Friday, January 18, 2013

HUGH GAITSKELL IN RETROSPECT: THE EUROPE DEBATE




Hugh Gaitskell died 50 years ago today on 18 January 1963. He had great qualities and his Eurosceptic views resound with ever more urgency today as we enter upon the long-awaited renegotiation of our membership terms.

Pupils from Winchester have enriched many areas of national life in Britain. One such was Hugh Gaitskell (1906-63), the Leader of the Labour Party from 1955 to his death and a political hero to me in my youth. Gaitskell was the son of an official in the Indian Civil Service and his maternal grandfather was Britain’s consul-general in Shanghai. A top-line education at The Dragon School, Oxford followed by Winchester College saw him move to New College, Oxford. Gaitskell graduated with first class honours in politics, philosophy and economics in 1927. His Establishment credentials were impeccable.

However, Gaitskell had been radicalised by the General Strike of 1926. He lectured in economics to the WEA and to Nottingham miners. In the early 1930s he became head of the department of political economy at University College London and tutored at Birkbeck College. He travelled in Europe and was attached to Vienna University in 1934, witnessing the conflicts between Right and Left there. He stood unsuccessfully for Parliament in 1935 and married his feisty Jewish wife Dora in 1937.

During the Second War he worked at the Ministry of Economic Warfare under Hugh Dalton and he entered Parliament as an MP in the Labour landslide of 1945.

Portrait of Hugh Gaitskell
 Gaitskell joined the cabinet in 1947 as Minister of Fuel and Power and when that apostle of austerity Sir Stafford Cripps retired through ill-health, Gaitskell succeeded him as Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1950. He only presented one Budget and the time was inauspicious. Revenues were needed for Korean War rearmament and Gaitskell raised profits tax and adjusted others but most controversially introduced charges for glasses and teeth, hitherto free on the National Health. The Labour Left regarded this as a betrayal of the principles of the Health Service and Aneurin Bevan and Harold Wilson resigned from the cabinet. Labour lost office at the election later in 1951.

The Post-war economic consensus between the parties was dubbed “Butskellism” after Gaitskell and his Tory opposite number Rab Butler. Butskellism accepted a mixed economy, with important industries nationalised, working alongside a hopefully buoyant private sector. In the event powerful trades unions and ineffective industrial management undermined Butskellism – it needed Margaret Thatcher a generation later to find a new path.

When Clement Attlee retired in 1955, Gaitskell easily enough defeated Bevan and Morrison for the leadership of the Labour Party. Bevan once called him “a desiccated calculating machine” and he did have a stern public image. Yet Gaitskell was fun-loving: he had an enthusiasm for ballroom-dancing, earning the sniffy disapproval of de Gaulle; he was fond of the ladies and embarked on a reckless affair with Ann Fleming, man-eating Tory wife of Ian Fleming, creator of James Bond. Living in Hampstead, he gathered around him a coterie of admiring intellectuals full of ideas including Roy Jenkins, Anthony Crosland and Denis Healey.

Gaitskell showed his thoughtful perspicacity when he pressed Anthony Eden not to go to war over Suez in 1956. He deplored Nasser, but did not consider him an overt threat; he wanted Eden to work through the United Nations – Blair might have done better had he taken the same line with Bush over Saddam and Iraq. He had a long struggle with the Left about Clause 4 in Labour’s Constitution pledging wholesale nationalisation in the long term; he lost this battle and only Tony Blair’s New Labour lanced that boil about 35 years later. After losing the election to Macmillan in 1959, he was faced with a Labour Conference decision to work towards Unilateral Nuclear Disarmament. He promised to reverse this policy and in a famous speech vowed to “fight, fight and fight again to save the Party we love”. Gaitskell duly won the following year in 1961.


Gaitskell's Passion
Gaitskell upset many of his followers, including me, by opposing Britain’s entry to the EEC. Speaking in October 1962 he said;

It does mean, if this is the idea, the end of Britain as an independent European state...it means the end of a thousand years of history.

