I’ve been teaching history for quite a while now, at several different levels and for various institutions, so a large number of students have had my techniques and quirks forced upon them. What always startles me, though, is the extent to which so many people, perhaps studying history in depth for the first time, treat materials produced in the past (in other words, our primary sources) as if they were repositories of unvarnished truth. When asked to comment on, say, a letter describing the new poor law of 1834 from one of its commissioners, I am stunned at how many students will give a reply that pretty much equates to, “because he said the new law was working well and all the paupers were industrious and happy, we can confidently say the new law was working well and all the paupers were industrious and happy”.

New Poor Law poster, 1834.
[image Wikimedia]

 

Now, of course, you and I know that that simply wasn’t the case. The New Poor Law had its successes, for certain, but it also caused numerous cases of human misery by confining the destitute to workhouses. What concerns me, however, is not that students of history (I include myself) sometimes find it difficult to describe the complex manifestations of past life, but that most students repeat such things despite that they are – rightly – people who would never take the word of a politician, a bureaucrat, or a journalist at face value today. Unless we presume that individuals in the past were markedly more inclined to present the objective truth – and, trust me, on the whole they weren’t – there is just no way of squaring that circle.

On reflection, I suppose that this is one of the dangers of working in a discipline that encourages its scholars so avidly to criticise its basic materials. When faced with a source that supports my interpretation of how things happened, I guess I have been from time to time guilty myself of assuming its truth too easily. When tempted into such complacency, though, I find that Margaret Thatcher’s voice will sometimes cut in to prod me out of it. I’m no fan of the Iron Lady, I must say, but a phrase of hers (a common enough phrase, in fact, but for some reason it’s always delivered in her voice in my mind) has stuck with me. It was back in the late 1980s, and Neil Kinnock had just made a statement about some aspect of Tory policy, to which Thatcher, on being asked about it, had replied – somewhat to the surprise of her interviewer, who had probably expected a more considered response – “well, he would say that, wouldn’t he.” It scarcely matters what the policy issue was and whether it was Kinnock or Thatcher who had truth on their side; in any case, I’ve forgotten the details. The point is that this phrase is the pith of critical source analysis. There are, naturally, more questions to ask, and deeper rummaging required, but essentially if one bears “well, he would say that, wouldn’t he” in mind then it’s hard to go too far awry.

So, if we did read a report from one of the poor law commissioners saying how splendidly the law was working in the 1840s, then, well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? After all, he would presumably want to keep his job. The same phrase applies to pretty much any source; it doesn’t have to be a text. Ever wondered why we have so few pictures of ugly princes from the medieval period? Well, artists would paint like that, wouldn’t they, if they wanted to avoid an unpredictable burst of regal displeasure. (Unless, of course, the image was a piece of propaganda generated by a royal opponent: but even then the same phrase applies.) Maggie optimistically wanted British citizens to be more thrifty and entrepreneurial, and I’m afraid she failed miserably in my case; but, in another way, she’s managed to keep me on the straight-and-narrow.

Looking back on what I’ve just written, however, I realise that it sounds rather harsh on the students that I’ve taught over the years. I want, therefore, to make it absolutely clear that none of that criticism could ever be applied to Open University students. But, well… 

Taking it further

If the above blog has intrigued you, you may also find the following resources from the Open University to be of interest:

Exploring history: medieval to modern 1400-1900
The problems and methodologies of history – including how to analyse primary sources correctly – are well covered in this OU course, which gives students a very broad introduction to the study of history. It highlights three big historical themes – changing beliefs, producers and consumers, and state formation – and looks at how they altered from the medieval period through to the nineteenth century. Amongst the topics covered are slavery and the slave trade, the European Reformations, Imperialism, the French Revolution, and the Wars of the Roses.

History for 50p
One of my previous blogs also investigates coping with primary sources.

About the author

Dr Stuart Mitchell has spent seventeen years teaching history in higher education - the last fifteen of which have been with the Open University, amongst other institutions. Currently, he is working on the new history MA, and tutors on Exploring History: Medieval to Modern (A200) and Total War and Social Change (AA312). He also serves as the university's academic consultant on the BBC television programme, Timewatch. His first book, The Brief and Turbulent Life of Modernising Conservatism, was published in 2006.

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From Young Victoria to The Boxer Rebellion, Stonehenge to the Ten Pound Poms, explore the past with Timewatch.

