to make a start. What we wrote and said is also believed by many others. They just don’t dare express themselves as we did.’

Scholl, along with her brother, were executed hours later by guillotining. Today, a memorial, of the pamphlets she dispersed, lies in the university forum. This is a fitting gesture for a woman who spoke out when many could not.

Epilogue The stories of Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Sophie Scholl are fascinating and moving. Apart from their age, they were similar in stature: both were Lutheran Protestants, both had families who were unconvinced by Nazi intentions, and both were imprisoned and killed for the expression of their beliefs. Although neither of them substantially affected the war effort, their acts of heroism should not be underestimated: they managed to challenge the Nazi lockdown of a free society. Hence, the legacy of their heroism lives on with us today and inspires us all to fight against such adversity.

April 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Nelson Mandela in Prison Tilly Mobley (MO L6) Just over seven years ago, on 5th December 2013, Nelson Mandela passed away at the grand age of 95, at his home in Houghton, Johannesburg. In the end, Mandela’s death did not occur in the cell of a prison block, or as a result of the discriminative laws of apartheid. In fact, a state funeral was ordered by the president, and Mandela’s remarkable life was widely celebrated. This is an image of stark contrast to that of the Rivonia trial, conducted decades earlier, where Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment at the Palace of Justice, Pretoria, a stern reproof to his life’s endeavours. Mandela was locked up by his own government – with the intention of permanence – upon charges of treason.

Despite this interminable sentence, Nelson Mandela died a global hero; he managed to reform conditions locally for fellow inmates in prison, nationally for South Africans under apartheid, and ultimately everyone worldwide living under systems of segregation. In 1990, Mandela walked free – in spite of the intentions of his captors.

Twenty years in prison. ‘This is the island. This is where you will die’ were the first words of a warden who greeted prisoner 46664, Nelson Mandela, upon arrival at Robben Island in 1967. Evidently, Nelson’s imprisoners were adamant he would never see the light of day, nevertheless Mandela remained optimistic, driven by his moral conscience assuring him his struggles were worthwhile. His optimism was evident when, instead of allowing his captors to triumph, Mandela stood up against their maltreatment: he said it ‘made us more determined to continue with this battle until victory has won.’ Considering the fact that three former inmates of Robben island went on to become presidents of South Africa, it seems many of these prisoners did win their battle, surfacing from isolation unconquered. Robben Island was where Mandela would endure 18 testing years out of the 27 he spent imprisoned. The island was notorious for its harsh regime and bleak conditions, and Mandela’s imprisonment there took numerous forms; physical, emotional, psychological and political.

The walls of Mandela’s seven by nine foot room bound him physically within the island, which was already isolated from mainland society by eight kilometres of sea. He was permitted one visit and one letter every six months, and emotional relationships were held upon a leash. Officials monitored rare the rare 30-minute visits, and painstakingly censored the content of Mandela’s desperate letters in which he attempted to be an active father to his children. Letters were stripped of anything deemed ‘political’, regularly leaving illegible passages behind. Meanwhile Mandela was stripped of the right to study for four entire years, after the discovery of his secret autobiography by his jailors. These details merely paint a vague image of the extent to which Mandela’s confinement notably extended beyond his direct physical imprisonment.

Arguably more important, apartheid represented an isolation within society that could not even be escaped by those outside prison walls. In spite of the ANC’s efforts, and their ongoing struggles, political freedom had not at this time been won; black South Africans still endured massive discrimination which plagued their everyday lives. Furthermore, Intellectual exercise was never allowed; studying was periodically granted or denied, and limited as a whole – owing to particular subjects, such as politics and military history, being forbidden.

‘The authorities believed that isolation was the cure for our defiance and rebelliousness’, wrote Mandela in his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom. Nelson Mandela was sent to the new cell block of Robben Island, especially constructed for political prisoners, in a bid by the national government to dispose of leadership qualities and extinguish all threats to apartheid legislation. Political prisoners, including Mandela and his comrades, underwent the toughest punishments, were allowed the fewest privileges and endured the worst living conditions.

This was due to their political crimes against apartheid, which named them the lowest-grade prisoners, existing under Class D conditions. Nevertheless, the white regime’s solution to the ANC’s persistence failed. The ANC undeniably succeeded in the end, abolishing the system of apartheid with the March 1992 referendum. Aged 72, Nelson Mandela was alive, healthy and free of prison’s burdens. Mandela consolidated anti-apartheid success by introducing his own personally formulated constitution, an activity which would present him the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993.

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Mandela first met and discussed this constitution with State President F.W. de Klerk in 1989, whilst still in prison. Mandela’s unique philosophy, paired with his stern resilience and intelligence, powered him through prison and even propped up the ANC’s efforts in the meantime. Mandela defied the odds, breaking down seemingly indestructible boundaries within society, including those fiercest ones between his comrades and their captors. For example, political prisoners earnt their right to study and even, in 1977, were successfully granted a break of manual labour. These developments suggested a growth in the respect that existed between inmates and their captors. Prior to this, the belligerent manual labour at the prison’s lime quarry was responsible for permanent damage to Mandela’s eyesight - a consequence of refusal by guards to grant sunglasses.

Nelson Mandela’s influence upon society never ceased, despite 27 years behind bars; he came to represent a symbol of anti-apartheid resistance. His efforts, as ruler of the ANC’s armed wing, provided a glimpse of hope towards a life free from the lockdown that apartheid legislation imposed. The hope Mandela granted fuelled the continuation of resistance after the Rivonia trial. Mandela kickstarted a movement strong enough to prosper in his absence. The strength of his work meant that, even indirectly, he managed to influence the world towards reform.

Moreover, he managed to provide direct assistance and leadership during his period of imprisonment, and this influence lived on. Mandela was able to smuggle out messages of guidance to the anti-apartheid movement, actively adding fuel to the flame. Phenomenally, he utilised his poor circumstances to his own advantage.

Mandela adopted a unique philosophy where he valued the practice of studying his oppressors, in his case all of course supporters of apartheid. This was demonstrated by the fact Mandela learnt Afrikaans, the language of his persecutors, and encouraged his comrades to follow suit during their time in prison. Mandela did so as he believed in the vitality of understanding the thoughts and conceptions of the enemy, so that he was best equipped to accommodate them when necessary. It is noted Mandela was always particularly cautious and wise when selecting the perfect moment to initiate discussion of apartheid regime. In order to best utilise this knowledge, Mandela also worked on a Bachelor of Laws degree, provided by the University of London. He had an extensive knowledge of the law, dating from his early life, that he applied effectively when fellow prisoners were violated, sparking amendments within prison. Without fail, Mandela strove to make the world a better place. Prison did not prevent this quality from flourishing. Zozo, an inmate at Robben Island, depicted Mandela as a leader in prison stating, in gratification, “Our leader, Nelson Mandela, taught us not to take revenge on our enemies. And because of this today we are free, free, free.” Indeed, he markedly bettered the lives of struggling inmates.

Nelson Mandela may, yet again, be physically absent from society. However, he has left a legacy which will never die. His accomplishments can be seen all around us. Even today, the ANC’s struggle for justice seems not so alien, amongst the protests launched in the face of Black Lives Matter (BLM). These protests act as a reminder of Mandela’s struggles that mustn’t be forgotten; indeed, they continue to inspire us, further enabling us to stride further towards equality. It is clear the world is yet not free of racial discrimination, despite advances towards it. Nevertheless, South Africa progressed immensely during the lifetime of Mandela. The ANC in South Africa remain triumphant, continuing to prosper as the official ruling party of the Republic of South Africa since the election of Nelson Mandela in 1994. The monumental shift away from apartheid has stuck. However, BLM and the battles of the present day highlight that this is not the end.

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Psychological Effects of Solitary Confinement Jessica Hughes (SU L6) Solitary confinement has been a form of punishment for centuries and one that has been a hot topic of debate by human rights activists in the media in recent years. Whilst some regard it as inhumane torture, others actively advocate it, viewing it as an efficient and powerful corrective tool. The dominant argument against it is that there are numerous negative psychological effects associated with it, which I will discuss in this article.

The first known example of solitary confinement as a formal corrective is associated with a 19th century Quaker practice originating in Pennsylvania as a substitute for public punishments. It then gradually spread throughout America and consequently the rest of the world, where it is now a commonplace punishment in several countries. The cell in which prisoners face solitary confinement is often referred to as ‘the hole’ by fellow prisoners, due to its small, claustrophobic and often dingy nature. For the majority of the 20th century, prisoners would simply stay in solitary confinement for a day or two; however, in more recent times prisoners are finding themselves in ‘the hole’ for an increasing amount of time – even years. Thus, they are locked in a small 6x9-foot cell for up to 23 or even in drastic cases 24 hours a day. In America, in particular, this form of punishment seems to be becoming more commonplace.

It’s important to distinguish between the two forms of solitary confinement in use today, which include administrative segregation and disciplinary segregation. Disciplinary segregation is solitary confinement for breaking prison rules, whereas administrative segregation is used when an inmate presents a continuous threat to themselves and others.

Many have referred to it as a soul-crushing experience which has irreversibly drastic effects on a prisoner’s mental health; however, one could argue that the vast majority of prisoners admitted already have severe mental health problems, making them a danger to others and themselves, hence the reason for their confinement.

Nevertheless, research has found that solitary confinement exacerbates their symptoms and often engenders its own. According to one report these can include ‘anxiety, depression, anger, cognitive disturbances, perceptual distortions, obsessive thoughts, paranoia, and psychosis.’1. O’Keefe estimated that in 2005 mental illness was 35% more prevalent in administrative segregation compared with only 25% in the general prison population. 2 It also hinders the possibility of recovery for inmates with mental health issues: as a result of lack of human contact and sensory deprivation, inmates who have faced a considerable amount of time in ‘the hole’ often find they struggle in later life to socialise.

There is a direct correlation with the period of time in solitary confinement and the worsening or heightening of mental health issues through the loss of the stimulus of meaningful social contact, something that is essential for human development. These can often have lasting effects on prisoners.

This lasting effect is evident in Robert King, an inmate of Angolan jails, who was in solitary confinement for 29 years: when he got out, he is said to have had extreme trouble with recognising people’s faces and ultimately was forced to retrain his eye to detect faces. His social skills outside of the cell also completely evaporated and he struggled to follow simple directions as he navigated himself around a city. Robert King essentially had to start from scratch, and retrain himself to be a functioning member of society after the harsh and permanent effects solitary confinement gave him.

New research has also found solitary confinement can actually physically change the brain as psychologists have recently discovered it can lead to a loss of hippocampal plasticity – meaning memory, learning and spatial awareness decreases – exemplified by Robert King’s experience. Whilst the hippocampal plasticity decreases, the amygdala increases; this results in a significant increase in fear and anxiety.

Suicide and self-harm often run rife among inmates in solitary confinement, due to the overwhelming sense of hopelessness and depression they report feeling. They often resort to cutting and banging their heads against the cell wall, and even in extreme cases self-amputations. One statistic reports self-harm was up to seven times 34

higher among inmates when 7% were in solitary confinement. A fairly recent study shows ‘inmates ever assigned to solitary confinement were 3.2 times as likely to commit an act of self-harm per 1,000 days at some time during their incarceration as those never assigned to solitary.’. 3 Self-harm seems to be an epidemic among prisoners in solitary confinement.

In conclusion, it’s clear there are lasting and intense psychological effects on inmates and the inmates facing solitary confinement are often the most vulnerable in the whole prison. Which raises the question: is it really ethical to force our most vulnerable prisoners, many of whom have mental health issues to face a punishment that many have described as ‘worse than torture’?

Notes: 1 Jeffrey L. Metzner, Jamie Fellner Journal of the American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law Online (March 2010) 2 Maureen L. O’keefe MA, Administrative Segregation for Mentally Ill Inmates, Journal of Offender Rehabilitation (22nd September 2008) 3 Kaba, Fatos, solitary confinement and the risk of self-harm among jail inmates (March 2014)

April 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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White Torture Michael Utku (CO Re) White torture is an enhanced interrogation technique which utilises extreme sensory deprivation. It attacks the prisoner’s psychological well-being and sanity. Torture is said to cause depression – through anxiety, hallucinations or loss of consciousness; prisoners can also become ‘depersonalised’, meaning they lose their sense of identity and the identities of loved ones.

The prisoners are kept in a torture chamber designed to deprive them of all their senses. The room is completely white, and lights are positioned to prevent any shadows depriving them of sight. Secondly, the room is soundproofed so the prisoners cannot hear anything but themselves. With taste and smell – the prisoners eat plain rice, and all the surfaces of the room are smooth, depriving the prisoners of their sense of touch.

Additionally, prisoners are blatantly lied to about people they love and matters of the outside world, until they lose all sense of truth and give in to the interrogator.

There are many allegations of its use, most notably the case of Amir-Abbas Fakhravar; who, in the 1990s and early 2000s was outspokenly critical of the Iranian government. For eight months in 2004, he was tortured at Evin Prison in Tehran - which is notorious for executions, torture and amputations. Fortunately, he escaped and now is a researcher and lecturer at the Institute of World Politics. Fellow Iranian Ebrahim Nabavi, who was also tortured at Evin Prison, stated to the Human Rights Watch that he has ‘not been able to sleep without sleeping pills’, showing the devastating and long-lasting effects of white torture.

Furthermore, there have been accusations, made by Amnesty International (the world’s leading human rights organisation), of the use of similar enhanced interrogation techniques in the USA. They claimed that the CIA used similar techniques in black sites, such as a secret prison in Thailand or Camp X-Ray at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba. These techniques used by the CIA often include techniques such as covering eyes and ears, and tying hands and feet, or even putting prisoners into confined boxes. This is often referred to as ‘dark torture’, as the prisoner is unable to see. Its use was authorised by George W. Bush in Iraq in order to interrogate captives.

In addition, the British Government used such methods on IRA suspects where captives were put through the ‘5 techniques’: hooding (and handcuffing), wall-standing, subjection to loud noise, and both sleep and food and drink deprivation. It is largely associated with Operation Demetrius – a mass arrest of 342 people suspected to be associated with the IRA; captives were kept in cells and sometimes spontaneously kicked in the groin, ensuring that the captives were always on edge.

The other large allegation of its use is in Venezuela. There are claims that there are cells in ‘La Tumba’or The Tomb under the headquarters of SEBIN (the Venezuelan intelligence service), where prisoners are held captive in white rooms. Prisoners are deprived of all human interaction as food is passed through opening holes, and prisoners lose sense of day and night, as the rooms are kept lit for a whole 24 hours, interfering with the prisoners’ sleep.

As expressed by Ebrahim Nabavi, such techniques have long-term psychological and social effects and seem so inhumane: it is appalling that countries and organisations can get away with this ‘Enhanced Interrogation’.

There are many anti-torture initiatives such as Amnesty International that are calling upon nations to end the usage of such methods.

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Isolation in Special Forces Selection Edward Wolfe (C3 Hu) The special forces are the toughest branch of the military and the selection progress shows this. Special forces selection happens over a six-month period, and candidates are sent all over the world to see how they cope with different environments. However, special forces selection is not made hard by just the physical tests: it is also about the candidates’ mental state and how they think and cope with mental pressures, not least the challenges of isolation. One of the hardest parts of selection lasts 36 hours, where they face Resistance To Interrogation (RTI).

RTI is a key part of SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape), and in Britain this is usually conducted by the DTSO (defence survival, evasion resistance, extraction training organisation) – a tri-service organisation.

Men and women undergo this training before being deployed overseas. RTI training had been going on for many years independently in each service of the military, until in 2008 the services came together to form the DTSO. In training, the DTSO are permitted to break international laws and the Geneva Protocol 1 – but only under very strict, controlled conditions. Depending on what branch of the military one is in, one might not have to undergo a practice nor experience the treatment at first hand, though for all air crew the training is mandatory, as they could be captured if they have to bail out.

Resistance To Interrogation is a tough process, and a huge part of it is isolation – both physically and mentally. The process starts very abruptly as the candidates are usually captured on their way back to camp.

Their trucks are often ambushed, and they are thrown out of them, sometimes while blanks 2 are fired off. The ambushers would be shouting and screaming which is very confusing and sends most candidates into a panic. The ambushers would try to hood the candidates as quickly as possible – although a good candidate would not allow this to happen, they would also take in their surroundings when they can. (For example: how many men had ambushed them, how many guns they had, or what vehicle the ambushers came in.)

The hooding is the first part of the isolation; throughout the 36-hour period most of the candidates’ time will be spent sat quietly under a hood. The darkness of the hood is disorientating and it’s hard to know whether you are alone in a room or not.

Once the candidates are hooded and in the back of the ambushers’ vehicle they are driven back to the camp and put into a secure room. Here, they are made to wear headphones constantly playing torture sounds, while being put into stress positions. They are always watched by a member of the directing staff who will occasionally change their stress position or start prodding the candidates or breathing down the back of their necks to start getting them stressed. In this part of RTI, the candidates feel isolated from each other but also from themselves. All of their senses are being attacked; they cannot see anything, but they can hear these torture sounds of dying horses or crying children and their bodies are aching from the stress positions and it means they are left alone with their imagination. They feel scared and alone and they start to imagine what they are hearing. They become tired and sleep deprived. Some candidates say that they ended up hallucinating towards the end of it.

However, every now and then they are taken out of the room for questioning. The first stage of questioning is called harshing, where multiple interrogators stand around them and start shouting at them and not allowing the candidate to get a word in. This first makes them feel weak and more isolated than before. The questioning continues and most of the time the recruits are interviewed on their own to make them feel more vulnerable. The isolated questioning goes on and on until the recruits give away too much information, or contradict their own or other accounts. Once the interrogators find chinks in the armour, they attack them. The candidates are brought into a room together and the questioners start to try and break up the recruits, to get them to argue with one another (yet another isolation technique). This continues for 36 hours and, with the additional sleep deprivation, it is one of the main causes for recruits to hand their armbands in.

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The isolation is created in many ways throughout this part of selection and is used to make candidates lose hope and collapse. Especially when they are hooded and in the room, having to listen to the torture sounds because they are left with just their mind to keep them company (which can lead to horrible thoughts). That is why RTI is one of the hardest parts of special forces selection.

Notes: 1 The Geneva Protocol is a global law/agreement about how war should be lawfully and humanly carried out and it contains a lot of information on the treatment of hostages and prisoners.

2 A blank is a firearm cartridge which creates a muzzle flash and a gunshot sound, but does not fire out any projectile.

E. F. J. Twohig – Moderato/Allegro: Visual homage to Maurice Ravel’s music listened to during lockdown, June 2020

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The Isolation of the Unidentified Charlotte Jordan (DA Sh) When wars and natural disasters strike, thousands are left in isolation – either through loss of identity as an unidentified corpse or by grieving a loved one whose fate is unknown. The dead are isolated from every aspect of their past that made them unique and their families are forced to find closure without a body to mourn, isolating them from traditional practices. DVI (Disaster Victim Identification) is crucial in breaking their isolation by reuniting the dead with their identities and allowing their remains to be returned to their families, who can finally know what happened to them and can lay them to rest. The dead have everything else taken from them; nothing should be able to deprive them of their identity.

DVI in the UK started in response to the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. When reports came from Thailand of the devastation, forensic experts all over the country expected to be sent to help the repatriation of unidentified British bodies, but after weeks of waiting the only people who were sent out were some fingerprinting officers from the Metropolitan Police. Professor Sue Black OBE, an anatomist and forensic anthropologist, wrote a letter to her MP voicing her concerns about the lack of DVI response capabilities. Her letter was leaked to the press and it led to a meeting to discuss the DVI response of the UK. By the end of this meeting, everyone was in agreement that a DVI response plan was needed, not as a matter of if, but when. This new-found focus on developments in DVI has enabled the UK to offer the support of trained experts when disaster strikes, not only to repatriate our own dead, but to ensure that the dead of any nation aren’t forgotten in times of crisis and can be returned – not only to their country, but to their family and their identity.

The University of Dundee, where Professor Sue Black works, started a DVI training programme in 2007. It was the first of its kind. Here, officers learnt the proper procedure for identifying a body so they could be effective in times of crisis. When a family contacts the emergency telephone number and says that they think their loved one was involved in a disaster, they are given a priority category based on the likelihood that they were actually involved in the disaster (i.e. someone who was known to be staying in a destroyed region would be prioritised over a traveller who may have already left the country). These categories allow the police to cope with thousands of dead bodies and tens of thousands of requests from anxious families. In the aftermath of the Boxing Day Tsunami 22,000 British citizens were reported, yet the death toll for Britain was 149, so the categories are crucial in allowing people’s true identities to be found. A family liaison officer with DVI training will then interview the family and friends of a high priority person and gather as much information about them that will help to identify the body (i.e. hair colour, tattoos etc.). They also take DNA samples from close relatives so a potential match can be confirmed. This information is then written on a yellow AM (ante-mortem) card. The same information is also taken from recovered bodies and written on pink PM (post-mortem) cards. These cards are then sent to the matching centre where the information on both is carefully checked to ensure the matches are accurate. A hasty match would deprive two families of their loved ones.

An example of this is the heart-breaking story of a man and his family in the Kosovo Massacre. During the war with the Serbians, most Kosovo Albanians tried to stay out of towns when they could to avoid the Serbian forces. In March 1999, a family was travelling into a town from the countryside to pick up supplies. The father was driving the tractor and his wife, her sister, their mother and his eight children were on a wooden trailer behind him. Suddenly, the trailer was struck by a RPG launched from the hillside. Everyone apart from the father was killed. His youngest child was a baby and the eldest were fourteen-year-old twin boys. As the father clambered off the tractor, a sniper shot him in the leg. He was able to pull himself into the undergrowth and tie his belt around his leg to stem the bleeding. There he waited until he thought it was safe to re-emerge to find what was left of his family. He knew if he didn’t bury them, they would be eaten by hounds. Only the baby’s body hadn’t been fragmented by the blast. He was only able to locate the right side of his wife and the bottom half of his twelve-year-old daughter. He buried what he could find of them under a tree. Over a year later the site was identified as an indictment site for the case being built against Slobodan Milosevic and his officers, as the slaughter of an entire family couldn’t be justified as an act of war. The man took the investigators to the tree where he had buried his family as he wanted justice for them and for families like his, and because he was worried that his God wouldn’t be able to differentiate between them in this mass grave to find their souls. He couldn’t be at 39

peace until he knew they were safe with God. When the remains of those 11 people were sent to the mortuary, there was only enough to fill one-and-a-half body bags. After 12 hours of painstaking work, the forensic team was able to identify everyone, even though the twin boys had to be separated by the remnants of one of the boys’ shirts. This DVI work allowed the family to keep their identities in death when everything else had been taken from them, and the father to finally find peace by ensuring that his family were put to rest in a respectful manner prescribed by their religion.

In conclusion, the isolation of being stripped of your own identity, either by nature or the cruelty of others, is unfair on the living who are grieving them and the dead who have already lost their lives so should be able to hang on to the one thing they can keep in death: who they were. DVI work is crucial in reuniting families with loved ones, to grieve and send them off however their culture sees fit, and those stolen from the future with their past. When they are given back their identities, they become more than just a lonely unnamed corpse; they are someone’s son or daughter, someone’s lover and someone’s friend once more.

January 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Australia’s History as a Penal Colony Violet Ward (PR L6) Australia is a country probably best known to most Brits as having summer during winter and lots of spiders; however, it is a country with a deep history as a British penal colony established in 1788, which led to years of isolation for the convicts sent there.

In the 18th century, criminal activity was extremely common across England (especially in cities) and punishment was often harsh and excessive. The reason for this overwhelming excess of crime was partly due to the lack of a police force in England. Consequently, victims of crimes had to hire a mob to locate the perpetrator, and only once they had been caught would they be sent to a very basic court – a court that would often dish out death sentences solely to get criminals off the street and deter other criminals, with little consideration of the severity of the crime. The British government acknowledged that the number of people being met with capital punishment was getting out of control; this is why in 1718 it declared the Transportation Act. This initially involved convicted criminals being sent to the new world of America where they were put to work labouring.

For the government this seemed like the perfect solution: the labour problem in the colonies was solved and criminals were removed from the streets and gaols. This is clear by the fact that 50,000 people were transported to America for 80 years after the act was first declared. However, when the American revolution broke out the initial problems resurfaced as the government could no longer send people to the west, and this is when the government looked to the east, and specifically Australia.

On the 13th of May 1787, the consequences of the Transportation Act began to be seen with the embarkation of the ‘first fleet’. This fleet comprised 11 ships, a mixture of Royal Navy vessels, supply ships and ships for criminal transportation. The fleet was led by Admiral Arthur Philips, a man who had high hopes for the land he was sailing to. On this first fleet there was a total of 736 convicts, many of whom had committed crimes which, by today’s standards, would hardly even lead to a small fine, such as 70-year-old Elizabeth Beckford, who stole a wheel of cheese, or 11-year-old James Grace who had stolen some ribbon. However, despite the crime being practically negligible, the punishment was severe and before they could even carry out their sentence, the convicts had to undergo a gruelling eight-month voyage, which saw 48 people dying by the time the fleet arrived in Botany Bay in January 1788.

However, the land that Admiral Philips and his fleet were met with was characterised by very poor soil, making it an inauspicious location for them to set up a colony. So, they moved north and found a site with fertile soil and fresh water which Philips named Sydney. However, despite having made it to their final destination safely, the hardships for the remaining convicts were only just beginning; they now had to embark on years of labour as they were given the task of setting up the colony whilst being overseen by their captors, most of whom were cruel and unforgiving. This makes it clear that the feeling of isolation was not only created by the sheer distance the convicts were from home and their loved ones, but also the painful work they had to endure. As colonisation in Sydney was accelerating, a new prison island was established, Norfolk Island. This island saw the creation of an intense labour camp under the jurisdiction of brutal military officers; it became the location where the worst prisoners were sent, and they were treated inhumanely and cruelly. Norfolk Island greatly intensified the feeling of isolation for all the prisoners sent there.

Back on the mainland, Arthur Philips had set up a system which allowed the best to be got out of each convict as they would be assigned to jobs that fitted well with their skill set. However, this policy created further isolation, especially for the female convicts. This is clear from the fact that they were separated from the men and sent to a ‘female factory’ which forced women to launder clothes, sew and spin while they were awaiting further assignment.

Additionally, a main role for women was to populate the colony. The women who had brought children with them or given birth during the voyage faced further isolation from their children, who would be placed in orphanages until the sentence had been served. One job for convicts that was particularly cruel was house-building: not only did they have to undergo serious and painful manual labour, sometimes working 18 hours a day, but they were also overseen by officers who had a tendency to use the whip. This highlights the severity of the punishment they were met with.

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On the other hand, it can be argued that the experiences of the convicts in Australia marked an improvement to what they would have endured in Britain. Aside from the fact that if they remained in Britain many of the prisoners who have been faced with the death sentence, the food in Australia was of a much better quality and there were new and exciting opportunities in this new land. Once a convict had served their sentence they could remain in Australia and climb the social ranks rather than paying a high fare to return to England and remain trapped in their public role as a criminal. The convicts’ desire to remain in Australia and relinquish new opportunities can be seen by the fact that nowadays roughly 20% of the Australian population is descended from people sent to Australia from Britain as convicts. By 1850 the Transportation Act was abolished as the British government recognised the cruelty of this punishment: however, by then thousands of people had settled in Australia, starting new lives and setting the course of the new nation.

Finally, the use of Australia as a penal colony also created a different form of isolation, one for the natives of Australia. These indigenous people were met with severe racism and not long after the British invasion were segregated and relocated from their homelands. The colonisation created a lasting impact on the relationship between the indigenous people and the settlers which is still felt nowadays. Many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people alive today have experiences with being forcibly removed from their parents, not being allowed in towns after 6:00 and being barred from schools and hospitals, among many other events that highlight the ongoing isolation. Furthermore, indigenous Australians only started being counted in the government census in 1967: this further emphasises the impact that the colonisers left in Australia and the effect they had on the lives of the aborigines.

In conclusion, it is clear that the colonisation of Australia led to a severe feeling of isolation for thousands of people, specifically the convicts and aborigines; however, while the descendants of the convicts have shaped society in Australia today, the families of the indigenous people continue to meet difficulties.

August 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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How Has the Kim Dynasty Stayed in Power; and what will it take to topple it?

Cecily Mills (EL Re) For three generations the Kim family have ruled North Korea with absolute authority, isolating it from the world as its people struggle through famine, poverty and repression. Nearly 72 years since his great-grandfather founded North Korea, Kim Jong-un remains in control - despite ruling from the age of only twenty-seven, and the country’s potential instability. This poses the question: how have the Kims managed to stay in power for so long and, more importantly, is the dynasty likely to fall any time soon?

When it comes to staying in power Kim Jong-un – like most dictators – uses various strategies from the ‘authoritarian toolbox’. Most notorious is his use of violence and brute force to keep his people in line and to eliminate any threats. This might be by ordering ruthless assassinations of anyone he deems fit – including his half-brother Kim Jong-nam by a nerve agent in a Malaysian airport, and his uncle Jang Song Thaek, rumoured to have been fed to a cage of hungry dogs. Alternatively, anyone who dares speak out, or who poses a threat to his regime, he might ship off to his extensive and savage prison camps. As one North Korean defector, Thae Yongho, a former diplomat for the Kim regime, puts it: ‘everyone knows, if you said something against the system or leader you would disappear and be sent to one of the prison camps. From time to time one of your colleagues just disappeared without explanation.’. If the risk of executions or prison camps isn’t enough to stop dissent, there is also the ‘three generations of punishment rule’ for those who commit more serious political crimes. Not only will the offender be forced into one of these prison camps for the rest of their lives, but so will the entire family and the subsequent two generations.

By contrast, perks and rewards are sprinkled on the loyal military and political elites. This ‘core’ class gets more and better food, bribes and the most desirable jobs working for the regime. It’s no surprise then that the devastation of the famine in the 1990s was shifted away from this class and concentrated on the people deemed least loyal.

The dynasty also remained in power through its use of ideology along with the mythology and ‘Cult of Personality’ surrounding it, portraying the Kims to the nation as semi-divine beings - resembling godlike figures to be worshipped. At the heart of the ideology lies ‘The Ten Principles for The Establishment of a Monolithic Ideological System’, which must be memorised by every citizen and which are often compared to the Ten Commandments in the way they have a role in shaping people’s daily lives.

Commonly known as the Hermit Kingdom, North Korea is one of the most isolated and cut-off countries in the world: Kim Jong-un’s grasp on power relies heavily on this. His entire regime rests on a stringent control of the flow of information. Borders are rigorously controlled, foreign phone calls and media forbidden, and the internet only available to a select few elites. For a long time, most North Koreans had little to no knowledge of the rest of the world. However, during the famines of the 1990s, the Kim dynasty’s control of the flow of information began to slip ever so slightly and the possibility for change arouse, leading on to the second question: is the dynasty likely to fall in the near future?

The famine degraded the population’s trust and dependence on the state. As the government-run distribution system broke down, black markets began to spring up and the search for food caused many to cross the border to China, returning with not just food but goods for these black markets and stories of different systems of government and ways of living. In the almost 30 years since then, this network of black markets has grown and expanded, progressively shifting culture towards capitalism. Several movies, audio tapes, USBs and consumer products have been smuggled across borders, many by human rights organisations, enlightening youths to other ways of life and the prosperity of the land just across the demilitarised zone or DMZ. This knowledge of the outside world also helps to shatter the propaganda spread by the Kim dictatorship, portraying the leadership as infallible and superior to the rest of the world, along with myths of the Korean War and the brutality and violence of America.

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These black market goods have become hugely common and popular, so much so that in a recent survey 87% of defectors say that despite the risk they purchased media devices and other consumer goods from this secret network. This has become increasingly concerning for the Kim dynasty, to the extent that in recent months Kim Jong-un introduced new laws stipulating that people caught distributing such material can be executed.

However, this shift towards a culture of capitalism along with increasing knowledge of the world beyond North Korea could mark the end of his dynasty.

As Thae Yong-ho states ‘the younger generation’s eyes are not on ideological things but on material things.

And even though the North Korean regime wants to stop it, they can’t stop the future;’ and ‘I think this new demand for materialism will one day bring change. I am absolutely sure that within 20 years demonstrations similar to those in Hong Kong will take place in North Korea.’

As more and more North Koreans start working abroad Kim Jong-un’s control is inevitably slipping.

An estimated 100,000 North Koreans now work overseas travelling back and forth and bringing with them knowledge of other cultures, forms of government and ways of life. Not to mention the 100,000–300,000 North Koreans who have defected since 1953, desperately trying to keep in contact with their families and friends, further increasing the spread of outside information.

Lastly, the economy of North Korea is in a dire state. According to a UN report earlier this year 4.4 million people live on the brink of starvation - almost a fifth of the population. Furthermore, last year alone trade collapsed by 80% and the country’s five year economic plan initiated in 2016 seems to have belly-flopped. Hunger and poverty are, according to defectors, pushing the population to breaking point and will likely propel people to take action.

It is clear, though, that if the dynasty was to fall it would most likely collapse not from forces outside North Korea, but from within, its people becoming the force of change.

E. F. J. Twohig – Allegretto/Solenne – Visual homage to Rachmaninoff ’s Fantasie tableaux Suite No.1 for two pianos, Op.5 listened to a lot during the lockdowns

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Life in North Korea and Covid’s Effect on it Thomas Wilson (SU Re) As I’m sure you know, life in North Korea is anything but ordinary. The country on the northern part of the Korean peninsula is ruled by the dictator Kim Jong-un. The 25 million people who live there are under constant terror as stepping out of the line in any way, even as small as having an unregistered hairstyle, can land you in forced labour camps for the rest of your life, or worse. During Covid the country, already more locked down than any other, has gone into what can be described as an ultra-lockdown. All of the country’s borders have been sealed since 22nd January 2020 and show no signs of opening any time soon.

Living in North Korea has lots of negatives and yet no benefits. For the citizens, moving to a new country is not an option. If you are caught attempting to defect you and your family will be punished; they might even be executed if you escape. Public executions are still a part of normal life (only three or four other countries in the world still practise them). Their purpose is to discourage crime. So far 318 sites have been located across the country but there are likely more. The majority of executions happen by firing squad, but hanging also occurs.

Life in the capital, Pyongyang, is very different from living in the countryside. Citizens need permission to live in the city and it is generally made up of people who are loyal to the party and have high positions in society.

The streets of North Korea’s capital are supposedly nearly empty as there is a lack of both cars and people. Outside of the cities almost all signs of wealth disappear. The land, where it isn’t mountainous, is mainly made up of fields of corn and rice. All of the people work in hard manual labour as there is little machinery.

No one in the countryside owns much in the way of technology as it is far too expensive for them and even in the cities it is a rarity. The internet is not allowed in North Korea and there is only the national service Kwangmyong, which literally translates as ‘Bright Light’. This is heavily filtered very few services are provided.

Possessing anything digital from another country, even South Korea, can land you in forced labour camps. Many North Koreans attempt to have Western movies on USB drives, as entertainment in North Korea is extremely limited.

Knowledge of North Korea’s response to Covid-19 is limited, but we know that the country has been completely sealed off. All of the borders have been closed this entire time and at the same time the nation’s media has been pumping out information on the dangers of the virus and praising the country’s response to it. Officially North Korea has had no cases of Covid; since 8thJanuary 13,259 people have been tested, all of whom have come back negative. Roughly 700 Koreans are tested each week.

The closest to an official case of Covid in North Korea was in July when a state newspaper reported that a state of emergency had been declared in Kaesong city. A defector had returned to the country from South Korea and was suspected to have Covid, but the case was never confirmed.

The true effect of coronavirus on North Korea is unknown to all outsiders but it is likely that over the coming years we will find out what the true situation is inside the country. Until then it is impossible to know.

North Koreans have certainly suffered during Covid due to heavily enforced restrictions. However, this is not the problem. The real problem lies within the violent and corrupt state. The way people are forced to lead their lives can certainly be seen as a violation of human rights.

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PART 2: LOCKDOWNS AND QUARANTINES

May 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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‘Disproportionate Impact and Uneven Recovery’: wealth disparity and the impact of Covid-19 Nadia Johnson (PR U6) The effects of the pandemic have been hard on all of us. Transitioning into this new reality driven by screens and the internet, learning to adapt to different working spaces, coping with losing things we used to take for granted. For we students, there’s been a significant amount of stress caused by the uncertainty over exams and our futures. These psychological effects are all too real; this article isn’t meant to discredit that. But, it’s also no lie that the majority of the student and teaching population at this school are very privileged to be where they are.

In other parts of the world, and among less fortunate socio-economic groups, the post-pandemic world has been significantly harder to adapt to. There are people who have had to make compromises because they don’t have any other option. There are people who are relying on lockdown lifting and the pandemic’s effects lessening so they can get back on their feet.

In this article I will be exploring wealth disparity and the differing impacts of the Covid-19 pandemic, including lockdown, on different socio-economic groups.

1. THE POOR ARE BECOMING POORER ‘The poor are getting poorer with close to 90 million people expected to fall into extreme deprivation this year.’

Gita Gopinath, Chief Economist at the IMF, 13th October 2020 According to the International Labour Organization (ILO), about 600 million people work in sectors such as hospitality and retail, which are among the hardest-hit sectors globally by the pandemic. These sectors tend to pay poorly, as well as contain high proportions of women, ethnic minorities, migrants, the young, and the lesser-skilled. OECD labour economist Sebastian Königs reported that ‘more vulnerable labour market groups — notably the low-skilled and workers in non-standard jobs — have been most strongly affected by job and earnings losses so far’, which could ‘further increase existing wealth inequalities’.1 The informal economy, i.e., economic activities/jobs/workers not protected by the state2, has been especially hard hit. Many of the world’s most vulnerable workers are employed in the informal economy sector, which includes around two billion people worldwide with limited access to social protection or benefits. The loss of income from workers in the informal economy is one of the biggest factors behind the World Bank’s forecast that up to 150 million more people will be pushed into extreme poverty by 2022 as a result of the pandemic.