Gaitskell could see, as we did not, the integrationist and federalist ambitions of the European elite who had created the Treaty of Rome. He realised the pledge to move towards “ever-closer union” was not mere rhetoric. He wanted hard reflection in Britain on the choices we faced. That reflection never came (commentators like Christopher Booker maintain there was a deliberate cover-up) and we are facing the consequences now.

I only saw Gaitskell speak in the flesh once, to a student audience in Oxford in 1962. He reviewed the issues of the day with fluency and wit: it was clear that his statements were the fruit of earnest thought and intellectual rigour; he did not bob and weave like Wilson or pump up his windbag like Kinnock. He was indeed “the best prime minister we never had”. When he suddenly died in January 1963 his admirers were devastated.

Gaitskell is to many an almost forgotten figure. Yet his compassionate engagement, his logical mind, his striving after sensible solutions to national problems and above all his patriotism are by others not forgotten and our political life needs these qualities as never before. If David Cameron is looking for allies in his European struggles, he might do worse than evoke the spirit of Gaitskell and find common ground between Tory and Labour Eurosceptics.

SMD
18.01.13

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2013





Wednesday, January 16, 2013

ROCOCO IN CENTRAL EUROPE




I have surveyed the lovely Rococo style in Germany, Eastern Europe (including Habsburg Galicia) and even England, but a notable omission is Central Europe, which for this purpose embraces what used to be the greater part of the Habsburg Empire - modern Austria, Hungary, Slovakia, the Czech Republic and, now Romanian, Transylvania. Rococo thrived here too, but mainly in majestic, Baroque public or ecclesiastical buildings, rather than in remote country spots as so often encountered in South Germany.

Transylvania was lost by Hungary at Versailles and there were fine imperial cities at Sibiu (Hermannstadt) and the fortified citadel of Sighisoare (Schässburg). Baroque buildings abound and a 19th century pastiche of Rococo is to be found in the spectacular Carpathian royal hunting lodge of Peleş Castle.

Rococo features at Peles Castle, Transylvania

Hungary itself has rather thin Rococo pickings as Budapest is a mainly 19th century Neo-Classical city and other places used traditional Magyar designs. But the St John Nepomuk church at Papá is authentically Rococo and the famous Gerbeaud Café in Budapest, although a 19th century confection, exudes the Rococo spirit.

Gerbeaud Cafe, Budapest
                                         
St John Nepomuk, Papa, Hungary

Moving North to Slovakia, the delightful Danubian city of Bratislava (Pressburg) has a fine collection of Rococo churches, like Holy Trinity, and also the Mirburg Palace, now an art gallery, and above all the stately 1760 presidential Grassalkovich Palace.

Grassalkovich Palace, Bratislava

Holy Trinity, Bratislava, Slovakia

Going west to Prague in ancient Bohemia, with its incomparable and unspoilt situation on the broad River Vltava, every tourist crosses the lovely Charles Bridge and makes his way up the steep road of the Lesser City to the Hradcany Castle and St Vitus Cathedral. On the way down is the sumptuous Rococo church of St Nicholas, Prague in the Lesser Town Square. It is a full-blooded Rococo church completed in 1755 by the Dientzenhofers, father and son, with lavish decoration from other artists; a great sight.

Interior, St Nicholas, Prague
Pulpit, St Nicholas, Prague
             
Going south, we enter the Baroque and Rococo heartland of Austria and perched on a rocky outcrop by the Danube stands the greatest of all Rococo monasteries, the Benedictine Melk Abbey. The huge building, designed by Jacob Prandtauer and completed in 1736, is decorated and embellished like a royal palace.

Ceiling of the Marble Hall by J M Rottmayr, Melk Abbey, Austria
Interior of the Abbey Church at Melk
 After this overpowering richness, we can pass by the beauties of Salzburg before tackling imperial Vienna itself. Although the Vienna of the Ringstrasse is 19th century, the great Karlskirche beckons completed in 1737 to the plans of J B Fischer v Erlach and his son Joseph. The Emperor Charles had the church built in honour of the Roman St Charles Borromeo after a plague hit Vienna (the front is flanked by a replica of Trajan’s Arch).

