THE DEVIL RODE OUT – THE SATANIC RITUAL ABUSE (SRA) SCARE

640px-Albrecht_Dürer_-_Knight,_Death_and_Devil_(NGA_1943.3.3519)

Albrecht Dürer, Knight, Death and the Devil (German: Ritter, Tod und Teufel), 1513.

At the end of the 1970s and the start of the 80s, North American psychiatrists began reporting adult, mainly female, patients claiming ritual torture, sex abuse and Satanism in childhood. These people often exhibited Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD), an ability to shift from one personality to another due to, some psychiatrists hypothesised, their need as victims to create ‘safe’ personalities without memory of the abuse. It was only when these memories were elicited through various forms of ‘therapy’, that the ‘facts’ came out. These ‘recovered memories’ were soon promoted to the status of ‘Repressed Memory Syndrome’.

In 1980 one of these women, a Canadian named Michelle Smith, published a book in conjunction with her therapist, a Dr Lawrence Padzer. Titled Michelle Remembers, the book documented Michelle Smith’s memories of childhood Satanic abuse, as ‘recovered’ through her therapy with Padzer. It became a best-seller in the United States and also in the United Kingdom, influencing police and social workers in both these countries, and elsewhere, including Australia. In 1981, Padzer, a fervent Christian, coined the term ‘ritual abuse’, by which time he had become a sought-after ‘authority’ and proselytiser of the subject.

In 1983, Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) allegations were first heard in the USA by Kenneth Lanning and others at the FBI Behavioural Science Unit, part of the FBI Academy in Virginia. At first, Lanning and officers involved in the investigation of child sexual abuse took these reports seriously. However, as he points out in his 1992 ‘Investigator’s Guide to Allegations of ‘Ritual’ Child Abuse’, while there were many claiming to be victims of SRA ‘there is little or no corroborative evidence’.

In North America there were many cases involving SRA, beginning in the early 1980s. One of the best-known and notorious of these was the McMartin Pre-School Case in which many allegations were made against staff of a Californian child-care facility. Between 1983-87, the subsequent legal proceedings found no evidence against the accused. It was said then to have been longest and most expensive legal debacle in US history.

A long-running ritual child abuse case in Saskatchewan, Canada, ended in 1996 with a mixed verdict that found some sexual abuse occurred. A professor of psychology called in to analyse the interviews with the child victims described the entire investigation as ‘a witch-hunt’. The judge pointed out that the prosecution had no physical evidence of the accused being involved with ‘the Devil’s Church’.

The absence of physical evidence for allegations of SRA is a constant thread in a number of official investigations carried out around the world.  In Lanning’s thorough analysis of the considerable number of cases already reported at that time, the author and other investigators were unable to substantiate even one verifiable claim of satanic murder.

Much the same results came from other studies, including one in 1994 by the United States National Center on Child Abuse and Neglect that surveyed nearly 7000 clinicians and therapists working in the field and almost 5000 agencies involved in relevant activities. In over 12000 cases of suspected SRA, only one was proven to have any organised satanic content, though some incidents involved secondary aspects of ritual abuse. Especially significant was the finding that most individual clinicians and most agencies reported only one or two alleged SRA cases, while a small percentage of individuals and agencies reported hundreds.

There was no correlation between stories told by children of alleged SRA experiences and the ‘suppressed memories’ of those who claimed SRA in their childhoods. The report speculated that therapists were creating childhood abuse memories by their therapy techniques. There was no evidence of child pornography with satanic themes in the United States, nor of other alleged satanic activities, such as generational Satanists.

The study did, however, uncover evidence of Christian ritual abuse of children, practised mainly by a few fundamentalist sects, including ‘beating the devil’ out of a child as part of an exorcism and resorting to prayer rather than seeking medical help.

In 1991 the Utah State Legislature instituted an Inquiry into allegations of SRA occurring in that state. This was in response to a newspaper’s poll finding that over 90% of Utah residents believed in SRA, allied with increasing allegations from within the Mormon Church that some of its most prominent members were involved in SRA. Two professional investigators interviewed hundreds of victims of alleged SRA, noting the details and following up all available leads. They found evidence for only one case of Satanic Ritual Abuse involving torture of children and simulated murder of infants. This case was not prosecuted because of the statute of limitations in the state of Utah.