In the US, it was reported in an article written in December 2020 that the wealthy, white and highly educated were the least likely to lose their jobs early, and if they did were more likely to recover quickly. On the other hand, lower earners, people of colour, women and the less-educated were still struggling nearly a year after the start of the pandemic.3 The latter group were more likely to have been working in sectors directly impacted by Covid-19, and less likely to experience the benefits of homeownership and recent market highs.4 ‘Those least able to withstand the downturn have been affected most,’ said Federal Reserve chair Jerome Powell during a Senate Banking Committee hearing last year.

On the positive side, according to Troy Frerichs, vice president of investment services at Country Financial, Americans are developing better spending habits as a side effect of the pandemic. ‘People are cutting back on discretionary spending and paying down debt,’ he said; ‘there seem to be some good financial habits taking place.’5 On the other hand, workers better off financially have avoided the worst of the pandemic’s economic impact. For example, many office workers have been able to shift to working from home – including up to 40% of the ILO’s top income bracket. This is more than double the proportion among the lowest earners. Additionally, for those working from home, lockdown has the benefit of lowering spending on transport and leisure.

Household saving rates have ‘soared’ in many countries, whereas lower income people have had to use savings to pay their bills.

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2. THE GENERATION GAP ‘The COVID‑19 crisis is hitting young people faster and harder: Urgent action is necessary to prevent the risk of a “lockdown generation” ’.

ILO Monitor: ‘COVID-19 and the world of work’, 27 May 2020 Another area in which the pandemic is creating an increasing divide is in the gap between generations.

It’s true that older communities have been more vulnerable to serious health side effects of Covid-19, but it’s young people who are ‘bearing the brunt of the economic damage.’6 Unemployment among people aged 15–24 increased by 7.5 percentage points from the beginning of the pandemic (early 2020), whereas among those 25 and older it increased by 3.2 percentage points.

According to research by Hannes Schwandt, assistant professor of economics at Northwestern University, these pandemic-induced job losses have potentially long-lasting consequences: ‘people who start their career during a recession experience lower earnings for a decade after graduation and report lower self-esteem, commit more crimes, and distrust the government more.’7 In the fourth edition of the ILO Monitor ‘COVID-19 and the world of work’, published late May 2020, concerns were raised regarding the younger generations and fear of a ‘lockdown generation’.

The report states: ‘exclusion of young people from the labour market, given the long-lasting impacts, is one of the greatest dangers for society in the current situation. In the long run, the combined educational and labour market crisis threatens not only to impair the quality and quantity of jobs but also to exacerbate existing inequalities across and within countries.’8 It also listed challenges the Covid-19 pandemic had created for young people globally, including the following: • Disruption to education and training could potentially reduce future employment opportunities • Current job losses and ‘collapse of businesses’ are reducing employment and earnings • Greater obstacles to find work, re-enter the labour market, transition to better jobs

3. INEQUALITY BETWEEN COUNTRIES ‘COVID-19 has exposed and exacerbated inequalities between countries just as it has within countries.’

Joseph Stiglitz, American economist and public policy analyst September 2020 The wealth gap is also increasing between countries. While rich countries have been better equipped to protect their economies by boosting public spending, poorer countries have suffered from a deficiency of resources, which has led to a much more severe economic impact. Examples of countries with a negative annual GDP change in 2020 are Tajikistan, Pakistan, and Honduras.9

Battered Honduras ‘I’ve worked so hard to give my children a better future and now we risk losing it all.’

Edil Mendez, firefighter-turned-entrepreneur who lives in Roatán.

Take, for instance, the situation in Honduras. The Central American country has been ‘battered’ by economic damage caused by the pandemic and devastated even further by hurricanes in November 2020. Along with poverty, gang violence, and rising crime rates, it has been reported that desperation to emigrate from the country is soaring.10 49

28-year-old Edil Mendez runs a business dependent on tourism.11 He lives in Roatán, a holiday island off the northern coast of Honduras. ‘I could lose years of work in a matter of months,’ Mr Mendez said, speaking to The Financial Times newspaper in July 2020: ‘I’m giving it until November. If things don’t get better by then, I’ll have to make some difficult decisions.’ The earnings from his business had previously enabled him to support his four children, four siblings and his mother. For Mendez, the pandemic and declining tourism industry threatened to take that stability away.

It doesn’t help that corruption is commonplace there.12 Roatán, where Mendez lives, is less threatened by the gang violence that plagues other areas of Honduras. It is, however, a holiday island – with an economy ‘wholly dependent on tourism.’ As a result of the pandemic, many have lost their jobs, leading to dire consequences.

‘There are armed robberies in broad daylight,’ Mendez said. ‘ . . . I’ve never seen so much crime.’

Ghana’s partial lockdown Deborah Dofernyo is a housekeeper, receptionist and saleswoman in Ghana. At 27 years old, her salary supports her mother, grandmother (both of whom are infirm), and five younger cousins. She works in Accra, the capital of Ghana. Before partial lockdown, she had been selling underwear door-to-door along with her job, a business which often doubled her weekly salary of 100 cedi, or $17.30. She had been saving up to go to pharmacy school. Most of the clothing she was selling had been imported – so when the ports closed, the markets dried up too. Although they later reopened, Ms Dofernyo had used up her savings to survive during lockdown. ‘Since the lockdown the small profit I have made, and even my capital, I have used everything,’ Ms Dofernyo said in July last year. Her uncle sent her family some money to help, however subsequently lost his job too.

Despite this, Dofernyo is still looking on the bright side. She believes that the lockdown ‘was the right thing to do because once there is light, there is hope. […] If we are safe from the virus we can continue our businesses . . . so even though it has affected me badly, it was for our own good,’ she said. ‘Now I will have to wait some time to get some small money to start again. I don’t know how long it will take but by God’s grace, I will surely start again.’ Her positive attitude is definitely something to be inspired by.

These are two examples of countries that have been particularly battered economically, but of course there are many more I haven’t mentioned here.

4. THE RICH GET RICHER ‘A group of “pandemic profiteers” have seen their wealth surge to unimaginable heights during a time of misfortune for most of their neighbors.’

Chuck Collins, Institute for Policy Studies According to Business Insider, while 40 million Americans filed for unemployment in 2020, billionaires saw their net worth increase by half a trillion dollars.13 From March to June, Jeff Bezos’s net worth increased by 48 billion; the founder of Zoom’s increased by 2.5 billion.14 According to The Financial Times, the 10 richest billionaires in the world increased their wealth by $319 billion in 2020, predominantly made up by technology billionaires.15 In an article for the newspaper, Valentina Romei accredited part of this surge to rising asset prices due to the effort of central banks.16 Chuck Collins, from the Institute for Policy Studies, said of billionaires’ gain during the pandemic that ‘many of them are profiting from our increasing dependence on cloud-based technologies, online retail, drug research, telemedicine, video conferencing — services that have become essential’.17 According to an article in The Guardian, published in October 2020, billionaires’ wealth had increased up to $10.2 trillion18.

It is shocking to hear numbers like this – so large they are difficult to visualise – in comparison with the rest of the world, in which many people are struggling to stay afloat economically. Of course, you cannot fix the wage inequality by simply throwing money around, but it does raise larger questions about how exactly the system has failed people so badly, and if there’s a way to mend it.

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Circling back to my title, it’s clear that the economic impact of the Covid-19 pandemic has spread disproportionately across society, with those at the top suffering far less, and those at the middle and lower ends struggling far more to get by. One person’s suffering doesn’t invalidate another’s – the fact that somebody out there has it worse than you doesn’t make your own trials insignificant, or worthless. But I do think it’s important to remember, sometimes, that those of us at this school are lucky to be where we are.

Notes: 1 Romei, Valentina. How the Pandemic Is Worsening Inequality. | Financial Times, Financial Times, 31 Dec. 2020, www.ft.com/content/cd075d91fafa-47c8-a295-85bbd7a36b50.

2 Wiego, et al. Informal Economy. WIEGO, Women in Informal Employment: Globalizing and Organizing. www.wiego.org/informaleconomy.

3 Dickler, Jessica. ‘42% Of People Falling behind as Covid-19 Widens the Wealth Gap, Report Finds.’ CNBC, CNBC, 2 Dec. 2020, www.cnbc. com/2020/12/02/pandemic-widens-the-gap-between-the-haves-and-have-nots-report-finds.html.

4 Dickler, Jessica. ‘42% Of People Falling behind as Covid-19 Widens the Wealth Gap, Report Finds.’ CNBC, CNBC, 2 Dec. 2020, www.cnbc. com/2020/12/02/pandemic-widens-the-gap-between-the-haves-and-have-nots-report-finds.html.

5 Dickler, Jessica. ‘42% Of People Falling behind as Covid-19 Widens the Wealth Gap, Report Finds.’ CNBC, CNBC, 2 Dec. 2020, www.cnbc. com/2020/12/02/pandemic-widens-the-gap-between-the-haves-and-have-nots-report-finds.html.

6 Romei, Valentina. ‘How the Pandemic Is Worsening Inequality.’ | Financial Times, Financial Times, 31 Dec. 2020, www.ft.com/content/cd075d91fafa-47c8-a295-85bbd7a36b50.

7 Romei, Valentina. ‘How the Pandemic Is Worsening Inequality.’ | Financial Times, Financial Times, 31 Dec. 2020, www.ft.com/content/cd075d91fafa-47c8-a295-85bbd7a36b50.

8 International Labour Organization, ILO Monitor: ‘Covid-19 and the world of work’. Fourth edition: Updated estimates and analysis, 27 May 2020 https://www.ft.com/content/cd075d91-fafa-47c8-a295-85bbd7a36b50 9 Al Jazeera. ‘In Pictures: Desperation to Migrate Grows in Battered Honduras.’ Latin America News | Al Jazeera, Al Jazeera, 15 Feb. 2021, www. aljazeera.com/gallery/2021/2/15/in-pictures-desperation-grows-in-battered-honduras.

10 Seddon, Max. ‘We Risk Losing It All’: Voices from the World’s Poorest Countries on the Pandemic.’ | Financial Times, Financial Times, 5 July 2020, www.ft.com/content/f45afb9a-aaa3-4434-8d3b-b56e24f0cb37.

11 Seddon, Max. ‘‘We Risk Losing It All’: Voices from the World’s Poorest Countries on the Pandemic.’ | Financial Times, Financial Times, 5 July 2020, www.ft.com/content/f45afb9a-aaa3-4434-8d3b-b56e24f0cb37.

12 Seddon, Max. ‘‘We Risk Losing It All’: Voices from the World’s Poorest Countries on the Pandemic.’ | Financial Times, Financial Times, 5 July 2020, www.ft.com/content/f45afb9a-aaa3-4434-8d3b-b56e24f0cb37.

13 https://www.businessinsider.com/billionaires-net-worth-increases-coronavirus-pandemic-2020-7 14 https://www.businessinsider.com/billionaires-net-worth-increases-coronavirus-pandemic-2020-7 15 https://www.ft.com/content/cd075d91-fafa-47c8-a295-85bbd7a36b50 16 https://www.ft.com/content/cd075d91-fafa-47c8-a295-85bbd7a36b50 17 https://www.ft.com/content/cd075d91-fafa-47c8-a295-85bbd7a36b50 18 https://www.theguardian.com/business/2020/oct/07/covid-19-crisis-boosts-the-fortunes-of-worlds-billionaires Bibliography: ILO Monitor: ‘ COVID-19 and the world of work’. Seventh edition Updated estimates and analysis, 25 January 2021, https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---dgreports/---dcomm/documents/briefingnote/wcms_767028.pdf ILO Monitor: ‘COVID-19 and the world of work’. Fourth edition Updated estimates and analysis, May 27 2020, https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---dgreports/---dcomm/documents/briefingnote/wcms_745963.pdf Al Jazeera. “In Pictures: Desperation to Migrate Grows in Battered Honduras.” Latin America News | Al Jazeera, Al Jazeera, 15 Feb. 2021, www. aljazeera.com/gallery/2021/2/15/in-pictures-desperation-grows-in-battered-honduras.

Dickler, Jessica. “42% Of People Falling behind as Covid-19 Widens the Wealth Gap, Report Finds.” CNBC, CNBC, 2 Dec. 2020, www.cnbc. com/2020/12/02/pandemic-widens-the-gap-between-the-haves-and-have-nots-report-finds.html.

Gita , Gopinath. “A Long, Uneven and Uncertain Ascent.” IMF Blog, 16 Nov. 2020, blogs.imf.org/2020/10/13/a-long-uneven-and-uncertain-ascent/.

Ng, Kelly. Businesstimes.com.sg, Business Times, 26 Oct. 2020, 5:50pm, www.businesstimes.com.sg/government-economy/how-has-covid-19-hitsingapores-less-well-off.

Palomino, Juan C, et al. ‘Wage Inequality and Poverty Effects of Lockdown and Social Distancing in Europe.’ European Economic Review, Elsevier B.V., Oct. 2020, www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7417923/.

Romei, Valentina. ‘How the Pandemic Is Worsening Inequality.’ Subscribe to Read | Financial Times, Financial Times, 31 Dec. 2020, www.ft.com/ content/cd075d91-fafa-47c8-a295-85bbd7a36b50.

Seddon, Max. ‘We Risk Losing It All’: Voices from the World’s Poorest Countries on the Pandemic.’ Subscribe to Read | Financial Times, Financial Times, 5 July 2020, www.ft.com/content/f45afb9a-aaa3-4434-8d3b-b56e24f0cb37.

Stiglitz, Joseph. ‘COVID-19 and Global Inequality – CONQUERING THE GREAT DIVIDE.’ Finance & Development, International Monetary Fund, www.imf.org/external/pubs/ft/fandd/2020/09/COVID19-and-global-inequality-joseph-stiglitz.htm#:~:text=International%20 dimensions,as%20it%20has%20within%20countries.&text=Without%20it%2C%20the%20global%20pandemic,there%20will%20be%20global%20 divergence.

Wiego, et al. ‘Informal Economy.’ WIEGO, www.wiego.org/informal-economy. https://ips-dc.org/u-s-billionaires-wealth-surges-931-billion-since-beginning-of-pandemic/ https://www.imf.org/external/pubs/ft/fandd/2020/12/pdf/infographic-of-pandemic-impact-on-youth.pdf

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How Religions Around the World have been Affected by Lockdown Poppy Greville-Collins (MO Re) The United Kingdom has entered its third lockdown during the Coronavirus (Covid-19) pandemic to prevent the spread of the virus and ease the stress on the NHS. The main rules, in a nutshell, are to stay at home and not to gather in large groups with other households – all this requires certain venues to close. One might think that these rules would prevent places of worship from staying open, but they are actually one of the very few legal exceptions. They remain partially open, but people are encouraged to stay home if possible. However, the government’s website says: individual prayer, communal worship with a number of participants (based on the capacity of the venue), funerals, support groups and weddings or civil partnerships (limited numbers) are permitted. A place of worship, as the website describes, is a ‘building used for regular religious ceremonies, communal worship or similar gatherings by religious organisations’, so these rules apply to all religions.

However, in the United States, coronavirus saw ‘houses of worship being shuttered around the country’ in the words of the Washington Post in March 2020. This rule then changed in many states to limiting the number of worshippers to ten people or fewer, whilst some states made places of worship completely exempt from the rules.

Others prohibited them from conducting services - instead broadcasting services online and over radios with the rules changing all the time. China had a different response entirely, taking Covid as an opportunity to continue its anti-religious campaigns promoting state atheism, and in the Shandong Province, even banning online preaching.

Saudi Arabia suspended all visits to many holy sites, including Mecca and Medina, out of fear the virus would spread uncontrollably. This has affected multiple Muslims around the world, as usually there would be over two million people travelling there as part of a religious pilgrimage each year.

Many religious communities have altered their practices and customs to try and prevent the spread of the virus, such as the Jummah prayers in Mosques being shortened, and a new prayer being added in many Jewish synagogues that is recited while people wash their hands. Multiple branches of orthodox Christianity completely suspended ‘divine services, events, and rites, with the exception of private prayer in churches that will remain open’ according to the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople. Similar statements were made by the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate of Antioch and All the East, and churches in countries such as Serbia and Lebanon.

Multiple religions have also had to cancel important festivals due to social distancing and other regulations. The Panguni Uthiram festival, which is an important celebration for Tamil Hindus and is usually full of processions and crowds, was cancelled for this reason, and so was the Jain festival Mahavir Jyanti, celebrating Lord Mahavira’s birthday. Not being able to worship in the same way as before Covid has negatively affected many people’s mental health, although religious communities are trying their hardest to prevent this. A common way religious communities have got around the rules and restrictions is by doing services online, over platforms like Zoom, or posting them on websites or YouTube and even creating podcasts.

The rules are changing all the time as Covid is monitored. This means, eventually, the rules will ease up as the situation improves, and religious practices will return to ‘normal’ bit by bit. But perhaps the way people practice their religion will change irrevocably and people might remain worshipping in the way they are doing so now, as it could work better for them. This may be because it is easier for them to worship from home or online.

One thing is for certain, though, and that is that religions all over the world have been affected, but how this will affect them in the future remains to be seen.

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Covid-19 and Lockdown’s Impact on Neurological Functions and Mental Health Archie Todd-Leask (C1 L6) Covid-19 affects our bodies not only physically – through areas such as pulmonary, cardio and renal functions (our lungs, heart and kidneys). But also mentally: the widespread introduction of lockdowns and devastatingly high death rates mean that Covid-19 can also take effect on one’s mental health. Furthermore, there have been reports of neurological effects on patients with pre-existing medical conditions.

Covid-19 spreads through the bloodstream to both the central and peripheral nervous systems, though the exact method of this spread is currently an educated guess. This invasion can affect the brain stem (involved in respiration), which consequentially results in a larger rate of respiratory failure.

Evidence has been provided through serological biomarkers1 - which is essentially just an indication through studying the bodily fluids of a patient – of Covid-19’s influence within the brain stem. A further study by a different group of scientists using a MRI scan within 24 hours of death2 signified organ abnormalities within the brain such as haemorrhaging, which is another likely sign of Covid’s interference. Although both of these studies provide strong evidence for Covid-19’s involvement in the central and peripheral nervous system, it does not mean that these identifications are necessarily a direct cause of Covid-19. This essentially means that although there is strong evidence that Covid-19 interacts with the nervous systems, it is still unclear as to whether it causes any actual physical harm to them (this includes neurological functions within your brain).

Covid-19 has been utterly detrimental to the mental well-being of all age groups around the world and has caused unnecessary deaths through increased mental illnesses such as depression and anxiety, as well as physically.

Although much data for 2020 has not been released yet, in Belgium the number of cases for euthanasia (2019) exceeded the previous (growing) trend 3 and Australia had euthanasia rates 10 times higher than expected (2020)4. Predictions for rates are said to have increased by as much as 145% 5 in 2020, and it was found that one in five people were likely to develop a form of anxiety or depression after contracting the coronavirus and selfisolating 6. These tragic statistics show the devastating effects that coronavirus has had, and will continue to have, on our mental health, by depriving us of the fundamental human requirement to socialise; nor do they take into consideration the sheer multitude of bereavements that many families and friends have faced and the effects that this also has on their mental health.

Notes: 1 Kanberg, Nelly, et al. ‘Neurochemical Evidence of Astrocytic and Neuronal Injury Commonly Found in COVID-19.’ Neurology, vol. 95, no. 12, 16 June 2020, pp. e1754–e1759, pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/32546655/, 10.1212/wnl.0000000000010111. Accessed 3 Feb. 2021.

2 Coolen, Tim, et al. ‘Early Postmortem Brain MRI Findings in COVID-19 Non-Survivors.’ Neurology, vol. 95, no. 14, 6 Oct. 2020, pp. e2016–e2027, pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/32546654/, 10.1212/WNL.0000000000010116. Accessed 3 Feb. 2021.

3 Elflein, John. ‘Belgium: Euthanasia 2002-2018.’ Statista, Nov. 2020, www.statista.com/statistics/1098051/number-of-euthanasia-instances-registeredin-belgium/. Accessed 6 Feb. 2021.

4 enquiries@thetablet.co.uk, The Tablet-w: ‘Euthanasia Deaths 10 Times Higher than Expected.’ The Tablet, 8 Sept. 2020, www.thetablet.co.uk/ news/13341/euthanasia-deaths-10-times-higher-than-expected-. Accessed 6 Feb. 2021.

5 John, Ann, et al. ‘The Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic on Self-Harm and Suicidal Behaviour: A Living Systematic Review.’ F1000Research, vol. 9, 4 Sept. 2020, p. 1097, f1000research.com/articles/9-1097, 10.12688/f1000research.25522.1. Accessed 6 Feb. 2021.

6 Ries, Julia, and Dana Cassell. ‘1 in 5 People with COVID-19 Developed Mental Health Issue.’ Healthline, 12 Nov. 2020, www.healthline.com/healthnews/people-with-covid-19-more-likely-to-develop-depression-anxiety-and-dementia. Accessed 6 Feb. 2021.

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How is the Covid Lockdown Challenging Extrovert and Introvert Characters?

Aoife Guinness (IH Re) The Covid lockdown has been really tough for mental health. Being isolated has resulted in people feeling bored, frustrated and sad because of the lack of freedom and physical contact. Despite the lockdown being hard for everyone, confinement is taxing in different ways for extroverts and introverts. The stereotypical idea is that an extrovert is as an outgoing, socially confident person and an introvert is a shy, reticent person. I will explain how the Covid lockdown is challenging extroverts and introverts by studying Woman A and Woman B and how they are managing through the isolation.

Woman A and Woman B have very similar, if not identical, living environments: both women live in small rural towns in pleasant houses, each with their partner, two children and dog. They both have an acre of lush garden surrounding their houses and many open fields nearby for walks. Both women are journalists who commute to London weekly for meetings and they each earn a good salary. The two women have normal day-today worries of a middle-aged working mother.

Despite leading parallel lives, for the sake of the argument, let’s say Woman A is an extrovert and Woman B is an introvert. Now let’s analyse how both women have coped with the Covid lockdown according to either their extrovert or introvert characters.

In pre-lockdown times, Woman A would see about 10 friends a day through the school run, gym, work, food shopping, book club, evening drinks etc. She is energised by social interaction, communicating and seeing friends face to face.

Nevertheless, the Covid lockdown has turned Woman A’s world upside down. No more socialising, drinks parties or holidays; she is housebound. How would Woman A recharge her batteries by social interaction when that was illegal?

At the beginning of the lockdown, Woman A became louder, to try to get input from her partner and children and to receive the contact she thrives on. Though Woman A has a close and loving relationship with her household, they were incapable of providing her with the external stimulus and energy she needed. The lack of attention caused Woman A to withdraw to an inner dark and dismal world. Woman A is no longer the happy-golucky extrovert but a rather low and depressed character due to this lockdown. Extroverts are being challenged to re-energise themselves without social interaction.

The majority of society would assume that introverts are finding it easier to cope in lockdown than extroverts.

This is because introverts are typically re-energised by peace and quiet and they are happier than extroverts to spend time alone. Introverts often like having space to process information and to connect with their feelings. However, this doesn’t mean that lockdown is natural for introverts: lockdown just affects them in a different way.

In pre-lockdown times, Woman B would see a couple of friends a week for lunches or dog walks. Although Woman B is said to be an introvert, she is still a sociable person and appreciates time with her friends; she is not a hermit. What makes Woman B an introvert is that she re-energises through social withdrawal and solitude.

When she has needed to energise herself, she would take herself off for an hour or so of ‘me-time’; she would do something for herself and by herself, like having a relaxing bath or watching some TV. However, since the Covid lockdown, Woman B has had her partner and children working from home, so their house has not been as quiet as usual. It is hard for Woman B because with everyone at home, there is rarely a time when she is alone to re-charge her batteries. This has made Woman B into a rather hot-tempered and cranky character because she has not been able to have the space she usually has. Though she has a close and loving relationship with her partner and children, Woman B feels claustrophobic with them at home all of the time.

These feelings have made her behaviour flip.

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Woman B is exhausted from all of the introversion energy that the lockdown has created; she desperately wants to be seeing people. There is enough quiet and withdrawing in isolation that her normal feelings of needing solitude have disappeared. Lockdown has made Woman B desire human interaction so much more than she did before.

I have discussed how Covid lockdown is challenging extrovert and introvert characters in different ways: extroverts are feeling gloomy and dispirited because of the lack of human interaction and introverts are eager for a busier life of socialising because they are fed up with the lockdown. Extrovert and introvert characters have almost swapped places. In lockdown, both woman A and B seek external company and continue to dog walk with one friend as per the rules. In this way, two opposing characters are actually coping in quite a similar way. Hence, they are more alike than they perhaps would be in ‘normal life’. Isolation during lockdown has been tough for both extroverts and introverts in different ways but, to conclude, equally hard.

William Blake’s Ancient of Days (1795) and Newton (1795): extrovert and introvert?

Both are playing with compasses, one of them across the cosmos, one at the bottom of the ocean

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The Toll Imposed by Confinement on Introverts and Extroverts Oscar Patel (B1 Re) All will undoubtedly admit that the effects of confinement have been drastic and gruelling to say the least; however, some may agree with this more strongly than others. Whilst I was originally researching the effects of lockdown on people, I decided to refine this and more specifically look at the effect on introverts and extroverts as individual bodies.

A Definition of Introverts and Extroverts Introverts are thought to be independent and require solitude to gather and develop their ideas. By contrast, the idea of requiring social interaction in order to thrive is associated with extroverts: they are dependent on others in order to help themselves; they are social creatures.

In a study conducted by Debra Johnson and John S Wiebe they found a scientific difference between both personality groups. They conducted PET scans - which indicated brain activity among people who are considered shy (introverted) and gregarious (extroverted), following intensive personality testing. Importantly, free-thinking was encouraged before completing the test; the results were fascinating and showed distinct differences. For introverts, the results showed increased blood flow in the frontal lobes, the anterior thalamus as well as various other areas associated with memory, making plans and problem solving. All of these areas are known to be correlated to inward focus of thought, the key defining feature of introverts. On the other hand, for those classed as extroverts, the results showed more activity in the posterior thalamus and posterior insula, regions involved in interpreting sensory data. This data emphasises that extroverts rely on outward focus, they rely on noise and vision - sensory data - in order to comprehend their thoughts.

How Covid disrupts this Prior to Covid we lived in an arguably more extroverted society, therefore with lockdown restricting social gatherings, society has been disrupted. In many ways, society can now be considered more introverted; many have to rely on themselves as they aren’t able to rely on others as a stimulus. The most simplistic way to view this concept is to see humans as machines with a battery life, in order to recharge - introverts look inwards as they need solitude and space, whereas extroverts need socialisation in order to recharge. For extroverts, this has been a most challenging time and for introverts potentially easier. However, introverts have indubitably felt the toll of solitude as the lockdown carries on.

What each can do to help themselves in lockdown After finding varied suggestions as to introverts should do during lockdown, I found each response shared a key point. When at home with other family members, one needs to find at least two points throughout the day (probably separated in order to maximise effectiveness) to create a separate space so that one can relax and think.

This can be accompanied by attempting to limit Zoom meetings.

As for extroverts, while not preoccupied with solo tasks, the common idea was that extroverts need to find multiple times through the day where they can speak with friends virtually, or with family members in person, in order to fulfil their social needs and allow them to optimise their productivity during confinement.

Overall I have found this a fascinating topic to research, and I think it is important to refine questions such as these, as each person is different to another. Some answers to questions may fulfil one person’s needs but not others. In conclusion, I would recommend considering which group you fall under and potentially improve your lockdown experience with the ideas mentioned.

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Property Through a Pandemic Henry Blatchford (CO L6) It goes without saying that the previous year has been somewhat abnormal. Not only has it proved a test of governmental organisation (or lack of it, depending on your view!) but also of the country’s resilience as a whole. Last year saw myriad striking events, including the price of oil going negative, a non-English language film winning the Oscar for Best Picture, and after much talk, Brexit finally happening. Indeed, 2020 has caused a great deal of disruption, and none more so than instability within markets – and particularly from this article’s outlook: Property.

The year started normally but plunged when coronavirus ground everything to a halt because of the national lockdown. Interest in purchasing property and the physical restrictions on doing so were conducive to a 77% drop in property sales between the first and third week in March, with sales in London falling by up to 90%.1 A significant factor was that the furlough scheme entailed a squeezed income for 8.86 million jobholders as of 8th May.2 As a result of this, many prospective buyers’ purchases were stalled and the so the infamous property chain was stymied. However, whilst the Nationwide house price index showed a 1.7% decrease in May from the previous month – the largest decline in 11 years – Professor Nori Gerado Lietz of Harvard Business School cited the still-rising house prices across the pond in the United States.3 A key facet of the housing market is that some people use the value of their homes as security for a loan (not just in the form of a mortgage), and if house prices decrease even more, this could lead to some loans being terminated and property being seized by creditors.

After the first lockdown, restrictions started to ease, and allowed estate agents to start connecting buyer and seller. This was coupled with a mass revaluation from the general public of what they valued in their homes.

A rise in assets such as an office, a garden, and open access to the countryside or coast took hold in online searches as Graham Norwood points out: ‘searches by renters looking for a garden are almost double compared to the first week of lockdown’.4 However, if people look for more rural houses attempting to work from home, it is possible that the demand for office space may diminish. Therefore, the market for offices will have to adapt, which Professor White believes the industry is accomplished in doing. After allowing for inflation, he says ‘average rents in London are the same as they were 100 years ago’.5 He points to the office property market as having effectively matched supply and demand for a long period of time already. Furthermore, Chancellor Rishi Sunak unveiled his Stamp Duty holiday effectively waiving taxes for prospective homeowning buyers until 31st March 2021. This will have cost the government an estimated £12 billion, according to Statista. Because of the tax holiday, however, people were expected and even encouraged to pursue plans for moving house, buying and selling in a bid to get the economy moving out of a recession. What a convenient way to cajole large lump sums of money to move around the economy!

So, with 2020 now behind us, what is in store for 2021? It is a common outcry from politicians and the public alike that the UK does not have enough housing – let alone affordable housing. This calls into question whether the government can actually continue committing to its target of building 300,000 homes a year by the mid-2020s. It is estimated that in a worst-case scenario, the UK could lose out on 318,000 homes by 2025, with 21% of those being affordable.6 Moving on to 2021 as a whole though, it is shaping up to be a year of three parts.7 The first incorporates a desire to beat the stamp duty holiday which should sustain activity in the property market for the first quarter.

The second wave will see the end of the tax holiday coincide with increasing unemployment as the furlough scheme ends. This is likely to slow demand and possibly lead to price volatility during the main part of the year.

Thus people’s desire to move will be thwarted by their financial inability to do so. For the third part, vaccine rollout will cause unemployment rates to fall as the country begins its return to normal – and with it, a rise in consumer confidence.

In summary, property will always be a good investment for two reasons. Property provides security and a good return in the long run. ‘So if Government bonds are paying 0.5% interest a year, or even less, and property is making 3–5%, you still have a good source of income . . .8 ‘ The second is that the use for land can change – as 57

evident in London’s office sector in the past century. Your surrounding built environment will also demonstrate this, ‘shops that are now flats, old factories that are now hotels, and warehouses that have become dance studios.’9 Despite coronavirus’s massive shock for the property markets, it may well just speed up changes that were already occurring.10 And besides this, according to Savills’ UK Housing Market report, house prices increased by 7.3% in 2020 – the highest for six years. So 2020, for the property sector at least, was not as bad as we thought after all.

Notes: 1 J. Van Deursen, Covid-19 Begins To Impact Property Market (Today’s Conveyancer, 24th March 2020) 2 D. Clark, Cumulative number of jobs furloughed under the job retention scheme in the UK 2020 (Statista.com, 5th January 2021) 3 J. Bloom, Coronavirus may have huge impact on property markets (BBC, 11th June 2020) 4 G. Norwood, Guess what? Searches for homes with gardens are up, says Rightmove (LettingAgentTODAY.co.uk, 24th April 2020) 5 J. Bloom, Coronavirus may have huge impact on property markets (BBC, 11th June 2020) 6 Savills’ blog, What impact will Covid-19 have on future housing supply in England? (Savills.com, 29th June 2020) 7 L. Cook, UK housing market outlook 2021: a year of three parts (Savills.com, 8th January 2021) 8 J. Bloom, Coronavirus may have huge impact on property markets (BBC, 11th June 2020) 9 ibid 10 ibid

June 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Bust and Boom: An Investigation Into the Economic Euphoria Following Times of Isolation or Lockdown William Sankey (B1 L6)

While the world remains in solitary confinement with normal life suspended, many are reminded of the Spanish Flu – a similar event that occurred just over a century ago. The 1918 Spanish Flu took 50 million lives and isolated millions of people for years - it was detrimental in both its threat to life, but also to the mental health of the millions of people barricaded within their homes or behind a face mask. Another infamous period of isolation from disease was during the Black Death. Even without any advanced medical knowledge, many of the inhabitants of Europe stayed at home and adopted facial appliances which had been introduced by doctors, in an effort to avoid contamination.

Although this correlation between disease and isolation and its immediate consequences is heavily scrutinised, another dynamic following these troubling times is often a surge in economic growth. This was the case, dating back all the way to ancient civilisations and sweeping through feudal Europe, mercantilist South America and the modern era. Economic euphoria has followed every type of social isolation, from the Black Death outbreaks over time to the conclusion of major conflicts, and in many ways this shows how humans as a species treat the ability to socialise normally as a necessity to life. From this standpoint, as we slowly recover from the trough of the COVID-19 pandemic, many experts have predicted the world will once again return to “one of the most hedonistic eras”1 as restrictions thaw and consumer, corporate and investor confidence is restored.

The era of the early 14th century was expected to witness the continuation development of medieval civilisation from the post-Roman abyss of the Dark Ages: a population explosion paired with early advancements in the commercial framework could have very easily led to an earlier birth of the Agricultural and Industrial revolutions, and the new administration of the Silk Road helped to enhance the West’s thirst for technology with new ties to Asia. However, alongside new Eastern trade, the Black Death also surfaced in European markets and eradicated more than 40% of Europeans - in fact, this population collapse would not recover for nearly a century, and any chance in collectively progressing past the age of the Western feudal system was heavily delayed until the mid-15th century, where European nations finally began ‘sequestering, or quarantining, strangers’2 and checking new ‘health passports’. The horrors of the Black Death (one of humanity’s greatest invitations to isolate) meant that when the first wave eventually died down in the winter of 1349 there was a sharp fall in labour, which meant that wages rose exponentially for the remaining serfs. Moreover, the smaller population allowed for greater consumer spending and the ability for European nations to officially interconnect with one another in technologies such as Gutenberg’s printing press and the Italian muzzle-loaded rifle. In fact, it is no coincidence that the Florentine Renaissance was born in the euphoric time after the Black Death; philosophers, artists and bankers alike cojoined their innovative ideas and reset the path of the West to finally challenge that of Asia and the Islamic caliphates. Without the obvious damage left by the plague itself, the Black Death in many ways was responsible for the resurgence of economic activity by the means that more were ‘drawn into the market economy and trade networks grew deeper and deeper’.3 People on average, were happier and general standards of work and life improved significantly.

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If historians were to categorise the pairing of the Black Death and the economic Renaissance as coincidental, another key time of isolation disproved them in the early 20th century. As the world recuperated from a decade of its Great War, another catastrophic event in North America, Europe and South East Asia inflicted casualties as high as 50 million. However, with a seven century gap since the Black Death, medical professionalism had developed enormously, and common knowledge of viruses had shifted from a basis of ‘bad air’ to the real nature of the disease.

With scientific proactivity, the world once again receded into a lockdown which was arguably harsher than the one that we face in 2021, and just as today, face masks were mandatory in public and social distancing had to be followed. In fact, to demonstrate how the Spanish Flu regulations were so strict, there were instances of unleashed violence between police and non-compliant citizens – an officer specialising in health fired his sidearm ‘following (Wissler’s) refusal to don an influenza mask’.4 In addition, any mass gatherings intended to defy the new laws were quickly and forcefully dispersed. Although these restrictions were incredibly tight and confining, the years following their cessation in 1920 were infamously branded as a decade of decadence, as the combined struggles of the war and a pandemic were overturned by a surge in jamborees and celebration; the economy in the ‘Roaring Twenties’ grew by 42% and new fashion, culture and industry enveloped the Western world. As mass consumerism boomed, the automotive, film and jazz industries concocted a new economic euphoria which, similar to the period after the Black Death, paved the way for more innovation and connectivity between countries in new fields of media and communications. Aside from the United States’ sudden return to isolationism in the 1920s, pacts such as the League of Nations cemented good relations with countries and further widened the prospect for collegiate opportunity.

With the prospect of a series of vaccines with high levels of efficacy and the possibility of a near conclusion to the Covid pandemic, it is possible, as witnessed in previous times, that there will be a new relationship between the passing period of isolation and a subsequent stimulation of both the economy and general morale of the population. Even on a smaller scale, after times of lockdown associated (for instance) with either natural disasters or warfare, the resulting period often sees the survivors eager to indulge. As was written in a recent edition of the Economist, periods following times of need left ‘survivors with an appetite to live… at speed.’5 From this, experts have predicted that in the next few years as life returns to normality, and following this historical trend, people will revert to an era of indulgence, accompanied with ‘sexual licentiousness (and) a reverse of religiosity’.6 Notes: 1 The Spirits Business, ‘Roaring 20s’ will return post-pandemic, analyst predicts (https://www.thespiritsbusiness.com/2020/12/roaring-20s-will-return-post-pandemic/) 2 Bryne, Joseph P., The Black Death (United States: Greenwood Publishing, 2004) p. 111.

