Kennedy G. Imperial Defence. The Old World Order, 1856-1956

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to visit his sick wife.

Nehru was one of several twentieth-century enemies

of the British Empire who understood the importance of this British pro-

paganda image of themselves. Educated at Harrow and Cambridge,

he condemned the Amritsar massacre of 1919 as ‘to use public school lan-

guage, it was the height of bad form’.

The recognition that the British

were vulnerable when acting contrary to their own propaganda image

became a theme of twentieth-century colonial insurgency, being shared by

the Irish Republican Brotherhood in 1916–1922, the Jewish separatists in

Palestine in 1945–1948 and the Greek Cypriots of EOKA in 1955.

Nehru’s outrage that in the Amritsar Massacre the British had violated

their own propaganda image of the Empire as a force for civilisation has

also been reﬂected in the attention paid, both at the time and by historians

ever since, to those bloody incidents in which the Imperial use of violence

was deemed to have crossed an invisible but well-understood boundary,

such as the suppression of the Jamaica Rebellion in 1865, the near-geno-

cide of the Australian aborigines, the concentration camps of the Boer

War, and the execution of the Easter Rising leaders in Dublin in 1916. For

some, the area bombing campaign by RAF Bomber Command during

1942–1945 falls into the same category, although in that case British public

opinion appears to have been very supportive and any debate in public and

the press took place after rather than before each episode.

At the height

of Empire, there were some uses of force and military practices from which

the British sought to bar themselves regardless of their military effect-

iveness, because they violated the underlying propaganda on which the

stability of the Empire itself rested. This was sometimes to the great annoy-

ance or affected bewilderment of the generals, presumably as a reﬂection

of careers spent largely in isolation from British public opinion: Lord

Kitchener’s indignation at criticism of his concentration camps is a ﬁne

example. But in the First World War in particular, the fact that regular

British ofﬁcers shared an ideology of correct gentlemanly behaviour with

new ofﬁcer recruits from civilian life was a considerable aid to the expan-

sion and cohesion of the Army.

It is both a commonplace and a paradox that the chief British ﬁnancial

beneﬁciaries of Empire in this period were only a small elite. The pinnacle

of this elite, the covenanted Indian Civil Service, only rose to just above a

1,000 members by the start of the twentieth century.

The ofﬁcer corps of

the RN, the British Army, the Indian Army, and later the RAF contributed

a few thousand more. Then there were the self-made millionaires who

would not have achieved success without the Empire, for whom Cecil

Rhodes consciously made himself a role model, but they were very few. For

the British industrial working class, the beneﬁts of Empire were emotional

and psychological rather than material, except for such delights as exotic

fruits like the banana, soothing cups of bedtime cocoa, or gold and dia-

monds cheap enough for engagement and wedding rings.

For an other-

wise unemployable middle-class, ‘younger sons, well-born orphans, the

222 S. Badsey

sons of the clergy,’ jobs that would have been considered menial in Britain

such as policeman or trader were invested with a far greater status by the

Empire.

One notable if atypical case was George Orwell’s brief spell in

the Burma Police in the 1920s after leaving Eton, an experience which

turned him into a marked anti-Imperial propagandist.

While for the

upper-middle and upper class, ‘nothing made the British feel so Imperial as

India’,

for those people of British descent who were born or grew up in

India, the colonies or the dominions, the knowledge of the opportunities

offered by a career in London were an equally important source of pride.

A few, like the Canadian-born Lord Beaverbrook (Max Aitken), the single

most important ﬁgure in British propaganda during the First World War

and owner of the Daily Express, reached to the very heights of the British

political establishment.

If the real ties of Empire were cultural and emotional, rather than ﬁnan-

cial or even rational in the political sense, then the propaganda of Empire

lay at the very heart of Imperial defence. But what most of the British

people really thought about the Empire remains a historical mystery for

most of this period. Not until 1935 did the American George Gallop estab-

lish the technique of scientiﬁc opinion polling, and the founding of Mass

Observation in Great Britain in 1937 added selective snapshots of middle

class and working class views, which by that late date largely took the

Empire for granted.

