To send content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about sending content to .
To send content items to your Kindle, first ensure email@example.com
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about sending to your Kindle.
Note you can select to send to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be sent to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
This chapter demonstrates how and why the little Herball became such an amazing commercial success, and it raises the possibility that the audience for English herbals did not rise and fall with the expensive texts preferred by elite scholarly readers or gentry. The publishing history of the little Herball reveals that the purchasing preferences of Tudor London’s middling readers, as well as the regulatory constraints upon bookmaking and bookselling, created the economic conditions that later enabled the large, illustrated folio herbals of Turner, Gerard, and Parkinson to come into being. In other words, these large books with named authors on their title pages were a secondary development in the tradition of the printed English herbal, suggesting that the “author-function” that governed a text’s authoritative value was initially irrelevant to English readers. The association between herbals and particular botanical authorities did not result from readers’ perceptions of their accuracy but can be traced to commercial concerns: their publishers’ desire to sell an old and profitable text in innovative new ways.
By exploring the decision-making processes that were made by English publishers and printers as they navigated both readers’ increasing demands for books and the regulations of the English crown and the City of London, Chapter 2 demonstrates how regulatory, economic, and material constraints upon the manufacture of English books as commodities affected their production. It considers how the English crown’s early directed efforts to control the spread of heretical and seditious material influenced herbal production, as well as the way that the circumstances of print publication changed radically in 1557 with the incorporation of the Stationers’ Company of London.
Chapter 1 presents a social and spatial reconstruction of the Royal Exchange, at the heart of London’s trade, as a place of women’s work. An apprentice imprisoned for debt shows how young women moved through the shops of the Exchange, working, shopping and using and losing credit. As the Exchange recovered after the Fire, women moved into at least half of its small shops; they also lived close by, often sharing lodgings, and made networks of patronage and credit through and outside the City companies. As apprentices, mistresses, shopkeepers and outworkers, women were central to the sewing industry which made early modern fashion.
I shadow two free clinics in London, using documentary film and cinema and Kashmir to frame the challenge of treating populations who are trapped in or displaced by perpetual war. The two initiatives include an intercultural therapy center and a gardening project, both in London, and each of these interventions is studied for method, techniques, and outcomes.
Ingenious Trade recovers the intricate stories of the young women who came to London in the late seventeenth century to earn their own living, most often with the needle, and the mistresses who set up shops and supervised their apprenticeships. Tracking women through city archives, it reveals the extent and complexity of their contracts, training and skills, from adolescence to old age. In contrast to the informal, unstructured and marginalised aspects of women's work, this book uses legal records and guild archives to reconstruct women's negotiations with city regulations and bureaucracy. It shows single women, wives and widows establishing themselves in guilds both alongside and separate to men, in a network that extended from elites to paupers and around the country. Through an intensive and creative archival reconstruction, Laura Gowing recovers the significance of apprenticeship in the lives of girls and women, and puts women's work at the heart of the revolution in worldly goods.
Vagrant ‘loafers’ were a preoccupation of novelists and social reformers who saw them as emblematic of social and racial decline during the 1880s and 1890s. This chapter first examines the articles and book-length reports that sought to define and solve the problems of unemployment, inefficiency and vagrancy. These were underwritten by theories of degeneration, social Darwinism and eugenics, ideas that ensured that the vagrant poor were increasingly characterised in ‘scientific’ terms as a biological threat to society and the white ‘imperial’ race. The second half of the chapter examines how this anxiety was expressed in the slum fiction of Arthur Morrison and Margaret Harkness, and in particular how the portrayal of loafers in slum novels and social investigations shaped H. G. Wells’s first dystopia, The Time Machine (1895). Although the influence of social investigation has been noted, Wells’s engagement with the slum novel, and what he perceived to be its failings, has hitherto been overlooked.
London was a centre of vagrancy in the Victorian period. Its refuges, lodging-houses and workhouses ensured that large numbers of vagrants travelled to the capital, especially during the winter months when travelling on the open road could be difficult and dangerous. The first half of this chapter examines how these forms of relief structured the vagrants’ movement and resulted in what I call ‘metropolitan vagrancy’. This was a constrained form of movement, typically limited to the winter months, that was contoured by the resources that the vagrant poor were able to access and the mounting restrictions that were placed on them by the Poor Law. The second half examines an understudied depiction of homelessness that was, in part, a product of these restrictions: the queue outside the ‘casual’ or vagrant ward of the workhouse. This became an image that articulated anxieties about the difficult distinction between the deserving and undeserving poor, and also conveyed fears about the illiberality of the Poor Law and the potentially revolutionary response that it might provoke. This chapter examines works by Charles Dickens, Charles Kingsley and the painter Luke Fildes.