3 Wyman, Patrick, After The Black Death, Europe’s Economy Surged (https://theconcourse.deadspin.com/after-the-black-death-europes-economy-surged-1821060986) 4 Price, Polly J., How a Fragmented Country Fights a Pandemic (https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/03/how-fragmented-country-fights-pandemic/608284/) 5 The Economist, The year that everything changed (https://www.economist.com/leaders/2020/12/19/the-year-when-everything-changed) 6 Cope, Emily, Second ‘Roaring 20s’ likely to take place after the pandemic, predicts academic (https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/love-sex/pandemic-sex-parties-twenties-b1777493.html)

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Lockdowns and Isolations in Previous Pandemics Arthur Braxton (CO Re) The Great Plague of London began in 1665 and ended in 1666. It was largely eliminated by the Great Fire of London, and it was the last significant outbreak of bubonic plague to occur in England. This particular outbreak was responsible for approximately 100,000 deaths in just over a year, but it was not the first time the plague had struck. The Black Death had struck Europe and North Africa between 1346 and 1353. It is the largest pandemic ever recorded and is thought to have killed approximately 1/3 of Europe’s population! The plague re-emerged every few years throughout history until the mid-18th century, since when its outbreaks have been much reduced. Modern sanitation and healthcare have reduced its impact, but not eradicated it entirely; WHO (World Health Organisation) estimate that 1,000 to 3,000 cases still occur each year. These devastating deaths throughout history have all been caused by one bacterium, Yersinia pestis.

After the Black Death of medieval England, London continued to suffer outbreaks almost every decade. It is estimated that up to 20% of the population died each time.

When the Great Plague of 1665 struck, England imposed laws to try and prevent the spread and isolate those with contagion. All public entertainment was banned, people were forcibly locked into their homes and red crosses were painted on the doors of those thought to be infected.

The very sick were locked in their homes and often left untreated whilst the dead were buried in mass graves. At the time of the Black Death in the Venetian-controlled port city of Ragusa, the spread was slowed by isolated arriving sailors until it was clear that they did not carry the disease. This was initially done for 30 days and extended to 40 and was considered the safest period of time. This 40-day stretch is where our modern term quarantine is derived from.

The great diarist Samuel Pepys provides us with some of the most detailed information on The Great Plague and how society was affected. Pepys recorded the arrival of the plague to London in June 1665 and wrote of seeing the deserted streets that he would normally see bustling with life. There was no formal lockdown, but people did not leave their houses. Pepys wrote ‘about us, two shops in three, if not more, generally shut up’. He also records the disruption to travel the plague caused, and whilst he voices his concern about using the water taxis, he recognises that the boatmen suffer a much greater risk than he. He writes, ‘I could not get my Waterman to go elsewhere for fear of the plague’, and goes on to later record, ‘I did not go by water with them yesterday for he fell sick on Saturday night, and it is feared to be of the plague’. A regular diary entry is Pepys seeing bodies in the street: “I walked to Greenwich, in my way seeing a coffin with a dead body there in”.

His own physician died as did some of his acquaintances.

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The Company of Parish Clarks kept tallies of the weekly burials and, in a similar way to today’s daily tolls of Covid deaths, Pepys documented the growing death rates in his diary. Pepys recognised that this record of the death rate would be significantly lower than it ought to be as it only counted burials: this number would exclude the urban poor and many others who would not receive a burial.

There are many parallels between the great plague and today’s coronavirus pandemic. In his article Lotz-Henman shows how life during the Bubonic Plague mirrors todays pandemic.

Pepys also records the disruption, businesses closing and the general isolation and resulting melancholy that fell over society - he writes about the impact of isolation on people’s mental health. At that time, it was widely accepted that depression was caused by a high level of black bile in the body, and this was considered to have serious implications to one’s health. Sadness was to be avoided: Pepys often refers to his attempts to try and stay cheerful and ‘not let it get to him’. Towards the end of the Great Plague, Pepys is still hopeful ‘to our great joy, the town fills apace, and shops begin to be open again. Pray God continues the plague’s decrease’.

The Great Plague affected both the wealthy and the poor, but – just as with Covid – the poorer in society bore the brunt of it; for, pandemics are at their most dangerous when social conditions are stressed. In a podcast about this Dan Snow and Mark Bailey argued that when an illness affects the wealthy as well as the poor in society, it is inevitable that a cure or solution will be found more rapidly. Snow also suggested that the nature of Covid’s effect on the poor, when the most economically vulnerable spend so much time inside, should make us question modern living and how society can adapt. How will the Covid pandemic affect government policy in the future and how will we remedy the problems the virus has highlighted? Will society be able to ‘level up’?

In the wake of the Black Death and the Great Plague, England saw a shortage of labourers – particularly farmers and craftsmen – and this led to a significant rise in their wages and a simultaneous fall in the wealth of the nobility. Perhaps we will see a similar pattern for our doctors, nurses and frontline workers after Covid?

Bibliography: Lotz-Henman, U. University of Arizona April 24,2020 Seven, J The Black Death: A timeline of the Gruesome Pandemic. April 16, 2020 Roos, D. How 5 of Historys’ Pandemics finally ended. March 17, 2020 Sky History Channel – Lessons from Samuel Pepys’s Plague diary: Living through the outbreak Podcasts: Dan Snow: Black death Dan Snow: How pandemics made the modern world Dan Snow: Pandemics through history

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Early Quarantines Erin Butler (MM Hu) In this period of frequent self-isolation and quarantine, it is easy to think that we live in unique times.

However, this is not the case. Formal systems of quarantine date back 600 years, to the time of the bubonic plague, and isolation dates back even further. The first official quarantine began in 1348 in Italy at the time of the Black Death, with the word quarantine originating from the Italian word quaranta - meaning forty – which was the length in days of this state-imposed isolation.

But what is quarantine? It is a form of restriction used to contain the spread of diseases, which often entails a separation of goods and people who have been exposed to a certain disease.

We commonly use the words isolation and quarantine in connection with each other, but it is important to distinguish between the two. Isolation (in the context of infectious diseases) involves separating the infected and quarantine involves separating those who may have come into contact with infected people. The earliest form of isolation recorded is in the book of Leviticus - in the Bible - where those with leprosy were isolated from society, ‘the priest is to isolate the affected person for seven days.’ Furthermore, in 541 CE the plague of Justinian came about, and the emperor of Justinian set out a series of laws against those he believed responsible for the epidemic, including Jews, Samaritans and homosexuals. Here we can see early discrimination and potential problems stemming from isolation and quarantine. However, this example cannot be regarded as a quarantine, as Justinian had no knowledge of what caused the disease to spread, and anyone who differed from the Christians of Constantinople was accused of being responsible for the plague. He attempted to halt people’s movements, but it was a complete failure. As we know, religion has nothing to do with carrying a plague.

The Bubonic Plague, which had originally started in the far east, reached Europe in the 14th century and was later responsible for the death of 30% of the population. It was caused by the Yersinia pestis, carried by rats predominantly, which spread the Black Death. Due to the detrimental effects of the disease and the 30 million deaths it caused, Italian states came up with strategies to reduce its spread and this is where we find the first official quarantine. This began in 1348, where a council in the republic of Venice gained power to detain ships in the Venetian lagoon for up to 30 days and turn others away. This was important as the plague was carried on rat-infested ships and as Venice was such an exposed city, this had to be monitored. As other ports in Italy, like Florence and Genoa, and those in surrounding coastal cities began to be infected, they too drew up restrictions and laws to help stop the spread of the disease.

In 1377, a decree was drawn up in the Venetian-controlled port, Ragusa, now Dubrovnik, Croatia, establishing a ‘trentino’. This stated that all ships coming from areas of infection or suspected infection must quarantine for 30 days outside of the harbour, while authorities inspected the ship. The law consisted of four parts: citizens from areas of the plague had to isolate for a month, no person could go to the isolated area, no one could bring food unless assigned by the Great Council, and anyone who didn’t follow this could be fined or made to isolate. Ultimately, the time extended to 40 days for reasons much debated, becoming a ‘quarantino’. Some argue it came from Hippocrates’ idea that after 40 days, diseases were no longer acute, but chronic. Other authors suggest that 40 days was selected for biblical reasons, such as the period of Lent or the great flood of Noah.

Whatever the reason, the extension to 40 days was beneficial, as scientists have now discovered the lifespan of the bubonic plague was about 37 days.

As well as quarantining ships, Italian states created a quarantine for infected people and their family on land. In Milan and Reggio, victims were left to die in their homes, and a law drawn up in 1374 meant that all those suffering must be taken out of the city into a forest or field, and left to recover or die. A few years later, in 1423, further steps were taken to avoid the spread of disease. In Venice, the first permanent plague hospital was created on the island of Santa Maria of Nazareth, on the Venetian lagoon. This hospital became known as a Lazaretto and so did all the other quarantine centres in Italy created in the years to come. The Lazaretto was commonly referred to as Lazarethum because of the links to Lazarus, a biblical figure and the catholic patron saint of leprosy. Lazarettos were located far enough from settlements to protect the healthy populations, but close 63

enough to transport the sick immediately to them. They also tended to be separated by a barrier of water, either natural or man-made. Near ports, members of a ship’s crew were transported into the Lazarettos and their goods were brought in to pesthouses to be cleansed by treatments such as continuous ventilation or emersion in water.

During the Renaissance period, the research surrounding infectious diseases developed. The Italian physician Girolamo Fracastoro suggested the idea of contagion and that small particles in the air could transmit disease, making medicine more precise and effective. In this period, certain city states, beginning in Italy, introduced bills of health, and the plague diminished hugely. The bills of health suggested the sanitary reputation of a ship, and those with clean bills were permitted to proceed to their destinations, without having to quarantine.

Furthermore, in some areas, armed guards were placed along transit routes and access points to the cities and a sanitary cordon could be imposed, a restriction to a certain geographical area. Boats suspected of carrying the plague were also signalled with flags so authorities could order quarantine for these ships on suspicion of the disease. These methods, which were first used in Italian cities, were later adopted by many other European countries, not only for the plague, but for the many other epidemics that followed, like the one we find ourselves in currently.

In England, the first quarantine regulations were drawn up in 1663, where every ship entering London had to remain at the mouth of the Thames for 40 days, sometimes extended to 80. This was due to the Great Plague of London which killed between 75,000 and 100,000 people in the capital. Later on, the 1710 quarantine act was passed for an outbreak of the plague in the Baltic. When the plague killed about 100,000 people in Marseille, the act was reviewed and a new one considered in 1721. Huge opposition occurred over clauses which involved infected people being detained with violence and attempted escape potentially resulting in death. Consequently, any healthy person who tried to visit could also be detained and an attempt to escape could, again, result in death.

Trenches could also be dug to separate healthy from sick. A formal protest of 18 lords tried to repeal the 1721 quarantine act as such clauses were unknown to their free and liberal constitution.

We can immediately see the flaws of quarantine. In England, the majority of the population detested the idea, and it was often disregarded. This meant that regulations had to be even stricter, and we can see a reflection here in our own society. The lack of a clear length of time people were told to quarantine meant that some perceived quarantine as less scientific and thus they became more suspicious of its efficacy. Further measures taken by the government became repressive; for example, using the inspection of ships for political spying and in Moscow in 1664, the death penalty to anyone who entered the country. In early quarantine history, some places prevented minority groups like the Jews and lepers from entering areas and in some states complete social divides arose between the healthy and sick. Diseases and the detainment of the sick has often led to discrimination in societies and a negative stigma surrounds the sick, even after containment. There are also serious economic effects to consider, especially at the time of the Black Death. Sea trade was the main source of income for many countries and so with certain bans, economies were greatly threatened. There is also the idea that certain wealthy families could buy themselves out of quarantine.

I would argue there are still serious problems with quarantine, even though we have developed it.

Obviously, there is the idea of human rights and liberty being affected, but this is almost inevitable as the definition of quarantine entails separation. I would argue the problem now is people not taking quarantine seriously. A study in the Harvard School of Public Health showed that before Covid-19, if influenza were to spread through the US, the co-operation of the public would be low. This can be seen in the situation we are in now as people still continue to reject quarantine regulations, such as social distancing and mask wearing. Our society has come to believe that the battle against diseases has been won; however, this is not the case. Although quarantines were less advanced in the past, the fear of disease and the lack of information meant people and governments tended to cooperate, despite resenting the idea. In our society, it is hard for the government to offer death sentences and extreme punishments and so the population is hard to keep under control. I think we still have lots to learn from the history of quarantine and we haven’t yet mastered it.

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Isolation Cottages: How Social Distancing and Quarantine Helped our Ancestors Overcome Disease Charlotte Greenham (MM Hu) For the past year the world has been fighting a virus. We have intermittently been in an enforced isolation period in the UK since March. It has been an ‘unprecedented’ situation.

Or has it?

Throughout human history our species – like all others on the planet - has been plagued with various diseases, many taking the form of widespread epidemics. Although, the past year has been extremely testing and unusual, many of our ancestors will have gone through very similar experiences with smallpox, black death, cholera, tuberculosis, typhus, leprosy; the list goes on. I have been looking into how English society dealt with these previous epidemics when medicine wasn’t developed enough to create vaccines so quickly and when there was limited research into how these diseases spread. Our ancestors didn’t have the technology to investigate diseases like we do today, but they realised that isolation was the key to halting the spread of disease from previous experiences. Many areas were designated for the treatment and isolation of the sick, with geographical isolation being the key to success.

In rural communities, where there were no large local hospitals to take care of the sick, and pest houses were built to contain contagious persons and halt the spread of disease. The name ‘pest’ house comes from the French word for the plague: la peste, as they are believed to have first been used during one of the plague epidemics. They were situated well away from the villages, with few - or no - visitors allowed. Anyone with symptoms of a current epidemic or any contagious disease would be forced to quarantine in the pest house. Some were allowed to isolate in homes with their family to care for them, but the vast majority of cases came to the local pest house. The poor were the responsibility of the village and churchwardens, and the main body of patients tended to be the poor.

Therefore, paupers were sent to pest houses, with their medical fees paid by the villagers out of the poor rates.

Cemeteries were often situated nearby for the obvious reason that death was frequent. There was little care for the sick due to fear about catching the disease, and only a few brave caretakers who had been previously exposed to diseases such as smallpox (and therefore were immune) were there to care for the sick. It is surprising how much was known about disease as early as the 14th century, with immunity being understood and spread of disease via close contact being taken into account. Many pest houses had cross-ventilation to remove pathogens as quickly as possible, and partitions between patients prevented different diseases from being spread between the sick. The methods used many hundreds of years ago are very similar to how we have dealt with the Covid-19 pandemic.

In my own village, Ashbury, there is a house situated far away from the rest of the village, next to a spring for regular washing and sanitation, just like many other pest houses. It has been passed down through word of mouth that this is the village isolation cottage but there are no records that I have found to confirm this.

However, a dispute in 1796 over an unlucky boy from Ashbury who contracted smallpox is recorded, and led to four different local villages being involved in his treatment. Thomas Chivers had gone to the Lady Day fair in 65

Swindon to find a job. He was hired for six months as a labourer by a farmer from a local parish, Hinton Parva.

He had been there for about a month when he became ill, and after three days he became so feverish that he took to his bed. The local apothecary, Mr Williams, visited him, and told Thomas he didn’t think he had smallpox. His parents were called (without Thomas’s permission), but when his mother arrived he had a violent fever. People with smallpox were usually forced to remain wherever they were, but at this time Thomas was believed not to have smallpox so was transported back to his village, Ashbury, in the ‘paroxysm of the fever preceding the smallpox, such it turned out to be’. Ashbury had no smallpox patients at that time and requested the boy be taken to the pest house in Hinton. They were refused their plea as Thomas had not yet gained settlement status and it could be argued he had broken his six-month contract with his master, who wasn’t liable to pay for his cure. If he had had settled status it would have been illegal to remove him from Hinton. Therefore, Thomas was removed instead to the local pest house in Highworth. He survived the disease and was subsequently removed to the Wantage pest house, for an unknown reason, once the danger to him was over.

The maps show the location of the Lertwell cottage in 1910 in Ashbury (thought to be an isolation cottage) and Highworth’s smallpox house. Note their distance from the main village.

Another person who was saved by isolation in a pest house was William Heath from the town of Hungerford. In 1604/05 his house was infected with the plague. Thereupon he, his wife and his three children were ‘removed to a pest house and appointed for that purpose.’ They were cared for by a widow who, presumably having no husband to care for, was assigned to have ‘custody and keeping of him and his children’. Unfortunately, William’s wife, Elizabeth Heath, and one of his sons succumbed to the plague, but he and all his other children miraculously survived, no doubt due to being isolated in the house. This is a picture of the pest house the Heaths stayed in:

The Black Death swept through much of the world and is one of the earliest pandemics about which we know a great deal. It was spread via the trade routes from Asia through to Europe and was greatly feared by all.

When it reached Britain, numerous precautions were taken to lessen the spread. Pest houses were used as a form of isolation, and burials of the dead were limited to the use of so called ‘plague pits’; meanwhile any clothes from the diseased were burned and countless remedies were sold claiming to stop people contracting the infection.

However, one of the most courageous and self-sacrificial actions that was taken was by a small village in the Lake District called Eyam. In 1665, the Plague arrived in Eyam in a bundle of damp cloth containing fleas from London.

When the cloth was hung up these fleas were released, and plague began to spread throughout the population.

William Mompesson, the newly appointed rector, intervened, quarantining the village to prevent any further spread. Human to human contact was greatly limited, and no one was allowed in or out of the village. Boundary stones were placed around the village and you can even see the holes in which coins were placed for trading with the outside world in some: 66

Church services were held in the open air at Cucklet Delf, and families stood apart from each other to avoid the spread of infection, much as we are doing today with social distancing. A painting from the Eyam museum depicts one of these services:

A villager, Marshall Howe, was infected at the start of the outbreak and survived. Believing he could not be infected twice, he offered to help bury the dead, often stealing the victim’s possessions as his reward.

Unfortunately, the rest of his family succumbed to the infection later on, and he was tasked with the job of burying them himself. It is possible that his family became infected from the stolen possessions of diseased corpses. The death rate was unprecedentedly high; more than double that of London. Out of between 350 and 800 inhabitants of Eyam before the cordon, 260 had died from no fewer than 76 different families in the space of 15 months. Although the villagers of Eyam suffered unimaginably, the isolation period worked, and the plague spread no further.

Isolation is tough physically and mentally. All these poor souls I have written about, from residents of pest houses like Thomas and William to all the villagers of Eyam, were isolated geographically but also psychologically.

They were shunned from society in an attempt to control disease, with little help from the outside world. Their isolation was a sacrifice they were forced to take for the safety of others, and we must not forget this. Separation was by no means the only weapon rural communities used to combat disease, but it was likely to be the most effective. This has been proved in the 21st century, when isolation and quarantine have been the only way to reduce the spread of Covid-19. Although this period of enforced isolation is testing, we must learn from our ancestors who came before us. Lockdowns do work, and although it feels relentless at the moment, we will all be able to carry on with our lives in the future thanks to the huge sacrifice the world is making in the present.

Bibliography https://www.sciencemuseum.org.uk/objects-and-stories/medicine/bubonic-plague-first-pandemic#controlling-the-spread-of-plague http://hospitalfield.org.uk/stories-from-hospitalfield-plague-hospitals/ https://historic-hospitals.com/2020/05/02/the-architecture-of-isolation/ https://www.hungerfordvirtualmuseum.co.uk/index.php/8-places/303-pest-house https://www.thedeadhistory.com/history-of-ogdens-pest-houses/ http://hospitalfield.org.uk/stories-from-hospitalfield-plague-hospitals/ With thanks to local historian Marion Turner for her help on the history of the local villages

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PART 3: ISOLATED SOCIETIES

August 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Japan’s Isolation Policy of Sakoku Rosanna Hodgson (EL Hu) The Edo period in Japan lasted from 1603 to 1868 and was brought about by Tokugawa Ieyasu. During the period 1639–1853, Japan followed the policy of Sakoku, which literally translates as ‘a country in chains’. Japan sought almost complete isolation from the rest of the world, only maintaining extremely limited trading relationships with China and the Dutch traders living on an island in Nagasaki harbour. Japan carried out this seclusion by prohibiting its citizens from leaving the country on penalty of death and by banishing any foreigners. The main reason behind this was to stop any external colonial or religious influences gaining power in Japan.

Tokugawa Ieyasu was responsible for creating the strict social structure that existed during Sakoku. He was from a wealthy Japanese family and part of the Tokugawa clan. In 1582 he was a powerful daimyo (regional governor) of five large provinces. Leyasu defeated the other most powerful daimyo, Hideyoshi, at the battle of Sekigahara in 1600 and established his control over Japan. In 1603, he set up the Edo Bakufu (the Tokugawa Shogunate) which was the new feudal government of Japan and formed the social structure during Sakoku. Leyasu was the shogun and so was the third highest ranking on the Tokugawa hierarchy system. The shogun was a military dictator and despite only ranking third in the hierarchy, held all the political power. The emperor was at the top of the system and acted as a figurehead, followed by the court nobility who had a major influence over culture, but both held little political influence. Below the shogun were the diamyo and then society, split into four groups. The samurai were the noble warrior class at the top and the merchants were at the bottom. All Japanese people were assigned into a social class according to their profession, which their children would in turn inherit. This hierarchy system was heavily enforced by the Tokugawa clan to eliminate any opposition and to solidify their control.

The introduction of the Tokugawa Shogunate resulted in a golden age of culture in Japan. Contradicting the social structure, Merchants prospered under the sakoku regime meaning they had substantial amounts of disposable income. This led to the rise of commoner culture as the money was invested in things other than basic needs like entertainment and art. It was popular with the peasants and even the much higher-ranking samurais. Kabuki was the most striking extravaganza. It is a dance-drama renowned for its glamourous costumes, lavish make-up, elaborate and engrossing plot lines, catchy music and vibrant sets and back-drop. Many of the population were Kabuki enthusiasts, absorbed in the dramatic stories. Kabuki performers often became celebrities with a huge fandom. Another well-liked form of theatre was the jôruri (puppet theatre) which was similarly dramatic and elaborate and was performed by skilled puppeteers. Literature also flourished in Sakoku. Popular fiction was much sought after, as were the more serious literary works. Matsuo Bashô, a Japanese poet from the Edo period, is famous for perfecting the haiku poem. His work was admired for elusively expressing feelings and emotion. One of his more popular poems reads: ‘An old pond, a frog leaps in, the water resounds.’ Furthermore, the Edo period forever changed Japanese culinary history and consequently has impacted the rest of the world.

An Edo street vender, Yohei, invented the concept of raw fish on small portions of vinegared rice, modernising the pre-existing sushi dish. This modification is now Japan’s most famous cuisine and is eaten all over the world.

Other unique Japanese cultural icons also came from this time such as the tea ceremony and sumo wrestling. And so, banishment of outside influences and the social policies of Ieyasu resulted in the development of this unique culture.

The Edo period is now thought of as period of economic prosperity and as the foundation for Japan’s financial growth. Sakoku was a lengthy period of stability and led to peace in Japan which helped its economy as there were fewer disruptions and no need to spend money on conflicts. Peace allowed farmers to focus on producing commercial crops such as cotton and silk and handicraft goods. To distribute these products, communications and transportation also developed, giving producers much larger markets and greater financial opportunities. With its policy of isolationism, Japan did not need to produce big ships for distant trade and instead used small ships for local coastal trade, which was key in the development of their economy. Another reason the Japanese economy boomed in Sakoku was because there were few goods that Japan wanted from the rest of the world and the world needed few goods from Japan. This meant that Japan did not have to rely on trade and isolationism did not negatively affect its economy. To ensure it had food security, agricultural productivity rose dramatically in the Edo period and technological innovation improved greatly. Therefore, 70

Japan was self-sufficient in food and subsequently flourished under the seclusion policy. However, sakoku was not pure isolationism. Some Dutch were not banished from Japan and stayed on an artificial island in Nagasaki harbour. There, they were permitted to have a small trading harbour where the Japanese and the Dutch could exchange goods under strict regulations. Improvements in medicine, military science and politics came from rangaku (Dutch learning), a by-product of this trading relationship. Japan also exchanged goods and ideas with China and Korea during sakoku. Japan’s farming practices were revolutionised through books from China. Later, the trade with China led to the development of Japan’s industry which propelled the Japanese economy forward after the isolationism ended. Sakoku meant a development in domestic trade in Japan and extremely limited good exchanges with select other countries.

The isolationism policy of Japan during the Edo period completely altered Japanese history. New leadership meant a complete reorganisation in the social structure of Japan and a change in politics. The lower classes thrived and their desire for entertainment led to a cultural golden age which has had a lasting impact on Japan today and, subsequently, the rest of the world. To maintain control, the leaders at the top of the social structure heavily enforced this hierarchy and because of their success, the Edo period was peaceful. The Japanese economy thrived under this peace and that was fundamental for Japan’s later economic development. So, it is clear that Sakoku’s legacy is reflected in modern-day Japan, signifying the great importance and impact of its policy of isolationism.

July 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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US Isolationism: selfish or selfless?

Mr W J Molyneux (CR, History Department) It is quite the irony that the term ‘isolation’ can refer to rather contrasting circumstances. The current limitations posed on our ability to make contact with our friends and family is certainly founded on the belief that isolating ourselves brings benefits to our whole society. That is to say, isolation keeps both you and me safe from the potential transmission of this deadly disease – bonum commune communitatis (common good of the community).

However, what is interesting is how removed this is from another type of isolation, one that many of you lucky enough to have had yours truly as a Remove History teacher will be fully aware of: American isolationist foreign policy. This mindset, that the United States should devote its efforts to its own advancement by isolating itself from world affairs is clearly grounded in the assumption that isolation makes me better at your expense – bonum commune hominis (common good of a man). So, how and why did America undertake this foreign policy approach?

‘In God We Trust’ became the motto of the United States in 1956, signed into law by then-President Dwight D. Eisenhower. Whilst there were many iterations of the county’s motto prior to this, Thomas Jefferson in his inauguration speech of 1801 sought: ‘commerce with all nations, alliances with none.’ This view followed firmly on from the principles laid out by America’s founding President, George Washington, who detailed in his final speech: ‘the great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign nations, is in extending our commercial relations, to have with them as little political connection as possible.’ It is here that we find potentially the first concrete advocacy for limiting the country’s involvement in foreign affairs. Whilst Jefferson defended the principle of international trade, hence supporting ‘commerce’, he argued that the country should prohibit itself from ‘entangling’ treaties with other states. In doing so, the Union could focus on its own political affairs, use its funds for its own internal economic interests, and avoid the inevitable engagement in European wars.

August 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Indeed, a fear of European wars lies at the heart of the American isolationist agenda. It is with little surprise that Washington and Jefferson each make reference to events over the pond when tabling their foreign policies. It is understandable why American leaders would render an interventionist approach with suspicion as events in Europe during this period took place, particularly surrounding the actions of one ‘petit corporal’.

The ‘Munroe Doctrine’, the namesake of the country’s fifth president, suggested ‘in the wars of the European powers, in matters relating to themselves, we have never taken part, nor does it comport with our policy, so to do.’

Munroe thus conformed to the line of his predecessors by suggesting that the United States would not interfere in any existing colonial protections of European states, nor seek to meddle in the internal affairs of those empires themselves. However, it is important to note that isolationism does not refer to an approach designed to inhibit all involvement beyond its frontiers; the presidency of James Monroe makes this very clear. During these early decades of the Union, its size more than doubled with the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, which meant its borders extended beyond the Mississippi River, and this set the tone of American domestic expansionism such that by 1846 the country was framed by both the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. The idea that America should look after its own cause at the expense of others was very much born.

Whilst the First World War never actually brought conflict to American shores, its involvement in the Allied effort symbolises, for many, the first departure from the policy of isolationism (its late entry into the war effort in 1917 has meant America has since always wanted to maintain its reputation as the ‘cool latecomer’).

However, this narrative of American participation as a departure from the Founding Fathers is not entirely correct. In fact, President Woodrow Wilson’s victorious re-election in 1916 was grounded in the slogan ‘he kept us out of war’ – symbolic of a man and people bent on isolating for their own benefit. Furthermore, America’s entry in the war was conditional on their role as an ‘associate’ member of the Triple Entente of Russia, France and Great Britain. Indeed, British foreign officer Eyre Crowe suggested ‘the Entente was not an alliance at all’ and thus a far cry from the ‘entangled’ alliance that Jefferson had been so averse to. A return to non-interventionism was consolidated at the conclusion of the war with the Senate’s rejection of the Versailles Settlement and thus America’s absence from the League of Nations and denunciation of the principle of ‘collective security’.

Washington and Jefferson would have been proud!

On the other hand, the Second World War marks a remarkable shift in the American attitude to its role in global affairs. In the run-up to the war, the America First Committee, which held significant popularity amongst people and politicians alike in opposing any form of entry into the conflict, and Congressional support for the Neutrality Acts in the late 1930s meant the country could not legally support any side in the matter. As such, American intervention following Pearl Harbour in both the Pacific and European spheres of the conflict has had long-lasting ramifications for American foreign policy. Indeed, following the war, New York City’s Franklin D. Roosevelt Drive became the birthplace of the United Nations and it was only two years until Harry S. Truman proclaimed the Truman Doctrine and the policy of ‘Containment’ wherein America would now force itself upon the world to defend and preserve its own interests.

America’s participation in conflicts in South-East Asia, Latin and South America, and the Middle East throughout the second half of the 20th century and into the 21st century serve only as a reminder as to how American foreign policy ambitions have shifted considerably since the country’s inception. However, there is no refuting the significance of isolationism on the American state. In recent years there have been several attempts to renew the policy of non-interventionism with Barack Obama’s denied support for intervention in Syria, and four years’ worth of ‘America First’ tweets. It will certainly be interesting to see how the American political landscape changes to accommodate the challenge afforded to it by China and Russia in the coming decades, and whether the United States will hark back to the days of selfish isolationism or continue its journey of global police force …

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Culture of Isolation in China Daisy Pank (MM L6) To understand the cultural isolation in modern-day China, we first need to understand its history. The Chinese Empire is regarded as one of the most advanced, inventive civilisations to date. The vast cultural and military success of the dynasties transformed Chinese culture, through the transformation and adoption of what they inherited. The dynasties saw China as the centre of the world, having no desire to be involved in global politics.

This was the core reason for the birth of China’s cultural isolation. The Age of Discovery (15th–19th centuries) marked the first encounter with European traders, and from this time the Chinese struggled with the inevitable challenges that came with having to deal with the fast-changing world around them. But isolationism, in many ways, has remained a characteristic of China, even in modern times. It was not the collapse of the dynasties and the emergence of a nation state which enhanced the cultural isolation, it was the Chinese perception of cultural supremacy which led to the isolation of China as we know it today.

The seclusion of China in terms of culture, trade and technology passed through to the 19th century fairly unobserved. However, in modern times it was enhanced through the Communist Revolution of the 1940s, reaching a climax in the Cultural Revolution of 1966–76. The revolution, led by former Chairman Mao Zedong of the CPC, was an attempt to rid the country of both capitalism and of its long-standing traditions. These traditions were the ancient values of Chinese culture. Mao wished for the country to embrace a new set of values and beliefs, which included the replacement of Confucianism with the adoption of Maoism. Life was contained to the borders until 1974, and with a closed economy until 1978. However, the need for a shift in focus on science, culture, and prosperity monitored by the Communists Party’s control on individuals came about. A new era in which the Chinese wanted to be more in touch with the modern world emerged.

However, there is a division. The older generation and rural Chinese still generally hold on to the old traditional values and culture. These include Confucianism, ‘filial piety’ and ‘guanxi.’ Confucianism refers to the philosophy in China that focuses on the importance of healthy interactions, promoting the idea that relationships are unequal. Therefore, as relationships are unequal, there is an aspect of filial piety, (孝顺) in which there is respect for one’s parents and elders.

There is also a sense of unity in Chinese culture. With new economic growth and the opening of borders, there was an influx of individualist ideas in terms of financial independence. However, the Chinese consider that national unity is essential for a functioning society, above all such individualist ideas.

One could argue a recent example of their national unity was the Chinese handling of the Covis-19 pandemic. All citizens in China were compliant with stern rules and measures and, as a result, life quickly returned back to a more controlled situation.

Another cultural idea which differs from Western values is guanxi (关系): relationships. The principle of guanxi commits everyone from family to friends and colleagues to assist each other, thus furthering the collective ideal. Whilst the cultural isolation of China does come down to the beliefs of collectivism as in the West and arguably in the rest of the world, there is a sense of individualism. With the unified culture comes trust in the government. An example being the Golden Shield Project (or the Great Firewall over China). The firewall is a censorship engine allowing the government to regulate the internet and protect its citizens from ‘dangerous content’.

The firewall has been managed by the Chinese Ministry of Public Security division since the late 1980s. This only isolates China further as access is denied to social platforms such as Google, Facebook, and YouTube. These platforms are designed to connect and educate people all over the world. They also allow for ideologies and beliefs to be shared, creating shifts in people’s lifestyle patterns and values. However, with the firewall present, the Chinese view of culture and history is heavily regulated, as the firewall is designed to preserve their national culture from any negative foreign influence. But indeed, this knowledge of Chinese history is inevitably skewed, as the firewall is based on heavy censorship. For instance, the 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre, in which a student-led pro-democracy protest produced an unknown but high death toll, does not exist on the Chinese internet browser, Baidu. So, this iron curtain can also be seen as part of a kind of confinement and a limit to freedom.

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Therefore, the cultural isolation and concept of collectivism allows for the government not only to shape the minds of its citizens, but also to prohibit content it deems unfit. In conclusion, whilst cultural isolation has conserved an ancient traditional culture from many kinds of foreign influence, it has also created a culture with restricted freedom.

July 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Apartheid: Isolation of Race Philippa Blossom (IH L6) In the language of Afrikaans, the word ‘apartheid’ literally translates to ‘apartness’. This was a period of South African history in the twentieth century that isolated half a nation based on the colour of their skin. A system was created to uphold segregationist policies against all non-white citizens in South Africa. White people were a racial minority in the country since the Dutch East India Company colonised the Cape of Good Hope in 1652 – yet by the mid-1900s, the racial minority were running the country. Though there had been tensions between the white and black communities in the past, and the second half of the twentieth century saw the segregation between the races legalised in all aspects of society.

White supremacy and racial segregation were the two main driving forces in the lead-up to apartheid.

After British parliament had passed the Act of Union in 1910, the four British colonies (Cape, Natal, Orange Free State, and Transvaal) became the Union of South Africa, and three years later, when the 1913 Land Act was approved (forcing black Africans to live in reserves and legislating against them working as sharecroppers), the territorial exclusion had already begun. This caused much controversy within the country and challengers of the Land Act would collaborate to form the South African Native Congress, which later progressed to become the African National Congress (ANC). World crises such as the Great Depression and Second World War also had a significant impact on the economic troubles of the country which reinforced racial segregation policies. In the aftermath of the Second World War, the all-white Afrikaner National Party won the general election in South Africa in 1948. Its slogan advertised ‘apartheid’, showing that a majority of the country’s population had indirectly voted for racial separation in their country. Not only was the aim of the new government to disconnect the nonwhite majority from the white minority, but also to divide the non-white communities further to reduce their political authority. These events marked the initiation of the South African apartheid.

The next stage of apartheid was to legalise the isolation of non-white races. The prohibition of marriage between a white person to a person of another race, and the illegalising of sexual relations between two different races in South Africa became the reality by 1950, under the Afrikaner National Party. The Population Registration Act of 1950 classified people by their race. There were three categories a person could fall under: Bantu (black Africans), Coloured (mixed race) or White. An Asian category was later enrolled too. As a result of this act, families were split up and, in some cases, children would effectively be left orphaned if they fell into the ‘Coloured’ category as their parents were black and white (so they too would be separated). White supremacy was also prominent via a succession of Land Acts, which allowed for more than 80% of the land for the white minority. Also, non-white people were obliged to carry documents to authorise themselves in restricted zones, overtly demonstrating discrimination against the majority, as white people were not forced to do the same. The government ensured the difficulty of contact between races and this was consolidated through the establishment of separate public facilities to accommodate the different communities. The disadvantages and inequality which non-white people faced was exacerbated by the limitations of placed on their labour unions and the rejection of non-white representation in national government. Therefore, via the law, it was becoming clear that the white population of South Africa was in a much more advantageous position than the rest of the population owing to the all-white government and strong objectives of white supremacy.

In 1958, Hendrik Verwoerd became Prime Minister of South Africa, with his main focus being to further improve apartheid policy and make it become more systematic: this was known as the ‘separate development’. He created the Promotion of Bantu Self-Government Act in 1959, which created 10 Bantu homelands (known as Bantustans) to additionally divide the black majority and weaken the probability of black unification against the government. In order to retain the black people’s political rights, they were split up and designated a Bantustan to remove them from the main political structure. This system forced black South Africans to leave their homes in the newly established ‘white’ zones. and their farmland in rural parts was sold on cheaply to white farmers.

This showed the authority that the government had to effectively reorder and redistribute the population of the country. Between 1961 and 1994, over 3.5 million people emigrated without choice to Bantustans in the areas less desirable to the white minority. Poverty and lack of proper formation of the black ‘homelands’ made it difficult for the inhabitants to prosper. On top of this, the government’s foreseeing of opposition against their 76

zoning of the country made their force weak and unimportant. Furthermore, this facilitated the white minority to become even more powerful and wealthy without interference from outside parties.

Unsurprisingly, there was much opposition to apartheid, and over the period, there was a variety of different forms of opposition. Though there were non-violent demonstrations, protests and strikes, these were not as effectual as armed resistance – although this clearly led to suffering and ended in punishment. In 1952, a meeting between the South African Indian National Congress and the ANC met and the attendees burnt their identity passes as a commitment to their determination to eradicate racial discrimination. They adopted a Freedom Charter in 1955 declaring that: South Africa belongs to all who live in it, black or white.

