Tecs messaging

THE CASE OF THE MISSING MEN (Christopher Bush, 1946)

**

Ludovic Travers investigates strangling of egomaniac detective writer.  It’s blindingly obvious from very early on that a) Preston is obviously Chaice in disguise; b) that Bush is going to serve it up as a big surprise in the last chapter (I was wrong, it’s the second last); and c) who the murderer is.

Ralph Partridge (New Statesman, 27 April 1946) wrote: “Spotting the villain becomes all too easy in The Case of the Missing Men, which never deviates from the most elementary methods of mystification.  Ludovic Travers is a beginner’s detective, always several moves behind the reader in his deductions.  Waiting for him to catch up is as tedious as going for a walk with a six-year-old child.”

There’s also supposed to be a sketch map – which didn’t get into the reprint.

For a more enthusiastic review, see TomCat’s page.


FATAL RELATIONS (Margaret Erskine, 1955)

****

Good ‘un, this.  No great tricks, but you’ll enjoy this village murder mystery, which has lots of murders, and plenty of atmosphere.  Suspects include an amnesiac (or is he?), a military man who massacred an African tribe for kicks, a vicar with OCD, and an adulteress.  The opening chapter at a funeral is excellent.


DANGEROUS DOMICILE (E.C.R. Lorac, 1957)

One of those conventional detective stories the English produced in great numbers.  Lively young civil servants (not an oxymoron, apparently) buy a flat, with a corpse on the roof.  Inspector MacDonald turns up and asks lots of questions, mainly about keys and windows.  Entire chapters in Cockney.  I lost interest halfway through.


THE PAPER CHASE (Julian Symons, 1956)

****

A young detective writer takes a job as a teacher at a progressive school, and finds himself in an imbroglio of spies, Nazis, gangsters, and corrupt politicians (compulsive anal sadists).  The detective writer’s first book is Where Dons Delight, a story of University life complete with a pornographic library, a don who thinks he’s a vampire bat, and mind-altering drugs.  Symons’ plot isn’t much tamer.  He’s apparently writing an homage to Michael Innes.  “A pleasing fancy, Applegate thought, but no doubt inaccurate.”

Moriarty (Anthony Horowitz)

How do you prefer your forces of evil type Moriarty?

A diabolical mastermind, a Napoleon of crime ruling over an empire of iniquity, like a spider in the middle of its web?

Or as a washed-up hood with only three henchmen, running a cheap knocking-off shop?

Personally, I prefer Moriarty as a heavily oiled French wreck; fruit bottler extraordinary to the House of Pronk; champion barbed-wire hurdler (until his tragic accident); and male lead in over 50 postcards.


The Daily Mail called it “the finest crime novel of the year”.  It ain’t.  We’re a long way from Holmes.

It starts off well enough, with Pinkerton agent Frederick Chase and Inspector Athelney Jones at Reichenbach.  (He’s fallen in the water!)  It turns into a violent, joyless, increasingly tedious potboiler.

Zero wit or invention; lots of people shot in the head or stomach, throat-cutting, with blood spurting all over the place like a Tarantino film.  

The “stunning twist” is one of two I expected from the start.  (The other – wrong one – was that Athelney Jones would be Holmes in disguise.)  You’ve seen it before, done better.

Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?

Second-hand bookshops are some of the most dangerous places in the world.

It’s impossible for me to enter one and not spend a couple of hundred dollars.  (This is Australian money; think of it as about 15 pounds sterling.)

The one where I’m living this year is closing, and everything is going at half price.  I walked out with (deep breath):

[Crime fiction]

  1. The House of Doctor Dee (Peter Ackroyd)
  2. What Dread Hand? (Christianna Brand)
  3. Gentlemen of the Road (Michael Chabon)
  4. The Salterton Trilogy (Robertson Davies)
  5. The Cornish Trilogy (“”)
  6. The Cunning Man (“”)
  7. High Spirits (“”)
  8. The Rose of Tibet (Lionel Davidson)
  9. Smith’s Gazelle (“”)
  10. The Green Gene (Peter Dickinson)
  11. Seven Gothic Tales (Isak Dinesen = Karen Blixen)
  12. Seven Days in New Crete (Robert Graves)
  13. The Little World of Don Camillo (Giovanni Guareschi)
  14. The Good Soldier Svejk (Jaroslav Hašek)
  15. The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (James Hogg)
  16. Who’s Afraid of Beowulf (Tom Holt)
  17. My Hero (“”)
  18. Ye Gods! (“”)
  19. Top Bloody Secret (Stanley Hyland)
  20. Message from Sirius (Cecil Jenkins)
  21. A Calabash of Diamonds (Margaret Lane)
  22. Marius the Epicurean (Walter Pater)
  23. The Praise Singer (Mary Renault)
  24. The Nature of Alexander (“”)
  25. Nightmares of Eminent Persons (Bertrand Russell)
  26. Knight After Knight (Sheila Sancha)
  27. The Search (C.P. Snow)
  28. The Masters (“”)
  29. Boomerang (Helen Simpson)
  30. Pleasures of Music (ed. Jacques Barzun)
  31. How to Enjoy Opera Without Really Trying (John Cargher)
  32. The Opera (Robert Donington)
  33. A Season of Opera: From Orpheus to Ariadne (M. Owen Lee)
  34. Opera Nights (Ernest Newman)
  35. and the scripts to Elizabeth R

 

In recent weeks, I have also bought:

  1. Take Two at Bedtime (Margery Allingham)
  2. Palace Without Chairs (Brigid Brophy)
  3. Pomp and Circumstance (Noel Coward)
  4. Fatal Relations (Margaret Erskine)
  5. Valmouth & Other Stories (Ronald Firbank)
  6. Third Crime Lucky (Anthony Gilbert)
  7. Tenant for the Tomb (“”)
  8. Cage Me a Peacock ( (Noel Langley)
  9. There’s a Porpoise Close Behind Us (“”)
  10. The Rift in the Lute (“”)
  11. Case in the Clinic (E.C.R. Lorac)
  12. The Sixteenth Staircase (“”)
  13. Dangerous Domicile (“”)
  14. Death of a Lady Killer (“”, as Carol Carnac)
  15. The Colour of Blood (Brian Moore)
  16. I Am Mary Dunne (“”)
  17. The Great Victorian Collection (“”)
  18. The Reproductive System (John Sladek)
  19. Immortal Coil (Peter Van Greenaway)
  20. The Haunted Monastery and The Chinese Maze Murders (Robert Van Gulik)
  21. and a lot of Leslie Charteris and Ruth Rendell

And that’s not counting what’s on my Kindle!