Although there have been attempts to discover the

range of British attitudes towards the Boer War of 1899–1902, only broad

conclusions are possible: that the British working class rejected domestic

opposition to the war, and that younger men largely from the middle class

were prepared to volunteer for it in large numbers.

This attitude in not

surprising, given that by 1898, taking into account youth training and auxil-

iary service in such organisations as the Riﬂe Volunteers as well as the

regular British Army, an estimated 22.42 per cent of British (including

Irish) men born between 1858 and 1881 had some current or previous

form of military experience.

Taking this together with the volunteer

movement of the Boer War and the much larger intakes of volunteers and

conscripts of the two world wars, the entire period 1856–1956 was one in

which the fact of military experience was intertwined with military propa-

ganda as a major part of the British popular culture.

This ideological commitment to ﬁght for the mother country, (or, as

expressed by the New Zealander Air Vice-Marshal Keith Park during the

Battle of Britain, for London as the ‘Capital of the Empire’) also extended

to the dominions.

At the turn of the century, many among the elites of

Canada and Australia saw little distinction between ﬁghting for their own

countries and for Great Britain (possibly because so many were already

comfortable with the dual cultural identity of being Scots or Irish but also

British), a commitment to Empire which was reﬂected in their sending

volunteers to ﬁght in the Boer War.

The Australian poet, journalist and

sometime soldier Andrew ‘Banjo’ Paterson, best known for ‘Waltzing

Propaganda and the defence of empire 223

Matilda’, celebrated the Australian participation, in which he shared, in

1900: ‘They came to prove to all the earth that kinship conquers

space/and those who ﬁght the British Isles must ﬁght the British race!’

In the First World War, a signiﬁcant proportion of the adult male popula-

tions of the dominions also served overseas: from just over 11 per cent of

South Africans to a remarkable 19 per cent of New Zealanders.

Histor-

ians have emphasised the tensions of Empire inherent in Canada’s delay

in introducing conscription until 1917 (and then not in Quebec) and the

Australian referenda that rejected it. But what is truly amazing, and power-

ful evidence of the ideological strength of the Empire, is that most of

those who fought for it did so voluntarily. Conscription was unnecessary

throughout the Empire for the ﬁrst two years of the war, being introduced

in Great Britain itself in early 1916, except for Ireland. In the First World

War, the all-volunteer Indian Army also swelled to over 1.2 million men,

more than a third of them recruited from the Punjab and many serving

overseas.

How much any one individual was inspired to volunteer to fight the

wars of the British Empire, or sustained in the fighting, by its propa-

ganda image is certainly no straightforward question. Tradition sees no

greater enemies of the idea of the British Empire than the Irish. Yet, in

1856, the people of Ireland enthusiastically supported participation in

the Crimean War, celebrated it with the propaganda of broadsheets and

ballads, and commemorated it with banquets and statues, in virtually the

same propaganda response as the rest of the UK.

At the other end of

our period, in the Second World War an estimated 70,000–80,000 cit-

izens of Eire volunteered to fight in the British armed forces, including

five Victoria Cross winners, surely a record for a neutral country.

But by

1939–1945, the British themselves were downplaying any mention of

Empire in their propaganda. Virtually the last attempt at an Imperial

pressure group, the creation of an ‘Empire Crusade’ to promote closer

links between Britain and the Empire in 1940, was seen by the MoI as

something of an embarrassment.

A very complex mixture of social and economic trends produced a mass

industrialised society in Great Britain after 1856, and many of the same

factors, and particularly the same technology, also led to transformations in

the nature of war, but even more to transformations in the ability of the

media to record and depict war, and in the market for such depictions. It

has been observed that the same changes in optics that produced

improved gun sights for the artillery in the later nineteenth century also

produced better cameras to photograph them.

Much the same techno-

logical improvements have been cited as an important part of the story of

the nineteenth-century expansion of the British Empire.

The means avail-

able for propaganda increased greatly in this period, starting with the tele-

graph and the expanded newspaper industry of the 1850s, the coloured

picture postcards and posters of the 1880s, the ﬁrst cinema newsreels of

224 S. Badsey

the 1900s, radio in the 1920s, and ending in the 1950s with television.

