Koditschek Theodore. Liberalism, Imperialism, and the Historical Imagination: Nineteenth-Century Visions of a Greater Britain

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middle class had gained in 1832, would, in future, be extended to other

subordinate social classes and colonial social groups. To appreciate the

true potential for Anglo-India, Anglo-Jamaica, Anglo-Africa, and even

Anglo-Ireland, it was sufﬁcient to look back to the Glorious Revolution, to

see what Whiggism, plus capitalism, plus Anglo-Scotland had wrought. In

harnessing past remembrance to the circumstances of the present, a

reassuring insight into the future was obtainable by drawing a line of

continuity between all three. In this sense, Macaulay’s History was its

own last chapter, an achievement as glorious as the accomplishments it

recounts.

To the Africans, Indi ans, West Ind ians, Irish Catholics, and English

workingmen who were queuing up for citizenship in the Greater Britain

of the future, Ma caulay’smessagewasoneofpatience and self-control.

From his books and essays they could obtain a better understanding of

the privileges toward which they were striving, an illustration of why

these were w orth having, and a delineatio n of the de ﬁciencies that they

would have to overcome. From this perspective , Macaulay’sworkscould

be seen as educational and civilizational ventures. In order to discern the

prospects for the coming generations it was necessary to learn the lessons

that Whig imperial history taught. Through British imperial expansion,

outsiders everywhere cou ld be turned into insiders. Potential trouble-

makers and ideologically overwrought radicals at home could be turned

into national heroes and colonial adventurers abroad. Political crises in

the expanding capitalist state could be resolved without recourse to

revolutionary violence. Sav ages and barbarians could be brought within

the orbit of civilizatio n, while retrograde, effeminate peoples, groaning

under the yoke of oriental despots, could be reclaimed for the modern

world of manly respectability. In the Macaula yite Whig and imperial

romance there was no longer any need for subordinated groups to revolt

or to organize collectively, because the path for individu al advanc ement

and assimilation would remain open so long as the larger capitalist and

imperial system was able to expand. Class struggle could be banished

from the Macaulayite arsenal of explanation because the Empire was

becoming a paradise for the parvenu. Yesterday Clive and Hastings.

Today Macaulay. Tomorrow t he remasculinized Indian, West Indian,

and African, all English in taste, intellect, and opinion, whatever t heir

color or blood.

Such, I believe, is the message that Macaulay wanted his readers to take

away from his books. Fortun ately, the books themselves were not so

seamlessly monolithic, and readers, especially colonial readers, were

able to pick and choose among the messages themselves. Outside

Britain those most eager and able to embrace the Engli sh constitutional

The reception of Macaulay’s History 145

romance were Anglo-Saxon readers in the white settler colonies who were

looking for new ways, in their alien envir onment, to re-negotiate imagi-

native links with the mother country. In Melbourne, 300 copies were

initially ord ered – one for every 323 households in Victoria province –

and yet the entire consignment was immediately sold. Some decades later,

a traveler to the outback reported that, along with Shakespeare and the

Bible, a copy of Macaulay’s Essays was to be found on every squatter’s

shelf. Because these early Victorian heirs of Pym and Sydney were just then

successfully agitating to obtain self-government, Macaulay’svolumes

acquired a special relevance and immediacy. When W. C. Wentworth

proposed to add a hereditary upper house to New South Wales’s ﬂedgling

constitution in 1852, the left Liberal Henry Parkes simply quoted

Macaulay’s indictment of the original turncoat Wentworth, who had

betrayed the cause of liberty in the sixteenth century.

In India and Ceylon, by contrast, Macaulay’s romance required a

good deal of translation (both literal and ﬁgurative) before it could be

assimilated to subaltern needs. As he doubtless hoped (and perhaps

expected), Macaulay’s writings quickly entered the curriculum of

English-language higher education in both countries. Victorian memoirs

give a picture of precocious youths eage rly dissecting his volumes

in search of eloquent passages that might polish their writing and rhet-

orical maneuvers that would help them in training for the Bar. On

March 9, 1861, the Colombo Academy Debating Society deliberated

on “the character of Cromwell” (his admirers won). A few weeks later,

they disputed whether Macaulay or Dickens was the greater writer

(Macaulay won).