E.R. Punshon’s Crossword Mystery and the Nazis

This was part of my History Honours, in 2004.


Britain in the 1930s is often typified as ignorant of the situation in Nazi Germany.  E.R. Punshon’s Crossword Mystery (1934) discusses the Terror: anti-Semitism, concentration camps and brutal oppression.  Would Punshon’s readership (the educated middle-class) have known of these things by the book’s publication in June 1934?  Was Punshon dealing with a popular theme, or introducing new ideas?

According to the most influential work of detective criticism of the last forty years, Julian Symons’s Bloody Murder, the detective story existed in an apolitical vacuum.

The period in which they were written was one in which the number of unemployed in Britain rose to three million and remained near that mark for a decade, …in which dictatorships rose to power.  It was a period that ended in a long-expected war.  These things were ignored in almost all the detective stories of the Golden Age…  The fairy-tale land of the Golden Age was one in which murder was committed over and over again without anybody getting hurt.

(Julian Symons, Bloody Murder, 1985 Viking, p. 96)

Such an argument is not sustained by one of the most interesting works of the English detective writer E.R. Punshon, Crossword Mystery (1934), an early entry in his long-running Bobby Owen series, which introduces the themes of Nazism and the horrors of totalitarianism into his work.

Although the book is set throughout in England, the motive for murder is a hoard of gold removed from Germany, a theme which allows Punshon to introduce the horrors of the Nazi Terror – concentration camps, anti-Semitism and the treatment of political prisoners – into his novel.  But does he introduce them to his audience, or were they already aware of the current situation in Germany by the time of the book’s publication in June 1934?

Before we go any further, it would be useful to establish who the average audience of the detective story actually was.  According to Colin Watson’s Snobbery with Violence: Crime Stories and their Audience, detective stories were read by “the same people who bought a daily newspaper and one or more of the sort of magazine that contained, in short story serial form, a ‘good read’.  They had an income high enough and of sufficient regularity for a shilling or two a week to be spared for subscription to a circulating library or to hire their reading from a ‘chain’ or lending library – apart from the occasional outright purchase of a novel to read on a journey or holiday…  They doubtless included a fair number of the million-and-a-half wage and salary earners with entitlement in the 1920s to holidays with pay…  But the majority of these readers were not commuters or wage earners.  They were women – the middle-class wives and mothers and daughters whose task it commonly was to select and bring home a fresh supply of the family’s reading matter.” (Colin Watson, Snobbery with Violence, 1971 Eyre & Spottiswoode, p. 29.)

The middle classes were not alone in reading detective stories, for the genre, as opposed to that of the thriller, had become not merely an intellectual pastime but a “highbrow cult” by the beginning of that decade (Watson, Snobbery, p. 95.  Those who read Punshon’s book would most probably have come from the great middle classes or from the smaller but more influential intelligentsia and upper reaches of officialdom.

As well as detective stories and other ‘light’ fiction, Watson believes that the middle classes existed in an apolitical vacuum, with little idea of what occurred in the world outside Surbiton.  Only one newspaper, the News Chronicle, “consistently present[ed] foreign and home events with due regard to the realities of the situation.  The readers of the rest were shown an Italy and Germany whose rulers, while not quite gentlemen, perhaps, were too busy building autobahns and getting trains to run to time for the entertainment of any aggressive intentions…” (Watson, Snobbery, p. 37)

To contest such a bald and possibly dubious statement, three newspapers will be examined in detail.  The Times is the best-known, and at that time possibly the best, newspaper in the English speaking world.  If it is the paper of the centre, politically neither to the right nor to the left, but striving for objectivity, the other two papers occupy different wings of the political stage.

On the left is the paper of the intelligentsia, the New Statesman, which, despite its circulation of 18,033 copies a week in 1934 (and increasing every year), was in no small way responsible for shaping intelligent public opinion through its editor and presiding genius, Kingsley Martin (Edward Hyams, The New Statesman: the History of the First Fifty Years 1913 – 1963, 1963 Longmans).

On the right, and noteworthy for its praise of Mosley’s Black Shirts in the early 1930s and Hitler’s Germany in later years, is the Daily Mail, which, despite its declining circulation, still retained its wide, low-brow appeal (S.J. Taylor, The Great Outsiders: Northcliffe, Rothermere and the Daily Mail, 1996 Weidenfeld & Nicolson).

Punshon’s novel flies in the face of the detective story’s supposed aversion to harsh reality, for, as mentioned above, the novel revolves around gold smuggling and a refugee from Nazi Germany, Herr Nabersberg.

Although he describes the horrors, Nabersberg is not opposed to them, but would much prefer to be left in peace.  Instead, he was imprisoned in a concentration camp as “a political prisoner…  Of course, that made it much more serious – meant much severer treatment.”  His crime was to not be purely Aryan, for his “maternal grandmother was a Jewess.”

The denunciation of this fact to the Nazi police results in his immediate arrest, as “the Hitler Government does not feel it can fully depend on the zeal and the loyalty and devotion of Germans of Jewish descent.  For me, of course, I denied that I was Jewish, but the truth was proved beyond doubt, and then it looked bad for me, because I had tried to claim I was pure Nordic.  That was considered to make my case very grave…”

Nabersberg’s case is similar to the descriptions of the Jewish boycotts and anti-Semitic persecutions appearing in the papers at the time: “My business, of course, was ruined.  My friends forgot my existence.  I do not blame them.  If any had tried to communicate with me, they might easily have been thrashed to death by the Storm Troopers, or perhaps sent to a concentration camp.”

Descriptions of such anti-Semitic persecution appeared in the papers from within a few weeks, if not days, of Hitler’s accession in March 1933.  The Times was agitated by the Jewish boycott of late March and early April: the arrest of Jewish professionals in Frankfurt, Gorlitz, Duisburg and Dortmund and the smashing of shop windows in Göttingen (The Times, 30th March 1933, p. 13); the establishment of a “concentration camp for refractory citizens who make their purchases from Jews” (containing a donkey) in Kassel, the arrest of Jews trying to flee to Czechoslovakia and the general passiveness of the public, who were not “spontaneous[ly] hostil[e] to the hard-working small Jewish shopkeeper or trader,” but did “dislike and distrust…certain alleged characteristics” of the Jews (The Times, 3rd April 1933, p. 14).