Chapter Four, ‘On Leave’, explores tourism in Cairo, Alexandria and London. The chapter begins with the Egyptian cities to explore how the men responded to their expectations of an ‘ancient’ space that was brought to life by its tourist infrastructure: from the perceived ‘sideshow’ of the Middle East, expressions of racism towards the Egyptian people and the clash of ancient and modern. At the same time, though, the men exploited their newfound status as soldiers to access elite spaces and enjoy the cities’ pleasures. The chapter then turns to London. Coming ‘home’ to the metropolis called into question the colonial troops’ relationship to the British Empire – this was not straightforward tourism but had crucial stakes for identity, through better understandings of Britain and their place within it. The chapter concludes by comparing representations of sexual activity while on leave.
This chapter retraces the appeal made by Ho Chi Minh's legal team to the Privy Council in London in an attempt to cancel a Hong Kong Governor-in-Council order to return him to a French jurisdiction. Drawing upon British and French documentation, the chapter explains the out-of-court settlement in his favor but also intramural government maneuverings and even incompetence in the handling of his case: Ho Chi Minh's thwarted attempt to reach England, an aborted trip to Singapore and, with local Hong Kong legal assistance, his anticlimactic final departure from Hong Kong to Shanghai. A range of documentation is brought to bear upon, for example, faux reports of Ho Chi Minh's death, his journey to Moscow and communist recriminations over his Hong Kong interlude.
Extending and challenging Pascale Casanova’s account of world literary systems in The World Republic of Letters, this chapter argues that after World War I American and Irish writers boldly remade the world literary system long dominated by Paris and London. In the context of European imperial decline and emerging American ascendancy, American and Irish émigré writers produced dazzling new works that challenged the authority of London and Paris to establish literary value. After World II, Paris remained a strong but considerably weaker cultural capital, and New York assumed London’s former position as the major capital of the Anglophone literary world. During the Cold War, an assertive American literary establishment repurposed the literature that had once challenged English and French literary authority to boost the global cultural prestige of the United States and contest Soviet conceptions of “world literature.”
Recent accounts of discourse-pragmatic (DP) variation have demonstrated that these features can acquire social indexical meaning. However, in comparison to other linguistic variables, DP features remain underexplored and third-wave perspectives on the topic are limited. In this article, I analyse the distribution, function and social meaning of the ‘attention signals’ – those features which fulfil the explicit function of eliciting the attention of an individual – in just over 35 hours of self-recordings of 25 adolescents collected during a year-long sociolinguistic ethnography of an East London youth group. This leads me to identify an innovative attention signal – ey. Distributional analyses of this feature show that ey is associated with a particular Community of Practice, the self-defined and exclusively male ‘gully’. By examining the discourse junctures at which ey occurs, I argue that this attention signal is most frequently used by speakers to deploy a ‘dominant’ stance. For gully members, this feature is particularly useful as an interpersonal device, where it is used to manage ingroup/outgroup boundaries. Concluding, I link the use of ey and the gully identity to language, ethnicity and masculinity in East London.
This chapter argues the writings published by Blacks in the early national US must be understood in relation to the history of slavery in the British Empire. The author examines diverse forms of African American literature, which were focused on transatlantic concerns, such as “Orations on the Abolition of the Slave Trade” (1808–1823), given annually on January 1. These texts tell powerful stories of the history of the slave trade, and particularly its violence to familial ties, from the trade’s inception in the fifteenth century until its abolition in 1808. Written by free Black churchmen and intellectuals in New York and Philadelphia, including Absalom Jones, Peter Williams, Jr., Russell Parrot, and William Hamilton, these orations demonstrate a deep interest in the actions of the British Parliament and the state of slavery in the West Indies. This chapter also considers direct allusions to British and Afro-British abolitionists and their writings, from Clarkson and Wilberforce to Equiano, in the work of William Miller, Russell Parrot, William Whipper, David Walker, Maria Stewart, and others. The chapter concludes with a discussion of The History of Mary Prince (1831), the most important slave narrative to emerge from the British colonies and questions the inclusion of Prince’s narrative in a history of African American literature.
Adolph Hummel, from Hesse, established in Soho a music publishing business that lasted 12 years (1760–1772). His publishing strategy differed in several ways from that commonly adopted by London publishers: he published only foreign-born (mostly German or Italian) composers; he did not issue vocal music; and, while taking the common routes of advertising his publications by notices in contemporary newspapers and listing issues in the imprints to title pages, he was highly unusual in that he produced no catalogue. He was also unusual in obtaining a royal licence to protect his copyright. He was the first publisher in London to issue a string quartet, and possibly the first to add violin accompaniments to already-published solo harpsichord sonatas to create accompanied sonatas. He was probably related to the Hummel music publishing brothers of the Netherlands. Personal information about him is hard to come by, but we know that Frau Anna Maria Mozart was godmother to his youngest child; he was a particular friend of J. C. Bach; he was prosecuted, for an undisclosed reason, by the musician Rudolf Straube; and he was the founder of three generations of the musical ‘English Hummells’. The final part of this article comprises a detailed catalogue of Hummel’s publications.
