by Jeremy Black
The Religious Census of 1851 suggested that there was a crisis of faith, with falling church attendance. The Census of Religious Worship was the first (and last) attempt by government to record all places in England and Wales where public worship was held, the frequency of their services, the extent of their accommodation, and the number of people in them. In all, 34,467 places of worship were identified and the census revealed nearly 11 million attendances at church on census Sunday, 30 March (60.8 per cent of the population), of which 48.6 per cent were in Anglican churches and 51.4 per cent in others, a return that led to Anglican anger. The Anglicans did best in the rural south and in small towns, while Catholics and Nonconformists were most successful in the cities. Working-class attendance was lower than clerics would have liked, John Davies (1788–1858), Rector of St Clement’s, Worcester, reporting that his working-class parishioners ‘seldom ever attend Sunday Morning Service. The Saturday Market and the late payment of wages on the evening of that day contribute probably in no small degree to produce this remark.’ Drink thus kept devotion at bay.
Yet, the census also indicated the role of local circumstances and the greatly contrasting character of religious activity. Indeed, there was re-Christianization as well as secularization. Religious validation continued to be important for the key turning points in life, such as birth (baptism), marriage and death; and making a good and Christian death was an important aspect of the latter.
Moreover, the major Christian Churches, especially the Church of England, the Catholic Church and the Methodists, still had much life in them. They were energetically building new churches in an effort to reach out to new congregations, especially in the expanding cities. Furthermore, in Scotland there was a huge building programme by United Presbyterian and Free kirks alongside Church of Scotland places of worship. In addition, the strong drive for missionary work in the outside world was matched by a powerful sense of the need for such efforts in Britain, notably in the slums. Aside from the commitment to Christian mission, there was a marked attempt to improve the institutional framework of the Churches, an attempt that also captured the interest in reform. For example, there was extensive improvement to existing church buildings, and far more effort was devoted to training clerics than hitherto. Attention was also devoted to organization. New dioceses were created. In Cornwall, where a diocese was created at Truro in 1877, more than fifty new churches were built between 1870 and 1900. Chelmsford was selected in 1913 for the new cathedral for Essex. Derby became a diocese in 1914.
Religion was also important in British culture. Religious scenes were often reproduced in the engravings that decorated many walls, from the loftiest to the most humble dwellings. Moreover, the various religious groupings were keen to develop church music. Leading composers such as Sir Hubert Parry (1848–1918), who wrote the chorus ‘Jerusalem’ (1916) to words by William Blake, and Sir Charles Villiers Stanford (1852–1924) both played a major role in the British choral tradition, while the output of Sir Arthur Sullivan (1842–1900) included ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ (1871) and the oratorio The Light of the World (1873), and Sir Edward Elgar wrote The Dream of Gerontius (1900).
The heavy casualties of the First World War sapped confidence in divine purpose (and, paradoxically, encouraged spiritualism) while the widespread disruption brought on by the war affected established religious practices, including church-going, throughout Britain. There seems to have been a recovery in at least nominal church attendance thereafter, but in the inter-war years the Churches continued to find it difficult to reach out successfully to the bulk of the industrial working class. Much of this group was indifferent to, or alienated from, all Churches.
The Catholics were most successful, their numbers rising from 2.2 million in 1910 to 3.0 million in 1940. In contrast, in the inter-war period, the numbers of Methodists, Baptists, Congregationalists and Welsh Presbyterians all fell, as did the number of Scottish Episcopalians. The decline of the chapel as the centre of community life in Wales was particularly marked after 1918, and served to alter significantly the nature of Welsh society, so that Wales became more secular. The Church of England, meanwhile, continued its institutional expansion, founding a diocese in Portsmouth in 1926, and had scant change in membership, but, given the rise of population, this was an important proportional decline in support.
The most influential clergyman of the inter-war years, William Temple (1881–1944), Bishop of Manchester 1921–9, Archbishop of York 1929–42, and of Canterbury 1942–4, sought to reverse the decline of organized religion, and to make England an Anglican nation again, and thus justify the Church of England’s claim to speak for it. Temple offered a synthesis of Christianity with modern culture, in works such as Mens Creatrix (1917), Christus Veritas (1924) and Christianity and Social Order (1942). At times, Temple, who viewed welfare as representing Christian social values, was seen as left-wing, a label he would have denied. In the event, although Temple strengthened the Church, he failed to give England a more clearly Christian character. Furthermore, Temple’s inspiration of the already developing role of the Church as a voice of social criticism and concern led to it being seen increasingly in a secular light. This was despite major efforts to keep religion central to society and to public life.
Church-based societies became less important, both for the young and for their elders. In addition, poverty helped lead many to question Church teachings; although a large number of the poor did find meaning and support in faith. Moreover, religious ideas were important in popular moral codes, and in public traditions, even for those who lacked faith. The Established Churches, however, were more successful in catering to a middle-class constituency, not least because of the important role they allowed for middle-class socializing and for female voluntary service, than they were in catering for the poor.