Historian and author Saul David’s diary about being the presenter of Timewatch’s Tournament programme.

Monday 21 May

Dom’s managed to squeeze in an extra half-day filming pieces-to-camera (PTCs) and establishers at Old Sarum Castle, near Salisbury, and in the car (on the way to Knight’s School). I deliver one PTC through the windscreen to the camera mounted on the bonnet. Not easy when you’re trying to drive at the same time! There are seven of us: me, Dom, Paul (camera), Paul Paragon (sound), James, Emily and Dan. We wrap at 5.30 and drive to our B&B in the village of Berwick St James, close to the Knight’s School at nearby Druid’s Lodge. After dinner in a local pub we discuss the next day’s filming – me learning to joust – with Alan Larsen who runs the Knight’s School. He tells me my mount is a polo pony of sixteen hands (very tall!) and that I’ll need a bit of time to get acquainted with him before we start filming. I’m terrified.

Tuesday 22 May

We meet Alan at Druid’s Lodge at 7.30 am and are introduced to his two ‘knights’ Dom (another one) and ?, both expert jousters, who will be assisting us. We knights get kitted out in padded surcoats and pointy boots (the armour comes later), and I warm up with a couple of PTCs. One requires a single take (first time ever); the other at least ten, and not because I fluff my lines. The problem is the horse. We need his head out of the stable, to illustrate the point I’m making, but he keeps ducking back inside. Eventually Alan goes into the stable and holds him in place. What do they say about never filming with children or animals?

Learning to joust against the spinning quintain is next, and while Dom (the knight) and ? demonstrate how it’s done, I get acquainted with my horse. It feels strange to be in the saddle again, particularly on such a tall horse, but he’s beautifully behaved and responds to the slightest touch on his reins. First I learn to ride with the reins in one hand (it’s hard enough with two) and then to hold and manœuvre a spear and a sword. The trick, says Alan, is to avoid hitting the horse! Easier said than done, but I seem to be making reasonable progress.

My 20 minutes of tuition up, we head over to the parade ring to try the quintain. I do a walk through first, trying to get the spear in the right position, and then at a canter. And blow me down if I don’t hit the target first time. Two more runs and two more hits. Slicing cabbages with a sword is next and, give or take the odd air shot, I don’t do badly at that either. I’m beginning to enjoy this.

What next? I say. Get kitted out in armour, says Dom (the director), because one of the knights is going to shatter a lance on you. Will I have a shield? No. Ten minutes later and I’m sitting on a wooden horse (I’m not kidding) in full armour as Dom (the knight) lines me up from the far end of the parade ring. As I pull my visor down I see Dom moving towards me at a canter. My biggest fear is that, like Henry II of France, I’ll be killed by a lance splinter through the eye slit in my helmet! (Not likely, I know, but I’m not at my most rational.) I close my eyes and tense my body, waiting for the strike. It doesn’t come. Dom’s missed. He tries again, and fails. The third time his lance glances off my helmet. Now I’m getting worried. Dom blames his horse and ? takes over. He hits me first time, smack on the breastbone. It’s a bit like being punched, but no real pain. I raise my visor and say to camera, "that was absolutely terrifying" – and I mean it.

And then Dom (the director) says the magic words: "That’s a wrap (wrap up/finish)." Thank God for that, think I. It’s been a great shoot, but I can’t wait to get back to my day job: writing books. Much safer. On the way to the train station, Alan tells me I could become a competition jouster in three months. I’m not convinced!

About the author

Timewatch is the world's longest-running history series, having started in 1981, and is the BBC's flagship history series. Here, members of the production team share the highs, and lows, during the production process as they make some of the next series of programmes.

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Blogging about

Timewatch

From Young Victoria to The Boxer Rebellion, Stonehenge to the Ten Pound Poms, explore the past with Timewatch.

Wednesday 2 May

En route to Paris, we RV (rendezvous/meet) at Waterloo Station at the ridiculously early hour of 5.30 (meaning I’m up by 4.45). There I meet yet another crew (our fourth, if you include the BBC Sport outfit), Gary (camera) and Lawrie (sound), and our contributor (and the historical consultant for the film) David Crouch, Professor of Medieval History at Hull University. David is the foremost authority in the country on both tournaments in general, and William Marshal in particular, and his books were the inspiration for the programme. He’s also a future colleague of mine – in September I begin a year’s appointments as Visiting Professor of Military History at Hull – and I’m looking forward to working with him. We’re let on to the train first by Tom, Eurostar’s press officer, so that we can film some establishers, and once on the move I do a couple of pieces-to-camera (PTCs), much to the amusement of the American tourists in the seats opposite. It’s never easy filming in public: people are always curious, and either hang around watching or deliberately try to put you off. Either way they’re a distraction.