The relationship between the evolving mass politics, technology, and pro-

paganda was interactive and reciprocal. One of the ﬁrst signs of a new

awareness by later nineteenth-century British public opinion of the vulner-

ability of Great Britain to invasion in the face of changing naval technolo-

gies, and the use of propaganda to popularise the issue, came in 1871 with

the well-known ﬁctional story The Battle of Dorking, written by Sir George

Chesney and ﬁrst published in Blackwood’s.

But almost as great an impres-

sion was made in New Zealand in 1873 by the publication of an equally ﬁc-

titious and propagandist article in the Daily Southern Cross of the surprise

bombardment of Auckland by the Russian cruiser Kaskowiski (‘cask o’

whisky’). The implications for Imperial defence of such a sneak attack on

an unprotected colony were still being debated 20 years later.

One even-

tual result, the presentation of the battlecruiser HMS New Zealand to the

RN, paid for by the country’s taxpayers, was chieﬂy symbolic of a commit-

ment to Imperial defence: the ship had only three New Zealanders among

its ofﬁcer complement.

Propaganda directed by the British against their enemies and potential

enemies also played an important role in Victorian warfare. Emphasis

was placed on ‘cowing’ hostile peoples into accepting British rule, and this

frequently took the form of a symbolic episode of submission or degrada-

tion.

One serious, if unsuccessful, British objective in the Ashanti War

1873–1874 was the capture and use of the Golden Stool on which the

Asantehene (king) was enthroned, while Lord Kitchener’s desecration of

the Mahdi’s tomb, reported and recorded in sketches and photographs,

put a propaganda seal on his victory at Omdurman in 1898.

This ritualis-

tic and propagandistic behaviour was rooted in the very practical military

issue that such an extensive global Empire was impossible to defend from

internal and external enemies and that, at the start of any war, the troops

available were often inadequate in numbers and unfamiliar with local con-

ditions. For many senior Army ofﬁcers at least, the failure to avenge a

defeat meant a threat to the long-term stability of the Empire, and rising

ofﬁcers were outraged by the Gladstone Liberal government of

1880–1885, which made peace with the Transvaal Republic after the

defeat at Majuba Hill in 1881 and failed to prevent or revenge the death

of Gordon at Khartoum in 1885. The British could swallow the occasional

defeat, such as Isandhlwana in 1879 or Maiwand in 1880; what they could

not tolerate was national humiliation and loss of status. It was the bad luck

of the Boers to win three battles in one week in December 1899 at the

start of the Boer War; after ‘Black Week’, with its accompanying press and

propaganda furore, there was no possibility of a negotiated peace, and

young British ofﬁcers including Winston Churchill expressed the view that

they would not want to return home if the war was lost. It was the symbolic

humiliation of the fall of Singapore in January 1942, recorded in photo-

graphs and ﬁlm by the Japanese, that undermined the British position in

Propaganda and the defence of empire 225

the Far East and the ﬁnal humiliation of Suez in 1956 that marked the

symbolic end of Imperial Britain.

By the time of the Boer War, the relationship between British and

Imperial military strength and propaganda was well understood. Sir Alfred

Milner prepared the ground for war by generating propaganda within the

London newspapers, and Field Marshal Lord Roberts as commander-in-

chief in South Africa included unofﬁcially within his staff a coterie of

famous writers, including Kipling and Arthur Conan Doyle, to generate

propaganda for him.

Roberts exercised tight control on British war

reporters, although they also subscribed overwhelmingly to the ideology

of Empire; one of the most important, George W. Steevens, was lauded

after his death in the siege of Ladysmith as ‘a priest of the Imperialist

ideal’.

Kipling was only the most prominent of the apologists for Empire

in this time, but his inﬂuence continued among military ofﬁcers long after

he had otherwise ceased to be fashionable. Writing in 1944, Field Marshal

Sir Archibald Wavell described how he read Kipling ‘at an impressionable

age’ and that his poems (together with those of Browning) had ‘stayed

most in my memory’.

But it is one of the truisms of propaganda that it

acts best in convincing people of what they already wish to believe. No

amount of propaganda by Kipling or others could generate the mass emi-

gration from Britain to South Africa after the Boer War for which Milner

had hoped.

