Jeremy Paxman’s Britain’s Great War finished its four-part broadcast on BBC 1 last week. Billed as the BBC’s flagship centenary programme, and the starting point for its commemorative activities, which now appear to reaching fever pitch in advance of the launch of the regional and online World War One at Home project, despite it only being February, the programme was a bit of a curate’s egg, although one that, on the whole, I enjoyed.
Four hours to cover the entire course of the First World War, principally from the perspective of the British ‘home front’, although with bits and pieces about the Western Front tucked in as well, is not a lot, and many topics were, inevitably, simplified or simply omitted. To some extent, this doesn’t matter. The BBC has, as it keeps informing us, over 2,500 hours of programming devoted to the war planned for the centenary years and many of the topics, including the global reach of the war, the relationships between Britain and her allies and even straightforward military history will, doubtless, be dealt with elsewhere and in more detail.
Other aspects were more troubling. Choosing to focus, often in some detail, on particular topics ended up giving an oddly skewed impression. Shell shock and facial disfigurement, currently vying for the status of symbolic wound of the war, were by no means the only life-altering medical conditions that men survived with, yet there was no mention of disease, amputation or the long-term affects of gas. Fronts beyond the Western Front had little impact on this narrative of war, despite their impact on the consciousness of the British population at the time. And the limiting of the discussion of the importance of letters to a brief section on the postal system and the perspective of a single officer on the process of censoring letters was, for me as someone who has worked extensively on the letters men wrote home, extremely reductive.
Which brings me to the real problem I had with the programme, which has at its hearts a fairly fundamental contradiction. Paxman has gained many plaudits for his authoritative and, on the whole, sensitive presentation of a range of material which was new to many viewers and which reflected many of the more cutting-edge and original arguments made in recent years by academic historians. He also interviewed a number of people, most memorably the centenarian Violet Muers, whose eye-witness account of the German bombardment of Hartlepool made for powerful television. But not one of these interviewees was a professional historian, a deliberate decision on the part of the producers who wanted to use the programme to emphasize familial connections between the war and their audience.
This in itself is not a problem. As programmes such as ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ have shown, family connections to the past make for good television and are a powerful way of connecting contemporary audiences to history. It is the attempt to combine cutting-edge historical arguments with the perspective of the interested descendent that creates issues. Because the overall effect was to invest all the authority for the arguments made entirely in Paxman himself. And while he is an authoritative figure, and I can well believe read widely around the subject and come to his own conclusions about what points to make, he is not, in fact, the historian who has undertaken the research that backs so many of the claims he made over the course of the programme.
Some of that research has been done by programme’s historical adviser, Adrian Gregory, who published The Last Great War (Cambridge University Press, 2008), an excellent piece of social history that is both scholarly and accessible and which I would highly recommend to anyone interested in the topic. Presumably the interested audience member would be able to pick Adrian’s name from the credits and track down his publications if they wanted to read more about the subject. But Adrian’s is not the only original research to influence Paxman’s arguments. David Cannadine’s The Decline and Fall of the British Aristocracy (Yale University Press, 1990), Dan Todman’s The Great War: Myth and Memory (Hambledon and London, 2005), Michael Roper’s The Secret Battle: Emotional Survival in the Great War (Manchester University Press, 2009) and, most recently of all, Laura Ugolini’s Civvies: Middle-Class Men on the English Home Front (Manchester University Press, 2013) all contributed to at least some part of the argument being made. And these are simply the works that spring most immediately to mind, reflecting as they do my own particular research interests. With greater concentration (and rather more time at my disposal), I suspect I could compile a further reading list of recent scholarly research so extensive as to be potentially daunting to an undergraduate, let alone a curious but not obsessive Monday night television viewer.