The Statesman was more vehement than The Times, arguing that “Hitler’s anti-Semitism is…the continuation in a particularly vicious form of an old tradition,” which had included “massacres and burnings at the stake, …robberies and confiscations, compulsory herding in Ghettoes and the wearing of a badge of shame,” and which now, as a result of Nazi propaganda, caused “Jews in every station in life” to be “mobbed, beaten and stabbed.” (New Statesman and Nation, 1st April 1933)

It was not the newspapers alone which published such accounts of Nazi horrors.  The information was available through books and pamphlets, all of which were advertised by The Times and New Statesman:

  • the World Alliances for combating Anti-Semitism’s J’Accuse (advertised in The Times, 10 May 1933, p. 13);
  • H.N. Brailsford’s The Nazi Terror;
  • La Peste Brune (trans. The Brown Plague);
  • the Nazi Rule Information Committee’s pamphlets (New Statesman, 13th May 1933);
  • Arnold-Forster’s account of Dachau, “a terrible corroboration of a mass of evidence which constantly comes to our hands” (New Statesman, 18th November 1933, p. 622);
  • and The Brown Book of the Hitler Terror (of which the first volume was published in 1933 by Punshon’s publisher, Gollancz, and the second in 1934 by John Lane of the Bodley Head).

A Times Literary Supplement review of the latter said that, while “the details are often repulsive; all are alien to British political instincts,” it was “perhaps, the most formidable indictment of the movement which has yet appeared.” (Derwent May, Critical Times: The History of the Times Literary Supplement, 2001 Harper Collins, p. 212.  Times Literary Supplement, 7th September 1933.)

According to Derwent May’s study of the TLS, the paper’s attitude towards Communism and Fascism was largely set by one Harold M. Stannard (né Steinhart), who also reviewed for The Times.  From 1932, Stannard was concerned about the threat Hitler posed to Europe, evident in a 1933 review of Mein Kampf, wherein he drew attention to the Führer’s demagoguery, emotional control over the German people, fanatical hatred of the Jews, and militarism (H.M. Stannard, “Herr Hitler’s Philosophy,” The Times Literary Supplement, 19th October 1933.  May, Critical Times, p. 212).

At the same time, The Times ran a series of extracts from “the book which Germans are enjoined to study for instruction in Nazi principles; but English readers will find it more illuminating as a psychological revelation” (The Times, 20th July 1933, p. 12) – rather along the lines of ‘Know thy enemy.’  It therefore appears that the information was available in the most widely read newspapers – but did it make any impact on Punshon’s educated readership?

 

PUBLIC RESPONSE

If the correspondence columns of The Times may be taken as an accurate gauge of public pressure, one may say that the more progressive elements of the British public exploded, for angry letters to the editor appeared in most issues, debating all sides of the German question.

Among these was a letter from one of the most outspoken critics of the Nazi regime, Dr. J.H. Hertz, Chief Rabbi of London, who protested against the “unbelievable trampling under foot of the human dignity of every Jew and Jewess in that land” (The Times, 6th April 1933, p. 10).

The notable feminist and Independent M.P., Eleanor Rathbone, argued against the rearmament of “an autocracy more complete, more truculent, more contemptuous, of individual liberty and of minority rights, rasher and more inexperienced than any Government before the War,” with its “programme of ruthless suppression of all opinions with which its leaders do not agree and…those leaders’ maniacal anti-Semitism.” (The Times, 11th April 1933, p. 10)

Protest against Hitler’s oppressive policies also manifested itself in a series of well-attended public speeches and meetings, nearly all of a left wing and / or working-class nature.

The earliest known are that presided over by Lord Mount Temple on 1st April 1933, “to protest against the persecution of the Jews in Germany,” and the meeting held the next night, attended by 2,000 people and supported by Lord Snowden, George Lansbury and Clement Attlee, “to protest against the ‘repression of Jews and working-class organisations carried on by the Nazi regime in Germany’.” (The Times, 3rd April 1933, p. 11)

Others included:

  • the meeting of the YMCA, Liberals, Labour Party and University Women on the 16th May, at which Lord Melchett concluded that “Germany was an absolute death-trap for the 600,000 Jews there” (The Times, 17th May 1933, p. 4);
  • the “service of prayer and intercession on behalf of the Jews in Germany” on the 9th July 1933, at which Dr. Hertz said that “nothing less than extermination of the Jew would, it seemed, satisfy the wilder spirits among the Nazis” (The Times, 10th July 1933, p. 8);
  • and the speech made by Leonard G. Montefiore, president of the Anglo-Jewish Association, on the 10th of October, in which he presciently argued that “that same Government which made life a misery for half a  million people inside Germany might one day, if it got the opportunity, apply the same methods to people outside Germany’s borders.” (The Times, 11th October 1933, p. 14)

A number of charities were also set up, foremost among them the German Refugees Assistance Fund, an amalgamation of the Academic Assistance Committee, the International Student Service, the Refugee Professionals Committee, the German Emergency Committee of the Society of Friends (i.e. Quakers) and the Save the Children Fund German Appeal Committee (New Statesman, 9th December 1933, p. 723), whose Jewish subscribers had “raised almost half a million pounds since the Nazi revolution” by April 1934. (The Times, 21st April 1934, p. 15)

While such anti-Hitlerian views were held by the more progressive sections of society, they were by no means universally shared, which indicates that, even though they may have had access to the facts, people chose not to believe.

According to the Socialist New Statesman, the City “accepted Hitler’s view of himself as the investor’s bulwark against Communism, [which also appealed] to the traditional ‘under-dog’ sympathy of Englishmen.”  Indeed, the Evening Standard went so far as to dub the BBC attaché Vernon Bartlett’s mention of anti-Semitic brutalities in a wireless broadcast “a ‘contentious view,” and was apparently “even prepared to take seriously Hitler’s assertion that there has been no persecution of the Jews.” (New Statesman, 21st October 1933, p. 475)

The strongest support of Hitler’s regime appeared in the Daily Mail, owned by Lord Rothermere, an erstwhile ally of Mosley’s and close friend of Hitler’s (Taylor, The Great Outsiders).  From 1931 to the infamous Albert Hall rally in June 1934, Rothermere’s paper supported the Blackshirts, whom he viewed as “little more than an energetic wing of the Conservative Party” (Taylor, The Great Outsiders, p. 281), and published articles praising Hitler’s regime.