Altar at the Karlskirche, Vienna
 I emphasise that Rococo is not all saintly devotion and the pursuit of pleasure was one of the aims it sponsored. Just outside Vienna is the Habsburg Versailles, the magnificent Schönbrunn Palace much infused with Rococo delights, first planned as a hunting lodge by J B Fischer v Erlach, but later extended as a summer retreat by the Empress Maria Theresa. The Habsburg court then and later was highly formal and this stiffness contrasts with the architectural conviviality of the Palace. One hopes they managed to unbend a little.

The Old Lacquer Room at Schonbrunn, Vienna

Interior at Schonbrunn, Vienna
 I have only briefly sketched in some of the Rococo highlights of Central Europe, but this style brought a distinctive and memorable beauty to the whole area and will always generate immense pleasure.

SMD
16.01.13

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2013



Saturday, January 12, 2013

I WON'T DANCE, DON'T ASK ME




I won't dance, don't ask me
I won't dance, don't ask me
I won't dance, Madame, with you
My heart won't let my feet do the things they should do

Yes, the lyrics are rather clumsy, but not half as clumsy as my usual galumphing performance on the dance floor: I do not smoothly glide, I proceed in a circular direction like a robotic lawn-mower and I am best described as a lady-kicker rather than a lady-killer. This sad fact embarrasses me, as actually I love dancing and have tried hard to become reasonably adept, to little avail.

The rot set in at the age of 8 when I declined to attend the school Scottish dancing classes – for some idiotic reason I thought this activity “pansy”. I missed a treat and although now I can just about manage The Dashing White Sergeant and the Eightsome Reel (if someone barks a few orders); more involved affairs like Strip the Willow or The Duke of Perth are to me a closed book. It is not as if my family were non-dancers: my dear Father, who liked to shake a leg, shuddered to remember he once, aged 10, danced the Highland Fling over crossed swords in full tartan kit to an admiring audience (I would have slashed my toe-nails). My paternal grandfather was a dancing teacher and ballroom proprietor who knew all the early 20th century dances backwards and indeed taught Mr Asquith how to do the Black Bottom in about 1925. So dancing is in my blood – it just hasn’t reached my feet.

My estrangement from Scottish dancing is based on technical incompetence and has nothing to do with the garb. I love wearing the kilt and with a black jacket and silver buttons above the Clan Donald tartan, I am every bit the proud Lord of the Isles. I certainly do not have knobbly knees, but rather fleshy and robust ones, perhaps, I confess, not entirely things of beauty.

Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennett dance
Maybe I was born a century too late: I enjoy the processional kind of dance (when I know the steps) of the 19th century era – the Schottische, say, or the Roger de Coverley - or those energetic tuneful delights the Polka or the Viennese Waltz. I greatly envied Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennett in the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice dancing, at Netherfield, English Country reels like The Barley Mow and when Miss Bennett discomfits Darcy with searching questions, to the steps of the alarmingly named Mr Beveridge’s Maggot.

Faint echoes of these dances survive as I used to relish the Military Two-Step, the Paul Jones and not least The Gay Gordons. At the age of about 12, my parents insisted I acquired a few social graces and with my brother, was despatched to a dancing teacher and from her learned the Modern Waltz, Foxtrot and Quickstep, supplemented by the Tango (spin turns a speciality) and Rumba. My expertise was shaky and when my dear Mother dragged me to the floor encouragingly, she could not suppress the odd wince as I crushed her dainty feet or led in an unscheduled direction; but I could now at least hold my own.