Investigations elsewhere reached very similar conclusions. In Holland an inquiry found that there was no evidence for such activities and that they were largely in the minds of those who reported them. Whether widely promulgated or not, the findings of these professional investigations had little or no effect upon the allegations, the prosecutions and the occasional gaoling of individuals accused of such crimes.

British publication of Michelle Remembers began a gradual increase in allegations of SRA throughout the UK. These cases primarily involved social work agencies and police, many of whom were ‘trained’ by visiting American ‘experts’ in various forms of investigation methods and counselling of sexually abused children. American folklorist Bill Ellis conducted an important study of the processes by which the Satan scare reached Britain from the United States. He traced the origins of modern interest in, and influence of, satanism in the works of Aleister Crowley, Gerald Gardiner and others and also notes the long, if usually submerged traditions of witchcraft and black magic in Britain. A fundamental element of Ellis’ study is the interaction between the folkloric beliefs and press, television, film and popular literature. Ellis draws a direct line between the histories, mythologies and incidents discussed in his article and the disastrous events that subsequently took place in Rochdale and the Orkney Islands.

The Orkney Islands SRA case was the best-known of the many such events. Beginning in early 1991, the Orkney’s affair involved early morning raids by social workers and the forced separation of parents and children. Medical examination of the children found no evidence of sexual abuse but this, together with widely-expressed doubts about the veracity of child testimonies, did not prevent some years of acrimonious legal and governmental debate. Although the prosecution case in this matter collapsed, the parents mounted a very large legal claim for damages against the British government.

In the wake of this and other similar debacles, including the Rochdale case (dismissed in 1991), came the findings of a report into satanic ritual abuse of children by emeritus Professor Jean La Fontaine, social anthropologist. La Fontaine was commissioned by the Department of Health and given access to the records of 84 British SRA cases going back to 1988. Her investigative team was formed at Manchester University and issued its report in 1994. In only three of these was evidence found of ritual activity combined with sexual abuse. Her conclusion regarding the remaining 81 cases was that satanic ritual abuse ‘was not happening and is not happening’.

Generally, the report observed that the interviews with children, upon which the legal cases were generally based, were poorly done, with frequent and aggressive questioning.  Rumours of SRA had been spread on the basis of dubious information and some Evangelical Christians, psychologists, child-care workers, and health-care professionals were responsible for the transmission of these delusions. The report concluded that there was no SRA in Britain and that the efforts and energy being put into attempting to prove that there was only had the unhappy effect of diverting attention and resources away from those children who were genuinely suffering at the hands of real – i.e., non-Satanist – abusers.

In 2019, a documentary on this topic, titled Demonic, was the only Australian film to feature at the Cannes Film Festival. Director Pia Borg gave her motivation for making the film as “I feel like the Satanic panic is something that people are a little bit ashamed of … something that was swept under the rug.”

REFERENCES:

Ellis, B. (1992). Satanic Ritual Abuse and Legend Ostension. Journal of Psychology and Theology20(3), 274–277. https://doi.org/10.1177/009164719202000324

Bill Ellis, Raising the Devil: Satanism, New Religions, and the Media, University of Kentucky Press, 2000.

La Fontaine, J S. The extent and nature of organised and ritual abuse: research findings.London: HMSO, 1994.

Wikipedia entry, ‘Satanic Ritual Abuse’, accessed May 2019.

FLIGHT OF THE LOST DIAMONDS

smirnoff investigators

Investigators at the crash site; Jack Palmer second from right. NLA

 

It was March 1942. Japanese forces were three days away from taking Bandung on the island of Java. The predominantly Dutch European population was being evacuated to mainland north-western Australia as quickly as possible. Early in the afternoon of 3 March, a Netherlands East Indies KLM Dakota passenger plane prepared to take off with eleven anxious passengers. As the Dakota was about to taxi to the runway the airfield manager handed the pilot, Ivan Smirnoff, a sealed brown paper package, telling him to look after it. A bank would take delivery of the parcel on arrival in Australia, the airfield manager said. Ivan’s mind was on more pressing matters, so he dropped the parcel into the first-aid chest and took off straightaway for the safety of Broome. It was around 1.15 p.m.