Perhaps the most extreme was one (Daily Mail, 10th July 1933) which suggested that the opponents to Nazism were all Communist agitators, for “the most spiteful detractors of the Nazis are to be found in precisely the same sections of the British public and press as are most vehement in their praises of the Soviet regime in Russia”.

Those villains “have started a clamorous campaign of denunciation against what they call ‘Nazi atrocities’ which, as anyone who visits Germany quickly discovers for himself, consists merely of a few isolated acts of violence such as are inevitable among a nation half as big again as ours, but which have been generalised, multiplied and exaggerated to give the impression that the Nazi rule is a bloodthirsty tyranny”.

Those “few isolated acts of violence,” the paper argued, were due to the fact that Germany had been “rapidly falling under the control of its alien elements”: Jews in the government, Jews “insinuating themselves into key positions in the German administrative machine,” and Jews in charge of “conveying news and interpreting policy to the public”.

According to S.J. Taylor’s history of the Daily Mail, however, the paper’s support of Nazism should not be taken at face value, for, little more than a year later (October 1934), Rothermere’s attitude secretly changed.

Fearing that “Hitlerism meant war” (Taylor, The Great Outsiders, p. 300) and that Germany was ruled by “the most dangerous, ruthless men who have ever been in charge of the fortunes of a people of 67,000,000 in number,” he passed on his correspondence with the Führer to the British Government and urged rearmament.

However obsequiously he may have behaved towards Hitler, Taylor (p. 320) argues that Rothermere “aimed at delaying a war he believed inevitable.”

That condonation does not negate the damage Rothermere’s papers caused, for it is possible that, had it not been for his favourable reports of Germany, Britain may have woken up much faster to the danger brewing on the continent.

Unfortunately, as the Statesman editor’s account (23 September 1933, p. 348) of meeting a young publican indicates, less educated readers were less likely to believe the accounts in The Times and Statesman than in the Daily Express and Daily Mail.

WHAT PEOPLE KNEW

So far, we have established that the British public reacted to the Nazi Terror, to the persecution of the Jews and to the increasingly oppressive autocracy prevalent in Germany at that time – but were they conscious of the details, or merely of the larger picture?

The first recorded case (at the beginning of April) of Nazi violence was the lynching in Kiel of a Jewish lawyer “by an angry mob in the cell where he was confined” (The Times, 3rd April 1933, p. 14),  but he was not the first.

Indeed, as the Statesman made clear, such brutalities were deemed necessary by the Nazi high command to keep their adherents devoted – “We had to throw some bone to the dog.” (New Statesman, 15th July 1933, p. 64)

It appears, therefore, that Nabersberg’s account of giving the “Nazi salute” to “a number of high-spirited young Storm Troopers kicking an aged Jew into a canal, and then pulling him out to kick him in again,” may well have been based on any one of a number of similar stories appearing in the papers.

The attacks were not confined to German Jews alone.  Those from other nations were also in danger: two Englishmen were known to have vanished (New Statesman, 8th April 1933, p. 433), while Americans, owing to the large Jewish population, were at risk.

The attack on Philip Zuckerman in Leipzig was merely one of “more than a score of cases, major and minor, brought to [the notice of the American authorities] since the beginning of the revolution.” (The Times, 22nd July 1933, p. 12)

Of the three papers under consideration, it was the New Statesman which drew particular attention to the fact that it was not Jews alone who were terrorised, but any dissenters against the regime.

Having mentioned the “persecution of Jews as well as of ‘Marxists’” on 18 March, it wrote on 1st April 1933 of the horrifying treatment of the Socialist Sollman, who was “beaten unconscious, then brought back to consciousness by a burning torch held under the soles of his feet, then spat at, tormented in other ways, beaten again, and left helpless in a coal-cellar…  The sworn statements of victims thrashed in Nazi barracks with dog-whips and ash-wands cannot be dismissed as fairy-tales.”

Later issues described:

  • the suicide of several Jews, the arrest of two British citizens, and the flogging and forced application of castor oil to Communists and Social Democrats (8th April, p. 434);
  • the kidnapping of left-wing intellectuals, returned “beaten almost beyond recognition,” and the Friderichstraße barracks, abandoned “because the tenants of neighbouring houses complained of the screams of the victims” (22 April, p. 497);
  • and the “deliberate sadism” which “inspired a group of young men to laugh uproariously when their flogging operations are temporarily interrupted by the working of a glass of castor-oil administered before the flogging began,” and the torture with “rubber hose pipes” and “lighted cigarette ends” of an innocent man (13 May 1933, p. 595).

To its credit, The Times was not far behind in alerting its readers to the existence of concentration camps for those of Jewish blood or dissenters against the regime.  (The extermination camps were not set up until 1941.)

While the earliest mention in British papers seems to have been in the New Statesman, on 6th May 1933, both papers were publishing articles in August of that year, both (coincidentally enough) on the 26th, when the Statesman published a first-hand account of life in, and The Times’s (anonymous) German correspondent visited, such a camp.

The Statesman said that “the prisoners are treated with extreme brutality,” and went on to describe the beating by S.A. men of a prisoner, the brutal treatment of new arrivals, and the fact that one prisoner, “suffering from a nervous disorder, went mad” (p. 231).

The Times did not mention the brutality in detail, but was more struck by the German idea of justice (the fact that prisoners “are placed under restraint without trial and without the slightest opportunity of stating their case”) and the harsh conditions, for “nothing can mitigate for the more educated prisoners the almost intolerable strain of being herded together in comparatively narrow quarters with men of all types, while for all alike there is the knowledge that their wives and children and other dependents are destitute and subject to petty persecutions of every kind.

These “stuffed” conditions of the camp are commented on by Punshon, whose character remarks that “where I was sent, they were furious; they said they had no room at all; even in the Governor’s bathroom there was a prisoner, they said.  Oh, they made a great fuss, but they had to take me in all the same.”

A month later, on 19th September 1933, The Times ran an article by a former prisoner in a concentration camp which held “about 2,500 prisoners…of whom only 5 per cent. were Jews.  The rest were Communists, Social Democrats and other political enemies of Hitlerism.”