Dom, David and I pick-up a hire car in the Gare du Nord (the crew get their own people carrier, driven by a huge ex-Tour de France press motorcyclist called Lulu) and head north for a village near Compeigne, a popular location for tournaments in the 12^th Century. After an excellent lunch in the village of Gournay – with only Lulu drinking wine – we make for a site that Dom has previously recce-ed (checked out) in the middle of the old tournament site. There David and I are filmed talking about the make-up of the original tournaments: their purpose, duration and sequence of events. It’s sunny but cold, and when not on camera I take refuge in the car. Lulu, meanwhile, is having a nap. I finish off by doing some PTCs, including one for the top of the programme that involves Gary pirouetting round me with Laurie and Dom in tow (otherwise they’d be in the shot). Not easy to keep a straight face and remember my lines.

We wrap at 6.30 and, tired and hungry, we’re not impressed when Lulu forgets the way to our charmless hotel in a business park on the edge of Compeigne. Oh the glamour of filming! We get there in the end. Dom has a bad cold and goes to bed early. The rest of us have a mediocre dinner but excellent wine (my choice). Gary regales of with tales of how Simon Shama, who he’s filmed with, always insists on the best wine.

Thursday 3 May

We RV in the café at Gournay at 6 a.m. to film my second chat with David on the significance of 12^th Century tournaments: training for war, teamwork, a way to raise money through ransoms etc. Endless interruptions by local tractors, dogs, vacuum cleaners and friends of the owner dropping in for coffee. But we eventually get it done and spend the next couple of hours getting driving shots of me: PTCs, up and passes and POVs (points of view – ie my view through the windscreen). We’re now running late and, with no time for a sit-down lunch, eat a sandwich en route to our next location: the Biblioteque Nationale in central Paris.

We arrive half an hour late and, are met by our next contributor, Dr Richard Barber, the co-author of Juliet’s book on tournaments. Richard is an expert on chivalric literature and is going to be talking to me about the way the work of 13^th Century writers like Chretien de Troyes helped to transform the tournament from a dangerous mock-battle to the formalized acts of jousting gallantry that we know today, thanks to Hollywood films and theme parks like New Jersey’s Medieval Times. We say goodbye to David (who catches a taxi to the Gare du Nord) and carry the kit inside the BN to light and prepare for the next sequence.

The staff at the BN couldn’t be less helpful. Just about every request is met with an implacable "non", including one to film from a balcony and another for a power cable (Dom gets round this by asking a handyman). We’re told not to touch the de Troyes manuscripts we’re filming and not to make a noise because it will disturb the readers. How they expect us to film a conversation without making a noise is anyone’s guess, and inevitably we do (make a noise that is), though it’s not easy trying to speak in a normal voice in a library. Yet more interruptions: this time mobile phones. Dom puts it down to THWART, the mysterious organization devoted to disrupting film crews.

With no time for any PTCs, we finish with a couple of establishers (me arriving at the BN) and wrap at the unusually early time of 6. We head back to our hotel, in the Opera district, and all meet for a beer at 8. Dom is meeting a friend and makes the mistake of giving me the float for dinner. We use it all (or almost all) on an excellent steak dinner with wine thrown in. A final nightcap in a bar on the way back to the hotel, then bed.

Friday 4 May

Our luck runs out. First our booked taxis fail to show and we set off for the Gare du Nord a good 45 minutes late. Then we discover our tickets have the wrong date. Eurostar’s press office has issued us tickets for 6 June, not 6 April, and Dom’s forced to use his credit card to buy new ones at a cost of 920 euros! We grab a sandwich and a coffee and pile on to the train with just minutes to spare. I love making documentaries. But it’s physically and mentally exhausting, and I wonder for the umpteenth time how anyone can do this full time.

About the author

Timewatch is the world's longest-running history series, having started in 1981, and is the BBC's flagship history series. Here, members of the production team share the highs, and lows, during the production process as they make some of the next series of programmes.

Subscribe to Timewatch's posts