The problem here is that too slavish an imitation of

Macaulay produced not Cromwells, but men whose contempt for their

own language and cultur e separated them from the masses, and sub-

verted their own search for any authentic voice. For this reason, more

serious (and ambitious) intellectuals tended to be more ambivalent

about Macaulay’s effects. The early Indian nationalist Rajna rian Bose

had been raised to admire Macaulay and continued to appreciate him

even after his attitudes towards the Raj changed. The great Bengali

novelist Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay was perfectly willing to counte-

nance Macaulay’s writings, so long as his Indian essays were placed in

John Holroyd, George Robertson of Melbourne: 1825–1898, Pioneer Bookseller and Publisher

(Melbourne, 1968), 17; Morley, Nineteenth Century Essays, 74; Bruce McCully, English

Education and the Origins of Indian Nationalism (Gloucester, 1966), 209. Parkes is quoted

in Neville Meany, “‘In History’s Page’: Identity and Myth,” in Deryck Schreuder and

Stuart Ward (eds.), Australia’s Empire (Oxford, 2008), 365.

Yasmine Gooneratne, English Literature in Ceylon, 1815–1878 (Dehiwala, Ceylon, 1968),

24–6, 74–88, 128–52.

146 Imagining a Greater Britain

the “ﬁction” category. As a mature man, Nirad Chaudhuri was enraged

by Macaulay’s depiction of Bengali men. Nevertheless, he never forgot

his discovery of the essay on Milton as a child, when he thrilled at the

depiction of the poet “as a stern, unbending and powerful champion of

liberty.”

100

Some sixty years after Macaulay’s departure from Calcutta, the local

historian S. C. Sanial published a series of essa ys on his Indian work.

Amid all the criticisms which were then gathering steam, Sanial insisted

that Macaulay be remembered for his critiques of racial discrimination,

and for his “lofty aim” of “ﬁtting the population of India to govern

themselves.” Ignoring the causal anti-Hindu slanders that disﬁgured the

famous Minute, Sanial emphasized just how much attention Macaulay

had given to the practical details of Indian higher education, improving

curricula, advocating the merits of a non-sectarian system, and opening

up schools to native teachers and students of all ages. One former Hindu

College pupil, Bholananath Chander, sti ll retained a physical image of

Macaulay passing along the corridor, on his way to a recitation of student

essays, with a bundle of books in hand. “Forgetting the libeler in the

benefactor,” Chander mused, “I now regard my having had a sight of

him as an epoch in my life.”

101

Not surprisingly, perhaps, it was in Scotland and Ireland that the

most overtly critical responses to Macaulay appeared in print. The Irish

Quarterly Review acknowledged that, on ﬁrst impression, the History went

down like a novel. However, “on re-perusal and reﬂection [we] were

reluctantly compelled to admit that it lacks the chief ingredient, without

which history becomes a romance – Truth.” Macaulay’s gloriﬁcation of

William and his hostility to James, as well as his visceral denigration of the

culture of Irish Catholics and Highland Scots, all gave this reviewer great

offense. “Notwithstanding his great reputation in politics, eloquence and

literature,” the writer continued,

His book is a political romance, a work of genius, it is true, but of imagination, also,

a perfect illustration of HOW NOT TO DO IT; very agreeable to read, very

unproﬁtable to study, an invaluable book for a circulating library, but a worthless

100

Tapan Raychaudhuri, Europe Reconsidered: Perceptions of the West in Nineteenth

Century Bengal (Oxford, 2001), 124, 175; Sudipta Kaviraj, The Unhappy Consciousness:

Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay and the Formation of Nationalist Discourse in India (Oxford,

1995), 35, 104, 110, 117; Nirad Chaudhuri, The Autobiography of an Unknown Indian

(Reading, 1951), 100–1; Nirad Chaudhuri, Clive of India: A Political and Psychological

Essay (London, 1975), 7–8; David Kopf, The Brahmo Samaj and the Shaping of the

Modern Indian Mind (Princeton, 1979), 192.

101

S. C. Sanial, “Macaulay in Lower Bengal,” Calcutta Review, 244 (1906), 291–312; 245

(1906), 463–81, quotes on 463, 480–1; 247 (1907), 77–109.

The reception of Macaulay’s History 147

addition to the collection of a student; false in its facts, uncandid in its criticisms,

illogical in its reasoning, and unjust in its conclusions.