As a result, 150 people were arrested and charged with high treason. One of the first and most infamous demonstrations against apartheid happened in Sharpeville on the 21st March 1960. In response to the unarmed protests on this day by Pan-African Congress (PAC), the police opened fire on the demonstrators. This resulted in the killing of approximately 69 Africans and the wounding of more than 180 – despite the aims of the protest being peaceful. The Sharpeville massacre confirmed for anti-apartheid groups that more serious measures would have to be taken. Both the PAC and ANC built up military divisions, not to pose a serious military threat, but to symbolise the seriousness and passion that the anti-apartheid people felt about their cause. By 1961, the majority of the anti-apartheid group’s leaders had been imprisoned for life or executed after South Africa became a republic and left the Commonwealth. Most famously, Nelson Mandela, founder of the ‘Spear of the Nation’ (Umkhonto we Sizwe in Xhosa), the military wing of the ANC, was captured and sent to Robben Island in 1962 to serve his life sentence in prison. His imprisonment became well known across the anti-apartheid groups and people were becoming more inclined to support the movement. Even while Mandela was imprisoned, he was still determined to continue his fight and a letter from 10th June 1980 was smuggled by his followers from Robben Island and encouraged them to: UNITE! MOBILISE! FIGHT ON! BETWEEN THE ANVIL OF UNITED MASS ACTION AND THE HAMMER OF THE ARMED STRUGGLE WE SHALL CRUSH APARTHEID! Therefore, with the help from groups and individuals supporting the anti-apartheid movement, more support was raised for the cause, as they avidly spread awareness about the atrocities of apartheid.

The Soweto uprising of 1976 saw thousands of black children protesting against the introduction of the Bantu Education Act of 1953. The police once again opened fire with tear gas and bullets, leading to the death of over 176 innocent children and thousands more wounded. These protests and the consequent response from the government attracted international attention to the South African apartheid and it became clearer to the world that apartheid had not brought the peace and success that the government had preached. Subsequently, at the United Nations General Assembly in 1973 they criticised apartheid, and in 1976 the sale of weapons to South Africa was banned by the UN Security Council. Economic sanctions were further imposed on the country by the UK and the USA. To appease the international interest in the South African government (led by Pieter Botha), the pass laws (internal passport system) were abolished, and the ban of interracial marriage and sexual relations was lifted. However, due to the lack of radical change by Botha, in 1989, F.W. de Klerk became the new President of South Africa. Under his leadership, the Population Registration Act was ended as well as many other apartheid laws. De Klerk is also notable for his decision to free Nelson Mandela on 11th February 1990. Jointly, de Klerk and Mandela created a constitution to eliminate racial inequality, and it took effect in 1994. Elections in 1994 resulted in a coalition government (with a non-white majority) officially marking the end of apartheid system in South Africa. The result of these elections also revolutionised the role of black people in the government because Nelson Mandela became the first black president of South Africa.

Though apartheid came to an end, racial discrimination and white supremacy was still an issue and still is today. Not only South Africa struggled with racial inequality: it is also a global issue. America had a similar response to non-white isolation, and the Civil Rights Movement (1954–1968) was a response to it, just as the anti-apartheid movement was in South Africa. Isolation of race has been a struggle throughout the whole of 77

history and there has never been a permanent solution to it – even in modern society (although it has evidently vastly improved in many places). The Black Lives Matter movement of today highlights that the non-white population still receives prejudice and discrimination, demonstrating that it is still a prominent issue today. The unanswered question is: Will racial inequality and discrimination ever be solved permanently?

August 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Exploring Symbiotic Relationships Between Isolated Settlements and their Surrounding Landscape Samuel Elviss (B1 L6) In the light of our current global situation, most can now relate to the state of being ‘isolated’, and have developed a deeper understanding of its definition: ‘far away from other places, buildings, or people; remote’1 and thus, ‘having minimal contact with others’2. The principal aim of this article is to consider isolated settlements in the world and to try to discover any social, economic or environmental benefits residents are experiencing in their unique surrounding landscapes.

Remote societies are often surrounded by ecosystems and landscapes of significance and global exclusivity, which means the local community can reap tourism’s economic benefits. Cape York, in the most northern part of Australia, is a peninsula owned by five indigenous communities who manage its tourism industry3.

The remote area receives around 60,000 tourists annually, the Australian government having fostered The Cape York Peninsula and Torres Strait Tourism Action Plan (2008–2011), ‘an important initiative of the State Government’s AUD 48 million, 10-year Queensland Tourist Strategy4. This tourism policy was designed to take advantage of ‘Queensland’s unique natural and cultural assets’5. Naturally, tourism has great potential to provide job opportunities and increased income to indigenous families in a place where these are scarce. Similarly, the remote location of Easter Island’s 900 statues has approximately 7,750 residents. The economy of the region is hugely dependent on people coming from all round the world to visit the UNESCO World Heritage Site.

According to The New York Times, an estimated 100,000 people flock to the island each year and it is seen as the main business activity for the future. Tourism provides multiple positive effects on the local economy as visitors spend money in a stream of businesses, from accommodation to restaurants and travel. With ‘seven hotels and 37 residencies making up a capacity of 833 beds’ in 1997 6, it is clear how locals are making the most of the economic potential of these unique statues. Furthermore, Ittoqqortoormiit is a settlement in the Sermersooq municipality in eastern Greenland. ‘Its population is 345, as of 2020, with local hunters making a living from whale and polar bear hunting for generations, and it remains, up to the present, a significant cultural-economical factor in the area. Income is gained by trading flesh and by-products gathered by hunting families, although these options are seasonal and variable.’7 Also, the settlement is a destination for cruises carrying thousands of tourists wanting to visit to see the Northern Lights and other local natural wonders. Despite sea ice that blocks any ships from docking for nine months out of the year, the closest town in Greenland from Iceland has a steady stream of tourists annually. The locals of this isolated settlement are experiencing multiple economic benefits from businesses related to the surrounding distinctive biome.

In addition, locals of remote settlements may profit from the natural resources surrounding them in the often rare ecosystem, such as the soils. ‘The volcanic island of Tristan Da Cunha in the South Atlantic boasts a population of 358 people with only nine different last names’8. The fertile soils means that all Tristanians are farmers, with the long-existing agriculture enterprises being cattle, sheep, and potatoes, plus some vegetables and a little fruit. Volcanic soils are very rich in nutrients and hold water well because of their ash content. This has allowed generations of communities at this remote island to provide for themselves and to produce agricultural yield to sell as the main source of income for many. Coober Pedy, a town in northern South Australia, is known as the ‘opal capital of the world’. The opal gem was first discovered there in 1915, and the opal mining industry continues to sustain the small town of 3,500 people. There are over 70 opal fields, making it the largest opal mining area in the world, and the world’s largest and most expensive opal – valued at $2,500,000 in 1997, the ‘Olympic Australis’, weighing 17,000 carats, 11 inches long – comes from this remote settlement. This specific case study emphasises the extent of the economic gain that remote communities can experience as a result of the natural resource deposits from their biologically and geographically significant surrounding landscape.

Moreover, remote landscapes with their unique and globally significant landscapes may provide academic benefits on a worldwide scale. The Kerguelen Islands in the Indian Ocean are a part of the French Southern and Antarctic Lands. Coated by glaciers, the Kerguelen Islands receive rain, sleet or snow 300 days a year. However, there are residents, and these are mainly French researchers. The surrounding landscape has housed, since 1992, the French Centre National d’Etudes Spatiales (CNES), which has ‘operated a satellite and rocket tracking 79

station’9. The ‘French government required that it be located on French territory, rather than in a populated, but foreign, place like Australia or New Zealand.’10 This remote settlement, which was ideal due to its surrounding climate, is responsible for revolutionary academic advances regarding our understanding of space and space travel.

In addition, the Socotra Island located on Yemen’s Gulf of Aden, contains over 800 rare species of plants, a third of which can’t be found anywhere else in the world. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the island has 40,000 inhabitants. These plants could be key to the discovery of new medicines and have applications in a range of scientific fields. Considering that 40% of the drugs behind the pharmacists’ counters in the West are derived from plants, the potential significance of this remote landscape is vast.

Moreover, with a population of about 600, the Cocos Islands are home to the Cocos Malay people whose isolation has helped keep their traditional oral language and practices alive. The lack of contact with the outside world means the remote community has a unique and strongly independent cultural identity. The fact that there are over 2,000 languages in Africa highlights again the impact remoteness can have on the cultural identity of these isolated communities, affecting factors such as their language, their way of life and beliefs/religious practices.

To conclude, I believe there are numerous global locations which are clear examples of a remote population receiving either or both social and economic benefits from their associated surrounding landscape. However, I am conscious that there are many challenges that remote communities face as a result of their landscape and climate, such as accessibility, harsh weather and available resources.

Notes: 1 Oxford Languages, Definition of ‘Isolated’. Available from: https://languages.oup.com/google-dictionary-en/ (accessed on 31/01/20) 2 Oxford Languages, Definition of ‘Isolated’. Available from: https://languages.oup.com/google-dictionary-en/ (accessed on 31/01/20) 3 J. Lakritz, The 20 most isolated places on earth. (Insider, published January 16, 2019, 4:11 PM) Available from: https://www.insider.com/worlds-most-isolated-remote-places-2017-10 (accessed on 31/01/20) 4 Tourism Queensland and Queensland Government, The Cape York Peninsula & Torres Strait Tourism Development Action Plan 2008-2011. 1 Available from: https://teq.queensland.com/~/media/017F6CBF658140EFBD4AA34D378B4464.ashx (accessed on 31/01/21) 5 Tourism Queensland and Queensland Government, The Cape York Peninsula & Torres Strait Tourism Development Action Plan 2008-2011.

Available from: https://teq.queensland.com/~/media/017F6CBF658140EFBD4AA34D378B4464.ashx (accessed on 31/01/21) 6 Institute of island studies, Rapa Nui (Easter Island). (University of Prince Edward Island, copyright 2007).

Available from: http://islandstudies.com/files/2016/11/Rapa-Nui-Easter-Island.pdf (accessed on 02/02/21) 7 Wikipedia, Ittoqqortoormiit. (Page was last updated on 18 January 2021, at 02:00 (UTC)).

Available from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ittoqqortoormiit (accessed on 02/02/21) 8 J. Lakritz, The 20 most isolated places on earth. (Insider, published January 16, 2019, 4:11 PM) Available from: https://www.insider.com/worlds-most-isolated-remote-places-2017-10 (accessed on 31/01/20) 9 Wikipedia, Kerguelen Islands. (The page was last edited on 26 December 2020, at 21:13 (UTC)).

Available from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kerguelen_Islands (accessed on 31/01/21) 10 Wikipedia, Kerguelen Islands. (The page was last edited on 26 December 2020, at 21:13 (UTC)).

Available from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kerguelen_Islands (accessed on 31/01/21) Bibliography: Institute of island studies, Rapa Nui (Easter Island). (University of Prince Edward Island, copyright 2007).

Available from: http://islandstudies.com/files/2016/11/Rapa-Nui-Easter-Island.pdf (accessed on 02/02/21) Lakritz, J., The 20 most isolated places on earth. (Insider, published January 16, 2019, 4:11 PM) Available from: https://www.insider.com/worlds-most-isolated-remote-places-2017-10 (accessed on 31/01/20) Nelson, L., Pros and Cons of Rural living. (IXL Real Estate, Blog) Available from: https://www.livegulfshoreslocal.com/2017/01/26/pros-and-cons-of-rural-living/ (accessed on 31/01/21) Oxford Languages, Definition of ‘Isolated’.

Available from: https://languages.oup.com/google-dictionary-en/ (accessed on 31/01/20) Schömer, A., Geissler, H., Jokat, W. and Jegen, M., Seismicity in the Vicinity of the Tristan Da Cunha Hot Spot: Particular Plate Tectoics and Mantle Plume Presence. (First published on 13 December 2017).

Available from: https://agupubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1002/2017JB015017 (accessed on 02/02/21) Tourism Queensland and Queensland Government, The Cape York Peninsula & Torres Strait Tourism Development Action Plan 2008-2011.

Available from: https://teq.queensland.com/~/media/017F6CBF658140EFBD4AA34D378B4464.ashx (accessed on 31/01/21) Wikipedia, Ittoqqortoormiit. (Page was last updated on 18 January 2021, at 02:00 (UTC)).

Available from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ittoqqortoormiit (accessed on 02/02/21) Wikipedia, Kerguelen Islands. (The page was last edited on 26 December 2020, at 21:13 (UTC)).

Available from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kerguelen_Islands (accessed on 31/01/21)

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The Most Isolated Tribe in the World: the Sentinelese Edmund Pretor-Pinney (B1 L6) The most isolated group of people who inhabit our world today are the Sentinelese (or Sentinel people), an ancient tribe – one of the six that reside around the Andaman and Nicobar islands at the juncture of the Bay of Bengal and the Andaman Sea. The indigenous Sentinelese, secluded and shrouded on the North Sentinel Island, have been thought to have lived there for around 55,000 years, hunting and gathering in their own sustainable ecosystem. Unlike their Andamanese relations, the Sentinels adopt a hostile attitude towards any outside contact, killing anyone who tries to set foot on the island. This is in fact a wise approach, as British colonisation in the 18th and 19th centuries caused the spread of a common disease that wiped out their fellow Andamanese tribes who lacked immunity. With such a history of seclusion and isolation, contact with new diseases such as flu caused devastation. It seems logical and ethical, therefore, amidst the chaos of the untamed coronavirus and the horizon of a new age of pandemics, to keep these tribes protected and isolated away from our internationally integrated and expanding society.

The Sentinelese are often depicted as ‘Stone Age’ by the media; however, studies have found it incorrect to assume they have not changed their livelihood since ancient times. Like all peoples, their practices will have naturally adapted regularly; more recently, in the last 50 years or so they have taken to using metal that washes up from shipwrecks, or steel given to them by gift donors who went on frequent missions to make contact with the Sentinels. Although most of what we know today about these tribespeople is information gathered through observation from an arrow-shot distance in a boat or helicopter, some missions managed to make safe contact with them . . . just enough to hand over some coconuts.

Ultimately, the Sentinelese are hunter-gatherers, surviving off the food in their forests, or the fish in the rivers and coastal waters in close proximity to the island. Weapons such as bows and arrows, spears and daggers are reported to be carried by all the Sentinel men, and the women carry a small dagger in their waist belt.

Following the discovery of metal, they now use metal arrow and spear heads – made either from scrap metal or from materials gifted to them by the National Geographic Society in 1974. The NGS gifted a number of aluminium cookware products which, along with coconuts and bananas, the Sentinels seemed to enjoy.

Unlike their neighbouring tribes, the Sentinelese created their own unique canoes, propelled by a pole (like a punt), but barely wide enough to place two feet in side by side. The canoes are so narrow that they seem only be effective only in shallow water. What we can gather from a distance is that they reside in small provisional huts raised on four poles with an overhang of leaves for a roof. The Sentinelese also sleep on the ground, unlike some of their fellow tribes like the Onge, who sleep on raised platforms or ‘beds’. Their clothing is sparse, with only a few ornaments, necklaces or headbands; essentially, they are naked.

Likewise, we can also observe their physical nature, and research has decided their height is on average between 5ft 3in to 5ft 5in, with no signs of obesity, but prominent muscles and a skin colour that’s ‘dark, shining black’. Moreover, the Sentinelese language (due to its isolation) is unclassified, and reported to also have been unintelligible to similar tribes like the Jarawa. Therefore, the Sentinelese are presumed to have been totally isolated on their island for their whole history, besides the occasional visit since the British Empire’s first colonisation of the Andamanese tribes.

In the late 19th century, a British ‘Officer in Charge of the Andamanese’ named M.V. Portman, attempted to contact the Sentinelese. After a few days of searching abandoned villages, they took an elderly couple and some children back to Port Blair (the Andaman capital) with them, where all the captured were soon taken ill.

The elderly couple died, and subsequently Portman ordered the return of the children. Although unknown, it is probable that the children passed on the disease – the effect would have been tragic. There is some speculation therefore as to whether this is the reason for the tribe’s hostility towards outsiders; or perhaps that is merely territorial. Since 1970, the Indian Authorities have frequently attempted to hand over gifts to make contact, sometimes being viciously attacked, other times being welcomed. However, in 1996, the regular attempts were 81

halted on the groundings that perhaps the wisest decision would be to leave the Sentinels living healthily and contently as they had done for the past 55,000 years. Attempts made in a friendly manner towards the other Andamanese tribes had only resulted in numerous fatalities from disease, and so the consensus that sustained contact with the Sentinelese would bring about the same consequences was agreed.

Since the authorities ceased their missions, only two other recorded contacts have been made. In 2006, two Indian poachers were killed after their boat drifted ashore and, in 2018, an American man named John Allen Chau was reported to have been attacked and killed, for unknown reasons.

Ultimately, because of their seclusion, there is much fascination about their practices, their history, and their livelihood, but it’s because of their isolation that they are extremely vulnerable to a developed world. Now more than ever, with the problems our modern world faces - climate change, global warming, a pandemic – it is critical that we protect the vulnerable parts of our planet. In terms of tribes like the Sentinelese, the best way to protect them is through our absence.

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PART 4: ARTISTS AND WRITERS ISOLATED

September 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Locked Down versus Locked In Mr T A Kiggell (CR, Modern Languages Department) Lockdown is hard. Time runs differently. You are less free. The sights & sounds that kept your intellect and your imagination ticking over are gone. Claustrophobia sets in, an ennui takes hold. With less human company, less human contact, you feel, well, less human. And simmering underneath is the injustice of it all: what did you do wrong to have to live like this? Dealing with this poses a challenge to everyone, especially those of us who have chosen to live and work in an environment which places such an emphasis on community.

If you’re finding it hard to be locked down, just give thanks you’re not locked in. Locked-in Syndrome was the condition that struck Jean-Dominique Bauby out of the blue in December 1995. He was a happy and successful man with two children and a glamorous life as editor-in chief of Elle magazine. At the age of 43, however, with no hint of warning and nothing to cause concern in his medical history, he suffered a gigantic seizure. When he came out of his coma 20 days later, he found himself unable to feel or move his arms, his legs or his mouth, though his mind was unaffected. Physically, he was trapped, paralyzed – except for a bit of movement in his neck and the ability to blink one eye. But his mind was intact, his intelligence and his imagination were undimmed and free to fly.

It is hard to imagine the acute torture that this must have been for Bauby. Here was a man of dynamism and panache who savoured the good things in life. He enjoyed a rich inner life as well as a busy, vivid and successful professional existence. All the pleasures he had enjoyed were now, through no fault of his own, out of reach. Fear, loss, injustice, despair, resentment – all these emotions and more must have assaulted him daily as he surveyed his past and present life.

Bauby’s response was remarkable. He decided to write his memoir, dictated by blinking. He lay awake composing each sentence in his head, then each paragraph, then each chapter; when the therapist arrived, she would transcribe his text. It was, as you can imagine, painstakingly slow; but the result is a frank, painful, funny and moving read. He addresses his loved ones, remembers his parents, describes intense sensations, memorable meals; he recalls spectacular outings and professional disasters. He gives us the grisly routine of those in a hospital bed with a tube in their throat. As he considers his fellow patients, his visitors, parenthood, work, love, God . . . his text is rich with references and allusions – to mythology, significant places, historical figures, books, philosophers, musicians – the rich inner life of an intelligent and cultured man. Reading the tale of his day at the races when he failed to get to the bookie in time with his mates’ pile of money, only to see the horse romp home, you howl with laughter. When he describes watching his children on their Father’s Day visit, running around his wheelchair on the beach in the sun, you feel his pain.

To write beautifully, movingly, wittily… this is a feat in itself. To compose it all in his head, sentence by sentence, and hold it in his memory, and dictate it the way he did – what an inspiration! Those who feel that the coronavirus lockdown is eroding their humanity can and must be strengthened by Bauby’s feat. Denied so much of what made him human, he nonetheless achieved an almost superhuman feat. Here we are with more time on our hands than we are usually granted, and yet often it feels like a burden; Jean-Dominique Bauby, also granted all the time in the world, but unable to do anything with it except think, turned this into a blessing. Perhaps, if we have the imagination, so can we?

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The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, published 7th March 1997. Jean Dominique Bauby, died 9th March 1997.

The book is available in French and in English in the Mem Library, as is the brilliant 2007 film version. www.Listal.com Image via commons.wikimedia.org

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(C)Ovid and Isolation Mr J F Lloyd (CR, Head of Classics) Covid-19 has raised many fascinating questions about our ability to cope with isolation. Throughout history writers, artists and composers have actively sought isolation and withdrawn themselves from the bustle of civilisation to improve their creative powers, while some have been forced into such circumstances against their will. The differing reactions to adversity pose questions about the ideal conditions for creativity, and the ancient world provides one such example. In ad 8 the Roman poet Ovid was sent into exile for offending the emperor Augustus. There was no trial in the Senate or in a court. He was simply banished by imperial decree to Tomis (modern Constanta in Romania), a backwater on the Black sea, where he lived the rest of his days in isolation and misery far from civilisation.

Writing poetry in the reign of Augustus (27 bc to ad 14) was something of a balancing act. Horace and Virgil received the patronage of Maecenas, a wealthy friend of the emperor, because their poetry was a powerful tool of propaganda for a ruler who wanted to restore the mos maiorum (‘custom of our ancestors’) after the upheaval of civil war. In his epic poem the Aeneid Virgil creates a hero (Aeneas) who embodies the ideals which had guided Romans to greatness in the past, and could do so once more. Virgil found ways to glorify Rome and its ruler without descending into mere sycophancy, most notably by eliciting sympathy for those who are the victims of the Roman juggernaut, but many scholars still find that his praise of Augustus, however oblique, sits uneasily with their ideal of unfettered poetic creativity.

Ovid was nearly 30 years younger than Virgil and the leading poet of Rome at the time of his banishment, but his relationship with the establishment was more problematic. Though the precise nature of Ovid’s offence against Augustus remains a mystery, he refers to two causes: carmen (a poem, his Ars Amatoria) and error (an indiscretion, possibly a scandal involving the imperial household). The Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love), published around 1 bc, had become a long-standing thorn in Augustus’ side. It is a didactic poem instructing the reader in the arts of courtship and erotic intrigue. Whereas in Ovid’s earlier Amores (Loves) the reader was observing the poet’s love affairs, now the roles were reversed, and the poet was encouraging the reader’s love affairs. It was the didactic and irreverent nature of the work rather than any erotic content per se, that made it morally subversive in the eyes of Augustus. When the poet was exiled to Tomis, the Ars was removed from public libraries and placed under a ban.

Ovid left his wife behind in Rome to work for an imperial pardon, but they were never reunited. While in Tomis he wrote two books of poems, the Tristia (Sorrows) and Epistulae ex Ponto (Letters from the Black Sea) which paint a bleak picture of life far removed from the bustling metropolis of the Roman empire. The inhabitants were half-breed Greeks and full-blooded barbarians. They dressed in skins, wore their hair and beards long, and walked around armed. Some spoke a hybrid Greek, but Latin was rarely heard, so Ovid was forced to learn the local languages, even writing a poem in Getic. The area around Tomis was flat and treeless, and winters were harsh, with the Danube icing over. Wine would freeze in the jar and be served in broken pieces, and there was the constant threat of raids by wild tribes across the Danube. It was like some frontier town in the Wild West.

Ovid was not cut out for the tough life. The most strenuous activity he had enjoyed in Rome was gardening, which was impossible in exile. For Ovid, separation from his family and from the cultural centre of the Roman world was the aching void which he tried to fill with his poems, which he dispatched (along with letters which do not survive) to maintain contact with the home he had lost. Of course, he has an agenda, to elicit sympathy from those (including the emperor) who might take pity on his plight, but his sufferings were real enough, and no amount of technical virtuosity in his verse can conceal the gradual erosion of his spirit, as the barren and icy landscape becomes a metaphor for his own frozen creativity.

Ovid died in Tomis in ad 17 and would go on to enjoy a flourishing afterlife. His mythological masterpiece Metamorphoses was among the greatest influences on Western art and culture, including the poetry of Shakespeare, while his poems of exile would provide a major inspiration to Alexander Pushkin, the founding father of Russian literature. In 1820 the young Pushkin had allied himself to the radical movement opposed 86

to Tsar Alexander 1st and he was forced to leave the capital for an itinerant exile in the Caucasus and Crimea, eventually settling in Chisinau, Bessarabia (modern Kishinev in the republic of Moldova). Although Chisinau is some 200 miles north of Constanta, Pushkin identifies Ovid’s place of exile with his own, deliberately so as he was contemplating his own legacy and poetic mission. However, in a surprising twist Pushkin berates Ovid for compromising his poetic integrity by flattering Augustus. He writes in one poem And I don’t, blinded by hope, sing to Octavius my plights of flattery. Conscious that he was writing at the beginning of his poetic career, the 22-yearold Pushkin has little sympathy for the 51-year-old Ovid who has gained poetic immortality. For Pushkin, exile is not a poetic death but a resurrection, a cleansing moment, an opportunity for a new beginning and more importantly for the assertion of his freedom.

A century later the poet Osip Mandelshtam, who was born in 1891 in Warsaw to a Polish-Jewish family, had spent his formative years in St Petersburg. Exiled to the Crimea by war and events of the Russian revolution, he would provide a further twist in the tale of Ovidian exile and creativity. Mandelshtam regarded St Petersburg as his ‘paradise lost’ and in his early book of poems (also called Tristia) he equated the city with ancient Rome as a centre of culture and of cultural nostalgia. In one poem he takes on the voice of Ovid and offers a far more positive and joyous interpretation of the poet’s exile: Let my sorrow be lucid in old age: I was born in Rome, and Rome returned to me; The autumn was my kind she-wolf And Caesar’s month, August, smiled at me.

Old age had come to the poet who was banished from the city of his youth, but the autumn of his life had been transformed into a nourishing she-wolf. More startlingly, the poet did not return to his beloved city; it was the city that returned to him. In this way the poet ultimately triumphs over his fate because the ruler cannot truly banish the poet from the city that defines him.

September 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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How Did Exile and Isolation Affect Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy’?

Maximilian Woodford (SU Hu) Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, Ché la diritta via era smarrita.

(Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost.)

Even in the first tercet of Dante’s Commedia there is a clear sense of being lost. This reflects Dante’s own experience of exile from his home city and the isolation that followed.

Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) was a Florentine author, poet and philosopher. He is most famous for writing the Divine Comedy which is often considered the greatest piece of Italian literature. Dante is widely credited for the unification of many Italian dialects, which form the basis of modern Italian; he is often put in the same bracket as writers such as Shakespeare and Virgil. Born to a middle-class family, Dante is believed to have been educated rigorously by his guardian, Brunetto Latini, following the death of his father. He learned to read and write Latin and Italian (a far more distinguishing feat than it would be today) and began writing poetry in his teenage years. His early poems, although not as long as The Divine Comedy, were held in high regard by many academics in Florence.

His most famous other work is called La Vita Nuova (The New Life) – this was written solely about his feelings for Beatrice, a prominent character in the Divine Comedy. She is his prize when he reaches ‘Paradise’.

During Dante’s life, two main factions dominated Florence - the Guelphs and the Ghibellines. The Guelphs supported the papacy, and the Ghibellines supported the Holy Roman Emperor; Dante was a Guelph. However, he was a white Guelph (as opposed to a black Guelph): his group were seen to be unfaithful to the papacy and therefore many of their important figures were exiled from Florence. Dante had been travelling for about six months to Rome, and discovered upon his return in March of 1302 that he was not allowed back into Florence.

He spent the following 15 years travelling Italy alone, and his wife and children lived in Rome. He eventually settled in Ravenna, an important coastal town in the east of Italy.

The 15 years Dante spent in exile, isolated, were fundamental to the creation of the Divine Comedy. One way in which this affected the poem is through the feeling of being lost, and wandering without purpose. His personal experience is reflected by the journey through the afterlife, and it doubtless helped him to convey the harshness of a journey without a known direction or end point. The feeling of discovery is also a prominent feature in both the poem and his real life. Both are physical and mental journeys. Dante’s exile allowed him to seamlessly present emotions of a man who is quite literally being guided through Hell, Purgatory and Heaven.

The epic format of the poem, and his voyage through the afterlife mean that inevitably comparisons are often drawn between Dante and Virgil. Virgil leads Dante through Hell and teaches him about the nature and complex system of justice there (he cannot enter Heaven as he was born before Christ). The way in which Dante, the poet, characterises Virgil suggests that he is the best a person can be without Christ. Virgil’s most famous work is the Aeneid. The main character in this is Aeneas, who was exiled from Troy. Dante, who is the protagonist of his own work is able to compare himself with Aeneas more credibly through his exile. It is thought that the exile of Aeneas is what brought about Dante’s choice of Virgil as his guide. Somehow Dante believes that his exile can make his own story more tragic and therefore heroic, like that of a Greek hero.

Dante’s exile gives him a wider perspective of mankind in general. He is able to meet a broader range of characters during his exile, rather than just the people of his class in Florence. This meant that he had more inspiration for the types of individuals who went to Hell, Purgatory and Heaven. Without Dante’s exile it is possible that his writing and characterisation would be shallower, because he would have had no idea what an Italian peasant was really like. This again meant that his writing was more credible and unbiased.

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A final interesting observation is the time and place in which Dante wrote each part of the Divine Comedy.

The first third, Inferno (‘Hell’) was written in his early exile, where he must have had feelings of resentment especially towards the people of Florence, the city of his birth, that had betrayed him. This feeling is clear, as in the poem 30 Florentines are in Hell, and there are only two in Heaven. This frustration and his resentment at travelling endlessly and being unable to return there would have been agonising. The second part, Purgatorio (‘Purgatory’), was written roughly seven years after his exile had started. By this time Dante would have been used to travelling with no final destination. This mirrors the feelings of this part. Purgatory is the middle. It is described as in interim state, as its occupants work to atone for their sins on earth in the hope of being elevated to Heaven. It can thus be seen as like the aimless period of the author’s life when he was constantly on the move. And finally, when Dante settles in Ravenna, he writes the last third, Paradiso (‘Paradise’). It is no coincidence that the final canticle, Paradise, is written once he is firmly established in Ravenna.

Dante’s exile gave him the inspiration required to write this masterpiece that is unrivalled in the history of Italian literature. The emotions he felt were poured into the story along with the knowledge he built of people and language. I thoroughly believe that without his exile, Dante would not have had the ‘fuel’ to create the vivid descriptions, nor the vast knowledge to make the piece authentic.

I chose to write about Dante Alighieri because 2021 marks the 700th anniversary of his death. I think it is ridiculous that recently one of his descendants announced his plan to challenge the original sentence banishing him from the city of Florence. For without this judgement the Divine Comedy would never have been written.

October 2020 by E.F.J. Twohig

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Female Authors of the 19th Century ‘Locked Down’ under Male Pseudonyms Zara Blakey (MO L6) For centuries, artists have been using pseudonyms to conceal their true identities. Their motives for doing so can vary tremendously: today, many writers use pen names not wanting to reveal to their colleagues or friends that they write a particular genre, or to protect their work from being scrutinised. When Agatha Christie decided to pursue romance novels, she adopted the name Mary Westmacott, in order to distance herself from the expectations of the fan base for her murder mysteries. Similarly, Stephen King wanted to publish more than one book a year, the amount limited by his publishing agency, and so created the pseudonym Richard Bachman to prevent the King brand from becoming saturated. However, there are undoubtedly many disadvantages to using pseudonyms, as artists can become isolated from their own fame and fortune. In order to explore this theme of isolation when considering the notion of pseudonyms, I have chosen to focus on two female authors of the romantic era who used male pseudonyms to publish their work.

The name George Eliot is one that most will have encountered before; Eliot was one of the greatest authors of the Victorian novel, the aim of which was to explore as richly as possible the raw material of ordinary human life. However, what is often not acknowledged, is that this was simply a pen name. Born Mary Ann Evans in 1819 in Warwickshire England, she published her first work of fiction in 1858, Scenes of Clerical Life, under her male pseudonym. Comparable to Eliot in many ways, French author Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin was born in Paris 15 years prior to Eliot, but likewise rose to fame under the pseudonym George Sand. She represented the epitome of French romantic idealism in the setting of 19th century pastoral life and became notorious for her many love affairs with famous men such as dramatist Alfred de Musset and composer Frédéric Chopin. However, as I will discuss later, she found herself isolated within these very relationships. Sand also presented unconventional iconoclasm to the whole of Europe - a notion which is extremely relevant to the topic of ‘lockdown’, as it is the social belief in breaking icons, or in her case, breaking free of the social norms of her time.

October 2020 by E.F.J. Twohig

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It would seem natural to compare the Victorian novelist with the French Romantic writer since they both lived in the same era, which provided the inspiration from which much of their work stemmed. Exploring interrelations between them leads to wide discussion of their similar yet contrasting views of society: Sand was an eternal Romantic and would often dream of revolutionising society, whereas Eliot was a more rigid intellectual, a realist burdened by moral problems. Through their many differences, there was one issue which interested them both immensely - the role of women in society.

The traditional role of the sexes was deeply influenced by the social, political and economic changes of the 19th century, and the new middle class believed that a woman’s place was at home. Her education must prepare her primarily to become a wife and a mother, whilst literature was believed exclusively to be the business of men. It was therefore evident that the best way for women to avoid the female literature stereotype was to use a male pseudonym. Sand hated being known as a ‘femme auteur’ and even addressed herself as a ‘romancier’ in the masculine form. In a letter written in 1832, she said: ‘Ne m’appelez plus jamais femme auteur, ou je vous fais avaler mes cinq volumes et vous ne vous en relèverez jamais. Ne m’affublez pas de ridicules que je fuis, que j’évite et que je ne crois pas mériter.’ 1 (Don’t ever call me a woman author again or I’ll make you swallow my five volumes and you’ll never recover. Don’t call me ridiculous names that I flee, that I avoid and don’t think I deserve.) Furthermore, in her autobiography, she mentions that her own grandmother was opposed to having her granddaughter’s name in print and advised her to raise her children not to write novels. This is a clear example of being socially ‘locked down’ within the gender norms at that time, since being female was synonymous with writing second-rate literature.

Both authors’ novels tackle the problem from slightly different angles because Sand was more outspoken than Eliot: Sand outwardly expressed her resentment towards the prevailing social order, arguing above all against the marriage laws. She had many manly habits, such as smoking cigars and dressing in suits which were extremely provocative at a time when women were thought to be docile and feminine. This is a clear example of Sand’s attempt to defy the female stereotype; and due to the success of her novels and her immense talent, she won the respect and the admiration of the most famous intellectuals of her time and was treated as an equal with her fellow male writers. This consequently gave her the power to challenge the traditional conception of the sexes.

This contrasts with Eliot who was more implicit in her protests and insisted on creating opportunities for women through education. However, on the whole they both agreed about the fundamental notions concerning the rights of women. They both attempted to disprove the argument of nature, which declared that the sexes were far apart, and women were intellectually inferior. In many ways, Sand was Eliot’s predecessor since Eliot was one of the first female writers to openly critique another woman’s literary works. Her articles pay great homage to Sand and she persuaded many other to follow her example. Through common ground such as this, they seem to unite and bond. Many of their novels have messages which encourage women to be more expressive in their art, not to isolate themselves from their full potential; to break free of this ‘lockdown’ imposed upon females.

Exploring Sand’s love affairs in the real world is also relevant to the theme of isolation and lockdown. At 18 she was married to Baron Casimir Dudevant and had two children. Profoundly unhappy in the marriage, she left her husband 10 years later and began writing out of financial necessity in Paris in 1832. Her first independent novel, Indiana (1832) tells the story of an unhappy wife who struggles to free herself from the imprisonment of marriage, explicitly called a form of slavery. Her ensuing novels, such as Valentine and, most notably, Lelia, shocked the public with her candid exploration of women’s sexual feelings. Through these novels, we can see Sand refuting the idea of women being isolated emotionally as she calls for women’s freedom to find emotional satisfaction.

However, the utilisation of pseudonyms did not come without its drawbacks. In 1857, when Charles Dickens wrote a letter to Eliot expressing his doubts about her gender, she reluctantly maintained the male mask in her reply. This was undoubtedly in part due to the sexism that women writers of the 19th century would have faced, and is an example of how Victorian misogyny caused female artists to remain isolated from their own fame and fortune, not receiving the full recognition of their own true identities.

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Isolation in ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ Francesca Strand (SU L6) The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman is renowned as an important piece of early feminist literature, with Gilman paving the way for future influential feminist writers such as Sylvia Plath and Alice Walker. Initially published in 1892 in The New England Magazine, this semi-autobiographical short story touches upon the challenges of being a woman in the 19th century, with a sharp focus on the attitudes towards the physical and mental health of women at the time. During this period, society was heavily dominated by men, with women being viewed as weak and fragile; Gilman aimed to challenge this idea not only through the piece of literature itself, but the act of writing it too. Gilman explained that the true purpose of writing the story was to reach Dr S. Weir Mitchell, a well-known specialist physician, and convince him of his error: he had prescribed Gilman a similar treatment of isolation to the one depicted in her work, where she was forbidden from using a pen, pencil, or brush, and was only permitted two hours of mental stimulation a day. Thus, through writing this piece, she actively challenged her diagnosis and poor treatment.

The story depicts an unnamed woman, who is prescribed a ‘rest cure’ for what her physician husband describes as being a ‘temporary nervous depression – a slight hysterical tendency’, which is now understood to be post-natal depression. In an attempt to cure her of this illness, she is isolated in a nursery with a hideous yellow wallpaper – which becomes symbolic of her descent into a state of insanity. Without a creative outlet or sufficient social interaction, the narrator’s mental state gradually deteriorates. This is ultimately demonstrated by the haunting imagery of the wallpaper – as she describes how the women are ‘creeping about behind that pattern’, expressing her wish to escape from the room. The story concludes quite ambiguously, as her husband comes to her room to visit, and upon opening the door he faints, and the narrator makes her escape. However, it’s difficult to decide whether she escaped and achieved freedom from her isolation, or if she finally collapsed into a state of madness.

Regarding the current situation that the world is facing, I feel as though this story is particularly pertinent.

It clearly demonstrates the detrimental impact of isolation upon mental health – a growing issue – as many people face solitude due to imposed restrictions. Furthermore, Gilman discusses the suppression of female voices, since women of the time who displayed ambition were viewed as putting themselves at risk of mental illness. Whilst we have generally progressed from these oppressive ideas, it is clear that there is still necessary work to do on a global scale. However, regardless of present circumstances, this piece of literature is essential in illustrating the trials and tribulations that women of the 19th century faced. Thus, to hold a positive outlook, The Yellow Wallpaper highlights the progress made within modern society, as these views are now widely rejected.