As the plane climbed into the sky, Japanese aircraft were attacking Australian coastal communities far to the south. Unfortunately, three of the Japanese fighters returning from the raid spotted the Dakota and raked it with bullets. Passengers were wounded and Smirnoff was struck in the arms and hip. He desperately threw the plane into a steep spiralling descent, pursued closely by the fighters. As the port engine burst into flame he had to act quickly. Smirnoff turned the aircraft towards the beach, managing to bring it down more or less level and then to swing its front section into the sea, extinguishing the engine fire. One of the passengers, himself a pilot, would later recall the Russian national ‘put up the greatest show of flying anybody in the world will ever see’.

SMirnoff

Ivan Smirnoff

 

And so began one of the many enduring lost treasure mysteries. Smirnoff and his passengers were strafed by Zeroes and perishing for lack of fresh water. Survival was the priority, not packages. Four died, though the survivors were eventually rescued and Smirnoff returned to his usual flying. It was only some time later in Melbourne that he became aware of the contents of the package, when he was visited by a police detective and an official of the Commonwealth Bank. They had come to collect the mysterious brown paper parcel. Smirnoff told them that the parcel was lost. ‘What was in it’, he asked.

He was told that parcel contained a cigar box filled with thousands of high-quality diamonds rescued from Amsterdam before the invading German forces arrived. The gems had been on their way via the-then Dutch East Indies to safekeeping in the vaults of the Commonwealth Bank. They were valued at the time at half a million guilders, approximately twenty million dollars in today’s money.

The official wanted to know, quite urgently, where they were.

From this point, the story clouds over like every lost treasure tale. Although the brown paper package was – probably – lost in the sea, as Smirnoff said, it was rescued from the crash site shortly after the survivors had left. A local beachcomber and lugger master named Jack Palmer and others travelling with him came across the wreckage of the Dakota. They salvaged its remaining contents and Palmer found the package, either in the plane or in the surf, and quickly discovered its alluring contents. He divided the gems up, hiding most of them beneath the sand in an aluminium container and distributing the rest among his companions, telling them to keep quiet about the find.

Palmer was on his way to Perth to enlist in the army. When he arrived there, he went to the district military commandant and told the story of the crash and his discovery of the diamonds. To prove his point, he produced two salt cellars full of small stones for the astonished officer.

By now, though, diamonds were starting to turn up in unexpected places. One was found in the fireplace of a Broome home and another in a matchbox in a train carriage. Aboriginal people were seen with them and Chinese traders offered them for sale. Others would be found after the war, including one nestling in the fork of a tree.

An army investigation led to Palmer and two of his comrades being tried in 1943. All three accused were acquitted as they had—seemingly—handed in the diamonds to the authorities. Palmer then served out the war in the army. Afterwards, he tackled a number of business ventures and appeared to be living well through the few years that were left to him.

Jack Palmer died of stomach cancer in 1950. A priest attending his deathbed is said to have asked him what he had done with the rest of the diamonds. Palmer insisted that he handed them in. Then he smiled.

There are a number of other stories stemming from the medical staff who tended the dying man. They vary in detail but all end the same way. They all state that Palmer kept a mysterious bag under his bed which he hinted might contain riches—maybe cash, maybe diamonds. The day after he died, the bag disappeared.

Smirnoff returned to Holland after the war and continued his career as a KLM pilot. He seems never to have gone home to the USSR and died on the island of Majorca in 1956 after an adventurous life that even attracted the brief attention of Hollywood in 1944.