102

Another response, published in the Dublin Review, made similar points

in a less polemical way. Given Macaulay’s public criticisms of the

Protestant Ascendancy, Irish Catholics had hoped for fairer treatment in

his History . In the event, they had been disappointed by the prejudice and

partiality that the historian displayed. Yet the Dublin Review astutely

recognized the way Macaulay’s disparaging treatment of the Irish was

connected with his determination to glorify the English Revolution of

1688. The historian “has but one end and object – the exaltation of the

English Revolution. The principles of the English Revolution are his

principles. The enemies of the English Revolution are his enemies.” In

England Macaulay’s paeans to freedom have been justly earned, “But

transfer the cause of the Revolution to Ireland, and how does it stand? ...

Principles, parties, men were all reversed ... The same men [who had

professed liberty in England], when they crossed the channel with William

in his Irish campaign, turned their backs on all these professions.”

103

Macaulay’s failure to confront these cont radictions left it to his colonial

readers to strike their own balance between skepticism and enjoyment as

they negotiated the unresolved instabilities of his text. In general, it is fair

to say that his choice in privileging the dictates of romance and epic over

those of analysis and argument did exact a substantial intellectual cost.

104

This meant that the contradictions of British and imperial history ten ded

to get papered over, or even completely suppressed. Short-shrifting the

eighteenth century, with its legacies of conquest and corruption, oppres-

sion, and discrimination, may have made the romance glitter more

brightly, but it telescoped the ﬁrst into the second British Empire, and it

pre-empted qualiﬁcations that would have complicated Macaulay’s argu-

ment but might have strengthened his case. As we have seen, this left his

actual treatment of colonial history exceptionally vulnerable. To look at

Clive and Hastings from the perspective of the Indian, or at William from

the perspective of the Irish, was to see not a manly hero, but a ferocious

oppressor, who actually foreclosed the Whig gradualism that Macaulay

espoused.

105

102

Irish Quarterly Review, 7 (1857), 192–242, quotes on 192, 242.

103

Dublin Review, 40 (1856), 156–200, quotes on 168, 169.

104

“The colour and movement of Macaulay daily transported me,” the factory worker

Kathleen Woodward wrote. In retrospect, however, she was moved to add that “my

pleasure [had not then] been spoiled by any awareness of his prejudices or inaccuracies.”

Quoted in Jonathan Rose, The Intellectual Life of the British Working Classes (New Haven,

2001), 33, 42, 51–2, 83, 130–2, 164, 239, 368, 376.

105

Irish Quarterly Review, 7 (1857), 192–242.

148 Imagining a Greater Britain

As we saw in Chapter 1, Walter Scott’s solution to this problem was to

romanticize the dark history of oppression and conquest. Safe in the

conviction that this era had now ended, he could assume that successful

integration into anglocentric capitalism now enabled most Scots to leave

their bitterness behind. But this was less of an option for the Irishman or

the Indian (or even for the male British proletarian), who had seen scant

beneﬁts from modern capitalism, and who saw the cult of the manly

Englishman vaunt itself at his (masculine) expense. So far from attemp-

ting to sooth these troubled waters, Macaulay poured oil on them, with his

inﬂammatory demand that the colonial other give up his infantile, out-

moded romances, expunge all feeling for his obsolescent religion, and

reﬁgure the once glorious civilization of his ancestors as a paltry and

negligible barbarian creed.

Caught up in the psychological needs of his own project, Macaulay

failed to see just how subliminally invested he was in feeling superior to the

Indians, Irishmen, and English proletarians, who stood behind him in the

Greater British queue. As a result, he made a demand of these class and

colonial others that he never would have accepted himself. To attain the

age of reason, respectability, and manly self-possession, they would have

to give up their indigenous romances, and buy into his own. Here, we

must conclude that Macaulay’s secular historical progress narrative did

not so much transcend as replicate the limitations of his father’s evangel-

ical Protestantism. To many members of the British working class and,

even more, to the colored men and women under British rule, the sup-

posed universalism of both Macaulayite ideologies seeme d equally hypo-

critical and false. In that sense, the most important long-term effect of

T. B. Macaulay’s historical romances may have been to reinforce the

smug complacency of his English readers (including Anglo-Saxon settlers

in the colonies). Con ﬁrming these people in their ethnocentric prejudices,

his limited liberalism only fortiﬁed their illusion of cultural superiority.