By 1914, British ofﬁcial institutions already existed for controlling

reporters and applying censorship, but not for using propaganda as a

positive force. However, the traditional gentlemen’s agreements on propa-

ganda had also become more institutionalised. In 1910, Reuters began an

Imperial News Service and in the following year entered into a secret

agreement with the British government to give ministerial speeches the

fullest circulation within the Empire. Throughout the First World War,

while remaining an independent company, Reuters exhibited an

inevitably strong pro-British bias in the news that it sent overseas.

At the start of the First World War, domestic propaganda in the form of

posters and speeches was largely left to regional or local initiatives. But

overseas propaganda was made the task of a new institution based at

Wellington House in London (often later called the War Propaganda

Bureau). Wellington House specialised in producing or funding propa-

ganda, as well as ofﬁcial news, which appeared not to originate with the

British government, and its strategy was to target the generally sympa-

thetic elites. Its chief target was the neutrality of the US, and it beneﬁted

greatly from the deployment in New York and Washington of Canadians

such as Sir Campbell Stuart.

In January 1917, shortly before the US

entered the war, Wellington House was merged into the larger Depart-

ment of Information (DoI) under the Foreign Ofﬁce (FO). As part of the

DoI, Wellington House organised, funded, or supported the publication

of about 150 book or pamphlet titles (dispatching half a million copies

226 S. Badsey

abroad), together with a further million copies being printed overseas and

ten newspaper titles. Wellington House was always keen to project the vol-

untary unity of the Empire, and among its pamphlets were contributions

from important Empire ﬁgures including Canadian Prime Minister

Robert Borden and General Jan Smuts, as well as justiﬁcations of British

policy in Ireland and India.

Imperial themes also loomed large in British

visual propaganda: the largest propaganda series of documentary ﬁlms

produced for the DoI in 1917, showing scenes of the war effort, was enti-

tled Sons of the Empire.

Wellington House’s approach was broadly elitist, but as the strain of the

war increased, so British propaganda began to move towards a more pop-

ulist style, culminating in early 1918 with the appointment of two leading

newspaper magnates already heavily involved in propaganda, Lord Beaver-

brook to head the new MoI and Lord Northcliffe, owner of The Times and

the Daily Mail, to head the Directorate of Propaganda in Enemy Countries

(often known from its location as Crewe House). Another myth which

grew in strength in the 1920s and has taken some time in dying is that pro-

paganda from Crewe House played a signiﬁcant part in the collapse of

Imperial Germany. As part of domestic propaganda in the war’s last year,

the MoI stressed both the contribution by ﬁghting troops from the domin-

ions, and the Imperial aspects of the war including particularly the cam-

paigns in Palestine and Mesopotamia. The British propaganda rhetoric of

1918 was distinctly more imperial than in 1914, and coupled with the real

need for the dominions to take a greater share in the ﬁghting in the last

year of the war, this placed them in a stronger negotiating position with

the mother country.

Something also changed during the First World War from the Imperial

unity of past wars. Dr Charles Bean, the Australian ofﬁcial chronicler and

historian, deliberately promoted the ‘Digger myth’ of a distinctive Aus-

tralian cultural identity and military superiority through propaganda and

the media, both during the war and later.

More serious at the time in

terms of its impact on Imperial defence was that, in addition to his

central role in British propaganda, Beaverbrook was also head of the

separate Canadian War Records Ofﬁce in London. The propaganda put

out by this ofﬁce emphasised the ﬁghting abilities of Canadian troops

and their cultural distinctiveness from the British, based on a mythology

of the Canadian backwoods that was similar to the Australian ‘digger

myth’ promoted by Bean. Beaverbrook was also not above using the

British propaganda apparatus to promote Canadian interests.

After the First World War, the British government’s propaganda

presentation of the Empire showed a marked turn away from military

matters towards business and trade, in keeping with the country’s own pre-

occupation with restoring its ﬁnancial strengths and the brief absence of

major enemies. This new approach was evident in the British Empire

Wembley Exhibition of 1924 and marked both by the creation of the

Propaganda and the defence of empire 227

Empire Marketing Board in 1926 and by its abolition in 1933 as fresh mili-

tary dangers emerged and the idea of Imperial economic unity proved

elusive.