These skills soon became irrelevant in the late-1950s. The Quickstep was passé, the anarchic American Jive of the golden era of Swing (Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller etc) gave way to the demented gyrations of Rock n’ Roll. Nobody needed a dancing teacher – it was all ex tempore. I frequented dance-halls, the classic girl-meets-boy rendezvous in those days, and had a degree of success with the ladies. It was not always an easy road. I recall espying a sensational gum-chewing blonde girl wearing white boots and a silver lamé dress and I bore down on her oleaginously. On asking her to dance, I was briskly rebuffed with “F*** off, you toff!” You cannot, alas, win them all.

In my university days, Chubby Checker brought us The Twist, not a difficult one to master if you could picture yourself as a hyper-active screwdriver and great fun too. I also recall impressing the easily impressed with my expertise at The Madison with a cunning backwards hand turn. With the advent of the Beatles with their unforgettable songs, frantic dancing and huge decibel-counts were routine. I hopped happily through the 1970s and in the 1980s my final bow was learning The Shake, not exactly a dance, but more a kind of physical collapse to music, where you imitated a twitching jelly.

I have really sat out the latest dance crazes but now that I am much in Greece I admire my lovely Greek wife who dances a mean Syrtaki, enthusiastically joins in the celebratory Kalamatiano or the local wedding favourite Samiotisa. The male Greek, hormones ablaze, dances in the front of the line in the Tzamikos, holding a kerchief from the second in line and is expected to kick a great height shouting “Opa!” like a crazed Tiller Girl, a role I politely decline. My aged joints simply would not take it.

I happily pay tribute to those who dance well and to their idols – Fred Astaire, Jack Buchanan, Gene Kelly and John Travolta and I still give the palm to Fred and Ginger dancing Cheek to Cheek in 1935’s Top Hat

Heaven
I'm in heaven
And my heart beats
So that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find
The happiness I seek
When we're out together
Dancing cheek to cheek


So much pleasure was given by this couple with their mastery of the dancing medium and their infectious charm. Their films are their monument but an idiosyncratic building in faraway Prague also serves as a shrine to them and to the Muse of the Dance, Terpsichore.

The Fred and Ginger Building, Prague


SMD
12.01.13

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2013





Wednesday, January 9, 2013

GREECE: THE EUROZONE'S THREADBARE COLONY




Not much in the international eye at present, Greece festers in quiet misery and poverty. After the second Greek bail-out of €110bn began to be released in December, the German paper Handelsblatt voted the Prime Minister, Antonis Samaras, “Politician of the Year” for delivering the far-reaching demands of the IMF-EU-ECB “Troika”. The parallel is Hitler and Quisling or Stalin and Ulbricht, for like Quisling and Ulbricht, Samaras has shamefully betrayed his people.

Samaras, heading an ideologically incompatible New Democracy, PASOK and Democratic Left Coalition, with New Democracy ministers only, has surrendered Greek sovereignty hook, line and sinker. Economic policy, even at a micro level, is set by the Troika; its officials must approve decisions at some 20 government departments; a senior German civil servant, Horst Reichenbach, is in effect head of the Greek administration; the Greek parliament, with its comfortable Coalition majority, nods through whatever the Troika demands. Rulings from the Greek Constitutional Court challenging the legality of some legislation are ignored. Greece is in effect a Eurozone Colony and Reichenbach is her Gauleiter.

Much of this might be accepted by the Greeks as the inevitable penalty of defeat and failure had there been some evidence that the Eurozone’s economic policies were leading to the recovery of Greece. No such evidence is forthcoming; indeed quite the opposite – the Eurozone’s policies are economically illiterate and are rapidly impoverishing Greece. As I can observe in person, the country is in its fifth year of recession, production is in free-fall, the retail trade has collapsed, unemployment stands at 26% and tragically youth unemployment exceeds 50%. Yet the Troika piles on more property taxes (a double dose in 2013), it eggs on the ramshackle Greek banks to increase the pace of repossessions, utility prices are the highest in Europe and the most vulnerable in society – the elderly, the children, the handicapped and the sick – see allowances, benefits and pensions cut, often by 60%. Ahead of a cold winter, heating oil was, through higher duty, increased by 50% resulting in an 80% drop in consumption. The population has been freezing, but the government does not care – the Eurozone’s tax revenue target will be met, it claims. This is pure Brussels sadism in my view, which looks upon the Greeks as laboratory animals to be experimented upon mercilessly to test its crackpot economic theories.