For all his ostensible belief in the equality of all races, Macaulay’s romance

sent a subliminal message to these Anglo-Saxon readers th at they need not

negotiate with colonial (or class) others on any term s but their own. As

such, his romance left them ill prepared for the challenges of the post-

1857 period , and may even have contributed to their retreat from liberal

imperial principles in the later Victorian age.

9 Conclusion

In the end, then, it is the fragility and insularity of Macaulay’s presump-

tively timeless, universal masterwork that impresses us today. Because of

its anglocentric narrowness and explanatory impoverishment, it could not

Conclusion 149

underwrite a genuinely inclusive version of British and imperial progress

that might satisfactorily encompass the vast agglomeration of far-ﬂung

peoples, which the second British Empire was collecting around the

globe. The ringing phras es of Macaulay’s epics and essays sounded well

on ﬁrst hearing, but they were belied by the contradictions, which they all

too often either ignored or suppressed. His disparagement of “backward”

cultures and his emasculating demands for the deferral of citizenship

all undercut the rhetorical paeans to an abstract “liberty” that was, in

practice, being denied. In his own darker, more depressive moments,

Macaulay contemplated the collapse of his vision, and the prospect of an

empireless (and prematurely democratized) Britain in which greatness

had been lost.

There would be many millions of human beings, crowded in a narrow space,

deprived of all those resources which alone had made it possible for them to exist in

so narrow a space; trade gone; manufactures gone; credit gone. What could they

do but ﬁght for the mere sustenance of nature, and tear each other to pieces till

famine, and pestilence following in the train of famine, came to turn the terrible

commotion into a more terrible repose.

106

Macaulay, however, was an optimist by nature. Even the end of Empire

would not necessarily be disastrous if her peoples continued to re-read

his volumes and if that Empire were wound up in a proper English

way. After all, the loss of the thirteen North American colonies had not

marred the more permanent economic and cultural connections between

these two nations, even after the violence and bad blood of 1775–83.

How much better might be those “proudest days” of the future when

the second British Empire realized its purpose by peacefully and sponta-

neously devolving into a commonwealth of independent state s. Here

was a happier image of the New Zealander – contemplating no ruin, but

a still-bustling mother metropolis, perhaps with a volume of Macaulay in

his hand!

The sceptre may pass away from us. Unforeseen accidents may derange our most

profound schemes of policy. Victory may be inconstant to our arms. But there are

triumphs which are followed by no reverse. There is an empire exempt from all

natural causes of decay. Those are the paciﬁc triumphs of reason over barbarism;

that empire is the imperishable empire of our arts and our morals, our literature

and our law.

107

106

MMW, 629. See other references to similar statements in Burrow, A Liberal Descent, 68.

But see also Macaulay in a happier mood, imagining the England of 1930: “There would

be a population of ﬁfty million ... Better fed, clad, and lodged.” Quoted in Hamburger,

Macaulay and the Whig Tradition, 129.

107

MMW, 572.

150 Imagining a Greater Britain

4 Re-imagining a Greater Britain: J. A. Froude:

counter-romance and controversy

He [Macaulay] was the creation and representative of his age ...

launched into life when the fever of revolution was recommencing.

Once more the enthusiastic and hopeful part of the world was beginning

to believe that an extension of political power to the masses of the

people was a panacea for all the woes which afﬂicted society ... The

commercial organization was in its most wholesome condition when

every individual was pursuing his own interests in an enlightened

manner. The same principle was extended to every province of human

activity. The interest of the community was said to be identical with the

interest of the individual ... A better state of society might be anticipated

from the unshackled efforts of every single person to improve his own

condition than had ever been arrived at under the paternal authority of

the best kings or aristocracies.

J. A. Froude, “Lord Macaulay,” Fraser’s Magazine, NS, 13 (June, 1876),

675–94, quotes at 679, 681

When James Anthony Froude published this retrospective on Macaulay,

he wrote in conﬁdence that the spirit of the age had changed. Society

no longer automatically acceded to individual self-interest when its

collective survival was deemed to be at stake. The cants of liberty and

progress were no longer allowed to pass without question. “What kind

of liberty,” people now asked, “liberty to the good, or liberty to the fool

and knave? The liberty of anarch y, or the libe rty of wisdom and self-

restraint?”