Wider public attitudes also seem to have changed towards the

Empire and perhaps towards the power and inﬂuence of the press barons;

the decline in inﬂuence of the political press in Britain has been traced as

starting soon after 1918.

Beaverbrook provocatively told a Royal Commis-

sion on the Press in 1948 that he ran the Daily Express ‘purely for propa-

ganda and with no other purpose’, but even his support for yet another

‘Empire Crusade’, based on trade protection and begun in 1929, gener-

ated almost no popular enthusiasm.

Even more, while the broad ideo-

logical consensus underpinning the propaganda of Empire remained

relatively intact, the ideology of an expansionist Empire on a civilising

mission had been ended by the First World War. While outright paciﬁsm

remained the doctrine of a tiny minority, no British politician after 1918

could regard war as anything more than a necessary or unavoidable evil.

Indeed, one of the most effective pieces of privately generated British pro-

paganda of the period was Arthur Ponsonby’s book Falsehood in War-time

(1928), denouncing what it portrayed as the excesses and absurdities of

British ofﬁcial propaganda during the First World War.

Although feature

ﬁlms such as Lives of a Bengal Lancer (1935) and The Four Feathers (1939)

joined the boys’ stories and other media celebrating the old Empire of mil-

itary force, British ofﬁcial propaganda became distinctly idealistic, a trend

given impetus by the founding of the British Council in 1934 to conduct

cultural propaganda overseas.

British propaganda returned to its tradi-

tions of targeting elite opinion formers with reasoned arguments and

selected information, rather than mass opinion.

It was also in the interwar years that the idea of domestic public

opinion became important to the Government of India. In the face of a

skilfully mounted political and propaganda campaign for independence,

it sought to develop its own information system in response to the

nationalist movement, with limited success.

As for the dominions and

colonies, even while they drew further away from Britain politically and

economically, they were brought signiﬁcantly closer in ideological terms

by two technological developments that also became symbols of Empire.

One of these was BBC radio broadcasts across the globe, starting with an

experimental transmission to Australia in 1927 and leading to the estab-

lishment of the Empire Service in 1932.

A series of gentlemen’s agree-

ments meant that the Empire Service soon became the epitome of

positive Imperial propaganda, later described by the BBC as ‘more blimp-

ish than Colonel Blimp himself’.

In this period also, the ideology of

Empire was combined with new technologies, particularly in the form of

aircraft, both civil and military, reﬂected in government support for the

British aircraft industry, and for Imperial Airways, formed in 1924, with an

emphasis on uniting the Empire through its ﬂeet of long-distance ﬂying

boats in the 1930s, and also for a new role for the RAF in Imperial

228 S. Badsey

policing.

Again, the propaganda of Empire fused with the substance of

power, as ﬁlms made for the Empire Marketing Board and Imperial

Airways, including Contact (1933) and Air Post (1934) helped establish the

(later very inﬂuential) British Documentary Movement of ﬁlm makers.

Many of these same men went on during the Second World War to make

for the Crown Film Unit and the MoI such propaganda classics as Fires

Were Started and Target for Tonight (both 1941) and Desert Victory (1943),

the celebration of El Alamein as a victory for the British Empire used by

Churchill as propaganda to impress his American and Soviet allies during

critical negotiations in early 1943.

Very much as before the First World War, from 1938 onwards, Reuters

cooperated informally with the British government in what it saw as coun-

tering Nazi propaganda overseas.

The BBC also cooperated in govern-

ment propaganda and with the newly formed MoI. Although domestic war

propaganda aimed by the British at themselves was both more centralised

and more organised than in the First World War, the shared ideology and

the extent of the external threat were once again sufﬁcient to make pro-

paganda a kind of partnership between people searching for comfort and

a justiﬁcation for their cause or in the words of one veteran, ‘a pat on the

back, and a reminder that what you were doing was worth while’.