Social Tension
Society was changing, therefore, but not to the extent that is suggested by the disruption of the First World War nor the radical ideas of the period. Despite the rise of the Labour Party, Britain was still a hierarchical society with much deference. New institutions and developments were moulded to take note of existing social divisions. Rail passengers were classified by class and each had very different conditions on the trains and in the stations. The class-based analysis of society advanced by Karl Marx (1818–83), who lived and wrote in London from 1849, remained pertinent.
Yet, the structure and ethos of society were being affected by the rise of individual and collective merit as a defining characteristic at the expense of heredity. Under the process of Victorian reform, institutions, notably the Civil Service, the professions, the universities, the public schools, the Army and the Navy, both expanded greatly and developed a more meritocratic ethos. This change was very significant in the creation of a new establishment to replace the aristocracy. The challenge was most overt from the Liberals and Labour. Lloyd George wooed Labour and the trade unions and successfully sought to move the Liberals to the left. He declared in a speech in Newcastle that ‘a fully equipped duke costs as much to keep up as two Dreadnoughts [battleships]’, and that the House of Lords comprised ‘five hundred men, ordinary men, chosen accidentally from among the unemployed’; a different tone to that of his predecessors.
This was the language of class struggle, and the latter was in evidence, notably in strike waves, such as that of 1910–12. Sabotage by striking miners in 1910 against collieries, strike-breakers and trains was resisted and led to much violence. In 1911, the first general rail strike led to sabotage at Llanelli, and also to the deployment of troops, who killed two strikers in Liverpool; in 1911 police killed one in Tonypandy. Nearly 41 million working days were lost through strikes in 1912 alone. Those of dockers and seamen in Glasgow in 1911 contributed to the idea of ‘Red Clydeside’, an idea which was to return after the war.
Although strikes arose from particular disputes in individual industries, they also benefited from a growing sense of class consciousness felt by much of the workin
g class, an attitude that was reinforced by the coercive response to the strikes. This sense encouraged the growth of the Labour Party, the attraction of the radical programme of New Liberalism, and Liberal–Labour cooperation. The growing socialism of the unions was a victory for the more militant elements among the working population, their militancy in part stemming from immersion in the radical doctrines of syndicalism, with their call for direct action by the workers, although syndicalism was limited geographically and occupationally.
Yet, alongside social division and the role of social classes, there were factors making for social cohesion as well as other sources of identity. Lloyd George’s legislation was designed to contain social problems. In part, his reforms were a response to the failure of the Poor Law as a result of the burdens posed by the large-scale need for social assistance. The Royal Commission on the Poor Law that sat between 1905 and 1909 produced majority and minority reports, each of which would have cost a great deal. As a result, Lloyd George decided to leave the Poor Law as it was, but to reduce the burden on it by providing old age pensions, national insurance and employment exchanges.
Moreover, a whole range of institutions and practices helped to link people of different backgrounds and to lessen social tensions. These included churches and sport, patriotic groups and youth bodies such as the Boy Scouts, which may have included 34 per cent of all males born between 1901 and 1920. This movement deliberately sought to lessen class division.
Such bodies and practices were not themselves free of tension and could themselves be the sites, and even cause, of social division and even antagonism. Nevertheless, the determined effort by many such institutions to offer a different basis for identity and activity to that of class division was important. Furthermore, the variety of bases for identity affected the political world. For example, Christian Socialism was important and many prominent Labour figures, such as Arthur Henderson and George Lansbury (1859–1940), were committed Christians.
Indeed, religious, regional and occupational divisions were as important as class issues. In 1914, over 75 per cent of the working population were not members of trade unions, and divisions existed within the workforce, between skilled and unskilled, between Protestants and Irish immigrants, and between, and within, regional economies. Thus, in the cotton finishing industry, elite foremen engravers had little in common with poorly paid bleachers. Such divisions remained apparent in the 1920s, and, as before, were displayed in, and sustained by, new developments. This was true, for example, of the expanding world of material goods, which reflected social contrasts, both between the middle and working class and within the latter.
Conclusions
I do not mean that it was all rather self-conscious and arty, like those awful parties in London at which women with unpleasant breath advocate free love and nudism.
The misogynist, philistine and sneering tone of Case for Three Detectives (1936) by Leo Bruce (Rupert Croft-Cooke; 1903–80) is a reminder that, alongside the reforms and changes described in the last chapter, many of the social assumptions of the period proved resistant to change. Looked at more blandly, continuity in change was an important aspect of the British in the period 1851 to 1931 and not only in religion. For example, the same was true in population changes. Most of the major rise in population was from native growth rather than immigration, a situation dramatically different to that in the 2000s; although there was immigration from outside the British Isles, notably of Jews, while a 1919 riot at Glasgow harbour directed at black residents was the first in a series in British ports that reflected anger by white workers about competition from black workers.