Froude himself could feel some pride at his own role in

putting these questions back on the political agenda. In this chapter, we

will explore their impact for the Empire and for the writing of history.

What would happen to the progress narrative whe n the basic premises of

Macaulayite liberal imperialism were cast into doubt? Macaulay himself

had issued quali ﬁcations as to how far liberalism might apply in colonial

settings. Froude would now extend these qualiﬁcations, and use them as

the basis for a very different multi-volume History of England that sought

to deﬁne Britons’ relation to their past for a new generation.

See also J. A. Froude on “Progress,” Fraser’s Magazine, NS, 2 (December, 1870), 671–90.

J. A. Froude, “Lord Macaulay,” Fraser’s Magazine, NS, 13 (June, 1876), 680.

151

Where Macaulay’s History had exalted the liberty of the subject,

Froude’s would extol the security of the state. Where the peaceable

consensus of 1688 had been the crux of Macaulay’s drama, Froude

would ﬁnd his turning point in the violent defeat of the Spanish Arma da

in 1588. Where Macaulay celebrated the rise of freedom and constitu-

tionalism, Froude would give thanks for those providential autocrats

who, like Henry VIII, brought order and stability to a dangerous world.

The glories of Protestantism and the evils of Papism – which Macaulay

had downplayed – would assume pride of place in Froude’s overtly

nationalistic account. The Empire, which Macaulay had treated as an

open expanse of backward, expectant peop les waiting to receive the

boons of British progress, would now be envisioned by Froude as a

necessary perimeter, providing outlets for Britain’s surplus population

and ramparts in her struggles against alien powers. If Macaulay’s contra-

dictions subverted his inclusionary master-narrative and eroded liberal

imperialism from within, Froude would belligerently trumpet these con-

tradictions, laying them down as an antithetical foundation on which a

new kind of exclusionary imperialism could be raised. And yet Froude

would not sever all his links with liberalism, even as he embarked on this

very different project.

1 Froudian whips

James Anthony Froude was born in 1818, the fourth son and eighth child

of a Devonshire country vicar. When he was two, Froude’s mother died,

setting in motion a chain of disasters that marked him for life. Froude’s

father was a typical old fashioned “ squarson” who performed his clerical

duties, but whose primary interests were his paint-brushes, his dogs, and

the hunt. Both as magistrate and as father, he was a coldly stoic and silent

man. As the youngest child in a motherless home, Anthony was much left

in the care of older siblings. Delicate, stu dious, averse to the rough-and-

tumble of boy life, he had to endure constant mockery and humiliation

throughout his youth. In particular, his oldest brother, Hurrell, ﬁfteen

years his senior, was a merciless bully who taunted him incessantly. So

far from interfering to stop this maltreatment, the Revd. Froude rein-

forced it, ﬁnding fault with his youngest offspring whenever he could.

Shortly before his mother’s death, the boy endured his ﬁrst whipping,

and throughout the rest of his childhood, the beatings continued. For

a brief time, school offered a respite from these torments but, at the age of

eleven, Anthony was packed off to Westminster College, where the con-

ditions were even worse than at home. Bullied, caned, and starved by

the older pupils and headmaster, the boy arrived back at the Rectory

152 Re-imagining a Greater Britain

four years later in utter disgrace. After a few listless years of trying to

educate the boy at home, Froude’s father ﬁ nally dismis sed him to Oxford,

doubtful that he would ever come to any good.

Yet when Anthony enrolled in Oriel College, at the age of eighteen,

his life took a dramatic turn for the better. Suddenly, all the qualities for

which he had been formerly punished and derided now became the sour-

ces of pleasure and popularity. Plunging with zest into university life, he

developed a reputation for witty conversation, pleasant manners, and

erudition, lightly worn. He made friends, went on vacation reading parties,

and fell in love. But undergraduate life was not all smooth sailing, for

Anthony’s father closely monitored his expenses and behavior, while the

ghost of the recently deceased Hurrell returned to haunt him anew. Hurrell

had preceded Anthony at Oriel College, where he had cut a wide swath by

dint of his heroic virtue and piety. Together with three other junior fellows

of the college – J. H. Newman, John Keble, and E. B. Pusey – Hurrell had

created an informal lay brotherhood, dedicated to revitalizing their clerical

vocation by re-catholicizing the Anglican Church from within. Devastated

by the loss of Hurrell, these Tractarians, as they were now called, looked

with interest on the arrival of his younger brother, and hoped he would

prove worthy of being inducted into their fraternity.