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Frida Kahlo: how isolation affected her art Madeleine Hornby (MM L6) Frida Kahlo was a Mexican artist from the early 20th century. She was most famous for her self-portraits, portraits and works inspired by Mexican culture. Frida was confined to her bed through illness for most of her childhood.

Kahlo was born in Coyoacán, Mexico City, in 1907. Her father, Wilhelm, was a photographer and amateur painter. Her father was a German immigrant, and her mother was half Amerindian and half Spanish. Frida had two older sisters and one younger. In 1922, she enrolled at the National Preparatory School, where she was one of the only 35 female students. Frida soon became well known for her outspokenness and bravery. At the National Preparatory School, she met her husband, Diego Riviera, the famous muralist. He was working on a mural called The Creation on the school campus. In 1928, she met Riviera again, and the next year they were married. For most of their marriage, they were separated and never had children, and this destroyed Frida.

Much of her artwork depicts the pain and loneliness she experienced throughout her life.

When she was only six, she contracted polio and was bedridden for nine months. Then in 1925, when she was only 18, she was involved in a terrible accident.

She and her friend, Alejandro Gómez Arias, were travelling together on a bus when a vehicle collided with the bus. A street handrail went through her hip; she suffered several severe injuries to her pelvis and spine. As a result, she was bedridden again. After spending weeks in the hospital, she returned home to her father to recover. To pass the time, she took up painting. She initially borrowed paints and brushes from her father, and he made her an easel which could be used from her bed, and fixed a mirror above her bed so that she could paint portraits of herself as she lay in her bed flat with her body wrapped in plaster. In the last couple of years of her life, she was bedridden again. In 1950, after being diagnosed with gangrene in her right foot, and she spent nine months in hospital. Even during this time, she continued to paint. Then in 1953, her right leg was amputated to stop the spread of the disease. Of the 143 paintings Kahlo created in her short career, 55 of them were self-portraits. Frida painted herself so often because, for such a long time, she was alone, and therefore painting herself became the only subject she was really confident with.

Many of Kahlo’s paintings reference the pain and isolation that she experienced. Over the next 20 years of her career, she depicted the frailty of the human body and decay with haunting poignancy. Kahlo’s Broken Column was painted shortly after she underwent spinal surgery, following her tragic accident when she was 18. She depicts herself bound and constrained by a cage-like brace around her body. A chunk of missing skin violates the integrity of her body, exposing her. Metal nails pierce her face and all over her body — tears stream down her face. Placed in a barren landscape, she is exposed in more ways than one. The emotional intensity that we experience when looking at this is what distinguishes her work. She dealt with her reality in her paintings, depicting the pain and isolation she shared her whole life. She is one of the most striking and extreme examples of an artist responding to isolation.

Picture: https://www.dailyartmagazine.com/broken-column-frida-kahlo/

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Isolation: a unique form of artistic liberation Isabel Raper (IH L6) Over the last year, much of the world has ground to a halt. We have all drifted between national lockdowns, enduring periodic episodes of self-isolation, forever two metres apart from everyone but those we live with. We connected with one another whilst either shielded by a mask or the screen of a laptop. For a species in which social interaction is woven into the very fabric of our existence, the last year has been an extraordinary test of the limitations of the human psyche when separated from its counterparts. We learnt to live as solitary creatures, not by choice or habit, but by force.

Everyone has had it hard, but our creative industries thrive on the interaction between creators and audience, and Covid-19 posed a completely unforeseen threat to that relationship. Theatres and art galleries were among the first to close back in March last year, and the arts have taken hit after hit since then. It’s been hard to watch as exhibitions have been cancelled, galleries boarded up and theatres have gone dark. Until we emerge from some form of final national lockdown, it will be hard to truly gauge the long-term damage that Covid-19 has caused to the arts.

For millions of creatives, the onus was on them to adapt their creative process to working in a way that they had never had to before. Of course, alongside the technical difficulties of trying to create in their homes, the true struggle was finding creative stimulus. We all understand too well how monotonous lockdown life can be, and so trying to find sources of inspiration is an ongoing battle.

However, perhaps there is room for optimism. I wanted to explore whether any artists had also worked through periods of isolation in the past, to see if perhaps there was anything to take away from their experiences to give us some hope.

The process of isolation is one that most of us encounter, to varying degrees, at some point in our lives – maybe it’s about how we react. Van Gogh was put into isolation in the asylum of Saint-Paule-de-Mausole in 1889 for just under a year after mutilating his ear. In his younger years, Van Gogh spent much time travelling between France, London and Amsterdam. While confronted by the disapproval of his career choice from his parents, Van Gogh remained a liberated spirit, roaming around Europe seeking inspiration as well as exploring his faith. Living in vibrant cities, he was inspired by the work of his impressionist contemporaries. After a number of years, he moved back to the south of France and spent time with fellow artist, Gauguin.

However, Van Gogh was plagued by a range of psychiatric illnesses throughout his life: whilst the diagnosis is unknown it is thought he suffered from bipolar disorder. The true deterioration of his mental health began after he cut off his own ear following a heated row with Gauguin. Having been voluntarily hospitalised after multiple manic episodes, Van Gogh spent a year in a psychiatric unit. Entirely disconnected from the outside artistic community, it was thought the artist’s health began to improve as he spent much time outdoors painting. He did, however, begin to grow tired of his isolation, his health too began to worsen and he became increasingly unstable.

And yet, this period of solitude at Saint-Paule-de-Mausole facilitated an extraordinary growth in Van Gogh as a painter. Separated from the frantic art circles of Paris, he turned into himself, exploring new styles of painting. In a letter to his sister he wrote (of his isolation), ‘sometimes was hard to bear as exile’ but it was crucial ‘if we want to work.’

It is thought that while in isolation, Van Gogh painted around 150 paintings, and it is here we begin to see that style of painting so unique to Van Gogh emerge. His use of colour, his idiosyncratic bold and unconventional mark-making. By being freed from the confines of the artistic groups he used to circulate between, Van Gogh produced some of his most notable pieces: A Starry Night, The Olive Trees and Hospital in Saint-Remy. Confined to the garden of the hospital, he became entranced by nature and through often long periods of undisturbed painting, the Van Gogh the world grew to love began to reveal himself.

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Nonetheless, while this period of isolation was transformative for Van Gogh as a painter, the same cannot be said of him as a person. A few days ahead of his departure from Saint-Paule- de-Mausole, he wrote in a letter to his brother, ‘To sacrifice one’s freedom, to stand outside society and to have only one’s work, without distraction… it’s beginning to weigh too heavily upon me here’. This was a forewarning, it would appear, of what would be Van Gogh’s tragic end only a few weeks later when he took his own life. Perhaps the true tragedy of Van Gogh is the critical acclaim his work received posthumously. He spent his last years in anguish - his work unrecognised and forgotten, or so he thought. It would be naïve to say that Van Gogh found peace in his solitude which led him to create such extraordinary art, but there is no doubt that the time he spent in isolation was instrumental in forming his identity as one of the most celebrated artists in history.

Van Gogh wasn’t the only artist to produce some of his most notable art while in a psychiatric facility. In fact, this seems to be a somewhat recurring theme. Yayoi Kusama is a Japanese artist born in Matsumoto. She lived a lonely childhood, frequently troubled by her parent’s heated arguments. From an early age, she suffered from psychological disorders including obsessive compulsive disorder and hallucinations. From her solitary childhood, Kusama developed a kind of affinity to isolation, or maybe rather a phobia of social interaction.

Either way, Kusama felt displaced in society, and the romance of human connection didn’t have the same allure for her. Instead, to cope with her somewhat self-imposed loneliness, she turned to art. Kusama draws her artistic inspiration from an extraordinary variety of sources. From her exploration of the fusion of culture in 1950s New York where she had moved to, to the psychedelic hallucinations she had as a child, Kusama’s work was unlike any seen before in her time.

However, after much success through the 50s and 60s, in the 70s Kusama moved back home to Japan where in the space of two years she lost both her lover and her father. Her hallucinations and mania began to plague her again and eventually she voluntarily hospitalised herself in 1977. At the psychiatric facility, Kusama was able to take up art therapy courses and ever since her hospitalisation she has never looked back.

Nowadays she sleeps in her room at the facility and spends her days painting in her studio very near the hospital. She lives her life as a solitary figure, one might argue she has come full circle from childhood loneliness to a form of voluntary isolation in her later years. Kusama is able to fully focus on her art, she doesn’t have to worry about living arrangements or cooking, instead she can put everything into her painting.

Some might argue that the success of Kusama’s art is her unique style – and yet her style is a product of the extraordinary psychological challenges she has encountered throughout her life. Furthermore, her art emerged from her loneliness, her style emerging from spending long periods of her childhood alone. And so, perhaps it is unsurprising that years later she chose to immerse herself in solitude all over again, finding freedom in a habit that had confined her for so long.

Of course, there are artists who choose to work in isolation not because of psychiatric disorders but because they feel it simply encourages their work. Louise Bourgeois is an example.

Louise Bourgeois was an iconic American-French artist of the 20th century. Throughout her career Bourgeois has explored a vast array of media, from printmaking to painting to sculpting. Along with her choice of media, she also explored a variety of themes within her art. Fascinated by the relatively newly emerging field of psychoanalysis, much of Bourgeois’s art explored the human figure as well as looking more introspectively and studying the human psyche. Later in her career she became renowned for her huge (and rather terrifying) sculptures of spiders. She played with scale and abstraction and throughout her artistic life her art grew more and more provocative and unusual.

Perhaps like Yayoi Kusama, Bourgeois too had found that art was her release from the relentlessness of life.

This is not to say that like Kusama, Bourgeois cast herself out of society, feeling no need for social interaction.

Bourgeois was very social, her circle of friends made up of some of the most influential artists of the 20th century, including Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko, all of whom shared ideas and experiences in those busy artistic communities.

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Importantly, Bourgeois was not socially inept in perhaps the way that Kusama proclaims herself to be; Bourgeois had a large group of friends whom she greatly valued. However, she recognised the importance of spending time alone. Her periods of isolation weren’t nearly as dramatic as Kusama or Van Gogh’s; they weren’t prompted by psychiatric difficulties nor did they take place in any ‘facilities’.

These bursts of solitude were made entirely of her own accord. Bourgeois would often look to nature to find solitude, spending periods outdoors. She also found simple forms of solitude in her daily routine, seeking out spaces in her home where she could be alone, separated from her family and assistants. According to her studio assistant, Jerry Gorovoy, ‘Louise liked to work alone in silence, as if in a trance.’ She is said to have found a sense of calm in these moments alone, allowing her to paint, sculpt, draw without any external forces influencing her.

Interestingly, much like Van Gogh, Bourgeois realised the limitations of spending time alone, that isolation must be faced in appropriate proportions balanced with a fair amount of time surrounded by loved ones. In a diary entry written in 1950, she wrote, ‘Exile or alienation is a necessary (tho’ not sufficient) condition of work.’

This reflection on the how periods of isolation affect one’s art seem to be recurrent, emphasising that choosing to work alone should be a choice and that while often liberating, can be equally harmful. Perhaps it was these bouts of solitude that Bourgeois took periodically throughout her career that allowed her to produce such evocative and powerful art work.

While this pandemic has been uniquely challenging for all of us, we were not the first generation of creatives to live through periods of isolation. In the case of the artists I have examined, of course this solitude functioned on a personal level and the comparison between that level of isolation and that which artists in the pandemic have experienced is not a faultless one. However, it’s reassuring that for many artists throughout history, isolation became a tool for creativity not a constraint upon it. Crucially, the success these artists found in solitude was entirely self-made. I might be naïve in saying this, but spending time alone with their art allowed these artists not only to maintain a sense of perspective, but find their own way of working, their own style. They are a reminder that isolation is in and of itself a form of limitation and yet, in a rather extraordinary way, it also offers a rare form of liberation that can perhaps only be found when alone.

October 2020 by E.F.J. Twohig

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Is an Element of Self-Isolation Necessary for an Artist to be Successful?

Nina Blakey (MO Re) What makes an artist successful? History is threaded with artists that we would recognise as accomplished – their artwork ranging across all genres and media. However, does their time spent within society affect their productivity or quality? The first thing to define is ‘success’; some artists may consider this to be the amount of income and recognition received (this may not have necessarily been within the artist’s lifetime). Others may perceive success as a more personal fulfilment, using their art as a gateway to achieving emotional satisfaction in life. Through the lives of Frida Kahlo and Vincent Van Gogh, two of the most esteemed artists who isolated themselves for a significant time during their lives, I will explore the effects of this experience on their success.

Frida Kahlo had a life laced with pain and suffering. She was left crippled from polio as a child and was caught in a near-fatal bus crash at the age of 18. This led to a life of surgeries and recoveries, resulting in many months’ isolated in a hospital bed. However, some may perceive this incident as fate, as it opened the door to a new-found outlook on life and solitude which was the principal inspiration of many of her greatest artworks. A series of abortions and miscarriages in her 20s left her traumatised, but also inspired most of her self-portraits, as she is usually accompanied by animals in these paintings – a famous example being Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird, in which she is presented as having a cat and a monkey on her shoulders, to replace the children that she was not able to have. All of this stress in her life was not helped by an often-tempestuous relationship with her husband, Diego Rivera, as well as strained relations with her mother.

Throughout many of Frida Kahlo’s most emotive paintings, she is depicted in desolate and void landscapes – a direct reflection of her time in isolation after the bus accident as a teenager. The period she spent trapped in bed gave her time to reflect on her existence and life in general, and one can see through her artwork the thoughts and emotions that it evoked. Her paintings are very open and honest as they reflect her emotions and the events in her life – whether good or bad. She reflected: ‘I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint’.

For Frida, art was a way to release her inner feelings, a form of reassurance in her darkest times. ‘I paint myself,’ she once said, ‘because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best’. Of her 143 surviving paintings, 55 are self-portraits. Though she was a notably social person when she had the opportunity to be, isolation not only motivated her, but directly inspired some of her greatest and most successful artwork.

Similarly, Vincent Van Gogh likely had a wide range of mental issues, none of which was suitably diagnosed while he was alive; with his loneliness weighing heaviest on him. In 1889, after mutilating his ear, he moved to the asylum of Saint-Paul-de-Mausole in 1889, where he stayed for 53 weeks. There, he had little contact with everyday life and none with the art world. He wrote to his sister, Wil, that this isolation was necessary ‘if we want to work’, even though it cut him off from his innovative circle in Paris, which had been a crucial source of inspiration at a key moment in his artistic development. Nevertheless, at the asylum he was able to put all of his energy into his work, with few other distractions; he was able to study nature closely and found this to be a releasing activity – it was here that he produced my own personal favourite, The Starry Night. Van Gogh recognised that loneliness is not just sufficient for creativity; it is necessary. It is almost as if he could only be truly creative when detached from society. And he sacrificed his own well-being for the importance of his art.

He wrote a series of letters during his lifetime to his brother Theo which reveal his emotions and feelings at different stages of his life. Having left the asylum in 1890, Van Gogh moved to the sleepy town of Auvers-sur-Oise in north-eastern France. He wrote to his brother about his isolation, saying that even if he were to have a friend for whom he cared, he felt that it would only serve to distract him from his art. Consequently, he felt he had two options: either to content himself with loneliness or to try to counteract his loneliness with friendships, thereby disrupting his creativity. Moving to this village would be ‘the starting point for one of the saddest episodes in a life already rife with sad events’, according to Jan Hulsker, a Dutch art historian who studied Van Gogh’s life in great depth. However, during this period he would produce several successful artworks: including his Portrait of Dr. Gachet, one of his most revered paintings; and Wheatfield with Crows, which is thought to be his last piece, completed early in the same month that he died.

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For many artists, it is clear that isolation provides an increased awareness of one’s surroundings, refocusing attention towards details which would not normally be noticed or appreciated. The lack of stimulation drives one to find new ways to be creative, rethinking our own situation and environment. This was certainly the case with Vincent Van Gogh.

Isolation alone may not be enough, however. To be truly creative, one may have to be lonely. The Frenchborn author Anaïs Nin wrote, ‘Great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them’. This further supports the idea that it is necessary to feel rejected from society in order to produce artistic masterpieces. Some psychologists have suggested that solitude alone is not enough to fuel creative genius because no rejection has taken place and it is this dismissal that makes someone determined and allows them to push themselves as far as they can with only themselves to rely on. As the famous philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche suggested, ‘Loneliness is one thing, solitude another’.

However, the circumstances of the isolation are extremely important. If one was locked in a solitary prison cell, could one really create something ‘successful’, relying solely on one’s mind for inspiration? Surely blocking out others’ opinions and perspectives may result in a singular viewpoint, meaning the possibilities of what we can create become limited or lacking in some way. This is especially important in art, as artists are continually looking to their surroundings and other artists’ work for inspiration – so being isolated could slow down this creative flow of ideas in one’s mind.

Also, humans are social creatures, and ultimately isolation can often be thought to have a negative impact on our well-being – Van Gogh shot himself in the chest with a revolver at only 37 years old – and hence our creativity. Like so many talented people across all creative disciplines, there has often been a propensity for artists to experience drugs and alcohol as a means to escape loneliness, and see the world from a new perspective, in order to enhance their abilities. But this is often a false hope that results in further isolation and trauma.

Both Frida Kahlo and Vincent Van Gogh clearly demonstrate how self-isolation can help artists focus their inspiration and creativity, resulting in art works of exceptional quality, which are perceived to be immensely successful. However, Kahlo channelled her unfortunate situation and loneliness into a kind of freedom or release.

With Van Gogh and his apparent despair, it seems that his isolation (be it mental or physical), resulted in an imprisoning experience, from which suicide was his only escape. But the troubled and lonely genius continues to be a familiar character. As Aldous Huxley wrote, ‘If one’s different, one’s bound to be lonely,’ and if you think about it briefly, it is evident that many of history’s creative geniuses have been and will continue to be, deeply lonely people.

E. F. J. Twohig – Nobilemente/Semplice – Visual homage to Clare-Louise Bennett’s writing read during lockdown, February 2021

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Locks and the Viennese Secession Mrs R L Jerstice (CR, Head of Psychology) ‘He was 56, his habit was to have a bowl of whipped cream for breakfast every day, and he was seriously overweight…

So, there were underlying conditions there.’ (Kallir) We can think of this Covid period as a unique, or dare I even say – unprecedented, time in human history; yet lockdowns and isolation have been part of the human experience for millennia. From the Black Death to Ebola, we have been battling unwelcome and invisible invaders. Most recently, the Europeans’ experience of a pandemic was the Spanish Flu, the 100th anniversary of which we mark with uncomfortable irony this year, whilst in the throes of new national lockdown.

As you read this article, I want you to cast yourselves back to 1910s Vienna, and to visit the world of the Secession movement’s kings; Klimt and Schiele. The gilded, ornate, swirling and flamboyant world of Secession Vienna may have seemed light years away from the grim lived reality of its citizens, grappling with the fallout of the First World War and a new, invisible invader.

This was a suffering that the Viennese, not unlike the rest of Europe, would have to handle in isolation. This was a private and barely acknowledged grief. Whilst we collectively are bound by grief and locked in together by a sense of duty and fear, there was no national monument to those victims who died of the Spanish Flu; no mass support for the health care professionals risking it all, no doorstep clapping. One could of course argue that given the timing (in the wake of the bloodiest war that the modern-day world had experienced) there were more pressing priorities. However, what makes this pandemic more harrowing than our own, given the context, was the loss of young life. Given the already depleted numbers of young men, it seems particularly heart-breaking to think that the death toll comprised mainly the young.

Klimt, mentor of Schiele, became a ghoulish spectacle in 1918, when, after dying from a stroke (which is argued to have been caused by the Spanish Flu) he was sketched by his prodigy, Schiele. The warped and twisted face encapsulated the harrowing death suffered by many of his generation. This raw and naked portrayal of death was a stark reminder of the reality of the world in which both artists were working; and one at times, many argued, Klimt isolated himself from. The vivid, gilded and ornate swirling characterised most of Klimt’s works allowed the viewer to enter into a dream-like state and to reconfigure our understanding of the use of lines within portraiture. It provided an escape from the war and diseased-ravaged reality and allowed us to enter our own ‘phantasy’ world (Klimt was highly influenced by Freud).

However, it would be remiss to only ‘see’ Klimt as The Kiss, although his most celebrated work explores the most complex of all ‘locks,’ that of the romantic relationship, he also produced some extremely raw work.

Working at the fringes of society, Klimt engaged prostitutes for a series of intimate portrayals of sexuality. By using the women’s own ‘voices’ and direction, he unveiled a hidden aspect that the middle classes in Vienna were wholly unprepared for. Women were brutally laid bare, in a way that they had not been seen previously – these were not nudes in the Renaissance model, but almost uncomfortably close, raw and uncensored.

Modern eyes might be right to cast doubt on the authenticity of the ‘women’s voice’ and instead may see a seedier and more misogynist side to Klimt’s series, given the voyeuristic nature of the pieces and the obvious power imbalances between artist and muse. But, one thing should not be underestimated, and that is the fact that the ‘lock’ had forever been broken on the proverbial ‘pandora’s box’ of feminine sexuality.

Klimt was not just content with breaking the chains and unleashing female sexuality; he also looked to cast a modern eye on another central aspect, motherhood. Mother and Child, the perennial tableaux, was yet again brought to new life by Klimt. Evoking the ‘Madonna and Child’ pastiche, Klimt delivered a modern look through the use of bold geometric patterns paired against the juxtaposition of the swirling, glinting, golden, sweeping arches and warm Mediterranean colours. With hints of the Byzantine past which influenced decades of European artists before him, Klimt and the wider Succession movement arguably ripped apart the consensus of the art 99

world, with a beautiful marriage of the traditional and the modern. He represented the mother’s love in a way that was to be owned by the mother, not just as a religious symbol to be revered, but as a universal symbol of love.

Another interesting play on the notion of ‘locks’ is also found in Klimt’s Beethoven Frieze (in Vienna), its focal imagery is the Classical styled female muse’s depicting ‘the hostile forces; Typhoeus the giant, against whom even gods fought in vain; his daughters, the three Gorgons, who symbolise lust and lechery, intemperance and gnawing care, as the longings and wishes of mankind fly over their heads’. (all-art.org). The Frieze shows that humans are trapped between the desire to fulfil their wishes and needs but knowing that they are constrained by the societal disapproval. Thus, Klimt’s work brings to light the constant battle of our own unconscious mind.

Isolation, and societal disproval, was of course nothing new to Schiele. Spending nearly a month in prison for charges of impropriety with a minor (later dropped), Schiele’s work metamorphosed from extreme sexual motifs to work which took a step back from the agony and looked to present a more cautious edge. Speaking of his experiences, Schiele penned on one of his prison pieces, ‘I do not feel punished, I feel cleansed‘. Therefore demonstrating that being placed under lockdown for some can be a freeing experience: once we are free from the expectations placed upon us from society, it might just be possible to find our more authentic selves.

We think of prison as being a time to reform for the ‘wrongs’ that we have done, but for Schiele this appeared to go beyond his attitude towards his ‘models’ and extended, in a Freudian-esque manner, to the way in which he assessed his own use of projection in his artwork. Comini argues that Schiele’s post-prison art demonstrated ‘a rebellious unmasking of his subjects’ ever-changing states of being, to a more empathic later approach that ironically reconciled the possibility of a centred soul with outward stress and vulnerability.’ Thus, the unlocking of Schiele in a physical sense also had wider ramifications, both on his own emotional growth and artistic style. Tragically, Schiele did not get to bask in the glory of what was meant to be the most seminal piece of his career, The Family. It remained unfinished, a bleak reminder that his family in real life also never saw ‘fruition’, with Schiele and his pregnant wife passing within days of each other.

Gorgons, Sickness, and Death, from Klimt’s Beethoven Frieze (1902) in the Secession Building, Vienna

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The Daily Round Atalanta Hue-Williams (DA L6) James Capper, born in 1987, is a London-based artist. During the lockdown period he – like all of us –was stuck indoors, in his London flat. Fortunately, his studio is located directly beneath his flat, so he had access to his equipment, and thus was able to dedicate more time to his practice and undertake a new project. Capper’s work utilises his welding, engineering and radical sculptural skills to create colossal, mobile, human-operated machines that stride across the Earth, imitating the movements of both animate and inanimate objects such as insects and industrial cranes.

Capper’s workspace is more reminiscent of a car workshop than the typical white cube studio one would imagine; it is filled with compressors, lathes, cutting machines and all manner of metal working hydraulic presses.

Capper is able to fabricate his colourful three-dimensional sculptures, with the end result often resembling the show room of an agricultural hardware store. Ironically, although these machines are mobile, they have no utilitarian function, and are powder-coated and finished to a very high spec, highlighting his ability as a colourist.

Capper reworked his machinery to invent a new technique of painting, creating rotary circular images on paper. He was fascinated by the repetitive nature of this process, which he saw as mimicking the round of daily life in isolation. During this period there were an infinite amount of news headlines; many people were horrified by the news of the pandemic. However, Capper took the opportunity to turn the mesmerising stream of headlines into titles for his works – some of which were unintentionally comical, but many were deadly earnest. From the fishbowl of his studio Capper harnessed the headlines, and as his understanding of the machinery advanced with the passing of the days. Looking at the images, it’s clear to see that the heavy-handed paint-pouring at the start of the lockdown has been slowly replaced by a more overt mastery of his materials: paint-thinning and slowing his rotary arc have allowed for more control over the process. Yet, in contrast to this, Capper has also been fascinated by the untamed splatter of the pigment.

So, although isolated, Capper realised how fortunate he was and teamed up with his gallery to sell many of these works, and he has given a substantial part of the proceeds to a Covid charity that delivered PPE to overwhelmed hospitals and care homes.

You can see some of these paintings on the next two pages.

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The Daily Round by James Capper.

Photographs by Atalanta Hue-Williams with kind permission from James Capper.

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Images for This Lockdown Publication: ‘I Feel Therefore I Am’ Mr E F J Twohig (CR, Head of Art) ‘I Feel Therefore I Am’ (Ego Sentio Ergosum) is a playful series of intimate scale works that blend painterly watercolour and the pastel lines of drawing, a sort of violin and piano parallel to music. This body of work took one full day to physically create and over eight months to plan. Just beforehand, I created nine one-metre-by-onemetre paintings as a warm-up. It was in the middle of the half-term break of Lent Term and I remember beginning just after 6am with Richard Strauss’s Alpine Symphony playing loudly, very fortissimo. I was ready. The day flowed.

The suite of work flowed. Music by Philip Glass, in particular, his Metamorphosis (1988), followed Strauss, Elgar, Ravel, Delius and Debussy. Each symbiotically helped the flow of my creativity in the making of this suite. The visual and auditory intertwined.

What was the background?

Time and place were the background in essence. Essentially visually autobiographical, I desired to chart the process of the positivity that lockdown presented: how it felt to slow down, not to be in the hurly-burly of what we have complacently become accustomed to across Western contemporary existence. I delight in being surrounded by nature here in Wiltshire by day and night. I wished to amplify and celebrate this across my creative work and like the structure of Strauss’s Alpine Symphony, cogently charting the day, from before dawn to night, my ‘I Feel Therefore I Am’ begins right at the beginning of the lockdown. Actually, I began this suite retrospectively leading to the beginning, the beginning as the end.

What are the influences?

Art, poetry, writing and music go hand in hand for me, a rich stream of thought, complicity and perpetual interplay. Each help enhance life and experience. I have loved Gustave Moreau’s soulful and subtle watercolours since I first visited this French artist’s house/museum in Paris aged 20. Later I discovered that the French composer Maurice Ravel liked visiting this enchanting museum as well – and George Rouault, another great influence, was its first curator. Each time I return, I learn more.

Lately, I have enjoyed contrasting the earlier work of WB Yeats with his later poetry, which I find enthralling. A battered book of his poetry is always left open on my dining table. Clare-Louise Bennett, a contemporary writer who was born in Wiltshire and who now lives in Galway, Ireland, has become a wonderful source of nourishment. Here are just two examples of many thousands as to why: ‘I have a fancy for a rather more dappled conflation of vagueness and exactitude, flippancy and earnestness, aplomb and disquietude, scintilla and shadow’. And ‘the intensely fertile meditation on dramatic space disclosed the interior life of our immediate surroundings, recasting the home as ‘an embodiment of dreams’ where the assembly of chairs, tables, drawers and wardrobes encompasses profound cosmic potential.’ We can all relate to this. Similar subtle contrasts and journeys abound in my ‘I Feel therefore I Am’.

Parallel to Clare-Louise Bennett, Helen Marten’s collage-like physical gatherings, as she terms her instillations, resonate strongly, especially as Helen Marten says she aims to portray situations and feelings ‘husked down to essences’ that can be remodelled to give rise to new and unexpected creative thoughts or ideas. The double creativity of Beatrix Wavell Grant is another source. How this artist employs imagery to portray a sense of identity-self within space through moving image and word encourages her viewer-readers to look very closely at whatever terrain we occupy and shape, the seasonal time in which we occupy this space or spaces as well as images and objects with which we surround ourselves or leave in micro-macro surroundings.

What infuses each of these creative spirits whose thoughts and work help fuel my creativity is how they forge newness in expression, each connected to tradition, but not bound by it. Inspiring.

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What do you wish to achieve?

First, I would like viewers to enjoy my work on aesthetic grounds, to get to know the work, to delight in its colour and rhythm. On a deeper level and with growing awareness, to allow my work to speak and influence so that the next time a viewer goes for a walk in nature, she or he can open themselves to the wonder and bounty of the perpetually changing natural surroundings which can be found everywhere, even within the urban.

Ultimately, I would like the viewer to learn about themselves though the visual.

October 2020 by E.F.J. Twohig

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PART 5: LOCKDOWN AND ISOLATION IN WORKS OF ART

E. F. J. Twohig – Vivance/Allegramente – Visual homage to twins in creativity: Helen Martin and Beatrix Wavell Grant, February 2021

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Homeric Lockdowns Mr J R B Scragg (CR, Deputy Head Co-Curriculum and Outreach) As we live through what has become widely known in the press as Lockdown 3.0, that term alone reminds us that there has been a wide variety of lockdowns over the past year. Not only have we had the initial, UK-wide lockdown, but we have also had the English ‘lockdown-lite’ of November, not to mention various Scottish, Welsh and Northern Irish (but not Kentish or South African) variants. Which, when the call to HATA arms came, led me to ponder the variety of lockdowns, of one form or another, which Odysseus experiences in the Homeric poems. Many of these can be seen to illustrate a moral of one form or another. So, whilst we should be wary of superimposing modern value systems onto ancient cultures, it is tempting to think that perhaps these lockdowns, or periods of isolation, were conceived as a means of illustrating lessons which listeners might take away from our bard’s song. After all, in a society which lacked formal education, and where the ability to recite thousands of lines of poetry to a musical accompaniment (albeit one that probably sounded like a slashed set of bagpipes or an errant pupil twanging their ruler on the desk) was highly prized, it is tempting to think that those who sat round to listen were also looking to learn. Or at least it is for a schoolmaster . . .

Lockdown 1, or, Home is Where the Heart is Part 1 – Calypso The longest enduring of Odysseus’ lockdowns is the seven years he spends on the island of Ogygia with the nymph Calypso. This is where we first encounter him in the Odyssey (in Book V, but the first four books centre on Athena trying to make a man out of Telemachus), even though it is late in his travels. The vast majority of his story will be told in flashback to the people of Phaeacia, the land where he washes up, furry and brine-encrusted, to startle Nausicaa and her maidservants, who are playing ball after doing the family laundry, an episode which, to the bemusement of all, appears locked down in the OCR cycle of GCSE set texts . . . Odysseus is in a similarly sorry state when he lands on Ogygia: his men are all now lost (owing to an unfortunate barbecue involving the Sun God’s cattle, and his ensuing aquatic revenge) and he himself is shipwrecked. In such a state he is not entirely unresistant to Calypso’s advances, although it has to be said that he would be powerless to resist the enchantments of this minor deity, even should he so choose. Seven years down the line, however, and the enchantments have worn thin, and it takes the prompting of Hermes, sent by Athene, to persuade Calypso to send him on his way.

Lockdown 2, or, Home is Where the Heart is Part 2 – Curiosity killed the cat 1 Circe Not entirely dissimilar to Odysseus’ stay with Calypso is his time on Aeaea with Circe (Book X, and also the rather excellent novel by Madeline Miller). At this point, Odysseus’ is the last remaining ship. He and his men have come tantalisingly close to making it home, for King Aeolus (i/c winds), having welcomed them after their retreat from the Cyclops, has sent them on their way with all the unfavourable winds tied up in a bag. Assisted in this way, they are within sight of Ithaca when Odysseus’ men, believing the bag to be full of treasure, succumb to avarice and curiosity and open it, when Odysseus is having forty winks, having stayed awake for the previous nine days. Outcome the hostile winds, blowing them back to Aeolia, whence they are sent packing (for the gods clearly hate them), landing on the isle of the peckish Laestrygonians, who smash up all the ships, bar Odysseus’ and make dinner of their men. Upon landing on Aeaea, Odysseus’ men divide in two, with half exploring the island under Eurylochus’ leadership, while Odysseus’ half remain by the ship on the shore. Eurylochus’ men happen upon Circe, who welcomes them and offers them a curious brew which turns them into swine (a moral for the modern world perhaps: ‘always make sure you know what you are drinking’). Also curiously, Eurylochus is rewarded for his hesitancy at this point, for he has hung back, and is able to return to tell Odysseus what has happened.

Odysseus heads inland, determined to rescue his men, and would be destined for a porky end, were it not for the happy intervention of Hermes, who offers him moly root, as an antidote to Circe’s enchantment, and tells him to rush her with his sword. Her response to this, obviously enough, will be to suggest that they go to bed, and at this point he should require her to swear that she will never harm him, which she does, before they repair to her bed.

The following day Odysseus, refusing all hospitality, persuades the now enamoured Circe to release his men and, 108

restored to human form, they enjoy a happy year of feasting, bathing, and more besides for Odysseus before his men (note not Odysseus, husband of the ever-faithful Penelope) begin to pine for home and persuade Odysseus that it is time to leave. Circe concedes, but reveals that it is necessary for them to travel to the Underworld . . .

Lockdown 3, or, Curiosity Killed the Cat Part 2 – Pride comes before a fall 1 – Cyclops If Odysseus’ crew were reluctant to explore Circe’s island, then they had good reason. Not long before (Book IX) they had landed on an uninhabited island, just out from the Cyclops’ coast, with wild goats ‘by the hundred’. The perfect place, in other words, for Odysseus’ men to rest and refuel after the perils of the Cicones and the Lotus-eaters. Odysseus, however, noticing smoke rising from the nearby island, decides to take his own ship to explore. The rest, as they say, is history (or myth, at any rate). One of the most famous lockdowns of all, with Odysseus needing all his wiles to determine how they might escape the Cyclops, and not be condemned to die shut in a cave whose entrance is blocked by a boulder such that only a Cyclops might move it.

Odysseus’ wiles in the cave have re-echoed through time, allowing him to escape one of the most famous literary lockdowns, but his self-satisfaction and his boastfulness cause his men to pay the ultimate price, far beyond the half dozen who were eaten by Polyphemus in the cave as a result of his curiosity and determination to explore. For Odysseus, having previously tricked the Cyclops into believing that his name is ‘No-man’ is guilty of hybris, or arrogant effrontery, on his departure. He reveals his real name as he gloats over the now blinded Cyclops, allowing Polyphemus to invoke his father, Poseidon, to exact revenge. As Odysseus is on a ship, and Poseidon has total control of the sea, this is bad news, costing the lives of all Odysseus’ remaining men, and nine years of his life.

Lockdown 4, or, Pride Comes Before a Fall 2 – Achilles We might well wonder at Odysseus’ failing in succumbing to hybris at the end of Odyssey Book IX, for has seen the dreadful impact of a lockdown born of pride. Whilst we could not level a charge of hybris for Achilles’ behaviour in the Iliad, there is a proud stubbornness to his behaviour which ultimately causes him ill.

At the opening of the poem, the Greeks are beset by a plague of arrows, sent from Apollo. This has been summoned, by Chryses, a priest of the god, in retribution for Agamemnon carrying off his daughter as a prize.

The Greeks have no choice but to release her, and so Agamemnon insists that Achilles give him Briseis, his own maidservant and prize. In a society where honour in war was inextricably bound up with the award of material plunder, it is unthinkable to Agamemnon, as commander-in-chief, that he should not receive recompense; it is also unconscionable to Achilles that he should be dishonoured in this way.

Achilles therefore withdraws from the fighting, with the sympathy of many of the other Greek heroes.

By the close of Book VIII the Greeks, without their champion, are penned back by their ships on the shore, surrounded by the Trojans countless watch fires – a terrifying lockdown, for all that it is brief.

Agamemnon, seeing the folly of his ways, sends an embassy to Achilles, consisting of Odysseus, Phoenix and Ajax, offering enormous recompense to Achilles if he rejoined the fighting. The make up the embassy is telling: the wily Odysseus, most persuasive speaker of the Greeks, the sage old Phoenix, almost a second father to Achilles, with a deep understanding of the ethics of heroism, and Ajax, the straight-talking ‘hero’s hero’ and strongest of all the Greeks. However, not even this embassy can succeed. Achilles rejects all three of their invocations in turn, refusing to return to the fight and thus setting in train the sequence of events which will lead to the death of his beloved lieutenant Patroclus. With the Greeks still suffering at the hands of the Trojans (Book XVI), Patroclus, pointing out that his ‘pride is ruinous’, pleads with Achilles to allow him to don his armour and lead the Myrmidons into battle once more. Achilles agrees, and Patroclus will go on to ignore his clear instructions (yes, it is another moral tale) and end his days facing Hector in single combat.