The misery of the Greeks is deeply upsetting. Proud people, whose businesses have failed or who have lost their jobs, are reduced to clothing themselves in charity shops and eating at church soup kitchens. There is a scant welfare state buffer. Extended family solidarity helps but I have spoken to several who are trying to move to Germany, Britain, Australia and other destinations hoping for a new life – and many are not so young. Sadly many others do not have the personal skills or adventurous spirit to move and have to make the best of their native country.

To add to the causes of anger in Greece, it is as clear as ever that Greece is a political slum with corruption endemic from the top down. The trial begins soon of former PASOK defence minister Akis Tsachatzopoulos (once a candidate for prime minister) charged with money-laundering on a huge scale; allegations involving senior New Democracy figures rumble on in the long-running Siemens scandal: worse still, speculation swirls around a €550m deposit in Switzerland supposedly linked to Margarita Papandreou, widow of flamboyant 1980s and 1990s prime minister Andreas Papandreou and mother of recent lack-lustre PASOK prime minister George Papandreou. Searching questions are required.

This deposit came to light in conjunction with another scandalous cause célèbre, the so-called Lagarde List. Many Greeks, including tax-dodgers, have salted their money away in Swiss and other overseas bank accounts. A whistle-blower at the HSBC branch in Geneva compiled, probably illegally, a list of over 2,000 Greek depositors. This list was acquired by France and handed over in 2010 to the then Greek finance minister George Papaconstantinou by his opposite number Christine Lagarde, now head of the IMF. Papaconstantinou, a bright PASOK technocrat without much political clout, sat on the list, did not disclose its existence to the world, did nothing to chase tax-dodgers and, worse, seems to have deleted the names of three of his relatives. After he left, the ministry claimed the list was “lost” but Lagarde soon provided a duplicate. The allegation is that Papaconstantinou, perhaps with the connivance of his successor Venizelos and prime ministers Papandreou and Papadimos, deliberately suppressed this information to protect their wealthy political, business and ship-owning friends. An investigation of at least Papaconstantinou looks likely. Amid the suffering of the population, this affair adds to the noxious stink emanating from the Greek political “elite”.

It is not easy to identify the villains of this saga. Are they the Brussels plotters and Eurofanatics like Merkel, Schauble, van Rompuy and Junker tying Greece ever more tightly to their yoke? Are they the successive crooked Greek politicians and professionals of all kinds for the last 30 years who have brought their country to her knees, destroying all integrity and the rule of law? In any event, the bright hopes of a generation of ordinary Greeks have been clouded and eclipsed. The present fetid government of Greece seeks generous investors. My advice would be on no account to invest a penny. Until corruption has been rooted out, any business will be harassed and cheated: property rights will be ignored and property itself hugely taxed. Greece has sadly become a failed, felonious and kleptomaniac state.

Greece will have to await its own Maggie Thatcher or more likely a ruthless “Sea-green Incorruptible,” a modern Robespierre to cleanse the filthy stables. Meanwhile the fate of Greece will make good Europeans pause as they rush towards “ever-closer union” and the scepticism of British Eurosceptics can only further deepen.


SMD
9.01.13

Copyright © Sidney Donald 2013






Saturday, January 5, 2013

FIVE MORE ROCOCO DELIGHTS IN GERMANY




I have written recently on Rococo in far flung Eastern Europe and on the great Rococo collections in England. The dynamic architectural heart of Rococo remains, in my mind, in Germany and I wish briefly to celebrate five more great sites.