While the Statesman had run earlier articles on the institutionalised sadism of the Nazi regime, it was an avowedly Socialist paper, with a much smaller circulation than The Times.  This article, then, may well have been one of, if not the, most important pieces in making the British public aware of the details; aware that “prominent prisoners were punished more often than the others, but everybody had his full share of beating”; aware of the Nazi habit of scrubbing prisoners with “black boot polish”; and the high level of suicide.

Certainly the Nazis were concerned enough to publish Konzentrationslager Oranienburg, which repudiated The Times’s accounts of “inhumane treatment of prisoners at the Oranienburg camp” (The Times, 16th March 1934, p. 13), and to urge Dr. Ludwig Levy, a former inmate living in Potsdam, to rebut the article in a letter to The Times.

The writer of the article retorted (The Times, 4th October 1933, p. 8) that “if it is to be taken as a true and spontaneous statement of fact, I can only congratulate Dr. Levy on having survived a month in a Nazi concentration camp with a whole skin, and the Nazi propaganda department on having found a Jewish ex-prisoner who could give a certificate to that extent,” and went on to discredit Dr. Levy, whom he had seen assaulted several times, and who, knowing no English, must have written the letter at the behest of the Nazis.

Victims of Nazi persecution were subjected not only to physical attacks and incarceration, but also to increasingly oppressive laws.  In late March – early April 1933, the Nazis ordered the compulsory dismissal of Jewish employees and the boycotting of Jewish businesses, and forbade Jews to fire Gentiles (The Times, 1st April 1933, p. 10); indeed, many Jews tried to leave the country, of whom large numbers were arrested.

Surely Punshon had these events in mind when, in his novel, the Jewish Nabersberg was freed from prison only after “promising to hand over my business…to a real Nordic,” and exiled from his “country for its good, since only the pure Nordic can take part in the building up of the new pure Nordic State.”

Later in the year, the Statesman (29th July 1933, p. 122) recorded that “anyone who molests, or is found guilty of intending to molest a Brownshirt, is to be liable to summary execution,” while the death penalty applied to “the dissemination of ‘atrocity propaganda’ and…certain types of banned literature”.  As well as the Statesman itself, these would no doubt have included pamphlets like the Brown Book advertised in The Times.

This was elaborated on by The Times (19th October 1933, p. 11), which recorded with dismay that “the constitutional guarantees of the person are suspended; that anybody in the country may be arrested at any time, heavily sentenced for the utterance of a few words, or held indefinitely in detention without a charge being preferred, and that such arrests have been almost a daily occurrence.  Every week cases grow more numerous in which persons accused of behaviour or statements endangering the stability of the present regime, and therefore labelled as ‘traitors,’ receive increasingly heavy sentences.”

Six months later, the situation had deteriorated to the point where “the death penalty is applicable to instigation to treasonable undertakings, subversive propaganda by means of the printed word, gramophone records, wireless, and other methods” (The Times, 3rd May 1934, p. 14).

Instead, as The Times pointed out, it was papers like Julius Streicher’s blatantly anti-Semitic papers which of which the Nazi government approved.

The Angriff listed those citizens who had assisted the Jews in some way, and urged readers to watch Jews “in the street, in the country, in the cafés, in business, on journeys, everywhere that a Jew, and more especially a group of Jews, is encountered” (The Times, 12th May 1934, p. 11).

Die Stürmer, “devoted from first to last to the most crude and violent type of anti-Semitic propaganda tainted with prurient and pornographic elements which render it attractive to a certain kind of depraved mind,” advocated the mandatory castration of all Jews, mob-justice, and the lynching of “men of alien race who dishonour German blood and German women, German libertines and sexual criminals” (The Times, 16th May 1934, p. 15).

The Times also drew attention to Fridericus, which has ominously frightening hints of the Holocaust: “When the nation as a whole really knows the Jews there will be no more room in Germany for the Jews…  One can begin with half measures, but one day this struggle will have to be brought to an end with ruthless brutality by the predominantly Nordic peoples.” (The Times, 22nd May 1934, p. 10)

Symons and Watson’s theory of the innocence of the interwar detective story and its audience, whose newspapers only reported “nice” news, is increasingly hard to believe.  Punshon’s Crossword Mystery concerns Nazism, with concentration camps, anti-Semitism and government-endorsed sadism worked into the story.

As a trawl through three of the principal newspapers of the time reveals, the topic of Hitler’s Germany was very much under discussion at the time.  The Times and the New Statesman reported objectively, publishing descriptions of brutal violence committed on Jews and dissenters, concentration camps, the oppressive laws and the poisonous trash which passed for newspapers in the country; and both newspapers drew attention to and reviewed books and pamphlets criticising the regime.

On the other hand, the New Statesman’s description of its fellow newspapers suggests that even though people may have had access to the facts, they were reluctant to believe; while the populist newspapers – notably Rothermere’s Daily Mail – were openly pro-Hitler.

Nevertheless, the educated public believed much of what would later turn out to be the truth, discussing the facts in letters to The Times, and attending numerous public meetings and protests from early 1933 on.

In conclusion, therefore, Punshon did not introduce his readers to Nazism, but rather worked topical elements into his novel, to reach a wider audience.  There is no excuse for the failure of the British to know what was happening in Nazi Germany; all one can say is that, given the newspapers, the novels and the extensive public debate, they ought to have done.

 

Bibliography

The History of the Times – the 150th Anniversary and Beyond: 1912 – 1948.  Part II: Chapters XIII – XXIV 1921 – 1948.  London: written and published at the office of The Times, 1952.

Hyams, Edward.  The New Statesman: The History of the First Fifty Years 1913 – 1963.  London: Longmans, 1963.

May, Derwent.  Critical Times: The History of the Times Literary Supplement.  London: Harper Collins Publishers, 2001.

Punshon, E.R.  The Crossword Mystery.  London: Penguin, 1948.  First published 1934.

Symons, Julian.  Bloody Murder.  London and New York: Viking, 1985 (revised edition); first published 1972.

 Taylor, S.J.  The Great Outsiders: Northcliffe, Rothermere and the Daily Mail.  London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1996.

Watson, Colin.  Snobbery with Violence: Crime Stories and their Audience.  London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1971.

Daily Mail.  London: Associated Newspapers, Ltd., 10th July 1933.

New Statesman and Nation.  London: 18th March, 1st April 1933, 8th April, 22nd April, 13th May, 15th July, 29th July, 26th August, 23rd September, 21st October, 18th November, 9th December 1933.