British

war correspondents, including citizens of the dominions such as the Aus-

tralian Alan Moorehead of the Daily Express, also considered that they were

keeping faith with the infantrymen rather than generating propaganda.

But, once again, propaganda could only act in cooperation with power: no

amount of special pleading could offset the damage done to Anglo-Aus-

tralian relations by Singapore, or Indian demands for independence, or

the general decline of British status compared to that of the US and Soviet

Union as the war progressed.

From as early as 1937, the US was once more the principal target of

British overseas propaganda, other than the regular task of countering

German propaganda around the globe. Before the US entered the war in

December 1941, its Neutrality Acts had sought to prevent any belligerent

practising propaganda on American soil, and for this war, the very success-

ful British propaganda campaign was so subtle that for many years its very

existence went unsuspected.

Because of this focus on the US, the Empire

was always a sensitive topic in British propaganda strategy during the

Second World War, to be avoided as a theme if possible, although the MoI

did have an Empire Division which, among other activities, recruited the

poet John Betjeman to manage British propaganda in Ireland.

Plans for

the BBC to create a large-scale ‘Empire Broadcasting Network’ were

repeatedly turned down, and the Empire Service merged into a new Over-

seas Service.

Public opinion in India was considered as particularly

important during the war, and propaganda was provided by radio broad-

casts from All India Radio, run by the Government of India’s Department

of Information and Broadcasting.

After 1942, the Government of India’s

Propaganda and the defence of empire 229

wider propaganda campaign was run not by the Department of Informa-

tion and Broadcasting (which was dominated by Indian civil servants) but

rather by the Home Department and was based on the inevitability of

Indian independence with results that were the very opposite of its inten-

tion of damping down nationalist aspirations.

If before the First World War British propaganda about the Empire

had been militaristic and expansionist and chieﬂy economic in the inter-

war years, then after the Second World War, it reﬂected ‘a variety of cul-

tures united in liberal constitutional advance’.

The 1951 Festival of

Britain was a celebration of national culture rather than Imperial achieve-

ment. Even so and despite the disbanding of the MoI and other propa-

ganda institutions, a military need continued for Imperial propaganda, as

the British moved almost without a pause into covert propaganda as an

integral part of the defence of their Empire against insurgency. Although

there was a lot of continuity with wartime institutions, this started with

the creation of the Information Research Department (IRD) in the FO in

1948 and the outbreak of the Malayan Emergency in the same year. In

broad strategic terms, this covert propaganda defence of Empire was seen

as only one aspect of the Cold War and was conducted often without the

knowledge even of cabinet ministers. Even more than in the past, a major

target was elite opinion in the US as well as broad domestic popular

opinion, and the main British strategy was to depict anti-Imperialists as

Communists, however badly the Mau Mau in Kenya or Archbishop

Makarios in Cyprus might ﬁt the proﬁle.

Finally, the Suez Crisis of 1956 which ends our period saw ‘one of the

most intensive propaganda campaigns conducted by a British govern-

ment’ since 1945, in an attempt to convince the British people of the ideo-

logical righteousness of its actions.

The use of propaganda in the

defence of Empire, which at the start of our period had been an overt and

integral part of everyday culture, ended it as a covert and somewhat

suspect activity conducted by secret government departments. Even so,

much of the effectiveness of British propaganda still depended on a

shared ideology and on informal gentlemen’s agreements, particularly

between the government and the major institutions of the news media.

Notes

1 Files DO 35 982/2 ‘Empire Propaganda: Education of Children with Regard to

Empire Matters 1938–1940’ and BW 2/319 ‘British Council – Empire Propa-

ganda Abroad 1941–1944’, both National Archives of Great Britain, Public

Record Ofﬁce, Kew.

2 Quoted in Michael Sanders and Philip M. Taylor, British Propaganda During the

First World War 1914–18 (London, 1982), 41.

3 Philip M. Taylor, The Projection of Britain: British Overseas Publicity and Propa-

ganda 1919–1939 (London, 1981), 1–7.

4 Ian McLaine, Ministry of Morale: Home Front Morale and the Ministry of Information

230 S. Badsey

in World War II (London, 1979); David Garnett, The Secret History of PWE: The

Political Warfare Executive 1939–1945 (London, 2002).