The degree of continuity helped ensure that the period was often to be recalled and recovered in terms of the stereotypes of deep-seated social divisions, as well as of such factors as sexual repression. While these elements were indeed all present, the situation was far more complex. The different narratives of these years, both individual and group, were not only opposed to each other. In practice, they also interacted in a complex patchwork of social alignments, a patchwork in which the variety in personal circumstances was matched to a hitherto unprecedented extent by those in social assumptions, not least over the role of women and the place of religion. Yet, as Chapters 6 and 8 will show, these assumptions were to change far more in the late twentieth century.
4
IMPERIAL STRENGTH
The history of Britain in this period owes much of its importance to the state’s leading position in the world. This was most obviously a matter of imperial extent, naval power and success in war, but the ‘soft’ nature of British power, in terms of the influence of the British constitution and system of government, was also very significant. In the nineteenth century, Britain’s commitment to parliamentary government, the rule of law, individual liberties and free trade enjoyed great repute, which, in turn, confirmed their importance to its domestic audience. Moreover, the development of the empire away from an emphasis on control of colonies, and towards, for some, a degree of self-government, helped enhance the global impact of the British model, because the self-governing Dominions, such as Australia, were, at least initially, expressions of a Greater Britain.
‘Rise and Fall’ is the standard imperial narrative, with an established account of Victorian rise, followed by a growing perception of difficulties from the late nineteenth century (due to relative decline as other states rose to power), and then crisis. The First World War, in particular, serves in this account as both consequence and cause of crisis. This narrative has considerable force, but it also underplays the extent to which Britain, nevertheless, enjoyed an empire of unprecedented size after that war. Moreover, helped by victory in the First World War, and by the defeat (Germany, Russia, Austria) or isolationism (US) of pre-war powers, Britain was very much still the leading imperial state in the 1920s.
This is why the span covered in Part 1 is, deliberately, to 1931, rather than ending in 1901, 1914 or 1918. Japan’s successful invasion of Manchuria, China’s leading industrial region, in 1931 was the first major challenge to the liberal international order (as well as a measure that revealed the consequences of the earlier collapse of the Anglo-Japanese alliance); and the conflicts of 1931–45 were to leave Britain not only a far weaker state and empire, but also one overshadowed by other world powers, especially the US, which had a powerful anti-imperialist ideology.
Imperialism
The span from 1851 to 1945, let alone 1931, was not a long one, and, until the 1960s, the memories of individuals, families and communities, as well as the resonances of imperial literature and propaganda, could readily recover a sense of power and consequence that it is difficult to appreciate now when Britain lacks this sense of confidence. Yet, to fail to understand the imperial experience and the sense of imperial mission prior to the 1940s is to neglect much of the political atmosphere of the age. Empire was in large part a matter of power politics, military interests, elite careers and an ideology of mission that appealed in particular to the propertied and the proselytizing. Sectional interests, such as traders, export industries, missionaries, the Army, politicians and the monarchy, each had their own imperial narrative and culture.
Self-interest alone, however, does not explain imperial expansion. Most clearly in the final decades of the nineteenth century, empire had relevance and meaning throughout much of British society, as was reflected in the jingoistic strains of popular culture: adventure stories, the ballads of the music hall, and the images depicted on advertisements for mass-produced goods, many of which indeed were manufactured from products imported from the empire such as palm oil, rubber and tea.
Empire also affected senses of identity, including notions of masculinity. Soldier heroes, such as General Charles Gordon (1833–85) and Field Marshals Garnet Wolseley (1833–1913), Frederick Roberts (1832–1914) and Earl Kitchener (1850–1916), fed a tradition of exemplary imperial masculinity, which was a combination of Anglo-Saxon authority, superiority and martial prowess,
with Protestant religious zeal and moral righteousness. Winston Churchill used his military service in India and the Sudan, including at the key victory of Omdurman (1898), as well as his escape when captured as a war correspondent during the Boer War, to advantage in beginning his political career.
Launching the Boy Scout movement in 1908 (the Girl Guides followed in 1909), Robert Baden-Powell (1857–1941) exploited his own reputation as a hero during the resistance to the Boer siege of Mafeking in the Boer War, celebrated by the press, and also the more general model of masculinity allegedly provided by the self-sufficiency and vigour of life on the frontiers of empire. This model was given form in adventure novels such as those of G.A. Henty (1832–1902), including With Kitchener in the Soudan (1903), an account of recent operations there. These novels were still in the local library for me to read as a child in the 1960s, as were the Biggles adventure stories of Captain W.E. Johns (1893–1968), which were also redolent of imperial purpose and confidence.
From the late nineteenth century, the image of national resolution and endeavour was sustained by the extensive news of imperial conflict carried by the press, news provided by the development of telegraphy. The sieges of British positions in the Indian Mutiny (1857–9) and the Boer War offered drama for the entire country, although that did not imply that imperialism was popular with all of the working class, and, indeed, many workers appear to have been pretty apathetic. The crowds that applauded the relief of Mafeking from Boer siege in 1900 were mainly clerks and medical students, rather than labourers.