The Times.  London: 30th March, 1st April, 3rd April, 6th April, 11th April, 10th May, 17th May, 10th July, 21st July, 22nd July, 26th August, 19th September, 4th October, 11th October, 19th October 1933, 16th March, 21st April, 3rd May, 12th May, 16th May 1934.

No Tears for Hilda (Andrew Garve)

By Andrew Garve

First published: UK, Collins, 1950


3 stars

I’m not sure why this book enjoys such a positive reputation.

Arcturus Publishing reprinted it as a “Crime Classic”, while Barzun and Taylor praised it:

The first book by this author that we read, though not his first.  Yet there is about Hilda a freshness suggestive of a new voice.  It is, moreover, a solid work, which can be reread at intervals with the greatest pleasure.  The detection is adroitly divided, or doubled (as one may want to look at it), so that the business of being on both sides of the hunt does not provide the usual disintegration of suspense.  The hero and heroine are likeable, and so is the murderer.  Garve writes with economy and colour – another rare combination.

Barzun and Taylor’s judgements are notoriously eccentric; they lauded the Humdrums to the skies, and didn’t like John Dickson Carr – or imagination in detective fiction.

This is drab.  Hilda Lambert, odious, middle-class, and Methodist, is gassed in an oven; the police arrest her husband.  His (ex-WWII) friend Max Easterbrook sets about clearing him.  His detection consists of talking to relations, and finding out what sort of woman she was.

As a mystery, it’s a complete flop.  The murderer first appears in Chapter 10 (65% through the book), and Max suspects him at once.  Chapter 12 opens with the murderer reflecting on his crime.

Read something else.

Murder Will In (Carolyn Wells)

By Carolyn Wells

First published: J.B.  Lippincott, 1942


2 stars

$_57__51917.1507654179.jpgCarolyn Well’s 82nd and final mystery.

“Carolyn Wells might have wished the long legend of her tale spinning to turn out in just this way,” Will Cuppy wrote.

“She left behind one of her best stories in many years, a mystery full of her special qualities and one that all her loyal fans will cherish.  It is a Fleming Stone case, of course, and it’s a model of Wellsian entertainment in every department—clever puzzle, wise suspicion-casting, elegant detection.”

Given Wells’ reputation as the Florence Foster Jenkins of the detective story, that may well be a backhanded compliment.

Society matron Alma McCleod is smothered at a house party on Long Island.

All the guests are swells, but little else is.

The mystery resolves itself to: Four men entered a room in which order?  Which of them killed her?  (Obvious answer: None of them.)

The detection is what Marsh’s detractors imagine her books to be like: chapters of repetitive serial interviewing, yielding little information.

As Don D’Ammassa points out, characters contradict themselves throughout, and the policeman has no idea how to conduct an investigation – refusing to follow up leads, out of deference to the gentry.

That’s not enough plot for a novel, so two-thirds through, there’s a sub-plot about a search for a missing heiress.

The one surprise is a Chinese butler who speaks “vellee muchee” pidgin – then reveals a paragraph later that he’s an educated man who talks like that to amuse his employer, and entertain her guests.

 

 

Doctor Who: Arachnids in the UK

This week, Doctor Who returned to the Russell T. Davies era, with a mediocre episode involving the companions’ families in modern Britain.

It’s also clodhoppingly political.

There’s no reason why Dr. Who shouldn’t do politics, and do them well.  The old series was a liberal humanist program at heart; the Doctor solved problems by asking questions and wondering how the world worked.

Jon Pertwee’s tenure as the Doctor was left liberal Green, from a Buddhist perspective.  The Green Death dealt with big business and pollution, and introduced environmentalism to family audiences.  (It also had a Welsh mine full of giant maggots, a mad gay computer that hummed Wagner and quoted Nietzsche, the power of crystals, hippies saving the world, and Jon Pertwee in drag.)  Other episodes were about colonialism and independence, xenophobia, British membership of the EU, and mining strikes.

Final script editor Andrew Cartmel wanted to bring down Thatcher; the Sylvester McCoy era was angrily engaged with modern Britain in a way the series hadn’t been for years.  It was imaginative and literate, post-modern and magical realist.

Stories interrogating free market capitalism, the class system, the doctrine of survival of the fittest, the workings of dictatorships, and the way ’60s idealism turned into conformism, took place in tenement blocks, psychic circuses, creepy Victorian mansions, insistently happy colonies, and symbiotic planets.  The cyberpunk, Gaimanesque New Adventure books went even further.

Chibnall tells the blandest, most generic science fiction; his episodes feel like every other adventure show.  After the dazzling cleverness of the best Moffatt episodes, it feels like the show’s had a full frontal lobotomy.

(Can we expect anything other than mediocrity from the writer of 42, The Hungry Earth, Dinosaurs on a Spaceship, The Power of Three, and The Ghost Monument?)

His episodes are political – and obviously,  dully so.

The “TARDIS team” are designed to be ‘diverse’: female lead; older white male; Muslim Indian woman; young black male (whose grime music saves the day).  Jodie Whittaker is bland, when she’s not David Tennant in skirts.  (Why is the default setting for modern Doctors that wacky, zany, bloody irritating mockney wideboy?)

So far, the season has done earnest episodes about guns, racism, and what the blogosphere terms “toxic masculinity”.  (Only one – the Rosa Parks episode – was remotely interesting.)  We get environmentalism in this one: toxic waste creating giant invertebrates, lifted straight from The Green Death, with a dash of Planet of the Spiders.

Chibnall gives us an amoral American tycoon who’s running for president.  “The villain’s just like Trump; boo, hiss!”  Later episodes will, no doubt, see Dr. Who versus an evil American president.

And why is it so dreary and grey?

 

The Goggle-Box Affair (Val Gielgud)

By Val Gielgud

First published: UK, Collins, 1963


3 stars

Gielgud Goggle Box.jpgGielgud – brother of John, director of the first television drama, and collaborator with Carr – took readers into Scottish technocrat John Reith’s BBC (Death at Broadcasting House, 1934).  He also gave them The First Television Murder (1940).

The Goggle-Box Affair, a quarter of a century later, is set in the early ’60s worlds of commercial television and espionage.

I know ’60s television well; I wrote one of my theses on the debate between Director-General Hugh Greene (liberal) and NVALA campaigner Mary Whitehouse (not a liberal) over the purpose of the BBC, and the rise of the permissive society.