Rococo is most associated with south Germany and it therefore comes as a pleasant surprise to encounter St Paulin, Trier, just over the border from the Belgian Ardennes. Trier (Trèves in French) is an historic town on the Moselle, once capital of Roman Gaul. There are many Roman remains there including the 2nd century Porta Nigra (the ancient town gate) and Constantine’s Basilica, a rather austere large church, now a Protestant cathedral. St Paulin is the third church on the site originally dedicated to hold the relics of the late Roman saint St Paulinus. The present building was completed in 1753 and its interior was designed by the eminent Rococo architect Balthazar Neumann, master-mind of the Bishop’s Residenz at Wurzburg.

Altar, St Paulin, Trier
Painted Ceiling at St Paulin
           
St Paulin is a lovely place, baroque and high-steepled without, while inside bursting with Rococo exuberance and joy, much enhanced by the astonishing, swirling Resurrection ceiling painting by Christoph Thomas Schieffler.

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Frederick II of Prussia (1712-86), Frederick the Great and a military genius, was by nature rather reclusive and laconic but he was a disciple of Rationalism and befriended Voltaire. To relax from the pressures of office in 1745 he commissioned the building in the Rococo style of a modest 10-roomed palace at Potsdam, just outside Berlin, known as Sans Souci Palace (“Carefree”). Frederick’s fancy was to have a summer house where he could cultivate vines, plums and figs in tranquillity. He employed the trusted Georg Wenzeslaus von Knobelsdorff as his architect, with whom he quarrelled and the building was finished by Jan Boumann in 1747.

Interior at Sans Souci
Sans Souci Palace, Potsdam



















The original palace is rather low in the ground as Frederick insisted and does not follow the plans or afford the views his architect would have preferred. Yet it is a delightful building inside and outside and was Frederick’s favourite residence. His successors extended the palace substantially in different styles and it became the centre of a busy royal court until 1918. At heart however it remains a modest Rococo treasure.

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Inevitably we are drawn south to the core of Rococo Germany. Our next stop is in Baden-Württemberg in the little country village of Steinhausen. Here the great architect and stuccoist Dominikus Zimmerman, with his brother Johann, designed in 1728 the lovely Church of St Peter and St Paul, Steinhausen reputedly “The most beautiful Village Church in the World”

Steinhausen Church
Steinhausen Ceiling by Johann Zimmermann
We have already come across Dominikus Zimmermann as the guiding spirit of the fabulous pilgrimage churches of Ottobueren and Die Wies. Again the effect here is intensified by a wonderful ceiling, an apotheosis of blissful saints and angels. Ottobueren and Die Wies are in rural situations and Steinhausen is too; Rococo, which one might imagine to be a sophisticated urban taste, was also embraced by country folk whose religious devotion was stimulated by this emotionally irresistible artistic style.

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More great Rococo masters now again show us their brilliance; The Asam brothers, who we have already seen at Weltenberg Abbey and at St John Nepomuk, Munich, reappear at the Monastery Church of the Assumption, Rohr, Bavaria. Not all the church is in the Rococo style but the amazing altar, depicting the Assumption of the Virgin defying the laws of gravity with entranced attendants, is an iconic Rococo image.

Asams' Altar at Rohr, Bavaria

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Finally, on the recommendation of a good friend, I bring for your delectation the unusual and idiosyncratic Abbey Church at Irsee, Ostallgäu, Bavaria, near Kaufbeuren. The baroque church has lavish Rococo decoration and is associated with Meinrad Spiess, the cleric and friend of Bach. There is a spectacular altar but most famously it boasts an elaborate pulpit shaped like a ship. This derives from the “navigatio vitae”, the medieval notion that life can be likened to a tempestuous sea voyage in a fragile boat with its desperate struggle to reach a safe haven.

Pulpit at Irsee, Bavaria

This astonishing pulpit typifies the adventurous artistic spirit of Rococo, its disarming charm and its philosophical gravity. The Rococo, like all styles, in due course went out of fashion and was derided by its successors. Yet what a legacy of Beauty and Joy it has bequeathed to us!

SMD
5.01.13

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2013