I begin the book with a comprehensive introduction that situates what follows within an interdisciplinary discourse on what is variously conceived of as ephemeral literature, popular culture, or folk song. Accordingly, the Introduction opens with a much-cited letter to John Reeves from 1792 concerning the power of ballads over mass opinion, locating my work within several existing strands of scholarship. After defining my terms and arguing for the importance of the singer to these fields of enquiry, as well as for the particular significance of London, I unpack the problematic idea of ‘music’ as something requiring special expertise, highlighting its accessibility to other disciplines, particularly History and Literature. This methodological exposition should be of especial value beyond the subject matter of the volume. Going on to outline the chronology of my period, to survey the existing field, and to address further the challenges and benefits of interdisciplinarity (with particular reference to the work of the musicologists Georgina Born, Carolyn Abbate, and Gary Tomlinson, which may be unfamiliar but extremely helpful to historians), I conclude with a synopsis of the book’s structure, its chapters, and interludes.
My third chapter – ‘Performance: The Singer in Action’ – is an extensive consideration of the practice of singing in the streets. Its focus narrows repeatedly upon the act of performance itself: from citywide topography and issues of calendar and clock time; to performance in specific sites; to voice, body, and audience engagement; to the singer’s relationship with the physical ballad sheet in performance. I explore how balladeers overcame numerous challenges – geographic, sonic, social – by means of specific strategies, from the pitch of their voices, to the use of props, to borrowing the psychological weaponry of beggars. The chapter is therefore also in conversation with histories of charity and disability, as well as aspects of human geography. I am especially interested in the creation and maintaining of crowds, the appropriation of public space, the manipulation of codes of moral obligation, and above all in the musical and theatrical aspects of singing: it is central to my argument that we take ballad-singers seriously as being, on some level, artists. This is most evident in my discussion of voice, which – though it borrows heavily from musicology – is unrepentantly historical and leads us inevitably back to issues of class-consciousness.
For three centuries, ballad-singers thrived at the heart of life in London. One of history's great paradoxes, they were routinely disparaged and persecuted, living on the margins, yet playing a central part in the social, cultural, and political life of the nation. This history spans the Georgian heyday and Victorian decline of those who sang in the city streets in order to sell printed songs. Focusing on the people who plied this musical trade, Oskar Cox Jensen interrogates their craft and their repertoire, the challenges they faced and the great changes in which they were caught up. From orphans to veterans, prostitutes to preachers, ballad-singers sang of love and loss, the soil and the sea, mediating the events of the day to an audience of hundreds of thousands. Complemented by sixty-two recorded songs, this study demonstrates how ballad-singers are figures of central importance in the cultural, social, and political processes of continuity, contestation, and change across the nineteenth-century world.
Chapter 2 explores the productivity of performance through two adjacent, but very different sites on London’s South Bank: the collection of monumental arts centres clustered along the River Thames – especially the National Theatre – and the tunnels under Waterloo Station that have more recently been refashioned as performance venues. While the South Bank has for decades been defined by its massive, purpose-built vestiges of Britain’s welfare state, since 2009 it has been supplemented by a site only partly repurposed from its former use as a store for railway equipment. As this chapter discusses, live performance has historically been seen as unproductive in classical and contemporary economic thought. But if we observe performance through its socio-spatial infrastructure rather than its labour process, a more productive theatre emerges. This chapter suggests that contemporary London theatre has salved its productivity problems by spatialising and socialising them. And the South Bank suggests that London’s own productivity problems – made significantly worse by the financial crisis of 2008 – might in turn be solved, even if only temporarily, by theatricalising them.
The introduction defines “courtroom culture” as the constant interplay of law, informal practice, courtroom dialogue, cultural norms and social identity from which the dynamics and meanings of courtroom events were fashioned. Such dynamics and meanings, I argue, did not emerge fully formed from pre-existing patterns in English law and society, but were shaped on a daily basis by those in court and beyond it. This active process of generating, negotiating, and contesting the meaning of courtroom events are examined in the chapters that follow. Having outlined the fundamental arguments of the book, the Introduction engages the relevant historiography and theory on these issues and provides a brief chapter outline.
Three wider frames of analysis, all engaged in the introduction and throughout the volume, merit some closing considerations that will pave the way for further exploration of courtroom culture in other contexts. The first of these frames is the legal and administrative development of London and how its intertwining with the magistrates’ courts might help us reconsider metropolitan history. Secondly, the prominence of police courts in popular journalism and the contrast between these portrayals and daily practice have important implications for how we understand culture, both in the metropolitan context and in relation to governance. A final topic worthy of further engagement is how the relationship between the modern state, Liberalism, and the individual was changing over time, and the role that police courts and their depictions played in these changes.