Television of the period was often experimental, surreal, and imaginative.  The decade kicked off with The Strange World of Gurney Slade (a whimsical, philosophical, surreal show about a character who walks off the set of a banal sitcom), and continued with The Avengers, Doctor Who, and The Prisoner.

It produced several outstanding dramas (The Forsyte Saga and The Caesars); entertaining adventure shows (Danger Man, The Saint, Adam Adamant Lives!, and The Champions); comedies (Not Only But Also, Monty Python, Dad’s Army); and thought-provoking science fiction (anthology series Out of the Unknown, Nigel Kneale’s Year of the Sex Olympics).

The golden age of television that began in the ’50s with the Quatermass serials puttered out in the early ’90s.  I’ve watched very little television made since then: the BBC isn’t what it was; American television is largely vapid; and Australian television unwatchable.

(“I tolerate this century, but I don’t enjoy it.”)

Gielgud could have done much more with his television background.  It’s well-written and characterized, and the opening chapters promise an entertaining mystery in the line of Nicholas Blake, Michael Gilbert, or his own classic Broadcasting House, combining a fair play puzzle plot with a look at the workings of a company.

The ratio of sound to noise is off, though; there’s a lot of static, too many talking heads, and not enough content.

There are some clever ideas (a TV producer is ideally placed for Intelligence work, and a man is driven to suicide with a tape-recording) – but it doesn’t add up to a satisfying detective story.

Note sympathy for a Pole who lost his country after WWII; and German refugees escaping to Britain.

Homosexuality is suggested as a motive for a highly placed spy to commit suicide.  The 1957 Wolfenden Report had recommended decriminalization between consenting adults; this didn’t happen until 1967.

The espionage elements were also topical; Britain’s reputation suffered in 1963, with both the Profumo affair and Philby’s defection to Russia, a dozen years after Maclean and Burgess.  Fleming’s Bond novels and the successful franchise (Dr. No, 1962) attempted to redress this through fantasy.


Quotes

107:

“I was brought up on the spies of William le Queux and E. Phillips Oppenheim; Silver Greyhounds; Monte Carlo, and the Orient Express; Balkan diplomats with beards and enamelled crosses hung round their necks, and slinky adventuresses, with plans of fortresses in their corsages.  Enormous fun – and you couldn’t believe a word of it.

“Which is a long way from Eric Ambler and Graham Greene: seedy little men in grubby raincoats skulking in shadowed alleys with half-smoked cigarettes and bad consciences on a salary of a few pounds a month: layabouts game to sell anything or anyone at the drop of a hat, and usually with nasty sexual proclivities.  That’s the contemporary accepted picture.  And that’s a long way from the real thing – the thing that matters: spies with solid social backgrounds like Alger Hiss or Burgess and Maclean; atomic spies with outstanding professional attainments, like Fuchs and Ponte Corvo.  The most important thing for the genuine spy, the dangerous spy, is his ‘cover’.”

 

191:

He had almost made up his mind to waste a couple of hours in a cinema, and was looking half-heartedly at the list of films currently showing in the vague hope of finding one that did not include rape, space-fictional horrors, the amours of French beatniks Italian layabouts or the English redbrick-student fraternity…


Reviews

A Catalogue of Crime (Barzun & Taylor, 1989):

An excellent example of the tale based on finding out what a man has done and who his acquaintances are in order to discover who has murdered him.  The wife, friends, business associates are all turned inside out, and the result is a kind of interlocked multiple biography.  There are good reflections on espionage, too, for Val Gielgud is an educated man as well as a skilful writer.  (Compare [Frank] Swinnerton, On the Shady Side.)

 

The 8 Mansion Murders (Takemaru Abiko)

By Takemaru Abiko

First published: Japan, 1989

First English translation: Locked Room International, 2018


2 stars

Like most shin honkaku, it’s abstract and skeletal.

No atmosphere; no sense of the wider world; and little story or plot complexity.  The characters barely exist; they’re not even plot functions, more names to fill up rooms in the 8 Mansion.

The explanation (with lengthy cribbing from Carr’s Locked Room Lecture) is tedious.  The solution to one locked room is clever, if hard to swallow; the other is plausible, but not exciting.  Neither is in Carr or Chesterton’s class.

Nor is there any convincing motive for the crimes; the murderer, we learn, is mad.

There are, though, a couple of clever false solutions, and a boomerang misdirection.

It’s also apparently aimed at children (gruesome murders aside).  The police detective’s squabbling teenage siblings solve his case for him.  Sample dialogue:

I’m not jealous.

Yes, you are.

No, I am not.

You are soooooooooooo.

For yucks, the policeman accidentally maims his hapless sidekick.  He sprains his legs; breaks all his limbs; and sends him hurtling down a 200-step-long staircase in a wheelchair.

(NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!)

The Japanese also invented gameshows where people climb up spiked walls; are squashed by balls; fall into shallow moats from a height; eat spaghetti in dryers; and try to force grasshoppers down their opponent’s throat.  Usually while sliding over a line of oiled girls in bikinis.

The Secret of Chemnitz: Towards a Fascist detective story

The American critic Anthony Boucher maintained that the detective story was a quintessentially liberal genre, and could not be written in a totalitarian state.

In this, he was mistaken.

Last year, as some of you may know, I travelled to Europe for the first performance in more than a century of Halévy’s magnificent opera La reine de Chypre.

Anyone who collects 19th century scores and musical criticism makes contacts with antiquarian booksellers.

I had purchased Clément’s Musiciens célèbres (Hachette, 1868) from Gueymard of Lyon. Knowing of my interest in detective fiction, he showed me a curious volume that had come into his possession from a deceased estate.

The spine read One, Two, Buckle My Shoe, by Agatha Christie.  So did the cover page.  But it wasn’t quite the book I remembered.

I’d completely forgotten that Poirot faces a cabal of international Jewish bankers secretly controlling the world.  Or the part where he chums up with a young Blackshirt.  Or his proclamation that only a single strong man can protect society from the international Jewish Bolshevist conspiracy.

“I have seen the truth, mon ami – and the truth is Adolf Hitler!”

Was it a hoax?

Far from it.

The Nazis had, as everyone knows, prepared for war for years, building up their military forces.

Goebbels, with his evil genius for propaganda, had also prepared to wage a war of the mind.

He would demoralize the English by insinuating corrupted versions of texts into libraries and bookshops.