Stories still circulate about the ‘Smirnoff diamonds’. A number of books have been written about them. As recently as 2012 a claim was made by relatives of the man who drove Smirnoff and his surviving passengers to Broome that the pilot knew the package he was carrying contained the diamonds. Whether he knew or not, only a fraction of the hoard was ever recovered. It is thought that the bulk of the cache, perhaps twenty million dollars-worth, is still missing.

Are the Smirnoff diamonds still buried in the sand along with the remains of the ill-fated Dakota? Were they found by others? Or did Jack Palmer simply take them and spend up big for the rest of his life?

 

The full story is in my Great Australian Journeys though, like all good lost treasure yarns, this one is still being told…

 

 

 

 

 

A BUSHRANGER IN AMERICA

A version from the USA

‘The people round know me right well – they call me Johnny Troy’. The trouble was that no-one did know a bushranger hero named ‘Johnny Troy’, not in Australia, at least.  So, who was he, if he ever existed?

There were several incidental mentions of him and his deeds in historical documents and folklore. He featured briefly in a poem titled ‘The Convict’s Tour to Hell’, probably composed by ‘Frank the Poet’ (Francis McNamara), in or before 1839. The poem is a celebration of convicts and bushrangers, including the famous Jack Donohoe, shot dead in 1830. Troy is mentioned in the same breath as the now much better-known Donohoe. The poem is fantasy of a convict, Frank himself, visiting hell, where he finds all the despised overseers and gaolers writhing in eternal agony. When the devil hears that Frank was a convict in life he immediately says that he has come to the wrong place. Convicts should all go to heaven. When Frank reaches the Pearly Gates, he confronts St Peter who asks:

where’s your certificate

Or if you have not one to show 

Pray who in Heaven do you know? 

Frank answers;

Well I know Brave Donohue Young Troy and Jenkins too 

And many others whom floggers mangled 

And lastly were by Jack Ketch strangled.

Frank is allowed straight into heaven where he is made ‘a welcome guest’, along with his old convict mates.

But that was about all anyone knew of this Irish bushranger until the 1950s, when American folksong collectors began to hear a ‘Johnny Troy’ ballad – mainly among lumber jacks. It seems that while Johnny Troy’s vigorous song had faded away in Australia, it had been well received by the Americans, who often sang it together with a couple of other Australian bushranger ballads, ‘Jack Donohoe’ and ‘The Wild Colonial Boy’. It is likely that these songs reached America during the California gold rushes, which explains how they got there.[i]But there was still no news of the lost bushranger in Australia. Until some solid research by the late Stephan Williams turned up the whole true history of Johnny Troy.[ii]

John Troy, aged eighteen, was transported for burglary and felony from Dublin aboard the ship Asiain 1825. He was a weaver by trade and drew a seven-year sentence. Soon after arriving here, he was found guilty of robbery and served two years on the Phoenix‘hulk’, or prison ship. After completing this sentence, Troy’s record was one of continual ‘bolting’ from iron gangs and involvement in mutinies aboard convict ships, details of which appear in his ballad. He served time at Moreton Bay (Brisbane) and after being returned to Sydney in 1831, escaped again and took to bushranging. After a busy period of robbing travellers, in company with other fugitive convicts, Troy was betrayed and recaptured in 1832. 

He was tried with three others for highway robbery. The court heard from numerous witnesses and policemen and eventually the judge ‘summed up at considerable length’, sending the jury to consider their verdict at 7pm. No doubt anxious to be off home or to the pub, the jury came back a few minutes later with a guilty verdict for three of the defendants. John Troy, Tom Smith and Michael Anderson were, unusually, sentenced to hang immediately. The judge was clearly not in a good mood as the legislation for capital punishment clearly provided for a three-day break before execution.