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Lockdown 5, or, Stand by Your Man; Thou Shalt not Covet thy Neighbour’s Wife If Odysseus’ behaviour has been a little suspect with the likes of Calypso and Circe, his wife Penelope has, all this time, been beyond reproach. Beset by a horde of suitors in her own house, she has endured a lockdown in her own home to keep them all waiting for nigh on 20 years. One of the more intriguing female figures in Classical literature, she is her husband’s equal in her wiles. To him still disguised as a beggar (Book XIX) she recounts how she has been weaving her robe, a funeral shroud for her surely dead husband, during the day, only to unpick it at night. Even Odysseus’ dog, Argus, has remained faithful. Cast out on the dung heap outside the halls, yet clinging still to life, he is the first to recognise his master, in Book XVII. If loyalty has its rewards (the safe return of Odysseus), then coveting another man’s wife, and abusing his hospitality, most certainly does not. The suitors, whilst imposing their lockdown on Penelope, have steadily been eating Odysseus out of house and home. In a land which is largely inhospitable, the laws of xenia (guestfriendship or hospitality) were sacrosanct, watched over by none other than Zeus himself.

After Athena has inspired Penelope to set up the contest of the bow (Book XXI), agreeing to marry whichever of them can string Odysseus’ bow and shoot an arrow through a line of axe heads, the suitors (having all tried and failed) agree to allow the beggar to try, thinking it will be good sport. This, it transpires, is a very bad choice. For the suitors are now all, quite literally, locked down. The faithful nurse Eurycleia (having recognised Odysseus from an infant scar, and also standing by her man) and the trusty cowherd Philoitios have barred the hall and the yard. A bloodbath ensues, something Hollywood still hasn’t quite worked out how to cope with…

November 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Lessons on Loneliness from Homer’s Odyssey Ms V Herrenschmidt (CR, Classics Department) Introduction A silver lining of the global pandemic is that it has forced us to stare loneliness in the face. In doing so, many of us have realised how poorly we understand it.

One reason we do not hear about loneliness, recognise loneliness or understand loneliness very well, is that we do not know what it looks like. It does not only look like the person sitting on their own in Norwood, or the old man shuffling along the high street, struggling with the weight of his shopping. It can equally lurk behind an angry outburst, a rejection of someone’s company, or a wide fake smile posted on social media. Like the Lernaean Hydra1 - loneliness is a multi-headed monster that shows up in different ways, and, as research increasingly shows, leads to different types of mental and physical illnesses (including addiction and violent behaviour). How can we get better at recognising and addressing it?

One way is to Google it. A number of researchers have illuminated our understanding of the multi-faceted nature of loneliness: this piece of writing is heavily influenced by the research of Brene Brown2, Vivek Murthy3, John Cacioppo4 and Julianne Holt-Lunstad5.

Another way – and one which has stood the test of time – is to turn to the classical myths. For me, the magic of ancient storytellers lies in their ability to articulate, in the simplest terms, some of our most heartrendingly complex feelings. Homer offers many poignant lessons on loneliness in his epic poem, the Odyssey, first written in ancient Greek about 2,500 years ago. If anything, these lessons are a deep source of comfort and wonder when we feel time collapsing under the weight of our shared human experience.

I am going to delve deeper into the following five lessons from the Odyssey: 2. Isolation is not the same as loneliness.

3. It is the quality, not the quantity, of our connections that matters.

4. Low self-worth breeds loneliness.

5. Loneliness can make you sick.

6. Loneliness can be a force for good.

All passages from the Odyssey have been quoted in translation.6

Isolation is not the same as loneliness The Odyssey is the story of a Greek hero’s journey home after fighting in the 10-year war at Troy. When the story opens, Odysseus has been trying to get home for 10 years, but has been relentlessly thwarted in his attempts by the god Poseidon (who is furious at Odysseus for blinding his son, the Cyclops Polyphemus). As the story opens, Athena is appealing to the king of the gods, Zeus, on behalf of Odysseus, her favourite hero. She says: I t is for Odysseus that my heart is wrung, the wise and unlucky Odysseus, who has been parted so long from all his friends and is pining on a lonely island far away in the middle of the seas.

Book 1 (48–51)

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This lonely island refers to the island of the goddess Calypso, where Odysseus has spent the last 7 years as her lover. He has now grown tired of the relationship, but he cannot leave, as – significantly – Calypso will not allow it. Odysseus is therefore in isolation (a term we can now all relate to!) on Calypso’s island, and feels trapped.

It is important, however, to distinguish between isolation and loneliness. Vivek Murthy, a former surgeon general of the United States (2014–2017) who has recently published a book on loneliness7, provides a useful definition for both terms. Isolation is an objective term and a descriptor of the number of people around you, whereas loneliness is a subjective term pointing to the gap between the social connections that you need, and the social connections that you have.8 This helps us better understand Odysseus’ situation.

It is the quality, not the quantity, of one’s connections that matters The cause of Odysseus’ painful loneliness – and the cause of much heartache during the current pandemic – is not simply the fact that he is isolated, although of course it limits the number of quality connections that he can form. The cause of his pain is the fact that he does not have the social connections that he needs. Athena emphasises this when she describes Odysseus as being on a ‘well-wooded’9 island with a goddess who loves him and speaks to him with ‘soft, persuasive words’10 and yet he ‘would give anything for the mere sight of the smoke rising up from his own land, [and] can only yearn for death11. There is the potential for him to have a loving, fulfilling relationship with someone, but it is not the relationship that he needs.

The importance of the quality over the quantity of our connections is made explicit in the portrayal of Penelope, Odysseus’ wife, to whom the scene soon switches. She is at home, in the royal palace on Ithaka, and has been waiting for Odysseus’ return for the last 20 years; she does not even know whether he is dead or alive. Over 100 men are also staying in the palace, all vying to marry her to inherit the throne; and yet Penelope, surrounded by people, is desperately lonely. Indeed, she is characterised for the whole narrative as a faithful wife weeping for her husband. The extent of her suffering, and its rootedness in loneliness, is reinforced at the end of the story by the reverse simile - where Penelope, recognising her husband for the first time, is like a shipwreck survivor seeing the shore.12 You can be in the company of 1 or 100 people: loneliness will raise its unwelcome head if you are not able to form the connections you need.

I am sure that many readers can relate to the strange sensation of feeling lonely despite having 100 followers on Instagram, despite being surrounded by people in a classroom, despite being in the kitchen with loved ones at home. Researchers have provided some clarity on this phenomenon by suggesting that there are three dimensions of loneliness: intimate loneliness (the hunger for a relationship with a boyfriend/girlfriend, or parent/sibling), social loneliness (the hunger for friends) and collective loneliness (the hunger for a community of people who share your sense of purpose).13 If we lack in one of these, we can feel lonely even if we have the other two. We can sit next to a loving parent in a car and still feel terribly lonely because we lack friends or a community to which we feel that we belong.

This helps us to better interpret Odysseus and Penelope’s emotions, in their respective contexts. However, in the Odyssey, Homer hints at another cause of loneliness, which is highly relevant today, and to which we shall now turn.

Low self-worth breeds loneliness A powerful obstacle to Odysseus forming quality connections with others on his 10-year journey home relates to his sense of his own worth. Despite being described as a “lion-hearted” hero, Odysseus is in fact very insecure about his worth, which he believes is conditional upon his kleos: his reputation for glory. His insecurity comes out in his obsession with being famous for his heroic deeds. After blinding Polyphemus, he cannot help revealing his identity to the Cyclops by shouting out his name as he sails away from the island. When he is caught up in a life-threatening storm upon leaving Calypso’s island – stirred up by Poseidon, avenging his son – Odysseus is not as worried about dying as he is about dying unheroically and unnoticed. As his knees shake and his spirit fails him, he shouts out: 112

Three and four times blessed are those countrymen of mine who fell long ago on the broad plains of Troy in loyal service to the sons of Atreus. If only I too could have met my fate and died the day the Trojan hordes let fly at me with their bronze spears over Achilles’ corpse! I should at least have had my burial rites and the Achaeans would have spread my fame abroad. But now it seems I was predestined to an ignoble death.

Book 5 (305–313) The third and most poignant example of Odysseus’ low self-worth and insecurity about his kleos plays out during his stay with the Phaeacians, a kind people whose royal family welcomed Odysseus, disguised as a beggar, into their palace after he washed up on their shores following the aforementioned storm. During a feast, Odysseus – still disguised – asks the bard of the royal court, Demodocus, to entertain them by singing of the story of the Trojan horse, a trick that Odysseus himself devised. This is the moment in which Odysseus will find out how much kleos he has, and therefore, in his eyes, how worthy he is as a human. When the bard begins to sing about the story in detail, Homer describes Odysseus’ reaction in one of the most moving and famous similes of the entire epic: dysseus’ heart was melting with grief and his cheeks were wet with tears that ran down from his eyes. He wept O as a woman weeps when she throws her arms round the body of her beloved husband, fallen in battle in the defence of his city and his comrades, fighting to save his city and his children from the evil day. She has found him gasping in the throes of death; she clings to him wailing and lamenting. But the enemy come up and beat her back and shoulders with spears, as they lead her off into slavery and a life of miserable toils, with her cheeks wasted by her pitiful grief. Equally pitiful were the tears that now welled up in Odysseus’ eyes.

Book 8 (522–532) Homer is not explicit about the cause of this grief: it may simply be that hearing the bard sing about the Trojan horse took Odysseus back to a traumatic time of his life and stirred up devastating memories. However, given Odysseus’ concern with his kleos, the fact that he asked for this story to be recounted, and what he did and said next – his tears can be interpreted as tears of immense relief as his kleos is finally confirmed, and therefore so is his self-worth. After the bard has stopped singing, he stands up and introduces himself to the Phaeacians, saying: I am Odysseus, Laertes’ son. The whole world talks of my stratagems, and my fame has reached the heaven.

Book 9 (19-20) Now that he believes in his self-worth, he gains the courage to let himself truly be seen.

Modern research on loneliness confirms the necessity of connecting with yourself in order to find the courage to be yourself with other people, and therefore connect with them in a meaningful way as they accept you for who you are. However, researchers stress that to form such healthy, fulfilling relationships, ‘connecting with yourself ’ means believing that you are intrinsically valuable and worthy of love. It is no coincidence that the word ‘courage’ comes from the Latin ‘cor’, meaning the ‘heart’. Self-worth is not conditional upon any external factor: it forms in the heart, and manifests itself as courage to be yourself and, in doing so, to take a confident step out of loneliness.

However, many people today, just like Odysseus, judge their own self-worth on factors such as wealth, reputation and power. This is exacerbated by social media, which provides a competitive platform for the display and growth of all three of those factors, and endless comparisons between people. To navigate the media more successfully than Odysseus navigated the seas, it is essential for us all to simply understand that connection to ourselves comes first. This in itself is very powerful, because it enables us to observe our own interactions with people as a third party, to evaluate the quality of the connections we form, and to understand why we might still be feeling lonely.

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Loneliness can make you sick The Odyssey also reminds us why we need to take loneliness seriously. Like the poisonous breath and blood of the Lernaean Hydra, loneliness has a profound effect on our health.

During his journey home, Odysseus gains access to the Underworld to speak to the dead prophet Tiresias, who knows what Odysseus must do to return safely home to Ithaca. Whilst there, Homer describes an extremely moving encounter between Odysseus and the ghost of his mother, Anticleia, whom he did not know had died.

He bursts into tears upon seeing her, and Anticleia, after crying out in grief, explains that his father is still alive, but: h e lies in misery, with old age pressing hard upon him, and nursing his grief and yearning for you to come back.

That was my undoing too; it was that that brought me to the grave. It was not that the keen-eyed Archeress14 sought me out in our home and killed me with her gentle darts. Nor was I attacked by any of the malignant diseases that so often make the body waste away and die. No, it was my heartache for you, my glorious Odysseus, and for your wise and gentle ways, that brought my life with all its sweetness to an end.

Book 11 (194–204) This encounter raises an important point about loneliness: chronic grief and loneliness can have serious implications on a person’s health. This is supported by recent studies by Julianne Holt-Lunstad, who reports a higher risk of early death amongst the lonely, due to a number of factors including worse sleep, a weaker immune system, and more impulsive behaviour.15 Before Covid-19, this was a problem that particularly affected older people. In 2016, it was reported in a New York Times article entitled ‘Researchers Confront an Epidemic of Loneliness’ that in Britain and the United States approximately one in three people older than 65 live alone, and in the United States, half of those older than 85 live alone.16 A particularly concerning figure from research carried out by the British charity Age UK in 2015 showed that 17% of older people reported that they were in contact with family, friends and neighbours less than once a week, and 11% reported this contact was less than once a month.17 That same year, Age UK teamed up with John Lewis to create their touching Christmas advert ‘The Man on the Moon’, in which a little girl spots a lonely old man on the moon through her telescope, and sends him a gift at Christmas.18 Odysseus’ encounter with his mother raises another important point about loneliness: the powerful impact of touch. After Anticleia tells Odysseus that she died of a broken heart caused by his absence, Odysseus describes how he tried to hug her: ithout knowing whether I could, I yearned to embrace her spirit, dead though she was. Three times, in my W eagerness to clasp her to me, I started forward. Three times, like a shadow or a dream, she slipped through my hands and left me pierced by an even sharper pain.

Book 11 (205–209) He cried out to her: Mother! […] Why do you not wait for me? I long to reach you, so that even in Hell we may throw our loving arms round each other and draw cold comfort from our tears.

Book 11 (210–213) In January 2021, the Guardian published an article entitled ‘Lost touch: how a year without hugs affects our mental health’.19 It lays out fascinating research on the human need for touch. For example, Dr Katerina Fotopoulou, a professor of psychodynamic neuroscience at University College London, explains how our entire concept of self is rooted in touch from our earliest days in our mother’s womb, and that touch acts as a modulator that tempers the effects of physical and emotional stress and pain.20 114

Equally enlightening are the findings of Professor Robin Dunbar, an evolutionary psychologist at the University of Oxford, who points to the similarity between humans and primates in having, on average, five friends whom we can call on as a shoulder to cry on, or (in the case of primates do their grooming together).21 He concludes that touch has a huge impact on our psychological and physical wellbeing. In a 2020 BBC and Wellcome Collection survey, the three words most commonly used to describe touch were ‘comforting’, ‘warm’ and ‘love’.22 It is not surprising, then, how moved we are as readers when Homer describes the hugs that Odysseus shares with his wife Penelope and son Telemachus when he is finally reunited with them after 20 years. Odysseus reveals himself to Telemachus first, who does not at first believe that this man is his father: after all, Odysseus left home when his son was just a baby. However, a few moments later: dysseus sat down, and Telemachus flung his arms round his noble father’s neck and burst into tears. And now O a passionate longing for tears arose in them both and they cried aloud piercingly and more convulsively than birds of prey, vultures or crooked-clawed eagles, bereaved when villagers have robbed the nest of their unfledged young. So did these two let the piteous tears run streaming from their eyes. And sunset would have found them still weeping, if Telemachus had not suddenly asked his father a question.

Book 16 (212–222) Later in the story, after killing all the men vying for his wife’s hand in the palace, Odysseus reveals himself to Penelope, who, just like her son, is at first unconvinced by this claim (so drastically had Odysseus’ absence and adventures aged him!). She devises a trick to test Odysseus’ identity, and when he succeeds and proves his honesty, h er knees began to tremble and her heart melted as she realized that he had given her infallible proof. Bursting into tears she ran up to Odysseus, threw her arms round his neck and kissed his head.

Book 23 (205–208) She spoke a few words to him, and Homer describes Odysseus’ emotions as follows: er words stirred a great longing for tears in Odysseus’ heart, and he wept as he held his dear and loyal wife in H his arms.

Book 23 (232–233) These moving scenes shine a light not only on the primitive importance and healing powers of human touch, but also on a significant positive effect of loneliness: it reveals the power of human connection.

Loneliness can be a force for good The late US neuroscientist John Cacioppo argued that loneliness played an integral role in the development of human society in compelling us to seek out our fellow humans: “The pain of loneliness, the dysphoria of loneliness and the hostility caused by loneliness are all because being connected is so integral to human survival.”23 In Odysseus’ case, loneliness and his desire to see his family again compel him to persevere despite the most trying conditions, and even cause him to reject the gift of immortality that Calypso offered him if he decided to stay with her. In response to this offer, Odysseus stated: I long to reach my home and see the day of my return. It is my never-failing wish. And what if one of the gods does wreck me out on the wine-dark sea? I have a heart that is inured to suffering and I shall steel it to endure that too. For in my day I have had many bitter and painful experiences in war and on the stormy seas. So let this new disaster come. It only makes one more.

Book 5 (219–225) 115

Without loneliness, Odysseus might never have left Calypso’s island. Without loneliness, he might not have survived the terrible storms hurled in his way. In this way, the story of loneliness is a hopeful story that reveals the power of human connection.

Conclusion When the global pandemic ends, and our lives return to normal, let us remember these important lessons on loneliness. Isolation is not the same as loneliness; it is the quality, not the quantity, of our connections that matters; low self-worth breeds loneliness; and loneliness can make you sick.

However, above all, let us remember the hopeful story of loneliness from the Odyssey. Let us not take human connection for granted, and let us make time for people, and the formation of real connections, in our daily lives. Only then can we be ourselves and fulfil perhaps our most important purpose: to give and to receive love.

Notes: 1 A serpentine water monster in Greek and Roman mythology, whose lair was a lake named Lerna in Greece, which was said to be an entrance to the Underworld. The Hydra had many heads, and poisonous breath and blood. For every head chopped off, two more grew in its place: https:// en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lernaean_Hydra 2 https://brenebrown.com/podcast/dr-vivek-murthy-and-brene-on-loneliness-and-connection/ 3 An American physician and former surgeon general of the United States (2014-2017).

4 https://www.ft.com/content/a09af2cc-ee42-11dc-a5c1-0000779fd2ac 5 https://www.apa.org/members/content/holt-lunstad-loneliness-social-connections 6 E.V. Rieu (1991) Penguin Books. ⁷ Murthy, V.H. (2020) Harper Wave. ⁸ https://brenebrown.com/podcast/dr-vivek-murthy-and-brene-on-loneliness-and-connection/ ⁹ Book 1 (51).

10 Book 1 (57).

11 Book 1 (58-59).

12 Book 23 (233-240).

13 https://brenebrown.com/podcast/dr-vivek-murthy-and-brene-on-loneliness-and-connection/and chastity.

14 A reference to Artemis, the ancient Greek goddess of the hunt, the Moon, and chastity.

15 https://www.apa.org/members/content/holt-lunstad-loneliness-social-connections 16 https://www.nytimes.com/2016/09/06/health/lonliness-aging-health-effects.html 17 https://www.ageuk.org.uk/globalassets/age-uk/documents/reports-and-publications/later_life_uk_factsheet.pdf 18 https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=man+on+the+moon+john+lewis 19 https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2021/jan/24/lost-touch-how-a-year-without-hugs-affects-our-mental-health 20 ibid.

21 ibid.

22 https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m000n5xx 23 https://www.ft.com/content/a09af2cc-ee42-11dc-a5c1-0000779fd2ac

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Isolation in Shelley’s Frankenstein Alexandra Byrne (CO L6) Isolation, both literal and metaphorical, is depicted in myriad novels; it is one of the key themes of literature, and often it calls for introspection. Literature acts as a catalyst for self-reflection, whereby characters are able to discover elements to their character, personality and very existence that they have not had access to previously.

The very act of reading is often a solitary experience, for a particular period of time, and whilst you are reading, you are detached from your own world and thrown into another. Yet simultaneously, you engage in a profoundly intimate one-sided dialogue with the author, one that overcomes earthly limitations, and which remains through time. The impact of isolation in literature is so great because humans often fear to be alone, and fear what they might discover: ‘All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone,’ declared Blaise Pascal (Pensées).

Frankenstein is a book of murder, tragedy and despair, and simply put, all of these evils stem from isolation and a lack of connection to any normality, from family, and from society. This isolation is the true evil in Frankenstein. Shelley presents two alternative views on isolation. In the first, we see that Victor Frankenstein imposes on himself a seclusion which ultimately leads to debilitating depression. In contrast, in the second, we see that the creature which he creates is ostracised, not from its own fault, but because it was created to be monstrous, and to incite fear; ’I am an unfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and I have no relation or friend upon earth’.

Victor loses any notion of the world which exists outside of his vision, and as a result, the severity of the consequences of his actions is lost on him. He has been alienated throughout his entire life; he is a man of science, and has no quarrel with being alone, attempting to understand the miracles of the world. Victor places his scientific pursuit above all else. Other relationships which do not benefit his work are thoughtlessly pushed away, whilst every essence of love which he possesses is channelled towards his creation. His isolation is a choice, made for the sake of his science. ’I must absent myself from all I loved while thus employed. Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be restored to my family in peace and happiness.’ However, after he creates the monster, he is then forced to continue in his isolation as he attempts to destroy it.

The monster is isolated because of fear caused by its hideous appearance. Humans are intrinsically flawed, and apparently unable to look beyond the monster’s appearance to see that all it really wants is to be loved. The creature’s first experience of the world is seeing Victor’s, his creator’s, naked fear when it opens its eyes. It is left alone, completely unaware of what it is, and where it is, and this rejection continues through its interaction with the villagers. ’I had hardly placed my foot within the door before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted. The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me.’ Fundamentally, all the creature wants is acceptance, of family, of friends, which is particularly ironic as it is family that Victor fled from in order to create it. The creature, however, is just an assortment of limbs; it has no ties, no relatives, and although it has human features, its appearance makes it impossible for it to fit into human society. Despite possessing more humanity than most humans, the monster is rejected, and this offers a suggestion that perhaps it isn’t humanity that humans most value.

The impact of this isolation is manifest. The monster’s evil is not inherent, it wasn’t created evil, instead it is forced into it by its isolation. It is vengeful, filled with hate and anger, because this is how the world has taught the creature it should be. ’Should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No; from that moment I declared ever-lasting war against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.’ The monster responds to humans in the same way that they have responded to it – with violence. In no way could it be said that the monster itself is responsible for its murderous actions. It kills innocently. It resents Victor for making it this way, and it somewhat understandably wants Victor to be just as isolated as it is, resulting in it killing Elizabeth, Victor’s wife.

In massive contrast to these two characters, we can observe Walton. He represents a ‘normal’ healthy human being. Although Walton chooses isolation, in a similar vein to Victor, like the monster, he also craves 117

companionship. He is the balance. He accepts relative isolation in his singular pursuit of knowledge; ’there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.’ But he also demonstrates an awareness of the consequences of his actions, so that whilst he is massively driven, he does not lose touch with his morals.

Through the literary offering of Frankenstein, Shelley delivers a moral commentary on the world, on the importance of companionship and the catastrophic consequences that can follow if one does not remain connected to others (Victor), and on the harsh judgements which society can impart on innocent people (the monster). The novel could be taken as a lesson, one applicable to today’s society, that appearances can be deceptive and that it is often those who are different who are ostracised, regardless of whether or not they are morally virtuous or repugnant.

December 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Isolation in Camus’s L’Étranger Ava Dean-Smith (NC L6) The novel L’Étranger (The Stranger), was published in 1942, and was written by Albert Camus, a French-Algerian author and journalist. Although he didn’t consider himself to be a philosopher, he is often associated with absurdism – which is the belief that the universe is irrational and meaningless, and that the search for order brings the individual into conflict with the universe. The Stranger indicates Camus’s philosophical stand as an absurdist, as the novel suggests that there is no logical meaning to life, and we can’t make sense of it at all. Meursault, the protagonist and narrator, is a young man living in Algeria slightly before the Second World War. He finds out that his mother has died and takes a bus to her old people’s home. However, he declines the offer of seeing his mother in her coffin; he instead smokes and sleeps until her funeral the following day. Having returned to Algiers, he bumps into Marie, who used to be his co-worker, and they go on a date to see a comedy film; later in the novel the two become engaged. The climax of the story is when Meursault commits murder – he shoots a man for no apparent reason and is arrested. The jury are disgusted by his lack of remorse over his crime, and his absence of grief following his mother’s death: thus, he is sentenced to death. The prosecutor calls Meursault a monster and says that his lack of morality poses a threat to society.

You may be wondering how this links to the wider themes of this publication, but isolation is actually a momentous theme in The Stranger. Meursault is an outcast in society and is isolated from his friends, fiancée, human emotions and, ultimately logic. The Stranger illustrates how judgemental society can be, and how we tend to isolate people who do not conform to societal norms and defy social expectations. Meursault chose to ignore the pre-determined rules of mankind and this upset the order of society. He does not sympathise with the people at his mother’s funeral and does not appear to be sad about her passing: this is demonstrated when Marie unwillingly testifies that they saw a comic film the day after his mother’s funeral and that he didn’t seem sorrowful in the slightest. The most distinguishing example of Meursault’s detachment from this world is his rejection of the caretaker’s offer to see his mother one final time. He sees little change in his life, whether she is dead or alive, owing to how isolated he’s made himself from her. He understands how he is supposed to feel, and tries to love her, but since he has distanced himself so much, he just can’t feel the emotions he knows he should be feeling.

Despite this, he avoids thinking too deeply about the way he is and the way he acts, because analysing these things would make it worse.

Meursault’s isolation is self-imposed, and this can be seen towards the end of the novel in his utter reluctance to lie about himself in order to sway things in his favour. He is aware that his case is not going well, but he keeps on refusing to say anything that he doesn’t truly believe – he digs himself deeper into the hole he has already made for himself. It is self-inflicted because Meursault believes life is absurd and has no meaning, and he remains an outcast because he shows no compassion towards humanity. After his trial, Meursault finally acknowledges his position as an outsider or a ‘stranger’ in society. The concluding lines of the novel are: ‘I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself- so like a brother, really - I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I only wish that there be a large group of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.’

This suggests he has, at last, come to terms with his emotions, and is at peace with the universe – he has fully disconnected himself from society’s expectations. In my opinion, isolation was liberating for Meursault as it enabled him to accept who he was, instead of letting society dictate that his abnormal behaviour portrayed him as an unloving criminal or a ‘stranger’.

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Die Winterreise: Schubert’s Lockdown Edward Beswick (C1 L6) Warning: if lockdown has made you feel bleak, isolated and depressed, this may not be the best time to encounter this cycle of songs, for it is unlikely to cheer you; if, on the other hand, you are looking for something to match your mood, this extraordinary series of songs may be just the thing.

Winterreise (Winter Journey) is a cycle of 24 songs written for voice and piano and composed by Franz Schubert in 1827. It is based on poetry written by Wilhelm Muller (1794–1827). Schubert had long been ill with syphilis, and Winterreise was completed shortly before his death a year after, aged just 31.

The lyrics tell the story of a solitary traveller who, rejected by his beloved, leaves the house where he has been staying with her family, and heads out into the snow and darkness on a journey to rid himself of his lost love. He wanders from the village into the empty countryside on a journey of despair and desperation, with much internal reflection and very little hope to lighten the way. The traveller questions his identity, his being and the meaning of life. His tears turn to ice; he is watched from above by a carrion crow, his only companion; and his dreams of spring are dashed when he awakes to the cold and dark with ravens shrieking. At the end, in Der Leiermann (The HurdyGurdy Man) he observes a beggar musician in the street playing the hurdy-gurdy, unrewarded and ignored – even the dogs growl around him. There is no happy ending here.

Schubert invited his close circle of friends to hear the cycle for the first time, an occasion recalled by his friend Joseph von Spaun: ‘One day he said to me, “Come over to Schober’s today and I will sing you a cycle of horrifying songs.

I am anxious to know what you will say about them. They have cost me more effort than any of my other songs”. So he sang the entire Winterreise through to us in a voice of emotion. We were utterly dumbfounded by the mournful, gloomy tone… To this Schubert replied: “I like these songs more than all the rest, and you will come to like them as well”.

Winterreise has become one of the most performed song cycles and seen as one of the greatest accomplishments and challenges of Lieder performance. The full song cycle lasts a demanding 70 minutes or thereabouts. The original was written for the tenor voice, but it has been performed successfully by singers of all vocal range. The relationship between singer and pianist is finely balanced, and interpretation of the songs relies on a closely understood relationship between the two performers. Some of the many recorded performances include those by Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Hermann Reuter and Peter Schreier with Sviatoslav Richter. More recently, the tenor Ian Bostridge has recorded several performances with different pianists and has written a book Anatomy of an Obsession describing his response to and interpretation of the work over many years. One performance I listened to was Roderick Williams and Christopher Glynn which, unusually, is sung in English rather than the original German. For a first-time listener, (and not fluent in German) it helped me understand the meaning of the text more immediately (rather than follow a translation at the same time), and to listen to the music and story unfold.

And, although the mood is of despair and desolation, Schubert’s ability to draw out the detail of light and darkness through shifts in the use of major and minor, variety in texture in the balance of voice and piano, and shifts in pace and rhythm make this a song cycle which is never dull. It is demanding and intense.

There is much that we can take from Die Winterreise, in relation to our own situation. Many of us have experienced harsh realities and restrictions like never before, losing loved ones and loved freedoms in ways both literal and metaphorical. This collection embodies many of the bleak moments that have been felt over the past year. Though the future seems uncertain, surely we may yet hope that there is more to come than the helplessness at which Schubert’s Winter Journey concludes.

As ends the final song Der Leiermann (The Hurdy-Gurdy Man): I must journey onwards Will you come along?

Play your broken music To my broken song.

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Locks in Lockdown: depictions of Rapunzel in illustrated works from the Golden Age to the present Miss K Lloyd (CR, Artist-in-Residence) We are all familiar with the story of a girl, locked in a tower by a wicked witch after her parents had taken magical herbs from the witch’s garden. Isolated for years, Rapunzel’s golden locks are left to grow long. The witch, and later a handsome prince, pay her visits by climbing up these tresses.

The tale of Rapunzel had a reawakening with the Disney film Tangled in 2010, but the story has been around for nearly 400 years. Petrosinella, meaning ‘little parsley’, was written by Giambattista Basile (1566 to 1632), a Neapolitan poet, and was posthumously published in 1634. In 1812, the clever Grimm Brothers brought it to public acclaim, along with other stories, in their first fairy tale collection. Since then, many artists and illustrators have been inspired by the story and have reworked it in their own particular style, for their own particular period, and more often than not in Grimm editions.

I will look chronologically at a selection of art and illustrations inspired by the story. I will explore how the tale is inherently visually appealing; how it has inspired some of the most famous artists and illustrators of the 19th and 20th centuries; how hair, whether plaited or loose, lends itself well to pattern; and therefore, how both black and white, as well as colour illustrations, can be effective; and finally, how varying the artists interpretations have been: whether romantic, chintzy, sinister, light-hearted, humorous or quirky.

The Golden Age of illustration (which runs parallel with the pre-Raphaelite era) spans from roughly 1850 to 1925. Advances in technology in the mid-19th century and a rise in highly skilled illustrators, meant there was a period of unprecedented excellence, both in book and magazine illustration; books with good illustrations could be produced at relatively low cost. The publication of Alice in Wonderland in 1865 with Sir John Tenniel’s timeless illustrations cemented the power of book illustration.

The late 19th century also covers the Art Nouveau movement from 1890–1910. Aiming to break with traditional art conventions, it was rooted in natural forms and is distinguished by organic sinewy swirls. Perfect for those Rapunzel curls. There is one striking painting of Rapunzel from 1905 by the German painter Heinrich Lefler (1863–1919) (Plate 1) who depicted her with positively psychedelic lurid orangey-yellow locks. I want some of what she’s having. Florence Harrison’s (1877–1955) (Plate 2) colour illustration of 1910 has similar zing.

In 1900 the renowned Arthur Rackham (1867–1939) (Plate 3) illustrated – in what seems to be a rite of passage for many dedicated illustrators – black and white illustrations for a Brothers Grimm edition. In 1909 he developed this into his signature watercolour style in some 40 colour plates.

Walter Crane (1845 to 1915) (Plate 4) was an English artist who produced wooden engraving illustrations for a 1914 Grimm edition. One can still feel the influence of the Pre-Raphaelites here, the poignant, romantic era of the late 19th and early 20th century about to come to an abrupt end with the onset of war. There is a nod to the mediaeval with the structured vignettes in each corner, depicting scissors cutting the lock of hair, and the moon (a feminine symbol and suggesting beauty) visible through the clouds.

It is interesting to compare Crane’s illustration with Louis Rhead’s (1857 to 1926) of 1917 (Plate 5). The position of the tower, the landscape and sense of perspective to the left, and the Prince climbing up the tower. Although Rhead’s illustration is in ink, he still produces the same feeling of a woodcut. Note the almost identical bird to the right of the Prince in both images. Note also one of the main differences in the styling of the hair: Crane’s Rapunzel has loose locks, whereas Louis’s has plaited hair; both work, however, due to the joyous sense of pattern, rhythm and movement.

From 1914, Johnny Gruelle (1880-1938) (Plate 6) produced 11 full colour plates for the Brothers Grimm. His chintzy Rapunzel scene was created in 1922 and is probably one of the most well-known Rapunzel illustrations, decidedly post-war and escapist, and fulfilling the Disney fantasy of the pink roofed tower set amidst a densely set, thick dark forest, as Disney was only just establishing himself.

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Plate 2: Florence Harrison

Plate 1: Heinrich Lefler

Plate 3: Arthur Rackham

Plate 4: Walter Crane

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Plate 5: Louis Rhead

Plate 6: Johnny Gruelle

Plate 9: Wanda Gag

Plate 7: Kay Nielsen (Reproduced by kind permission of Pook Press. www.pookpress.co.uk)

Plate 8: Anne Anderson

Plate 10: Gordon Laite (© Ladybird books. Reproduced by Kind Permission of Penguin Random House LLC)

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After the war, in 1925, Kay Nielsen (1886 to 1957) (Plate 7), a Danish artist living in the US and influenced by Oriental art, illustrated a new Grimm edition. Gone is the over-romanticised Rapunzel of the Art Nouveau era, instead there stands a martyr-like woman, arms raised, chained to a pillar, being beaten and whipped from behind by a mythical monster. It is an arresting image: sinister, but stylish, elegant, beautifully Art Deco.

Here we see again how black-and-white illustrations (whether ink, wood engravings or etchings) can be very effective, but rely on a strong sense of pattern and design. As in Crane and Rhead’s images, we see how the pattern of the hair, albeit in black and white, can produce visual interest, as Nielsen’s plait similarly falls. Note the flower pattern on Rapunzel’s dress as well as rising up the column pillars, here suggesting the tower. So illustrators are happy to depict Rapunzel and her locks in black and white, and not just to rely on colour.

In 1934, the English artist Anne Anderson (1874 to 1935) (Plate 8) produced colour illustrations of Rapunzel. These are rendered in watercolour and are dreamy and soft. The style is typical of the 1930s, paving the way for Disney and his Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

In 1936, Wanda Gag (1893–1946) (Plate 9), of German origin but living in the US, made illustrations again for Brothers Grimm. Rendered in colour as well as black and white, Wanda’s colour illustration in a vignette shape of a tower window, is surreal and magical, and reminiscent of Russian folklore and arts and craft in her strong use of gold, green and orange. Gag’s black and white illustrations are beautifully naive, the faces are simple, and the feel is modern. The vignette of Rapunzel lying with her head in her hands and curling locks spreading out show at once how much fun hair can be, and how much fun and inviting this Rapunzel could be!

In 1959, Gordon Laite (1925–1978) (Plate 10), an American who worked at Disney, produced colour print illustrations in a psychedelic colour scheme for an edition of The Blue Book of Fairy Tales. These are perfectly in tune with the technicolour of the decade. We are tripping on colour (as well as on his colour plate registrations) into a new decade. And 10 years later, in 1969, David Hockney produced black-and-white etchings, with his distinctive walking line and quirky feel, in a series entitled Six Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm. Legend has it Hockney ran out of money and materials and was gifted some etching plates. Rapunzel Growing in the Garden seems to be making some sexual innuendo, whilst The Princess in her Tower sadly appears to be suffering from alopecia. Once again it is worth noting the use of pattern and rhythm in the garden flower beds.

I have not been able to cover all the notable illustrations of Rapunzel (for instance I am missing discussion on Henry Justice Ford, Otto Ubbelohde, Gordon Brown, Paul Hey, Edward Gorey, Robert Weise, Bernhard Hasler and Maurice Sendak), but I have tried to give a sense of varied interpretations of the work and illustration fashions changing through the decades. The idea of a woman locked in a tower is romantic, and timeless as an idea. The visual allure of long curling tresses is appealing for artists. Rapunzel will continue to be illustrated. Let’s just hope tremendous flowing locks for all of us will be an upside of this lockdown.

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The Individuality of Chivalric Culture Sophie Smith (DA U6) ‘It is dusk. A young knight is riding through a deserted countryside, seeking shelter for the night. He has seen no one all day, save a fisherman who has told him of a castle nearby where he will be made welcome.’

This is an extract from the tale of Perceval, written in the 12th century by the French poet Chrétien de Troyes. At the heart of the story is a young knight who is burdened with the solitary quest of finding the holy grail. As in many chivalric legends, the solitude of knightly endeavour is a prominent theme. Alone, he must overcome hardship, challenge and adventure in order to prove his bravery and demonstrate core chivalric values – valour, faith, diligence, temperance and justice. These stories were born out of the developing knightly values of the 12th century, of which individualism was a significant part; society was changing from a homogenous entity centred around the monarchy to a culture where each aristocrat sought to assert their individual prominence. This change was influential in spurring on the development of democracy and parliament.

It has been postulated that it was this shift which also led to the foundation of fame and celebrity in society. At the heart of chivalric culture was the desire for knights to prove themselves against their competitors: the tales of Chrétien de Troyes and others therefore focused on the deeds of a lone questing knight, for it was by these acts of individual heroism that unique worth could be demonstrated. Renowned figures such as William Marshal, Richard the Lionheart and the legendary King Arthur are examples of the widespread recognition that could be gained from individual heroism. This desire for honour and competition with others was an integral part of chivalric culture.

However, there are certainly great differences between the notion of fame today compared to that of the Middle Ages. Recognition of celebrities today is reliant on media and imagery, the lack of which would have detracted from the fame of 12th century knights. Yet the use of heraldry and symbolism was a means by which chivalric culture managed to surmount this issue. Unique shield designs and heraldic animals were adopted by knights to propagate their individuality and extend their fame.