The detective story was the ideal vehicle for a propaganda and demoralization campaign: a genre whose very purpose was the hermeneutics of suspicion, and which inculcated in its readers a permanent low level of paranoia.

Trust nobody, detective fans soon learnt. Policemen, army officers, postmen, sweet old ladies, nice young things, respectable matrons, servants, clergymen, doctors, dentists, children, even the detective could be the murderer – or, in these volumes, secret Nazi agents.

German intelligence is everywhere, and you are not safe, even in your home.  How do you know your husband or your daughter isn’t in the pay of the Führer? Or your spiritual pastor? How do you know your postman isn’t reading your letters? How do you know your doctor isn’t infecting you with fatal germs?

The detective story was also, conveniently, the favourite reading matter of the English-reading world.

Under Goebbels’ supervision, teams of writers in Berlin prepared revised editions, which Fifth Columnists smuggled into the country.

Sir Henry Merrivale gloomily ended The Reader is Warned foretelling Nazi occupation of Britain, with London as a cloud of poison-gas from Hampstead to Lambeth, and a cowed populace speaking Esperanto in Billingsgate.

Others claimed that the Nazis were fighting a battle for Western civilization.  Thus, Sherlock Holmes defeated The Four of Zion.  As for Q. Patrick’s S.S. Murder, Herbert Adams’ Old Jew Mystery, and Rupert Penny’s She Had To Have Gas

Much of the Nazi effort went into Agatha Christie, the best-selling queen of crime.

In the corrupt versions, one Haken Gob’neau replaced Christie’s moustachioed little Belgian.

Gob’neau was a small, moustached man who looked like a third-class waiter in a provincial railway-station restaurant – but was really one of the greatest men in Europe.

He used the little grey cells (in Prinz-Albrecht-Straße) to solve his cases, and was accompanied by the loyal SS-Oberst-Gruppenführer Gottstrafe England (who went off to Argentina after WWII).

Gob’neau would, at the end of each case, assemble the suspects in the drawing-room, and reveal the murderer.  He would also expose – and often shoot – various hidden enemies of Europe, such as Jews, liberals, homosexuals, modern artists, and other degenerates.

The list of revised titles began with The Mysterious Affair at Weill’s, an exposé of the decadence of Berlin nightlife, and continued with The Secret Adversary (about a left-wing plot to overthrow the government), The Murder on the Rechts (right wing is right thinking!), The Secret of Chemnitz, and Sad Cyprus (and Sadder Crete).

Then there were the nursery rhyme murders: Solomon Grundy Died on a Monday, or Never Play with the Gypsies in the Wood.

Even after the war, as late as the ’60s and early ’70s, ardent Nazis continued to produce infected versions: Blood Will TellAnschluss Night, or Endless Kristallnacht, for instance.

In “The Capture of Cerberus”, published in The Labours of Hercules (1947), Gob’neau restores the missing dictator August Hertzlein to power.

In “The Call of Wings”, after a disastrous encounter with Paul McCartney (symbol of degenerate pop culture), the protagonist has an epiphany at a performance of Wagner’s Rienzi.

This was the opera where the idea for National Socialism came to Hitler, during a performance in Linz, 1906 (“In jener Stunde begann es”).  The overture was the theme for Nazi Party rallies.  And when Hitler committed suicide in the Berlin bunker, the score (presented to him by Winifred Wagner) was in his possession.

It is easy to see why Hitler loved it.  The story of a charismatic demagogue’s rise to power, and his mystic unity with the people.  The Nuremberg aesthetic: excessive visual display, communal expressions of nationalistic fervour, the worship of force, military processions, marches and heroic oaths…

It sounds rather like this:

(Listen to 3hrs 8’00; the Horst Wessel Lied isn’t far removed.)

Passenger to Frankfurt ends with Hitler and his son returning from South America to quell the counterculture movement, restore order, and rule over a Thousand Year Reich, controlling the population with nerve gas.

Siegfried, the blond, blue-eyed, heroic mass murderer of the Ring, appears as leader of the Hitler Youth. The hero quotes Hans Sachs’ monologue “Wahn! Wahn! Überall Wahn!” from Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (The Master Singers of Nuremberg), and his speech at the opera’s end about the supremacy of German culture.

Wagner’s only mature comedy is a warm-hearted five-hour musical in which a Jewish caricature is beaten up by the entire town, publicly humiliated, and then driven out of the community.  As Goebbels said to Himmler at the Nuremberg Rallies: Lawks, what laughs.

In Postern of Fate, German agents Bruno and Bibi infiltrate an English village to discover who murdered the Kaiser’s agents during the First World War.

The work is full of references to Wagner’s Lohengrin, in which a knight is sent by a mystical power to rule over the Volk as their Protector.  Asking questions about who he is, where he came from, and how he came to power is strictly verboten.  Trust him blindly, Wagner orders.  The first act ends with the chorus enthusiastically singing “Sieg! Sieg! Sieg! Heil!”.

These corrupted versions are scarce; British Intelligence impounded many as dangerous forgeries.

Dr. Botulus Wixener, of Munich, claims, however, that “Agatha Christie” is the forgery; the genuine writer (his argument runs) was one Grimgerde Ludwig, a pure Aryan, fanatically devoted to National Socialism.

In a twist straight out of one of her (their?) plots, Ludwig replaced Christie at the time of her famous “disappearance” in 1926.  Amnesia and a nervous breakdown were convenient excuses for any oddities of behaviour.

Ludwig served as one of Germany’s most dangerous spies in England.  She used her novels to pass on secret information to Berlin through her mysteries (or enigmas, or enemas) – notably about Bletchley Park in Norm, where heroic English Fifth Columnists Bruno and Bibi thwart two of Churchill’s most trusted agents.

On her trips to the Middle East with archaeologist husband Max Mallowan, she hobnobbed with high-ranking Nazis and discussed the Jews.

All the “standard” versions of Christie, Dr. Wixener claims, were really produced by British counter-intelligence.  They are the forgeries.

The Frankfurt school argue that Agatha Christie never existed at all, and that all her books, and all references to them, were created by a group of historians, writers, and philosophers in the 1960s, to see whether a fictional construct could be imposed upon reality.

They successfully convinced many educated people that Sherlock Holmes – a genuine London detective of the 1880s – was fictional, and that the imaginary Winston Churchill and Richard the Lionheart (made up by Shakespeare) were real historical figures.

History, as Anatoly Fomenko argued, is bunk.