For his part, young Anthony was ﬂattered by the attentions of these

inﬂuential college leaders. Nevertheless, he was put off by the intens ity

of their male bonding rituals and by their dogmatic tone of exaggerated

religiosity. T he homoerotic desires and sadomaso chistic fantasies that

he glimpsed in his dead brother’s journals merely repelled the new under-

graduate’s emerging sense of masculinity. A moment of decision came

when Newman invited young Anthony to contribute to a multi-authored

Lives of the English Saints. Froude was attracted by the idea of tracing

England’s national religious traditions, but he was troubled by Newman’s

casuistry and cavalier approach to historical evidence. The Catholic mind,

as embodied in these anchorites, struck him as un-manly and un-English –

at once prostrating truth to disreputable fables and subjugating the nation

to an alien yoke.

There may never be an adequate biography of Froude, since the bulk of his papers appear to

have been destroyed by his daughter. DF is serviceable, though hagiographic, and includes a

previously unpublished autobiographical sketch by Froude himself in volume I. Herbert

Paul’solderLife of Froude (New York, 1905) is still useful and contains some documentary

materials that have since disappeared. MJAF is good on relations with the Carlyles.

DF, I: 47–61. For Hurrell Froude and the early Tractarians see Frank M. Turner, John

Henry Newman: The Challenge to Evangelical Religion (New Haven, 2002); R. W. Church,

The Oxford Movement (Chicago, 1970); and Piers Brendon, Hurrell Froude and the Oxford

Movement (London, 1974).

DF, I: 75–80; DNB, XXIII: 680.

Froudian whips 153

These reﬂections were reinforced by visits in 1840 and 1845 to Ireland,

where Anthony was able to see modern Catholicism at work. The Irish,

he perceived, we re a conquered people, thoroughly beaten by English

brawn. Nevertheless, in their defeat, they “multiplied like rabbits,” and

compensated for their worldly submission by living in a dream world of

miracles and myths. Froud e’s reaction to the Irish was profoundly ambiv-

alent. On the one hand, he was attracted to what he perceived as their

child-like qualities of loyalty and imagination. On the other hand, he was

appalled by their poverty, their credulity, and their ﬂuctuation between

outward compliance and inward fantasies of violent revolt. British rule

in Ireland was like a powder-keg in a volcano. The very servants of

Protestant elites were covertly sworn to slit the throats of masters, should

the insurrectionary signal ever be proclaimed. Taken in by a Protestant

clergyman’s family, Froude came to admire, in this dangerous colonial

outpost, the intrepid evangelical spirit that he had been taught to dispar-

age in his own High Church college and his family home.

Face to face with the old enemy, with the practical effects of Romanism in the

midst of the most superstitious, the most imaginative and inﬂammable people in

Europe, the faith of the serious among the Protestants took the shape inevitably

of the Protestantism which had fought for the Reformation in the sixteenth and

seventeenth centuries. Their position was dangerous and they knew it. They had

nothing to hope from the Government. Each year, in deference to the Catholic

vote, their privileges were cut short and their endowments diminished. But their

spirit rose with their difﬁculties.

Fired up by this new vision of Protestant patriotism, Froud e returned

to the hallowed halls of Oxford, where his sudden resolution proved

difﬁcult to sustain. To gain election to a fellowship at Exeter College, it

was necessary for him to take orders as an Anglican clergyman, while his

continued dalliances with the now overtly Roman Catholic Newman

rendered him suspect in conventional circles and renewed his own

uncertainties about his spiritual state. Indeed, his perusals of Robert

Chambers’s Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation, and other scientiﬁc

works, led him secretly to question the veracity of the Bible and to doubt

his capacity for Christian faith of any kind. Meanwhile, at Dartington

Rectory, the elder Revd. Froude continued to venerate the memory of

the brilliant Hurrell and to ﬁnd fresh faults in the disobedient Anthony.

Anthony’s response to this paternal judgment was to publish a pseudon-

ymous roman à clef containing a thinly veiled portrait of his father as a

controlling, abusive despot.

DF, I: 62–71, 86–92, quotes on 64, 87.

DF, I: 93–106; MJAF, 14–15, 30–5.

154 Re-imagining a Greater Britain