Not only was medieval individualism expressed through heraldic insignia: the building of castles provided another means for self-expression and distinctiveness. Unlike churches or cathedrals, the construction of castles required no adherence to set rules or the inclusion of obligatory elements, resulting in much greater variation.

For instance, Chateau Gaillard, or ‘saucy castle’, was constructed in Normandy by Richard the Lionheart and is recognisable for its deliberately quirky, unusual and complex design, which, as claimed by Richard himself, meant it would not be taken ‘were the walls made of butter’.

Fame and individuality were therefore important aspects of chivalric culture, and ideals that inspired the writers of 12th and 13th century tales. This individualism also bears similarity to the notion of solitude prevalent in aspects of monasticism. The drive of reformers to emulate the life of Christ and the desert fathers led to the rejection of worldly society in favour of solitude and simplicity. Austerity, prayer and hardship were to be endured alone, much as the questing knights must overcome challenge and danger. Stories of Perceval and the Holy Grail suggest the influence of Christianity in chivalric society; the notion of solitude and the struggle to overcome the inner battles of personality thus seem closely connected to the legends of chivalric society.

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PART 6: SOCIAL ISOLATION, SEPARATION, FREEDOM

February 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Rousseau and a Corrupt Society Anouschka Verdon (LI L6) Swiss philosopher Rousseau (1712–78) profoundly influenced the progress of thought across Europe. His works inspired the Romantic generation which, in turn, marked the end of the wave of Enlightenment throughout Europe, as well as inspiring aspects of the French Revolution (though taking place after his death, in 1789).

Rousseau taught parents to take a new interest in their children and their education. He furthered the expression of emotion rather than practicality and polite restraint in love and friendship. He opened people’s eyes to the beauties of nature. But, fundamentally, Jean-Jacques Rousseau held a lot of criticisms for contemporary civilisation and, ultimately, he self-isolated from the corruptness and destructive nature of society.

That is not to say that he believed people were inherently evil. In fact, Rousseau thought humans were good by nature, but that it was society which had taken a bad turn; according to Rousseau, society had only become more harmful as it had become more sophisticated. So, oddly enough, Rousseau was hostile towards modern progress – not unlike some people today. He exonerated nature and believed early societies, which he called ‘nascent’, were the ‘golden age’ of mankind. These nascent societies were when people built their first huts, facilitating the cohabitation of men and women and, in turn, producing the habit of living as a family and associating with neighbours. When unhappy with the present, it is not unusual to look to the past for inspiration – and certainly, it is very easy to glorify and idealise history. While Rousseau’s criticisms for society may have been justified, he, too, like the rest of us, emphasised this by trying to find a solution in the past – the nascent societies.

With Covid-19 and various lockdowns, and a new age of technology, we have found ourselves in unprecedented times. The 21st century marks a new era – the first in which a generation has been raised with mobile phones and other similar devices. Though with many perks and benefits, technology has been linked to increased fatigue, stress, and depression in younger generations. Children feel the negative effects of the lack of physical social connection. And pop culture has exploded thanks to new technologies and social media, based on the short-term tastes and interests of the younger generations, characterised by simple and accessible styles – arguably a response to the difficulty of much of modernism. In return, the ‘technology generation’ looks to the recent past – the 1990s, 1980s, and 1970s for inspiration in life. This is largely reflected in modern fashion trends.

But this is in no way a new concept; the 1960s looked back to the 1920s and, on a larger scale, the Victorians looked back to the Ancient Romans and Greeks, as did those in the Renaissance.

But, while Rousseau thought nascent society was the golden age of human history, he also believed it to be the reason jealousy was born. Neighbours started to compare their abilities and achievements with one another, which ‘marked the first step towards inequality and at the same time towards vice’. Rousseau found that people’s ‘innocent self-love turned into culpable pride, as each person wanted to be better than everyone else’. And so, society was corrupted. Though, it does raise the question: can society ever not be corrupt?

Rousseau clearly thought nothing could be done to fix the destructive nature of civilisation, because he self-isolated for much of his life. Though stemming from a scandal in 1762 about the unorthodox religion in one of his books, Rousseau decided to continue to stay away from society. To Rousseau, solitude was the promise of immunity from the hatred of others. And, in fact, he believed solitude to be the natural human state and that, by distancing oneself from other voices, one was facilitating the return to oneself.

So, a government-ordered separation from the community (his 8-year exile in 1762), turned into a voluntary separation, in which Rousseau got in touch with nature and with himself.

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The Indian Sadhu Ms V R Brown (CR, Religious Studies and Philosophy Department) The thin, ash-streaked arm is raised through the curling pipe-smoke, punctuated by twin horizontal peaks of elbow bones. The tapering wrist supports a clenched hand, grey skin stretched over the knuckles, each shrivelled finger leading to a twisted, spiralling overgrowth of nail. The thumb clenched between the forefingers gives the fist a defiant aspect, as if it has long been raised against an ancient indignity. Forty-four years ago, Amar Bharati Urdavaahu felt such distress at the warring state of the world that he raised his right hand in protest - and has been protesting ever since. A naga sadhu since the age of seven, he has spent 66 years practising Vedic spirituality as a Hindu monk.

The naga sadhus are unique amongst the holy men and women of India, as they are usually naked, smothered in ashes. However, such people are a common sight in India, particularly in holy places such as Varanasi on the banks of the holy river Ganges. Also known as a sanyasi, swami, yogi, vairagi, guru or baba, a sadhu is a holy person called to a life of asceticism in which they leave behind worldly possessions and become nomadic.

Their saffron robes, painted tilaks on their foreheads, shaved or dreadlocked hair, and few possessions including a staff, alms bowl and prayer beads, single them out as those whose focus is beyond the visible. Inspired by their guru, usually a revered sadhu himself, they have chosen to take new names and left behind their previous lives.

Their initiation into the spiritual sect involves a pseudo-funeral ceremony in which they die to their old, worldly lives and are reborn into a spiritual existence. Many of them cultivate seemingly superhuman command over bodily faculties through extreme yogic practices, as Sadhu Urdavaahu has done; the pain of a locked, withering arm will surely have tested his devotion over the years.

Most Hindu ascetics can be broadly divided into two groups: those devoted to the god Shiva (Shaivites) and to the god Vishnu (Vaishnavites), with countless sub-groups within and between the two. The main divisions are called akhadas. People who choose to renounce life as a member of society for a simpler existence, involving abstinence from physical pleasures, are common within Indian religious tradition, and indeed many other religious traditions. They live in isolation, devoting themselves to pilgrimage, meditation and the search for escape from reincarnation and final unification with the ultimate reality – moksha, in Sanskrit. It is this total renunciation of the material world that allows the sadhu to realise the truth of the self or atman – a spiritual aspect that it is believed constitutes the eternal reality within each of us. Thus, through active separation from what many of us might call ‘humanity’ – the society, norms, rules and relationships that create the intricate web of human life – the sadhu seeks to achieve ultimate understanding of their inner selves and the wider active energy of the universe. The use of yoga and meditation techniques in bringing about such understanding is interesting; many modern people find them useful in curing illness, relieving stress, anxiety or anger due to the control they help us to gain over our senses as well as our emotional and mental health.

Perhaps the most important aspect of asceticism for the sadhu is that it results in complete independence: freedom from the comforts of the material world, the relinquishing of family ties, of communal or societal principles. However, this does not seem to be something that is intended to apply only to the few who decide to take this path. Traditionally, the Vedic literature has divided human life into four parts, or ashrams. The first two are brahmacharya, the stage of youth or learning, and grihastha, the householder phase including marriage and until the person becomes a grandparent. The final two Vedic ashrams are vanaprastha and sanyasi – the hermitage and renunciation phases.

The hermitage phase is the time to move away from active participation in society and family life and to observe and guide at a distance. Literally meaning “dwelling in forests”, this stage allows the individual to live a simple life away from society in order to prepare for the renunciation of worldly ties for the final part of their life.

Anyone who has had the privilege to stay in an Indian ashram will know that the communities are usually selfsufficient, growing their own food and abstaining from anything more than the simplest of meals and personal needs: such is the expectation for those who have moved into the vanaprastha life stage as they prepare for further renunciation of earthly life in their later years. The final stage, sanyasi, is when each person’s acquired lifetime of knowledge, morality, experience and wisdom can be consulted by those still within society to seek assistance 129

or guidance. According to the Vedas, the individual has no need of wealth, material comforts or worldly things during this stage; they should disconnect themselves from family and human society and should exist on the charity of others. The entire energy and focus of the individual at this point should be on the achievement of moksha, or salvation from eternal rebirth.

Despite the Vedic exhortations, these final two stages are not the chosen path for most. As such, these holy men (for they are mostly male, due to persisting Indian societal and religious norms) occupy a peculiar place in society. Despite occasionally being viewed with suspicion due to their ‘otherness’, they are more often called baba, meaning ‘father’, ‘grandfather’ or ‘uncle’; they are revered, and their blessings and counsel are sought by those who encounter them. Without any means of obtaining money or even a place to sleep, they are entirely reliant upon the generosity and kindness of strangers. Their spiritual practices are believed by many to be responsible for removing bad karma from themselves and the community at large which means that people are often more than willing to support them.

The time to remove ourselves from society and reflect upon the meaning and purpose of our lives is not something many of us are given, particularly as we are active, busy, modern people many of whom are still working well into what would be the hermitage phase. Recent events, however, may well have afforded us opportunities to ‘dwell in the forest’: to simplify our lives, purify our thoughts and take a step back from the hubbub of consumerism, social media and life outside ourselves. If you have eaten something you have grown, cleared out and given away your clothes to charity or read a new book that transported your mind, then you may just have taken a leaf out of a baba’s book.

January 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Looking for Lockdown Difference?

Consider the Example of Simeon Stylites Reverend T W G Novis (CR, College Chaplain) Whilst seeking to avoid your ‘annoying little brother’ who is constantly ‘around’, wanting to be in your room, you consider what activities you can do outside during your permitted daily exercise. With a little research you stumble upon the example of Simeon Stylites . . . initially, you find the peace and the tranquillity you sought with no one to disturb you. But, ironically, your chosen outdoor activity is so bizarre you attract a huge crowd who constantly badger you for advice, and even prayer and sermons.

Simeon Stylites, was born in Turkey in 390 ce and passed away in Aleppo, in 459 ce . He was a Syrian mystic and hermit who converted to Christianity in his youth. He was attracted by what was deemed the heady trendiness of the new faith, recently recognised by Constantine in 325 ce as the official ‘religion of the empire’ in the West.

He was an ‘extreme ascetic’, and always accepted the Lenten challenge of neither eating nor drinking for all 40 days! After entering a monastery, Simeon decided to absent himself from the presence of the other monks and their annoying habits (if you’ll pardon the pun). He didn’t go on a long solo pilgrimage or choose to live in a single cell like the Cistercians in the West. Instead, he built a pillar, 20 feet high, upon which he sat for years – completing his daily exercises, which involved bending his forehead down to touch his feet, praying and even preaching to people who insisted on disturbing his bizarre peace.

After a time, however, the crowds became tedious. After all, sitting atop a pillar was meant to get Simeon away from people and literally up higher and closer to God. Thus, he built a taller pillar, then an even taller pillar.

His final pillar, upon which he died after 37 years of existence at its summit, was 60 feet high with a six-foot diameter platform at the top.

Stylites wasn’t Simeon’s last name – it means ‘pillar dweller’ in Greek (‘Stylos’ is the Greek word for ‘pillar).

It wasn’t falling from the heights that most concerned the ironic visitors to this lofty hermit, but instead it was worry, on his behalf, that he was driven by the Cardinal Sin of the Seven Deadlies – that of Pride. To give him a holy opportunity to prove himself humble, they would regularly ask him to come down; if he refused, they believed it was as a result of his pride. If he obeyed, he was truly humble. Thus, poor Simeon, constantly pestered, would begin his lengthy descent. His devotion and humility proved, he would be left alone until other tricksters came to test him – time and time again.

But it wasn’t just delinquents in search of a laugh who visited him, Pope Leo I even consulted him on his Christological views. Even today, he is venerated by the Oriental Orthodox Church, the Eastern Orthodox Church, the Roman Catholic Church and the Anglican Church. In Western Christianity, his Feast Day is 5th January.

Amazingly, if you select this to be your Lockdown project, you won’t be alone today in this endeavour. The Katskhi Pillar in Georgia is 131 feet high and occupied by a modern-day monk named Maxime Qavtaradze, age 67, who sleeps in a fridge at the summit to protect him from the elements. Not quite the extremist as Simeon, Maxime descends once or twice a week to offer counsel to the troubled young men who come to see him.

With the extraordinary examples of Simeon and Maxime to follow, Lockdown need never be boring or lonely again!

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The Early Christian Desert Movement Lara Higgins Anderson (LI L6) The rich history of Christianity is brimming with colourful characters and momentous movements; however, few are quite as extraordinarily outlandish as that of the Desert Movement.

The third and fourth centuries witnessed thousands of devout Christians, both men and women, taking themselves off to the wilderness of the desert to live lives of extreme asceticism, either on their own or in monastic communities. These remarkable people retired from society to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, who was famously led by the Holy Spirit to the desert to spend forty days and nights in solitude to test his faith and resilience and prepare himself for the onerous mission ahead of him, fasting and resisting the temptations of the devil: nd the tempter came and said to him, ‘If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves A of bread’. But he answered, ‘It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God’. (Matthew 4: 1–25) This is a part of an extensive biblical tradition of the desert wilderness, stretching back to the Old Testament, and which is associated with pivotal biblical characters such as John the Baptist, Moses and Elijah. In combination with other contemporary ascetic and monastic developments in Christianity, such as the Northern Egyptian Apotaktikoi, the flame that kickstarted the Desert Movement was ignited, inspiring innumerable numbers of early Christians to devote themselves to a life in isolation – solely dedicated to God. The Desert Movement is principally associated with Lower Egypt and the Nile Valley: the most famous of its exponents being Anthony the Great, otherwise known as St Anthony of the Desert. Whilst not being the first Desert Father, he was the greatest pioneer of the Desert Movement, and is considered the founder and father of organised Christian monasticism. He withdrew from society in ad 286, in a quest to find absolute solitude, selecting a mountain by the Nile as his place of residence. However, it was not the adverse living conditions that presented him with the greatest challenge, but, like Jesus, his spiritual combat with the Devil. The Devil is said to have manifested himself in a number of guises, challenging his pious resolve – such as a monk tempting him with bread during a period of fasting. Anthony’s steadfast prayer and penance in the face of the Devil’s wiles is regarded as legendary and is depicted in a number of works of both literature and art – notably the paintings of both Hieronymus Bosch and Salvador Dalí, as well as in Flaubert’s novel The Temptation of Saint Anthony. His solitary life as a hermit allowed him to attain a level of spiritual purity that inspired countless monks to follow him into the desert – choosing self-imposed isolation combined with ascetic practices.

As the UK faces its third national lockdown, families who at first were relishing in the luxury of being at home with their loved ones are now raring to get out again, praying to God (not unlike the hermits) that a sense of normality will be restored, and the simple luxury of sitting in a café will again become routine. Cracks in previously tight family units appear and deepen – sometimes threatening to shatter, with the sound of constant bickering becoming as inevitable as the dawn chorus. I myself have found rows over who gets to hold of the remote control becoming more and more heated. Ironically, whist as a nation we are said to be ‘isolating’, for many of us, it seems near-impossible to find a moment of solitude, free from the constant pestering of our ‘dearly-beloved’ family members. This may be a situation that desert hermits would be able to relate to, when they, though seeking absolute seclusion and withdrawal from society, actually managed to draw attention to themselves. Paradoxically, a number of them gained a sort of celebrity status which attracted a constant swarm of pilgrims seeking their wisdom. In the words of St Athanasius ‘the desert had become a city’, and – much to the dismay of the hermits - they had become its tourist attractions.

This was very much the case for St Simeon Stylites – a revered Syrian monk who retreated to the desert in ad 423. Like other desert hermits believed his self-imposed isolation and steadfast devotion to Christianity would bring him closer to God. However, wherever Simeon resided - from a hut in the desert to a crevice in the mountains – flocks of pilgrims would encroach on his solitude. In a desperate attempt to find absolute seclusion he took up residence on top of a 50-foot pillar in the ruins of the ancient city of Telanissa – where he remained 132

for the next 37 years of his life. Permanently exposed to the elements, he was restricted to a one square metre platform, which forced him to remain standing or sitting day and night, receiving meagre amounts of food from his disciples and visiting pilgrims. Whilst occupying such a small, remote area – St Simeon’s influence was substantial – converting many to Christianity, and even convincing the Eastern Roman emperor Leo I to support the Orthodox Chalcedonian party. His legacy continued to inspire ascetics to become Stylites long after his death, even as late as the 19th century.

Upon first glance, it is easy to cast the Desert Movement and its hermits aside as ludicrous and absurd.

However, its importance in the development of Christianity and monasticism should not be overlooked.

Furthermore, dare I say it – I believe we can learn from these reclusive hermits; I am not suggesting that you sell all your possessions and climb to the top of a pillar, but more that you consider their view of isolation. Nowadays, the word ‘isolation’ has negative connotations and implies an enforced state of loneliness – often connected with punishment; however, these Christian hermits actively sought isolation, stiving for a heightened state of spirituality and self-awareness. Thus, perhaps isolation does not always have to be a negative experience, and benefits can be drawn from it.

January 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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Self-isolation for Prayer in the Cells in the San Marco Dominican Friary, Florence Isobel Benster (DA L6) Upon entering the first floor cells of the Dominican friary of San Marco in Florence, there is an overwhelming sense of the sweet spiritual beauty of Fra Angelico’s carefully painted religious frescos that adorn the plastered walls of each. Long corridors are flanked by solitary cells, each containing a fresco to aid the friars’ prayer and worship. The friary had been abandoned until, in 1434, Cosimo de Medici (the celebrated and generous patron of the arts) returned to power in Florence and decided to renovate it, in order to represent the best in Christian humanism. In addition to the San Marco complex, built by distinguished architect Michelozzo, Cosimo financed the paintings of Fra Angelico (as well as those of Benozzo Gozzoli), which were completed in the middle years of the century. The paintings remain vibrant and vivid to this day, and are considered a pinnacle of religious Renaissance art. Thus it seems they have often been admired outside the original context for which they were made – namely, as a spiritual focus for solitary contemplation of friars, whose role was to preach the word of God, and to uphold Christian rectitude across society.

Fra Angelico, a renowned Renaissance artist and a Dominican friar at San Marco himself, was familiar with the theology of Thomas Aquinas and St Augustine, and knew that sight was not only corporeal, but spiritual and intellectual. Upon first glance, the walls seem to encapsulate the epitome of religious Florentine art; but when they are viewed during deep prayer and worship, the frescos occupy another space, one that can be accessed only via the spiritual eye. Through isolated prayer, believers were able to truly engage with the divine, before a beautiful and idyllic painting – not only on a spiritual, but also on an intellectual level.

However, Fra Angelico, like some of this religious contemporaries, might have been cautious when providing the viewer with an image capable of connecting the physical (art) to the intellectual and spiritual sensibilities aroused in the observer. These paintings were far from being designed to bring delight and pleasure, unlike much art (including religious art) of the time. Perhaps such religious artists believed the very process of painting the frescoes enabled them to access the divine. In the words of Georgio Vasari, in his The Lives of the Artists: ‘A sublime and exceptional talent such as that Fra Angelico possessed could and should not be bestowed upon anyone but a man leading the most holy of lives; for this reason, those who engage in ecclesiastical and holy works should be ecclesiastics and holy men themselves, for we see that when such things are executed by people who have little faith and hold religion in low esteem… the work is censured for its impurity but praised for its craftsmanship and skill’.

Following the Medicis exile from Florence in 1494, another friar of San Marco, the demagogue Savonarola, declared the city ‘the New Jerusalem’ and claimed that it had entered a new golden age. From then on, he greatly influenced political and daily life in Florence. Despite also being a Dominican friar and a devout Christian, Savonarola is something of a paradox: profoundly pious, a champion of liberty, yet a harsh upholder of strict moral standards. He was referred to by Machiavelli as the ‘unarmed prophet’. In Savonarola’s radical Bonfire of the Vanities, he burned both secular art (including works of Botticelli) and irreligious luxuries in the Plaza della Signoria. He was later excommunicated and sentenced to death; his body burned to ensure that he could not be remembered as a martyr. And yet Savonarola, the unexpected leader who replaced the Medici, knelt on the very floors of the San Marco cells. His harshness lay in contrast to Fra Angelico’s apparently saintly character.

Whilst the paintings in each cell are individual, they all act harmoniously to represent a greater narrative.

Similarly, whilst each individual worshipper contemplates the fresco on the wall before them, each is connected through the art and the worship, and perhaps more importantly – though isolated, they are together in their connection to the divine. The physical eye needn’t be separate from that of the spiritual and intellectual, but instead their marriage can connect the visible to the invisible.

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‘Dropouts’ William Snooks (C1 Re) ‘A person is a person through other persons; you can’t be human in isolation, you are human only in relationship.’

As Desmond Tutu suggests, isolation is not a natural human phenomenon. We have relied on each other from the earliest times – whether for protection, reproduction or economic reasons; we are inherently sociable. We need others.

When you consider the word ‘isolation’, it is currently heavily associated with the pandemic and the need to protect others by separating yourself as required from society. However, there have always been many forms of isolation, some of which force an individual to separate themselves totally from society or part of society, or to make others feel isolated whilst appearing to be included within the community they live in. Then there are those people who voluntarily elect to leave the norm and to ‘drop out’ of society altogether. This article will consider briefly different types of isolation moving to a particular focus on ‘dropouts’ who chose to walk away from society. Electing to isolate can be caused by a series of factors and this paper attempts to identify these and briefly summarise the key reasons for the same. From research undertaken, it would appear that it can either be as a result of social factors or conscious choice.

In terms of social factors, isolation can be triggered by environmental changes, such as the current pandemic, or societal pressures, for instance the ghettos seen during The Second World War. This form of isolation is determined by the community or elements of the community rather than the individual. Elements of society are required to adhere to wider restrictions placed on them by others.

Elective isolation, however, is when an individual has made a conscious decision to withdraw from society.

The term ‘dropout’, whilst derogatory, reflects the fact that an individual has chosen to leave society. These people are interesting because their behaviour is contrary to what is accepted to be normal psychological behaviour. To illustrate the differences within these groups, I’m going to consider hikikomori, hermits and those individuals affected by mental health issues.

Hikikomori refers to both the particular type of isolation and the people themselves. Hikikomori is prevalent in the younger generations of Japanese society. The term itself means ‘being confined’ in Japanese, and these people, by definition, confine themselves to their homes often for more than six months (and sometimes years) with very little interaction with anyone. In choosing not to interact with society, they miss the normal contact found with their peer groups in either school or work. They are unable to live alongside others. Some psychologists have suggested that this phenomenon is in part as a result of technology defining their world and limiting their ability to communicate. It is almost like severe agoraphobia. There is a great deal of research that suggests that this form of social withdrawal is increasing as shown in a study conducted in March 2019, when there were believed to be approximately 1.2 million people who identified as hikikomori. Worryingly, it has been noted that hikikomori isolation is being identified in other locations in the world, which suggests perhaps that we need to consider if society is responsible for this behaviour triggered by the amount of time spent online rather than with others.

Should we therefore be looking to consider the impact of the digital world on people’s mental health?

There is already a great deal of evidence indicating a negative mental effect on young people as a result of the growth of the online world.

Turning from hikikomori to hermits, it is a Hindu belief that everyone matures into a hermit. This is an interesting concept, given Desmond Tutu’s statement to the effect that we are naturally sociable. From the start of time hermits have existed outside the normal social boundaries electing to lead a simpler life away from others, an early example being Paul of Thebes (ad 250). They elect to be on their own. Some people have suggested that electing to isolate or “drop out” from society allows you to become wiser, a belief that is held by numerous religions, whereby you can really focus on the essential. You also will find numerous examples of people choosing to self-isolate because they feel threatened by the society they were once part of. However, there are also numerous 135

psychological studies that suggest that solitary confinement is psychologically damaging, with similar suggestions around the negative impact on people’s mental health as we’ve identified with the hikikomori. Whilst it is easy to understand people’s desire to break away from the pressures that come with being a member of society, history has shown that this can lead to an inability to reintegrate into society, further separating them from communities.

Finally, isolation can often be experienced as a result of mental health issues. It is important to recognise that isolation is not the same as loneliness. People can often feel isolated whilst still being within a community, and only relatively recently has it been acceptable to acknowledge mental health issues – it certainly was not acceptable when our parents were our age. In our generation, we have seen society acknowledge that it is fine to recognise and address an inability to cope with day-to-day life, whether it is work, school, family etc. In fact, with events like Mental Health Awareness Week, we are helped to understand that specific mental health issues can drive a sense of isolation which in turn leads to depression, anxiety and paranoia. It is important to have the opportunity to say, ‘I need help’. Failure to provide the support mechanisms has historically had devastating consequences.

So ‘dropouts’ appear to be affected by the society of which they’re part, to such a degree that they can no longer function as an element of the same. We should question therefore if it is our responsibility, as the next generation, to acknowledge and address the new and current triggers for conscious isolation – could it otherwise in its own right be a new pandemic?

February 2021 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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An Isolation XI – From Sporting History Mr M P L Bush (CR, History Department) Sport often focuses on teamwork, not solitude. So, in a somewhat ironic undertaking, Mr Bush selects a team of famous ‘Sporting Isolators’ from across a range of disciplines:

Athletics – Derek Redmond British 400m sprinter Derek Redmond won gold in the 4x400m relay in the Tokyo World Championships in 1991, alongside the more famous Roger Black, John Regis and Kris Akabusi. However, it is his perseverance in the face of adversity a year later for which he is best remembered. Having posted the fastest first round qualifying time and won his quarter final at the Barcelona Olympics, Redmond cruelly tore a hamstring with 150m to go in the semi-final. The pain was obvious for all to see, as the distraught and isolated Redmond hobbled along the track, determined to finish the race. He was joined by his father who had barged past security on to the track to help. Leaning on his father’s shoulder for support, Redmond received a standing ovation from the 65,000-strong Spanish crowd as he crossed the finish line amid emotional scenes. His courage and determination captured the Olympic spirit and the enduring image of Redmond and his father Jim has been used on a series of advertisements.

Basketball – Magic Johnson Former NBA superstar Earvin ‘Magic’ Johnson was a basketball sensation in the 1980s. Johnson won no fewer than five NBA titles for the Los Angeles Lakers across the decade, and was awarded the Most Valuable Player in three separate seasons. He is often regarded as the best point guard that the game has ever seen.

However, his career ended abruptly in 1991 when he announced he had contracted HIV, a revelation that shocked the sporting world. In the days when the AIDS pandemic was feared and not widely understood, Johnson went from hero to zero.

Seen as an outcast, he was isolated by fellow players. He returned for the 1992 All-Star Game and to play in the ‘Dream Team’ at the Barcelona Olympics, only to be forced into retirement again following protests. He returned once more in 1996 aged 36. Arguably one of the greatest men ever to play the sport, Johnson was twice inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame, in 2002 and 2010. He has survived with HIV for 30 years and has campaigned for HIV/AIDS prevention and awareness.

Climbing – Reinhold Messner Marlborough has a celebrated history with the conquest of Mount Everest.

Although it was Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay who famously made it to the summit in 1953, the expedition that resulted in the first successful ascent of the world’s tallest mountain was led by Old Marlburian John Hunt (C2 1924–28).

However, it was Italian mountaineer Reinhold Messner who achieved the first solo scaling of Everest, 27 years later. Operating in isolation and without supplementary oxygen, Messner established a new route. During the climb, he spontaneously elected to ascend through a steep gorge on the north face of the peak. Since Messner’s feat in 1980, a number of other mountaineers have scaled Everest, including OM Jake Meyer (C3 1997–2002) who in 2005 became the youngest person to do so.

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Cricket – Mohammad Yousuf Both Islam and cricket remain key components of Pakistan’s national identity since partition from India in 1947. Over 96% of Pakistanis are Muslims, whereas Christians make up just 1.5%. Yousuf Youhana was born in Lahore to a poor Punjabi Christian family and, as a promising cricketer, he was selected to play for the national side in 1998. With a team culture centred around religion and prayer sessions commonly held in holy periods such as Ramadan, Youhana was inevitably an isolated figure to some degree. Success with the bat cemented his position in the side and centuries were celebrated by performing the sign of the cross on his chest. In 2005 after 59 Tests, Youhana surprised many by converting to Islam and changing his name to Mohammad Yousuf. Some wondered if this was to enhance his chances of captaincy, but he insisted that it was a private matter and refused to discuss it publicly. In the year that followed he had great success on the field, as he ended 2006 with 1,788 runs – still a world record for the most Test Match runs in a calendar year. The sign of the cross was replaced by a sadjah (the act of bowing to Allah). Later he said that he became a better player and better human after converting, ending his career in 2010 with 24 centuries in 90 Tests at an average of 52.29.

Football – Bert Trautmann Born in 1923 to working class parents in Bremen, Bert Trautmann became a Hitler Youth member, an Iron Cross recipient and an Eastern Front survivor. He arrived in Lancashire as a Prisoner of War having been captured by the British at the end of the Second World War. It was in the prisoner-of-war camp where Trautmann’s goalkeeping potential was first spotted and after a brief spell at St Helen’s Town, he was scouted by the then First Division Manchester City, which he joined in 1949. As a German in an English dressing room, Trautmann was an unpopular and isolated figure. As a former Radio Operator in the Luftwaffe, his signing proved controversial with the club’s support base. Memories of the Blitz still haunted Mancunians in a city with a significant Jewish population. His performances gradually won over the doubters and he was awarded ‘Footballer of the Year’ in 1956, the same season that City won the FA Cup with Trautmann notoriously breaking his neck in the final. The book Trautmann’s Journey by Catrine Clay tells the story of his life as does the 2018 film entitled The Keeper.

Golf – Tiger Woods Tiger Woods is one of the most famous names in sport, let alone golf. With a record 82 PGA tour wins to his name alongside 15 major championship titles, he is arguably the greatest golfer of all time. However, it was his first Masters victory at Augusta, Georgia, which was his most poignant. The youngest Green Jacket winner was 21 years old and triumphed by an astonishing 12 strokes, finishing 18 under par. However, it was the issue of race which was the most symbolic. In the spring of 1997, Woods became the first black man to win on a course which had only been forced to allow black members seven years earlier. Set in America’s deep south, black golfers were banned from competing at the Masters until 1975 and until 1982 all caddies had to be black. Although World No.1, Woods remained an isolated figure in some parts of America. Soon afterwards he took part in a famous Nike advert, saying, ’There are still courses in the USA that I am not allowed to play on because the colour of my skin’. Despite well-publicised personal problems later in his career, he remains a golfing hero and a pioneer for black golfers across America and the world.

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Netball – Jess Thirlby With the coronavirus pandemic in full swing, Jess Thirlby was forced into self-isolation following a positive Covid test in October 2020. The problem for the England netball head coach was that her team was about to embark on a series in faraway New Zealand. Despite not suffering any symptoms, Thirlby had to abide by the necessary protocols and stay at home. She opted instead to provide virtual leadership from the other side of the world. With assistants Kat Ratnapala and Colette Thomson in charge on the ground, Thirlby adopted New Zealand time, ignoring clocks and sacrificing sleep to watch the team train and communicate using video-conferencing. Although the Vitality Roses lost the series to the Silver Ferns, Thirlby saw the experience as a positive one, being able to watch from afar and communicate motivational messages and tactical insight from her laptop in Bath. It should contribute to strengthening her team as they target the 2022 Commonwealth Games in Birmingham.

Running – Bruce Tulloh Marlborough’s very own Bruce Tulloh won gold in the 5,000m at the 1962 European Championships, sprinting for home from 700m to stun his opponents in Belgrade.

He was famous for running barefoot, and illness cruelly denied him the opportunity to compete at the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo. In 1969 he embarked on the challenge of running solo across America, from Los Angeles to New York. Running at an average of 45 miles per day and supported by his wife Sue and seven-year-old son Clive, the ‘isolated runner’ was sponsored by British Leyland, Schweppes and the Observer. The original ‘Forrest Gump’ completed the 2,876 mile journey in 65 days, smashing the record by eight days. Tulloh released the book Four Million Footsteps about the experience. He later joined the College in 1973 where he taught Biology and ran the Athletics for over 20 years. As a tribute to Bruce, the College Chapel was full for his memorial service in 2018, and the pavilion at the athletics track was named in his honour in 2019.

Rugby – Chester Williams No sportsman symbolised the end of apartheid as distinctly as Chester Williams. Growing up in the Western Cape, he was something of a rarity in a regime brutally divided along racial lines, where rugby was seen as the ‘white man’s game’, and black youngsters would cheer the opposition rather than the Springboks. An isolated figure, Williams recalled having to change for matches on the bus, as the locker rooms were restricted to white athletes. He later claimed in his autobiography that he was called racist names by fellow team-mates in the national side. Scoring four tries against Samoa in the quarter-finals, Williams was the only black South African in the 1995 World Cup-winning squad. The enduring image of Nelson Mandela dressed in a Springbok jersey presenting the Webb Ellis Cup to captain Francois Pienaar later inspired the film Invictus. Williams died of a suspected heart attack in September 2019. Two months later fellow countryman Siya Kolisi became the first black captain to lift the World Cup, 24 years after the famous Mandela final.

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Sailing – Ellen MacArthur Derbyshire born British sailor Ellen MacArthur spent no fewer than 71 days, 14 hours, 18 minutes and 33 seconds in isolation when she broke the world record for the fastest solo circumnavigation of the globe in 2005. Her voyage saw her sail 27,354 nautical miles (50,660km) setting out from Falmouth in Cornwall and finishing across an imaginary line between England’s Lizard Point and Ushant on the coast of France. Her journey took her to the South Atlantic before heading eastwards past the Capes of Good Hope (South Africa), Leeuwin (Australia) and Horn (South America), then heading up the Atlantic again. She slept for no more than 20 minutes at a time.

The day after finishing it was announced that Ellen would be made a Dame, the youngest ever recipient of this title. In 2010 she launched the Ellen MacArthur Foundation, a charity focused on accelerating the transition to a regenerative circular economy (economic system aimed at eliminating waste and the continual use of resources).

Tennis – Monica Seles Born in the former Yugoslavia to an ethnic Hungarian family, Monica Seles was a child prodigy who won the 1990 French Open aged just 16. She went on to win seven more Grand Slam singles titles while still a teenager and ended both 1991 and 1992 ranked No. 1 in the world. Tragedy struck in April 1993 when she was the victim of an on-court stabbing attack while playing in Hamburg. The deranged culprit was a Steffi Grafobsessed fan who ran from the crowd during a break between games to stab Seles between the shoulder blades. She was rushed to hospital and the combination of her injuries and the psychological trauma forced her into a two-year period of isolation from the game. Although she returned to win a fourth Australian Open title in 1996, she was never able to consistently regain her best form, and played her last professional match in 2003. Many regard her as having had the potential to be the best female tennis players of all time had she not been stabbed. The legacy of the attack on Seles led to much greater security across the sporting world.

Image credits: Derek Redmond – https://www.reddit.com/r/OldSchoolCool/comments/72ha81/derek_redmond_and_his_father_1992_summer_olympics/ Magic Johnson – https://thegamehaus.com/nba/celebrating-magic-johnson/2020/08/14/ Reinhold Messner – https://www.nationalgeographic.com/adventure/adventure-blog/2016/04/21/how-climbing-everest-without-oxygen-can-govery-wrong/ Mohammad Yousuf – https://wisden.com/almanack/mohammad-yousuf-in-2006-graces-beard-bradmans-appetite-almanack Bert Trautmann – https://ghanasoccernet.com/bert-trautmann-remembering-the-man-city-legend-as-the-keeper-hits-uk-cinemas Tiger Woods – https://www.augusta.com/masters/story/news/2017-03-31/woods-runaway-victory-1997-masters-shook-sport Jess Thirlby – https://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/netball/54456778 Bruce Tulloh – https://www.marlboroughcollege.org/2019/10/bruce-tulloh-book-anniversary-edition/ Chester Williams – https://www.irishtimes.com/sport/rugby/where-s-chester-another-springboks-95-legend-passes-away-1.4011520 Ellen MacArthur – https://www.bt.com/sport/news/2021/february/on-this-day-in-2005-dame-ellen-macarthur-breaks-round-the-world-record Monica Seles – https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/w3cswmts

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Isolation in Sport James Fuller (LI Sh) Elite sport in general is usually highly sociable, with players surrounded by coaching staff, team-mates, opponents and fans. However, it isn’t always so – sometimes high performance sport can become lonely. Not only is there physical isolation – being physically absent from others, in sailing for example, but there is also the psychological side of it. Many sportsmen and women have found that the public spotlight, or just the sheer pressure of making important decisions, causes them to undergo a feeling of extreme loneliness.

Now there aren’t many places on Earth more isolated than in the middle of the ocean, which is where Pip Hare, a 47-year-old sailor, had found herself for just under 100 days. On the 12th February, she became the first Brit and the eighth woman in history to complete the Vendée Globe, a non-stop, solo yacht race circumnavigating the world. Just over halfway through her race, Pip faced the task of fixing her rudder in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Upon discovering that the vital component was broken, she began to despair, and stated that she felt ‘extremely lonely’ in that moment. Following that incident, Pip experienced a week of emotional struggle, mental fight and physical pain, and she stated that she felt ‘completely isolated’. Throughout her 95 days at sea, the only living things she saw were a couple of dolphins in the Pacific, and she said afterwards that it soon became extremely difficult to stay positive and motivated. And so, despite having contact with her family and coaches, as well as messages of support coming in to spur her on, the sheer feeling of being hundreds of miles away from the nearest land was extremely difficult to take, and at times, she said that it ‘really overwhelmed’ her. Thus, it is clear that being miles away from anyone else can really rattle somebody.

