In my early schooldays, the first such event I learned about was 1066, the Norman Conquest, which conveyed the idea that this was when English history began. (And I well remember the cigarette cards issued in 1937 to mark the coronation of King George V and Queen Elizabeth. The set of ‘Kings and Queens of England’ began with William the Conqueror!)
At the Mercers’ School, I took in the date 1453, when Constantinople was finally conquered by the Turks, the scholars picked up their precious manuscripts, tucked them under their arms, moved to Italy, and the Renaissance began.
All good scholarly stuff, serving a (temporarily) useful purpose, but a bit far-fetched so far as implications go. (No one so much as mentioned Gutenberg and his printing press : the great revolutionary invention of that mid-century.)
In the past week or so, I find the date 1951 popping up here and there in various books I’ve been reading. !951. I remember it well. It was the year of the Festival of Britain, originally proposed as a centenary celebration of the Great Exhibition of 1851, but more specifically as an antidote to the postwar years of drab austerity, an indicator that Britain was on its feet again, standing on the brink of another brilliant future. A Dome of Discovery and a Skylon were erected on the South Bank of the Thames and a Heath Robinson pleasure gardens transformed Battersea Park.
Yes, 1951 also proved to be a significant turning point for the government. Labour lost the General Election in October and remained in opposition until 1964.
I’ve begun to consider the possibility of 1951’s having rather deeper implications. When I was lecturing on the history of the Arts, especially classical music, the years round about 1900 seemed to be crucial. The great works of 19th century Romanticism were coming to an end. A new generation was exploring – even desperately searching for – new ideas. Then came The War (1914 to 1918, that is) followed by the reaction of the 1920s, the very arid 1930s, and the renewal of The War (1939 to 1945). The first part of The War took out a whole generation of young men. The second part was widespread devastation. Twice in a handful of decades artistic impetus were shattered.
Perhaps, then, 1951 did mark a re-start, a fresh imperative, though it was more than a little infected by the attractive delusion that we remained the Great Nation of the days when the genial Edward VII was our monarch. (1951 was not the last time British troops were to engage in Suez.)
For tens of thousands of us, 1951 has a special significance, for that was the year when Parliament passed the Fraudulent Mediums Act to regularise the position of Spiritualists still smarting from the effects of the Witchcraft Trial of 1944 which had sent one of their leading mediums to prison. The first clause of the 1951 Act repealed the Witchcraft Act of 1735. Spiritualists would no longer be subject to prosecution. And there it might all have ended, a chapter closed, save that a single alert individual saw his chance and seized it.
For Gerald Gardner this was the liminal moment. He stood on the threshold. Behind him was more than a decade of enthusiastic personal involvement in the Wica (his spelling). Out there in front was a whole wide world where he could spread his eager word. And so it was. He stepped forward. He went public, spreading the news of a surviving and renewed pagan religion whose roots were flourishing even in the days ‘Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode’.
francis cameron
oxford, 28 june 2009
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