In the event, there was a respite of a week but on August 18, 1832, Troy and Smith (Anderson was reprieved) were led out to be hanged in Sydney Gaol. ‘Great crowds assembled to view the awful termination of their lives’. Troy accepted his sentence saying, ‘he had committed many offences, and deserved to suffer death.’ He preferred death to a lifetime in a penal settlement. He also claimed, in proper outlaw hero style, that Smith was innocent. After some words from the clergy present, the executioners fiddled with the ropes ‘in their usual bungling manner’. The condemned men, both carrying red handkerchiefs, were finally put out of their misery and ‘after some convulsive struggling, were ushered into eternity.’[iii]

And Johnny Troy did, however undeservedly, achieve an immortality of sorts. Hanged criminals were usually thrown into cheap coffins and carted off for burial in the ‘Public Nuisance’ cart used to collect dead animals from the streets. But in this case the bodies of Troy and Smith were given into the care of a cousin of Troy’s. There was an Irish wake around the bodies that night and a subscription taken up for good quality coffins. Next day, the coffins were taken out and laid in front of the house of the bushrangers’ betrayer, a man named Donohoe. The red handkerchief Troy had been holding at his death was thrown ominously at the traitor’s door. The police had to break up the crowd, which gave ‘three groans’ for Donohoe and a long procession followed the dead men to their final burying place.

Troy was a convict hero. The ballad that celebrated his real and imagined activities is much like those romanticising other bushranger heroes, real and mythic. Troy is born in Dublin, ‘brought up by honest parents’ but is transported to NSW after robbing a widow. He escapes and with three companions takes to the bush – ‘Four of the bravest heroes who ever handled gun.’ Robbing on the highway, they come across an old man and demand his gold watch and money – on pain of having his brains blown out. The man pleads that he has none of these and also has a wife and family ‘daily to provide.’ On hearing this, Troy refuses to rob the man, gets back on his horse and throws the man fifty pounds ‘to help you on your way.’ The song concludes in proper Robin Hood style with the verse:

The poor I’ll serve both night and day, 

The rich I will annoy; 

The people round know me right well; 

They call me Johnny Troy.

In another American version, the story includes Troy’s death ‘on his scaffold high’ as ‘a brave young hero.’

Why Troy was forgotten in the place where he committed his crimes and died for them is a mystery. Perhaps there were enough bushranger ballads and legends around to satisfy the demand. People are still singing many of these in Australia, where they are a strong element of folk tradition. Johnny Troy lives on only in America, though he is in good company, or bad, there. The tradition of the outlaw hero that runs from Robin Hood includes American badmen as well as our bushrangers. Jesse James and Billy the Kid, among many others, are celebrated in the same Robin Hood style, and just as controversially, as Ben Hall, Frank Gardiner and Ned Kelly.[iv]

Page 2 of the USA version

[i]Porter, Kenneth W. ‘Johnny Troy’: A ‘Lost’ Australian Bushranger Ballad in the United States, Meanjin Quarterly, Vol. 24, No. 2, 1965: 227-238 at http://search.informit.com.au/documentSummary;dn=965759253841134;res=IELLC, accessed August 2017 and Kenneth Goldstein, notes to LP by Ellen Stekert https://outlook.office.com/owa/redir.aspx?REF=uGDzIsjlRKV7AAi2uiMuTkjGP8W_Z1kfDm1FbqmyGwnbKgjVlN_UCAFodHRwczovL3Byb3RlY3QtYXUubWltZWNhc3QuY29tL3MvTTQxYUJ2VVZwcjVwdHI_ZG9tYWluPWZvbGt3YXlzLW1lZGlhLnNpLmVkdQ, accessed August 2017. See also Library of Congress for a version collected in California prior to World War 1 at https://www.loc.gov/item/2017701036/, accessed May 2019.

[ii]Stephan Williams, Johnny Troy, Popinjay Publications, Canberra 2001 (revised from original 1993 edition). It is fitting that Stephan Williams resurrected this story of the vanishing bushranger as he was himself an unsung hero of Australian folk history, mainly through his impeccably researched series of self-publications issued under his Popinjay imprint.

[iii]Stephan Williams, from the Sydney Gazette, 21 August 1832.

[iv]Graham Seal, Outlaw Heroes in Myth and History, Anthem Press, London, 2011.