The problem this highlights is the fact that, as there are no footnotes on television, how do professional historians (both academic and otherwise) working on the history of the First World War ensure that their work is properly acknowledged? Many have spent a great deal of time and effort, not to mention funds, sourcing and interpreting the primary source material, as well as formulating the arguments that Paxman so authoritatively deploys. For academic historians, this work forms the basis of their professional reputations and the intellectual capital that they deploy to make a living. As such, that work needs to be recognised not simply by specialists but, if those arguments are going to be deployed more widely, then by all those who are making use of them. This is not merely good manners; it is the very foundation of intellectual exchange and honesty. But how to do this in a way that is both engaging to a broad non-specialist audience and is fair to researchers remains something that needs urgently to be discussed. I have been mooting the idea of topic-specific further reading lists to be publicised alongside future programmes, but who compiles these and how their time is paid for remains an open question. Equally problematic, from the perspective of engagement, is the ethics of recommending books that may have cover prices beyond not merely the interested individual but also the cash-strapped local library. The Cambridge History of the First World War may be one of the most important recent publications on the subject, but at £90 a volume (£240 for all three), it is hardly going to have a wide circulation beyond university and other specialist libraries.
There is also the related problem in the BBC’s apparent fear of historians as specialist commentators, at least in relation to its most prominent offerings on the First World War. While BBC 2 and BBC 4 television both seem willing to interview historians as specialists, BBC 1 so far prefers to use Paxman, Kate Adie and Dan Snow for almost all commentary related to the First World War. Regional radio, working in partnership with the AHRC, has made extensive use of specialist historical knowledge in producing the World War One at Home project. It remains to be seen how the programme is received more widely, but as a researcher and contributor it has, to date, been a positive and highly informative experience. Yet Woman’s Hour has run a number of features on First World War topics (including Edith Cavell and the aftermath of the war) with no input from historians, despite there being not merely experts but indeed female experts in these fields who might have added useful perspective.* And the major on-line offering, the interactive guides to various aspects of the war, are predominantly fronted by either media personalities or those with contemporary professional interests in the subject, with historical expertise usually tucked away at the end.** This is the most public and accessible display of historical knowledge of the war that the BBC is providing, yet the role of the historian in all of this is too often hidden and unacknowledged. This is troubling given that most historians are fundamentally communicators, interested in ensuring that other people know about the work they do and the stories that they uncover. And many are not only presentable but are capable of learning the skills necessary to engage with a popular audience. Indeed, in the current academic climate, with its emphasis on impact and engagement, many are not merely willing but feel compelled to do so, whether through formal media training or less formal practices including blogging.
None of this, of course, is new or specific to the centenary of the First World War, or even to the popular media. Recent impassioned blogs by Matt Houlbrook and Lesley Hall point to the pervasiveness of the potential for mistreatment and exploitation of academics, particularly early-career researchers, by both the media and well-known established historians (and their publishers). For historians of the First World War, however, this centenary moment presents both a challenge and an opportunity, to ensure not only that our research, in all its originality, is made accessible to a wide audience, but that we gain due credit for we have done and are doing, both those of us who choose to work directly with media outlets and those who do not. There are no easy answers as to how we do this, but the moment to have the discussions is too opportune to be missed.
In the meantime, I will start compiling my further reading list, to be posted on here at a later date. Please do get in touch if there is a particular volume that you think should have been cited in relation to Paxman’s programme (preferably with a note as to the bit it relates to) and I will make sure it is included.
*The special extended programme on 5th February made excellent use of Professor Joanna Bourke and Professor Maggie Andrews as commentators, but again, Kate Adie and Baroness Shirley Williams were the guests who names featured most prominently in the publicity.
**Honourable exceptions here are Gary Sheffield and Sam Willis.
I’m going to be characteristically pedantic, and question the idea that there was ‘no mention’ of amputation. I thought the film of literal parades of amputees was so visually striking as to require little commentary, and indeed the image is before my eyes as I type. It would be a dense viewer indeed who did not register the implications.
More generally, surely one of the advantages of the online world is that a blogpost such as this is as accessible to the average viewer who fancies a few seconds’ googling, as a bibliography is to a reader who can be bothered to flick to the end of the book? We should take that opportunity, and run with it!
I accept your point about amputation, although I still think there is a story to be told about the long-term medical effects of the war that doesn’t concentrate quite so heavily on a few particular types of wound, but that arises from a somewhat specialist view!
As for the blogosphere, I agree, but a bibliography is curated in a way that the World Wide Web isn’t. How is the curious non-specialist to pick there way among the hundreds of websites offering information about the war to find those that a) are accurate and reliable and b) address the subjects that are of particular interest to the individual? Major media and cultural institutions have a role to play in this process, which is why I think the BBC’s online offering is so important as a first (if not necessarily only) port of call. I am going to be reviewing other general centenary websites this summer, so there will be more on this in future! Definitely an important part of the discussion.