By contrast, living your life as a football manager is living surrounded by others. Not only do you have players, staff, opponents around you, but you also have thousands of fans and an excess of media attention, and this has its pros and cons: when it is going well, everyone loves you. When isn’t, however, everyone wants you out, so to speak. Hence, as a football manager, you are constantly among people and their opinions. Despite this, many football managers have felt completely alone when it comes to big decisions. Sports Psychologist Dr Steve Peters said that ‘being in charge and having responsibility can be isolating’, when investigating the issue with loneliness in sport. Peters was employed by Liverpool FC while they were managed by Brendan Rogers, who coincidently did feel the pressure of being stuck in the spotlight. Rogers talked about the difficulty of having to make multimillion-pound decisions and dealing with the criticism that inevitably goes with it. He also talked about the struggle of always knowing that people dislike you. If you make a bad decision then your own fans hate you; if you make a good decision then opposition fans hate you, so either way you are unpopular with people, who often don’t try to keep it a secret, and it isn’t hard to see why in this situation, managers can begin to feel isolated.

Lastly, I want to write about one other example of isolation; however, it isn’t a direct result high performance sport: it is a result of what follows. More and more, we are seeing sportsmen and women having to face isolation and loneliness during their retirement. Although some find it laborious, many sportspeople enjoy the fame, the status and the publicity of being in high performance sport, and so miss it when it’s gone, and begin to feel lonely. As well as this, the average age of retirement from professional sport is 33, and most sports don’t pay as well as you would imagine, so most people have to find new jobs, and it is very difficult for them to look back at where they were, and where they are now. Also, it is upsetting and disorientating to discover that you are unable to do something you were able to do just years before. So, some retired sportsmen and women feel like Carl Fogarty, four-time world super-bike champion: ‘I was depressed because I could no longer do the thing that I was good at; retiring is like walking out of a supermarket with all your bags, but not knowing where the car is’. Finally, all of these are feelings of isolation and loneliness that retired sportspeople experience, and isolation leads to depression, which is why now more than ever, with the influence of the media, we are sadly seeing suicide rates that are higher than ever in this category of people.

Thus, despite being an extremely sociable community, loneliness and isolation in top level sport is becoming more and more prominent. Both physically and psychologically, whether they’re making their debut, in their prime, or retired, the feeling of isolation is affecting professional sportspeople, with serious consequences.

It is a problem, we’re not yet sure if it has a solution, but the sporting community must have the knowledge of it, otherwise it is only going to get worse and further impede what we love.

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Wilfred Thesiger (1910–2003) Dima Montanari (C1 Re)

Wilfrid Thesiger in Arab dress, in the Empty Quarter (Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford University, Photo 72, Volume 15, Oman 1948–1949). Also appears in in the book Wilfred Thesiger, My Life and Travels, an Anthology, first published in 2002 by HarperCollins.

Wilfrid Thesiger, who died in 2003, is considered one of the greatest explorers and travel writers of the 20th century, as well as being a fine photographer. He was the last of a celebrated breed of 19th and 20th century desert-loving English explorers. These included Charles Doughty, Richard Burton, Gertrude Bell, Gifford Palgrave, Wilfred Scawen Blunt, Lady Anne Blunt, T.E. Lawrence, Bertram Thomas and St John Philby, all of whom were privately educated, and with the exception of the Blunts, went to Oxford or Cambridge. Some of the most memorable photos of them show them wearing Arab dress and headgear as they travelled across the Middle East. Wilfrid Scawen Blunt was the grand-uncle of the Soviet spy and Marlburian Anthony Blunt, whilst his wife Lady Anne was the granddaughter of Lord Byron, another restless traveller. St John Philby, who converted to Islam, was the father of the notorious Kim Philby (a British intelligence officer and double-agent for the Soviet Union). At this time, a romantic fascination with the desert and its nomads was clearly very fashionable among the English upper class; it was regarded as somewhat eccentric by Americans and Europeans.

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Wilfrid Thesiger was born in Addis Ababa in 1910. His father was British ambassador there. Thesiger came from an aristocratic family with a distinguished record of imperial service. His grandfather Lord Chelmsford was a general who commanded British forces at the Battles of Isandlwana and Ulundi in the Anglo-Zulu war. His uncle 1st Viscount Chelmsford, a Wykehamist, was Viceroy of India from 1916 until 1921, and the renowned actor Ernest Thesiger, a Marlburian, was his cousin.

Abyssinia was an important influence on Thesiger’s childhood. He later recalled how spellbound he was on the day in 1916 when the army of Ras Tafari, armed with swords, spears and shields marched to battle against a rival royal claimant to the throne: “The day made a profound impression on me, implanting a craving for barbaric splendour, for savagery and colour”, wrote Thesiger. Another experience which he enjoyed greatly was in 1917, when, at the age of 7, he went on a tiger hunt in India during a family visit to his uncle (the Viceroy).

Thesiger went to Eton and Oxford, getting a third in History. He was awarded a boxing Blue and captained the university boxing team, breaking his nose three times – this left a permanent mark on his appearance. In 1930, he returned to Abyssinia to attend the coronation of Ras Tafari as the Emperor Haile Selassie; he had become a close friend of the Thesigers. In 1933, Thesiger established his reputation as an explorer when, with financial help from the Royal Geographical Society, he led an expedition in Abyssinia and discovered the reason the Awash River never reaches the sea. This entailed crossing the lands of the ferocious Muslim Afars, who had a habit of castrating uninvited guests – not that this deterred Thesiger, who found the prospect of meeting their xenophobic Sultan most exciting.

It was in Sudan in the 1930s, working for the British colonial administration, when Thesiger fell in love with the desert for the first time, learning to travel by camel with local companions. During the Second World War he joined the SAS fighting behind enemy lines in the Western Desert; he was awarded a DSO for capturing an Italian fortress in Abyssinia and fought the Vichy French in Syria.

Thesiger is best remembered for his book Arabian Sands, published in 1959, which describes his two crossings by camel of the Empty Quarter of Arabia, between 1946 and 1948. However, he was not the first person to cross the Empty Quarter, which is the harshest and largest sand desert in the world. That feat had already been achieved by Bertram Thomas in 1931 and St John Philby in 1932. Thesiger took longer and more difficult routes, climbing unscaled sand dunes and becoming the first foreigner to enter the Liwa oasis and see the fabled quicksands of Umm Al Samim, both of which he mapped.

In his autobiography and other writings Thesiger provides constant references to the forces that drew him to the desert.

‘In the desert,’ he wrote, ’I found a freedom unattainable in civilisation, a life unhampered by possessions’.

‘I was exhilarated by the sense of space, the silence and crisp cleanliness of the sand . . . I felt in harmony with the past, travelling as men had travelled for untold generations across the deserts, dependent for survival on the endurance of their camels and their own inherited skills’.

‘Here in the desert I had found all that I asked. I knew that I should never find it again’.

‘I was perhaps the last explorer in the tradition of the past. I was happiest when I had no communication with the outside world, when I was utterly dependent on my tribal companions’ ‘I didn’t miss Western civilization. I wanted to get away as far away from all that as possible, I was just in time to travel, see and experience a vanishing world, and have lived the life of my choice . . . I went here to find peace in the hardship of desert travel and in the company of desert people . . . the harder the way the more worthwhile the journey’.

Thesiger took great pride in traveling without modern conveniences and rejecting material comforts, ‘All this stuff about boiling water or putting stabilizing tablets in the water, I’ve never boiled or sterilized water, 143

anywhere in my life, and I’ve drunk it out of every ditch and drain that I’ve been to’, he told the Associated Press in 1990.

All of Thesiger’s travels were by foot or by camel, not donkey or horse, as people had done for millennia.

He walked barefoot, so that every step in the desert burned or cut his soles. He slept on rocks long after the introduction of mattresses. Eric Newby described a famous encounter with Thesiger in 1956 in the Hindu Kush by the banks of the Panjshir River. As Newby and his companion started to inflate their air beds, Thesiger cried out, ‘God, you must be a couple of pansies’.

The Dutch writer Ian Buruma described Thesiger as ‘the well-bred aristocrat revelling in excruciating discomfort and horrid food’. A 1957 article on Thesiger in the New York Times suggested that the curious English taste for discomfort originates from having been brought up in the rigours of an English public school.

At times Thesiger’s relish for hardship bordered on masochism; in Arabian Sands he recalled how in December 1946, he was starving in the desert without food and with little water. ‘I lay with my eyes shut, insisting to myself that if I were in London, I would give anything to be here . . . I would rather be here starving than sitting in a chair, replete with food, listening to the wireless and depending on cars to take me through Arabia’. One would have thought that all this would have damaged his internal organs beyond repair, but he did make it to 93, so he was remarkably tough. In the 1970s and 1980s, already approaching old age, he retired to a remote region of Northern Kenya, where he lived among the semi-nomadic Samburu people in a hut, without electricity and running water.

Although he found spiritual contentment in desolation, what really attracted Thesiger to the desert was its people, the Bedu. He only travelled with locals, not other Europeans. ‘I’ve no desire to be an Englishman when I am travelling about,’ he wrote. His motive for crossing the desert was to share the hardship of life of the Bedu and earn their comradeship. He rode with them, dressed like them and lived off a daily ration of a few dates and a pint of water. As was typical of the English upper class, he admired the resilience, generosity, courage and tribal pride of the Bedu, and was unperturbed by their more savage traits. Thesiger believed that the Bedu had chosen the nomadic life of the desert out of their own free will because they cherished its freedom. This was an over-romantic view; much to his disappointment the discovery of oil transformed Arabia. The Bedu were only too happy to swap their tents and camels for air-conditioned housing and Toyota trucks once wealth came their way. Returning to the UAE in 1977 he described the new modernity as an ‘Arabian nightmare’, A constant theme in Thesiger’s life was his rejection of modern technology. He was a total Luddite who loathed cars and airplanes and resented every innovation after the steam engine. He admired traditional cultures and despised Western civilisation as a corrupting force which had deprived the world of its diversity and colour.

He was a fugitive from the present, yearning for a way of life that was vanishing before his eyes.

Frank Gardner, the BBC’s Security Correspondent, was inspired by Thesiger to learn Arabic at university after leaving Marlborough. Gardner’s mother had known Thesiger since the 1950s and in 1977, when Gardner was 16, she took him to have tea with Thesiger at his Chelsea flat. He has described how he was mesmerised by Thesiger’s black and white photos of Arabia, curved daggers and old camel saddles. In Gardner’s view a major achievement of Thesiger was that ‘he was able to bring alive, for a global English-speaking audience, the life and times of those civilizations and places that don’t really exist any more through his beautiful prose in books like Arabian Sands and The Marsh Arabs.’

In his writings Thesiger is quite open about the fact that he formed very strong attachments to handsome young Arab and African men and that these mattered greatly to him. In particular, he writes of bin Kabina and bin Ghabaisha - the two Bedouin guides who accompanied him across the Empty Quarter. He compared bin Ghabaisha to Antinous, a beautiful youth of ancient legend who had drowned himself in the Nile to save Hadrian in ad 130.

He also formed similar attachments to his paddlers in the marshlands of southern Iraq where he lived between 1951 and 1958 and to the three Samburu boys he later adopted in Kenya. Thesiger never married and showed little interest in women; he hinted that he might have been homosexual, had he been born in a different epoch.

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Thesiger’s book, The Marsh Arabs, published in 1964, contains some of his finest writing. One particularly elegant paragraph stands out: Memories of that first visit to the Marshes have never left me: firelight on a half-turned face, the crying of geese, duck flighting in to feed, a boy’s voice singing somewhere in the dark, canoes moving in procession down a waterway, the setting sun seen crimson through the smoke of burning reedbeds, narrow waterways that wound still deeper into the Marshes. A naked man in a canoe with a trident in his hand, reed houses built upon water, black, dripping buffaloes that looked as if they had calved from the swamp with the first dry land. Stars reflected in dark water, the croaking of frogs, canoes coming home at evening, peace and continuity, the stillness of a world that never knew an engine.

Sadly, the Marsh Arabs, and their ancient way of life, were destroyed by Saddam Hussein in 1991 following a rebellion against his rule. Their waters were poisoned and eventually drained. Nothing remains of the world described by Thesiger.

Although Thesiger may have spent much of his life among primitive tribesmen, it would be wrong to think that he rejected our world completely. He was a contradictory character who lived a double life.

In the company of his noble savages, Thesiger wore a turban, Arab dress, with a curved dagger by his waist.

But in London he opted for a tweed three-piece suit, a bowler hat, and a rolled umbrella; he also liked to frequent his Pall Mall club. Ben Macintyre, the historian and columnist of The Times writes that in Thesiger: ‘East and West did meet, to produce a unique amalgam: the Etonian Bedu, the upper-class savage with one foot in a windblown tent and the other in the Travellers’ Club’.

The fact that he left us with his books and photographs (he gave 38,000 black-and-white photos to the Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford University) indicates that he wanted us to learn about his incredible travels and adventures. Thesiger’s private wealth enabled him to fund his unusual lifestyle; he presumably had to pay his young tribal companions. It is alleged that over 20 years, his adopted Samburu sons fleeced him of at least $1million. His influential connections helped him secure travel permits to difficult places, and according to the Economist, he conducted all his travel operations from his mother’s Chelsea flat. ‘It was always his base.’ He would return there for three months every year during the two decades that he lived in Kenya.

Thesiger has been described as a lone wolf and a relic from the 19th century. He was often pompous and cruel, and thought that educating the working class was a waste of good servants. He shot 80 lions in one year in Sudan and 1,000 wild boars in Iraq. He kicked his dog and when the two lion cubs he had reared grew too large and boisterous he killed them.

Nevertheless, his travels, photos and writings were remarkable. In addition to Arabia, Southern Iraq and Kenya he also explored the mountains of Kurdistan, Afghanistan and Morocco, the desert of eastern Iran and numerous other Asian and African countries. In 1995 he was knighted. He also received honours from the Royal Geographical Society, the Royal Central Asian Society and the Royal Asian Society.

Rory Stewart believes that Thesiger, who did not have a regular job or income for the last 50 years of his life, wandered in his way for almost 40 years because he found that these journeys gave a meaning and comfort to his life, which he could not convincingly articulate. ‘Rather than being the last Victorian, Thesiger was closer to being the first hippie on the overland trail,’ according to Stewart.

In 1995 Thesiger permanently returned to England, where he would spend his last eight years. He died in a London hospital, not – as he had once hoped – in the wild, left for hyenas to tear apart.

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Isolation on Mountains Samuel Topley Rubinstein (B1 Re) Many wonder what life must be like for mountaineers and climbers; to be on the verge of death from avalanches or hypoxia, and also be completely isolated from civilisation… surely this must take a toll on one’s mental health?

When a person has little to no human contact, they can develop a range of serious mental problems and illnesses: for example, depression, insomnia and accelerated cognitive decline. This has the potential to become a significant threat when scaling freezing, slippery and unstable mountains. One bad day could be all it takes to make you forget a vital instruction and to get lost in a snowstorm, or to take a wrong path. This is why it is crucial to find a climbing partner. Not only does it ease the weight of having to remember everything, but it also helps to deal with the problems of isolation and loneliness.

On the other hand, the situation of being alone with one’s thoughts may indeed clear your head, creating a sense of peace. Being surrounded by the sheer beauty of a mountain range – with no one to keep you company except yourself, can teach you to admire the world around you – and possibly relieve some stress.

How about being stuck overnight in a cable car with other people? Although you are able to have a small amount of contact, you are still isolated from the rest of society. This can be thought of as a more pleasant form of isolation, as you will begin to learn more about the people you are trapped with, which may begin a friendship.

However, if you are with someone who has an undesirable personality, this could turn out to be a complete nightmare.

What if you were skiing and you went off-piste? This would be an incredibly dangerous circumstance because you could fall and injure yourself with no one nearby. You would be isolated from the rest of the people on the slope and left utterly helpless. What makes this even worse, is that there would be no mobile phone signal and therefore no way to seek help. This is possibly the worst type of isolation on a mountain.

There is a unique condition that only happens in extreme situations called third man syndrome. This is the sensation of an extra presence, of an unseen person to comfort you when nobody is nearby except yourself. In 1933 there was a solo expedition to climb Mount Everest by a British explorer called Frank Smythe. He managed to get within 1,000 metres of the summit, and, had an incredibly strong feeling that someone was with him. In fact, he broke off a piece of cake and handed it to them, even though no one was there. This imaginary person managed to rid him of his loneliness. But in the end, although he survived, he unfortunately did not manage to reach the peak of the mountain.

There have even been instances when this bizarre occurrence has happened to multiple people. While Sir Ernest Shackleton was on the final leg of his journey in Antarctica, he and his two other companions felt an incorporeal being join them. In his book South he wrote, ‘during that long and racking march of thirty-six hours over the unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia, it seemed to me often that we were four, not three.’

Whatever the case, isolation is clearly something to be aware of when preparing to climb a mountain, and its advantages and disadvantages should not be cast aside.

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The Allure of Lonely Places Tabitha Lincoln (EL Re) Solitude can always be found to be both a blessing and a curse. With all the recent lockdowns over the past year, we have all experienced, in our own way, the feeling of loneliness. An analysis from the Understanding Society study1 found that mental health has worsened by 8.1% on average as a result of the pandemic. With our recent understanding of how lonely and depressing it can feel being isolated, why do people choose willingly to travel to such secluded places?

With our very heavily populated world of 7.674 billion people, society can be found to be overwhelming.

76.5% of the global population lives in urban areas. Thus, when many people find their lives too crowded and overrun, many may turn to the opposite of their normal, areas with enormous, open, unpolluted skies and peaceful, deserted places. Some may utilise the feeling of insignificance in comparison with nature, to make their worries seem small and unimportant in the context of a colossal forest or a continuously flowing river. Some people may seek or want a feeling of a simpler life, away from the internet, which over 63.2% of the entire world’s population has access to – constantly following everyone as if there is no privacy to this modern world. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, is a book about a young man called Chris McCandless, who had an urge to cut himself off from society, urged by the romantic appeal of wild places and having to hunt and gather his own food. However, Chris McCandless’s attempt to live a simpler life was a colossal failure, and his body was found four months later by a hunter. Though we may feel like we want a simpler life, it is not an easy lifestyle, as demonstrated by Chris McCandless, and it does not always live up to the romantic ideal.

People may be visiting these locations for the beauty and the wilderness that these places provide.

Though does a lonely place mean a place with no people or just a beautiful and remote place that may still be touristy? An example is Mount Everest, which used to be so remote, unexplored and isolated. In 1951, there was a reconnaissance expedition, where a British party explored the unknown south side of Mount Everest.

This unlocked a route up Mount Everest, which led to the famous expedition in 1953, in which John Hunt (an old Marlburian) was the group organiser and Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay reached the summit. Since then, it is still seen as a challenge to climb and a beautiful remote place, but around 800 people attempt to climb Everest annually. Humans feel drawn to wilderness, as though we have been genetically programmed to, just as humans have always been drawn to fire, which over the millennia has been crucial to human survival. We love to feel the warmth of the fire, to be able to test the fire’s limits and watch how it consumes fuel. Daniel Fessler, an evolutionary anthropologist at the University of California, found that humans have evolved psychological mechanisms specifically dedicated to controlling it, that we are only interested by fire until we can obtain mastery of it. For wilderness, we never have complete control over it, causing us to always be interested and drawn to it.

People travel to these places for the beauty and the aesthetic of pristine wildernesses and calm, glistening lakes. The Romanticism movement, from the late 18th century to the late 19th century, included a deepened appreciation of the beauties of nature, which was seen as a pure and spiritual source of renewal. One definition of beauty is ‘a combination of qualities, such as shapes, colour, or form that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight.’ This shows that cities can be thought of as beautiful too, and it is dependent on everyone’s own thoughts about what they believe to be beautiful.

People may be travelling to these remote places, for the feeling of finding something new and the desire to explore. Exploration has been a theme for several hundred years, from exploring new lands to climbing mountains. An example is the polar expeditions. The conquest of the North Pole is credited to the American explorer Robert Peary in 1909, while Roald Amundsen was the first to reach the South Pole in 1911. Both of these expeditions were extremely challenging, pushing everyone to their limits. However, many expeditions over the years have been unsuccessful: South written by Ernest Shackleton is a book about the Imperial TransAntarctic Expedition from 1914 to 1917 which he led. Its goal was to cross Antarctica by foot, though as soon as they got there it was a disaster and they ended up stranded in ice. Instead of a story about achievement, it is a great story of fortitude, human determination and rescue. As much as a challenge these explorations can be, they can provide a sense of satisfaction, as Edmund Hilary once said, “it’s the sense of challenge, the attempt to 147

stretch yourself to the utmost and overcome considerable difficulties. If you can do that, you get a great sense of satisfaction.” It is the feeling of being the first person to have reached that part of the world or to be the only person there.

People are evidently drawn to go to lonely places for a variety of different reasons. Though with recent lockdowns across the world, will the allure of the lonely places be less, as everyone has been trapped, isolating for months now? In my opinion, despite the pandemic, the allure and appeal of lonely places will continue for a variety of reasons. From the desire for a simpler life, to being inspired, to exploring the wilderness for its beauty, to the feeling of being drawn to the outdoors, to the seeking of a challenge . . . As Edmund Hilary once said, ‘it is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves’: each reason will be different for each of us.

Bibliography: 1 Understanding Society: the UK Household Longitudinal Study (UKHLS), is one of the largest panel survey in the world, supporting social and economic research.

June 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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The Silent Square: psychoacoustics in anechoic chambers Thomas Phelps (B1 L6) and Mr D C Wills (CR, Music Department) We have a fairly clear conception of darkness: windowless rooms; corridors without automatic lights; even blindfolds and sleeping masks give us an easy experience of near-darkness. Silence is a far more alien concept to most of us. The closest we come still involves a ~30dB background noise from wind, birds, distant roads and the ever-present hum of air traffic (Defra, 2014).

The quietest place on earth is in Minneapolis. Not, perhaps where you might first turn in a quest for true silence. The Microsoft Corporation has constructed the world’s quietest room: an Anechoic Chamber measuring -20.4dB(A) at room temperature. The idea of building a room which is isolated from all noise may seem counterintuitive, but it is imperative for testing audio equipment, industrial volume testing, supercomputing, understanding the human psyche and the way sound interacts with the ear, and the way the ear interacts with the brain (Zwicker & Fastl, 2010). Chambers fall into two categories: acoustic anechoic chambers are designed or smaller more accurate readings, whereas radio anechoic chambers are designed for larger, more industrial readings (Beranek, 2009). Think testing a jet engine.

fig 1 – Anechoic Chamber, University of Birmingham

Anechoic literally means ‘without echo’. The original concept came out of the Second World War telecommunications revolution, along with modern microphones, stereo technology, and FM radio. Engineers wanting to separate their transmissions from background noise constructed a space where sound goes to die. Built from fibreglass wedges of between 1.5 and 2 metres long, mounted on the walls, floor and ceiling of the space the room effectively ‘eats’ any sound produced inside it. The user then stands on a mesh floor, strung across the room.

The physical experience of being in a ‘silent’ room is more disconcerting than might initially be imagined; the first thing the participant will become aware of is the sound of their own breathing. The complete absence of any background noise then draws your attention to internal sounds of your own body, from the churning of your stomach to the sound of saliva evaporating on your tongue. The lack of reverberation makes you aware of the extent to which we rely on sound to define our sense of space. Participants quickly lose their sense of balance and may even fall over.

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After less than a minute, participants have reported experiencing peculiar phenomena as a result of extreme sensory deprivation (Deutsch 2003). The most common is hearing sounds or voices which are not there. This type of psychoacoustic phenomenon is the result of auditory pareidolia; the tendency of the human brain to recognise patterns or meaning in abstract information. In the same way we perceive faces in clouds, our brains format the unfamiliar sounds of our own bodies as speech or other familiar sounds from the outside world.

In the mid-90s, psychologist and psychoacoustician Diana Deutsch experimented with an algorithm to produce ‘phantom words’ (1995) by splitting the syllables or phonemes between stereo and quadraphonic sound systems. Initially, the phonemes were separated in real time; the experiment then increased the timespan between the phonemes, testing the limit of each participants sensibility. In order to mitigate the impact of room acoustics on this experiment, Deutsch employed the anechoic chamber at the University of California.

Deutsch discovered that human beings have an unsurpassed capacity to differentiate between silence and speech under virtually any conditions. A dynamic psychoacoustics model, with a temporal resolution of an order of magnitude greater than that of the typical Mel Frequency Cepstral Coefficients model, and which implemented simultaneous masking around the most powerful harmonic in each of 24 Bark frequency bands, was evaluated within a two-stage binary speech/silence non-linear classification system.

The way we perceive volume and specifically the changes in volume over distance is peculiar to our special understanding of the world around us. In acoustics, due to the propagation of sound as energy in three dimensions, the intensity of sound decreases by approximately 6 dB for each doubling of distance from the sound source. In practice, this decrease forms a significant part of the way we understand movement relative to a fixed object (Deutsch). For example, when we walk away from a wall, our brain processes the distance, not only by the visual information of how our surroundings are changing, but also by the change in the echo of our footsteps against the wall.

In an echo-free environment, there is a resulting disconnect between the visual information our brains receive and the corresponding auditory information. This affects the way our brains process sound. Without a sense of directionality, the quality of the information becomes more abstract. Deutsch reported that after 30 repetitions, participants reported that a speech sample lost all sense of intelligibility.

Extremes of sensory deprivation of one sense have a surprising impact on not only our other senses, but also the underlying way our brain functions.

Bibliography: Beranek, Leo (10 August 2009). “Oral History Interview with Leo Beranek”. Niels Bohr Library & Archives. American Institute of Physics (Interview). Interviewed by Richard Lyon. Retrieved 8 December 2014 Department for Environment Food & Rural Affairs (2014). Environmental Noise:Valuing impacts on: sleep disturbance, annoyance, hypertension, productivity and quiet. (PB 14227) Available at https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/ file/380852/environmental-noise-valuing-imapcts-PB14227.pdf Deutsch, D. (1995) Musical Illusions and Paradoxes La Jolla: Philomel Records.

Diana Deutsch (2003) Phantom Words and Other Curiosities La Jolla: Philomel Records Zwicker, E. and Fastl, H., (2010). Psychoacoustics. Berlin: Springer.

Wills, D (2016) Anechoic Chamber [Photograph] At: University of Birmingham, Department of Engineering.

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The Isolation of the Deep George Honeyborne (LI U6) ‘The sea is everything. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides.’ – Jules Verne, Twenty Thousand leagues Under the Sea A depth of 10,911 metres below the earth’s surface. Crammed in a 2m sphere with only one person for company.

Only 10cm separate you from an alien landscape, a landscape where you would implode instantly. A landscape upon which 1.25 tonnes is exerted on every cm2 of skin. A landscape bathed in complete, eternal, inky blackness.

Devoid of substance or content. All alone, existing in isolation, a complete lockdown, separate from the realms of the living and the light. You are now an inhabitant of the hadopelagic zone (6,000–11,000m deep) on board the Trieste, a bathyscaphe (deep sea submersible) which touched down in Challenger Deep, the Deepest part of the Mariana Trench, the lowest point on the planet, on the 23rd January 1960.

The descent has taken 4 hours and 47 minutes, window panes have cracked, and the temperature is now sitting at a cool 7 degrees. The vessel lies upon a bed of ‘diatomaceous ooze’, the slow degrading remains of all that has lived on planet Earth. You are totally and incomprehensively aware of the fragility of your current existence.

Your very survival is dependent on that one cracked window pane, on your fellow passengers’ mental capacity to cope and the functioning of flotation devices to raise the Trieste back to the surface. And all you can do is sit, watch, wait and listen to the omnipresent, permeating creaks and rattles of your tin can, far beneath the surface.

Jacques Piccard and Lieutenant Don Walsh accomplished this feat. They survived, rising to the surface 3 hours and 15 minutes after leaving the ocean’s floor. In today’s world of tedious Zoom calls, endless timewasting and unproductive anxiety, I cannot help but draw comparison with the emotions felt by these heroes.

As a collective, our future is currently so uncertain, so precipitous, that I often feel as if I am stranded: all alone.

Often I sit, oblivious to the unfolding Zoom meeting before me, consumed with confusion and frustration at the elaborate but necessary cage in which we are trapped, designed by unqualified leaders with a seemingly inhumane disregard of science and an apparent lack of empathy or understanding. But it also helps to step back, to go outside, to look around and to realise: we are not alone.

With a flick of a switch, you turn on the external lights and peer out the tiny porthole. That barren landscape which was once so harsh is actually swarming with life. Bacteria, thriving in superheated, mineral-rich water surround hydrothermal vents, support isolated ecological oases through chemosynthesis. The conversion of toxic gases and poisonous heavy metals in acidic conditions to bounteous ecosystems equipped with shoals of crustaceans, molluscs and worms. And every vent provides a unique life system, completely isolated from the rest of the planet and yet, arguably, this is where life began.

The Trieste touches off the seabed and begins its ascent. As you climb through the hadopelagic to the abyssopelagic (3000–6000m) and bathypelagic (1000–3000m) beyond, the ocean begins to glow. Vivid patterns of bioluminescence, a result of complex chemical pathways, twinkle like stars glistening in the depths of the ocean. They betray the varied and biodiverse environment surrounding the submarine. Dragonfish hunt with retractable jaws, gulper eels glide and giant squid propel themselves away from ominous sperm whales looming in the dark. All the while, the light show continues.

If, like me, you spend a vast proportion of your day gazing out a window, wishing you were lucky enough to live in New Zealand, then I can only implore you to stop daydreaming and take a good look around. Whilst we are stuck within our isolated, confined capsules, life continues, unaware of the problems of men. But this ignorance is about to be rudely shattered in the deep sea. Whilst we sit and stare, these pristine environments are under threat. Deep-sea mining, unnecessary commercial fishing and fossil fuel exploration threaten this last untouched frontier. The last pure, untampered lockdown on the planet is about to implode, affecting us all.

Gradually, the stars begin to fade, and sunlight starts to infiltrate the water at about 1000m (the mesopelagic) and after three hours of ascent you reach the epipelagic, that thin layer of water in which there is 151

enough light for photosynthesis to occur. It is believed that 90% of marine life lives within this top 200m, just 5% of the oceans’ average depth. Yet, there is still an abundance of life in the deep and the extent of this life we do not truly know. The oceans contain 99% of living space on the planet and 85% of this is in the deep, dark, cold, isolated ocean. For this isolated realm is the birthplace of life itself and life is thriving there. You release the pressure valve, open the hatch, and take a deep breath of fresh air.

December 2020 by Mr E.F.J. Twohig

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The Third Man Mr J A Genton (Common Room) Imagine that you and your team are preparing yourselves for the ‘space’ round in a forthcoming quiz.

‘Who was the first man to walk on the Moon?’

‘Neil Armstrong – everybody knows that.’

‘And the second man?’

‘Buzz Aldrin – most people know that too.’

‘And the third man?’

‘To walk on the Moon? No idea.’

‘That was Charles Conrad. Not a lot of people know that.

What about the third man on the Apollo 11 mission?’

‘No, you’ve got me there, Ted.’ ‘That was Michael Collins.’

Michael Collins is still going strong at the age of 90, having visited the White House as recently as July 2019, 50 years after the successful Apollo 11 mission. On July 20th 1969, Armstrong and Aldrin entered the lunar lander ‘Eagle’ and prepared for their descent to the lunar surface. Collins was left alone aboard the lunar orbiter ‘Columbia’. He inspected the ‘Eagle’ as it rotated in front of him to ensure that the landing gear had deployed correctly and cleared Armstrong and Aldrin for departure on their ‘day trip’ to the Moon.

During almost 28 hours flying solo around the Moon, Collins completed 14 orbits. Although a journalist wrote ‘not since Adam has any human known such solitude’, Collins said that he never felt lonely and later wrote: ‘this venture has been structured for three men and I consider my third to be as necessary as either of the other two’. During each orbit of two hours, Collins was out of radio contact with Earth for 48 minutes and so isolated from the whole of the human race. He held the individual record for the greatest distance away from the nearest human, at about 2,500 miles. Collins reported that his feelings were not loneliness and isolation, but rather ‘awareness, anticipation, satisfaction, confidence, almost exultation’. However, he did later admit to being very worried about Armstrong and Aldrin’s safety. If they died on the Moon – and the probability of this was small but significant – he would have had to return to Earth alone and, as the mission’s sole survivor, be regarded, he thought, as ‘a marked man for life’.

Image: taken from ‘Columbia’ by Michael Collins and shows ‘Eagle’ just after its landing gear had been deployed at the start of the ‘day trip’.

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Much to his relief, ‘Eagle’ docked safely with ‘Columbia’ on July 21st, the trio were reunited, ‘Eagle’ was jettisoned, and ‘Columbia’ started its return journey to Earth, splashing down in the Pacific on July 24th. On the way home, having spent so much time aboard ‘Columbia’, Collins felt obliged to leave his mark on it. He entered the lower equipment bay and wrote ‘Spacecraft 107 – alias Apollo 11 – alias ‘Columbia’. The best ship to come down the line. God Bless Her. Michael Collins, CMP’, CMP standing for Command Module Pilot.

If you wish to prepare your team for the ‘obscure music’ round, here are three references to Michael rather than Phil. In 1970, English rock group Jethro Tull released For Michael Collins, Jeffrey and Me, comparing the ‘misfit’ feelings of vocalist Ian Anderson and his friend Jeffrey Hammond with the astronaut’s own, as he was left behind by the ones who had the privilege of walking on the surface of the Moon. In 2013, indie pop group The Boy Least Likely To released Michael Collins, using Collins’s feeling that he was blessed to have the type of solitude of being truly separated from all other human contact, in contrast with modern society’s lack of perspective. In 2017, American folk artist John Craigie released his own Michael Collins, embracing Collins’s role as an integral part of the Apollo 11 mission with the chorus ‘Sometimes you take the fame, sometimes you sit back stage, but if it weren’t for me them boys would still be there’.

Photo by Gavin James. A close up of the Sea of Tranquility (where Collins’ colleagues landed while he was contemplating existence on his own in the orbiter) taken through the Cooke 10 inch telescope at the Marlborough College Blackett Observatory.

Notes: Michael Collins died on 29th April, aged 90, between the composition of this article and its publication.

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An Afterword: The beginning of the end… the way out of lockdown Professor Sir John Bell (FRS HonFREng PMedSci) (Member of Council and Regius Professor of Medicine at Oxford University)

© Salisbury Cathedral vaccination centre 16th January 2021. Photo by Ash Mills.

It has been an extraordinary time in our lives, one we will never forget. A year ago, the UK was in meltdown, hospitals were at breaking point, testing for the virus was scaling but still rudimentary, care homes were suffering from serious levels of disease and we were in the middle of the first of our three lockdowns. We were being exposed to a whole new vocabulary: social distancing, PCR, NPI, Lateral Flow, R values etc. Marlborough’s site was closed for business as was the rest of the country and we were all wondering where it might end.

In the following months of 2020 there was a cascade of news and activity. Almost every week we learned new things about the virus and the pandemic, testing reached remarkable levels (with Marlborough pioneering the use of Lateral Flow tests), the second wave arrived right on schedule in the UK but we also learned about variants, effective and non-effective medicines, and the impact of the disease across many regions of the world.

The year ended on a high, with the arrival of not one but four excellent vaccines, all capable of eliminating severe disease even in the elderly and all safe and effective at reducing transmissions. The job for 2021 was then to get the vaccines into as many people as possible around the globe.

The last few months have continued to see remarkable success at least in a few countries. The UK, Israel and the USA have all shown what extensive vaccination can do to limit the impact of the virus. These countries now sit with between 43% and 59% of people vaccinated, with almost all the vulnerable elderly having immune cover.

This level of vaccination shows a remarkable effect on disease, hospitalisations and death. It would appear that with 60% cover, alongside post exposure immunity, we are reaching a point where the disease will no longer be a threat. For the UK, the pandemic is coming to an end.

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There are of course still potential surprises around the corner. Variants might arise that break through vaccine-induced immunity. Although possible this is not yet a major threat and the use of another (third) booster generates very, very high levels of antibodies that should see us through. As we vaccinate in younger populations we are seeing very, very rare complications, abnormal clotting from the adenovirus vectors, and myocarditis associated perhaps with sudden death from the mRNAs. These are sufficiently rare that they do not impact the risk benefit at all in most populations; and Covid 19 is a very nasty disease and avoiding it must remain a focus. Fortunately, the UK population has been among the best at taking up the vaccine, the NHS has done an outstanding job deploying it, and we should be in the clear. The AZ vaccine has excellent durability so we may not even need further immunization in the autumn; although we will have variant vaccines we may not need them.

So what does this all mean for Marlborough? Life should begin to return to normal this term. I am not sure whether that gets you to a successful Leavers’ Ball, possibly not, but the summer should be great, and in September when you return things should look like the Marlborough of old. It will, however, not all be the same.

This event has been traumatic for many who have lost loved ones and suffered from the issues of isolation in the lockdowns. We are still not sure what long covid is but it is clearly an issue for many and may have a very long tail. Personal contact has been missing for more than a year and people will no doubt be cautious for months to come. But, importantly, we are getting to the other side and, for all the pupils and staff in the school, face-to-face teaching, a return to sports, chapel services, seminars and other activities will allow us to leave the problems of the last year behind.

There is however one important issue that remains unresolved. Outside of the three countries mentioned above, the pandemic still rages. The developing world has received almost no vaccines, and the global death toll will probably reach 20 million people. Vaccine nationalism is inevitable when stocks are low but the behaviour of some countries has been deeply troubling, the global scientific community has been inconsistent and often ill-informed, and some politicians elsewhere, in trying to salvage their political futures, have condemned many tens of thousands of people in developing countries to death. The industry cannot decide whether to treat this as a humanitarian crisis or another commercial opportunity, and meanwhile Covax has had only 20 million doses to distribute outside of India. Tackling this pandemic should have been an opportunity for global solidarity: instead it has been a fragmented array of initiatives that has made it worse than it should have been. We should now double down to put some better plans in place for the next pandemic, as pandemics will likely come thick and fast in the coming years. We can do better next time.

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June 2021

Marlborough College, Wiltshire SN8 1PA www.marlboroughcollege.org

Drawing by Sophie Smith (DA U6)