5 Quoted, together with other deﬁnitions, by David Welch, ‘Propaganda: Deﬁni-

tions of’, in Nicholas J. Cull, David Culbert, and David Welch (eds), Propa-

ganda and Mass Persuasion: A Historical Encyclopedia, 1500 to the Present (Santa

Barbara, 2003), 317–323. See also Garth S. Jowett and Victoria O’Donnell, Pro-

paganda and Persuasion (Newbury Park, 1992).

6 Oliver Thomson, Easily Led: A History of Propaganda (Thrupp, 1999), 243.

7 Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere (Cambridge,

MA, 1989), translated by Thomas Burger; ﬁrst published as Strukturwandel der

Offentlicheit (Darmsstadt, 1962).

8 This paragraph, which simpliﬁes a sophisticated argument, is further con-

densed from the valuable summary in T. C. W. Blanning, The Culture of Power

and the Power of Culture: Old Regime Europe 1660–1789 (Oxford, 2002), 5–14.

9 Andrew Lambert and Stephen Badsey, The Crimean War: The War Correspondents

(Thrupp, 1994), 304–320.

10 Bernard S. Cohn, ‘Representing Authority in Victorian India’, in Eric Hobs-

bawn and Terence Ranger (eds), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge, 1983),

165–209.

11 David Cannadine, ‘The Context, Performance and Meaning of Ritual: The

British Monarchy and the “Invention of Tradition” c.1820–1977’, in Hobsbawn

and Ranger, The Invention of Tradition, 124; Denis Judd, Empire: The British Imper-

ial Experience from 1785 to the Present (London, 1996), 130–153.

12 Donald Read, The Power of News: The History of Reuters (Oxford, 1992), 40–89.

13 Lucy Brown, Victorian News and Newspapers (Oxford, 1985), 213–214.

14 John M. Mackenzie, Propaganda and Empire: The Manipulation of British Public

Opinion 1880–1960 (Manchester, 1986), 122–146.

15 Mackenzie, Propaganda and Empire, 16–38; Michael Paris, Warrior Nation: Images

of War in British Popular Culture 1850–2000 (London, 2000), 49–109.

16 Ellecke Boehmer, introduction to Robert Baden-Powell, Scouting for Boys

(Oxford, 2004 [1908]), xviii–xxvii.

17 Glenn R. Wilkinson, Depictions and Images of War in Edwardian Newspapers

1899–1914 (London, 2003), 15–41; Paris, Warrior Nation, 49–82.

18 Jonathan Gathorne-Hardy, The Public School Phenomenon (London, 1977), 409.

See also J. R. De S. Honey, Tom Brown’s Universe (London, 1977).

19 Rudyard Kipling, Stalky & Co. (London, 1994 [1899]), 214.

20 Gathorne-Hardy, The Public School Phenomenon, 213.

21 Philip Mason, The English Gentleman: The Rise and Fall of an Ideal (London,

1993), 218–219; David Cannadine, The Decline and Fall of the British Aristocracy

(London, 1990), 487–498.

22 Mason, The English Gentleman, 210–211.

23 Quoted in Judd, Empire, 133.

24 Mark Connelly, Reaching for the Stars: A New History of Bomber Command in World

War II (London, 2001), 162.

25 G. D. Shefﬁeld, Leadership in the Trenches: Ofﬁcer-Man Relations, Morale and

Discipline in the Era of the First World War (London, 2000), 178–179.

26 Niall Ferguson, Empire: How Britain Made the Modern World (London, 2004), 184.

27 Robert Roberts, The Classic Slum: Salford Life in the First Quarter of the Century

(Manchester, 1972), 143; Correlli Barnett, The Collapse of British Power (London,

1984 [1972]), 76; Judd, Empire, 133.

28 Terence Ranger, ‘The Invention of Tradition in Colonial Africa’, in Hobsbawn

and Ranger, The Invention of Tradition, 215.

29 Bernard Crick, George Orwell: A Life (London, 1982), 139–175.

30 Barnett, The Collapse of British Power, 137–138.

Propaganda and the defence of empire 231