Reblogged this on History Mine and commented:
A really interesting blog. Well worth a read.
I think this is an interesting issue. As the only historian whose contribution was acknowledged in the Paxman series I am not too bothered on my own behalf but there remains a genuine question to address on behalf of the others mentioned (and indeed my own experience on other occasions). The question boils down to who owns our work. I think a lot of people in the media think of us as taxpayer funded public servants whose ideas can simply be used by anyone who wants them. And of course in the world of ‘impact’ agendas for funding, not to mention gold ‘open access’ the government to some extent appears to share this view. There is also a tendency to think that we will be so flattered that anyone is paying any attention at all that we will happily allow our work to be appropriated wholesale. Again they aren’t entirely wrong about this.
A few observations.
1. I’m genuinely not doing this for the glory. I actually believe that the purpose of academia is to improve knowledge of all aspects of the world. It is more important to me that people know things that I think matter than that they know that Adrian Gregory has brought these to their attention. I am also very uneasy about the idea that we own ‘intellectual capital’ in our research. Maybe this is easy to say when ensconced in an Oxford Fellowship. But in my ideal world I’d like to get away from the idea that what we do is a ‘career’ rather than a vocation.
2. We don’t own the facts. We might be the first to write about a certain issue but anyone else can go back to the sources and although we might think it polite to get an acknowledgement it is not ‘the law’. It isn’t always the case even in academic publishing that all ‘property rights’ of this kind are consistently respected. I do think it is vitally important that we don’t lift wholesale from junior colleagues but none of us if we are honest ‘footnote’ every influence on our thinking and the direction of our research. In the first draft of the Last Great War I had a long introduction talking about the influence on the book of previous books touching on the home front, from Caroline Playne, through Arthur Marwick to John Bourne and Trevor Wilson and on to Gerard De Groot. I ultimately dumped it because frankly this stuff is horribly dull to all but the most specialist reader.
3. Television history generally is ‘multi-authored’- yes academic historians play a role in inspiring and critiquing – but the presenter and his/her research team ultimately write the thing. I think there is a serious underestimation of the degree to which they actually do the research work both in terms of voracious reading of the academic literature and in terms of engagement with primary material. Of course in some cases that shows- I genuinely wish they had run the film past me as well as the script- even though I am not a visual sources expert I could have spared them some howlers.
In a way this lets us off the hook, it is incredibly difficult to produce something which both entertains and educates without engaging in the kinds of simplification which drive academics mad. The decision not to interview academic historians on camera in Paxman’s Great War was probably the right one. I’d rather not be edited into stupidity ( see Matt’s comments).
I actually think the problem identified regarding Women’s Hour is a more serious one. I have been very struck by the unwillingness to engage historians even when it would have been easy to do so. This is particularly striking with the absence of women historians so far. Margaret Macmillan has been and will be an honourable exception, but I can’t help feeling that this has been aided by her membership of the establishment. But why (for example) get Max Hastings to debate Niall Ferguson when Annika Mombauer could have done it? Wouldn’t an articulate young German academic woman have been a more surprising and interesting choice.
I think the basic problem here is laziness in every sense- a lazy conceptual frame in which it is assumed that viewers tune in to see familiar presenters and literal laziness- reaching for the same names in the address book every time and not actually asking around to find out ‘who would be good?’
Thanks for this really interesting commentary, Jessica (and your previous one following the House of Lords debate). As always, you’ve got to the heart of the issue. I’m actually going to refer to this particular entry in the keynote I’m giving tomorrow at the BALH/ICS one-day conference ‘Experience of World War One: strangers, difference and locality’ at Senate House. The Paxman programme had some very commendable aspects, but the preference to interview people with a somewhat tenuous connection to the war was most frustrating (Julian Kitchener-Fellowes especially!) The first episode contained a lot of material from my book ‘A Kingdom United’ (OUP, 2012) including a number of pictures that I had sourced (and paid the copyright for to use in the book). As Adrian articulately explains, it is not the ‘law’ to acknowledge this, but it certainly would have been polite as we all put our hearts and souls into our work [since the recent arrival of my son, I now refer to my PhD as my ‘first’ baby!]. At the very least, it would have been nice to have a Further Reading list attached to the webpages for this programme.
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