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Our Island Story

our island story dust jacket



CLICK HERE for further details of Our Island Story



In the Guardian on Saturday, Tristram Hunt decided to take up arms against Tim Collins, the obsolete shadow education secretary, by criticising the Conservative history education policy. Now Hunt is an excellent historian, and one with whom we at Civitas have had contact in the past, but the nature of his response to the Conservatives’ desire to combat the ‘yawning gaps’ in the curriculum by emphasising chronology and narrative is curious. For he launches into a rant about the defects of Whig history and cautions against – nay, pours opprobrium on Collins for allegedly advocating – the kind of error perpetrated by the Japanese ministry of education’s omission of Japanese wartime atrocities from its textbooks. But hold your horses sunshine. What makes you assume that any response to higgledy-piggledy and culturally relativistic teaching must necessarily be fascist thought control and the translation of history, the most complex of humanities, into a ‘simple-minded morality play’?

Let’s take stock of the contemporary situation. For a start, the government’s Qualifications and Curriculum Authority has expressed its concerns about the current system’s inadequacies. In its most recent report, it bewails the ‘fragmentation of the learning experience’ – what David Starkey has dubbed the ‘mosaic’ approach – for its failure to inculcate in pupils a basic chronological framework. Not long after the QCA’s report was published, the Historical Association, having been commissioned by the government to audit the way the subject is taught, agreed that the subject is in a profoundly parlous state. Supplementing popular concerns of teachers, parents and academics, the QCA and the Historical Association both referred to the ‘widespread disquiet over what is seen as the gradual narrowing and “Hitlerization” of post-14 history.’ Even despite this, the number of school leavers able to say what Auschwitz was, or even provide precise dates for World War II is alarmingly low. What’s more, in a 2001 survey of 200 pupils, 30 per cent of 11- to 18-year olds thought that Oliver Cromwell fought at the Battle of Hastings; and, three years later, a poll of 1,300 pupils aged 10 to 14 found more than a quarter unable to say which war D-Day was associated with. I’d laugh if I didn’t want to cry.

Hunt’s right that it’s a mistake to ‘stop teaching history at too young an age (14 rather than 16)’ but he then goes on to mention that ‘the 1980’s trend for multiculturalism downplayed many elements of British history that are only now being reversed.’ That multiculturalism downplays Britishness under aegis of the dictatorship of diversity is beyond doubt, and that it turns the study of the past into an identity politics contest is similarly certain, but why does he seek to mitigate the damage that has been done by those policies? One need not be a nationalist to understand that a shared sense of identity in a state is crucial for civic cohesion and stability. Even the most cursory of searches on the home office website immediately reveals extensive work on civil society and ways to bolster it, and the ippr has also done a good deal of work on this, recognising that there is in our society a very low level of identification with our formal institutions and operations of government, and that this is reflected in our voting patterns.

It would be absurd to argue that history teaching is the only contributing factor, but cultural lingua francas, irrespective of celebrated differences, can help to forge loose but nevertheless discernible bonds. Multiculturalism, as Trevor Phillips has admitted, has eroded cohesion and as David Goodhart, the editor of Prospect, has observed, undermined the ‘glue of values.’ It is still very much a live force, and by treating it as a mere passing fad of the 1980’s, Hunt shows that he is out of touch.

A word about relevance, since this is often an argument used for politically correct histories, along the lines that history must be contiguous with my life for me to want to study it. I see no reason why as a seven-year-old kid a bunch of sex crazed Scandinavians with horns on their heads were any more relevant to me than to a seven year old Aborigine, and the same applies for the ancient Egyptians, the Han Dynasty, or even plump old Queen Victoria. But that misses the point, for history becomes relevant as we learn about it and interiorise its various vicarious experiences. I came to find longitudinal themes like the fight for freedom (from the Peasant’s Revolt, through Cavaliers and Roundheads, to the Glorious Revolution, the American War of Independence, political reform and the Suffragettes) interesting and engaging, and to see that by the accidents of my birth what had happened remains relevant to the land in which I was born and grew up. Good narrative history excites us and enlarges our perception.

Like Hunt, I don’t want us to ‘lose sight of the virtues of our critical, pluralist approach’, which he says is admired throughout Europe. Nor need he worry about narrative history with a sense of chronology being uncritical. The study of empire does not have to be unthinkingly patriotic – of course it can take in the Mau Mau and the Chinese Opium Wars, as well as the Indian Civil Service – but at least let’s teach it! What must be remembered, as we debate such issues, is that we’re talking about teaching a range of ages, and that younger children need different treatment to older students. When you’re young, what matters most is passionate, energised history. This needn’t be skewed or fantastical, but the truth is that children respond well to stories, to narratives that bring people and events alive in their imaginations. Even Marxist historians recognise that narrative history is the most effective foundation for communicating a particular configuration of the past at a later stage, since knowledge precedes understanding, as facts do argument. When children are older, what’s been learned can be modified, contended and even refuted.

This, finally, is partly why we’re so interested in Our Island Story by Henrietta Marshall, a history of Britain to which Antonia Fraser and the Guardian’s David McKee have both expressed their ‘lifelong gratitude’. In today’s Daily Telegraph, John Clare plugs our campaign to raise money so that we can do a reprint of this children’s classic. We are grateful to him for this, because we believe that one useful way to combat the lamentable situation is to publish high quality teaching materials and circulate them. When they're older, people will naturally turn to questions of propriety and historiography that Hunt and so many other professional historians engage in, but we've got to get them interested and informed in the first place...

Comments (3)

David Green:

We expect it to be in the shops before the end of September. The likely hardback price is £19.99. If you would like to be notified when the book is out, please go to this link.

Nicola Warner:

I too would like to buy the book. Can you please tell me where I get get it from and how much it costs, thank you.
[A: It is due to be on the shelves by the end of September. Please go to the Civitas homepage and sign up for email alerts and we'll let you know as soon as we have details of cost.]

Ian Mackley:

I am very excited by this project. Can you say when it will be possible to buy the book in the shops, and how much it will cost?

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on June 15, 2005 4:41 PM.

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