This post is from my recent book, Great Bush Stories

See also Paul Slade’s essays on bushrangers and related matters at http://www.planetslade.com/bushranger-ballads.html

THE MOON-WOMAN – FROM MATRIARCHY TO PATRIARCHY


Selk’nam woman and child, carefully posed

In May 1966 the American anthropologist Anne MacKaye Chapman was living near the ‘Indian reservation’ of Lake Fagnano in Tierra del Fuego. She was researching the culture of some of the most southerly indigenous people on earth, the Selk’nam (also Ona, Onawo) and Haush societies of Patagonia. After a century or more of colonization, few of these people with their distinctive culture and unimaginably harsh lifestyle remained. Chapman was speaking with one who did. Her name was Lola Kiepja, the last of the Selk’nam who had lived that destroyed way of life and knew the foundation myths of her people, passed down for thousands of years as they struggled to survive in the toughest environment on the planet.

One day, Lola posed a rhetorical question to Chapman: ‘Where are the women who sang like the canaries? There were many women. Where are they now?’ The Selk’nam woman was speaking of the foundation myth of her people, revolving around Kreeh, the Moon-Woman.

In the mythic period of the hoowin, before the human Selk’nam, all the landforms, the animals, birds and some stars lived on the earth as great shamans, known as hoowins. At this time, women ruled over men who carried out the basic tasks of cooking, childcare and water carrying, in addition to their hunting and related male activities. When young hoowinwomen reached the right age, they were initiated into the secrets of the matriarchy in a ritual held in the Hainhut. Here, the sacred fire burned and the women disguised each other with masks and red, white and black paint representing the spirits. When the women appeared before the men in these disguises, they believed that the women had the power of the spirits of the skies and earth, validating the female dominion of the males.

But on one occasion, while the women were in the Hain preparing for the ritual, three hoowinmen spied on them and saw that the women were only dressing up as the spirits. One of the men whistled to the other males to let them know that they were being fooled. When the females in the hut heard the whistle, they realised the males had discovered the truth and put out the sacred fire in fear of violence. It came swiftly.

The males attacked, killing the women, except younger girls and babies. Their leader hit the female leader, who was his wife, with a burning log from the extinguished fire. The heavens trembled. He hit her again, but not a third time, in case all creation and the heavens might be destroyed. Badly burned and raging with unquenchable anger, his wife fled the earth and turned into the Moon, pursued by her husband in the form of the Sun. Ever since, he has chased her, but never caught her. Each month, shereappears as the full moon, when the scars on her face from the burning log are clearly visible. Her anger at men is especially intense at eclipses and this is a particularly dangerous time for the Selk’nam of both sexes, who gather to ward off her often-lethal anger.

After the massacre, the males and surviving females travelled to the East sky to mourn. Then they travelled to the North sky, to the West sky and, after a very great time, came back to earth from the South sky. The males established a new Hain through which they subject the females to the same domination the men experienced previously. 

Death came to the earth as the hoowinwere transformed into various heavenly bodies, wind, rain, snow, sea land and animals. At this time the first human Selk’nam were formed from two clods of dirt.[1]

Selk’nam group, 1930s

This is a condensed re-telling of a complex narrative cycle that includes other elements of Selk’nam mythology and cosmology. Like the creation stories of many cultures, this one includes the coming of death, as well as life, and provides an account of how the living world was formed from a preexistent epoch of spiritual beings. It explains the cycle of night and day and provides a validation of the patriarchal nature of human Selk’nam society, in contrast to the matriarchy that prevailed in the hoowin. In its depiction of male violence against women, it is a chilling tale with global resonance.

The Selk’nam are now usually said to be extinct, though their language is being preserved by at least one speaker. 

Selk’nam, 1938

[1]Anne MacKaye Chapman, ‘The Moon-Woman in Selk’nam Society’ at http://www.thereedfoundation.org/rism/chapman/moon-woman.htm#back1, accessed September 2018.

Moral Ecologies and Crimes Against Nature – just out

sketch-of-stringybark-creek-ambushSydney Mail, November 16, 1878.

Moral whats?

A term coined by American historian Karl Jacoby in his influential Crimes Against Nature. Jacoby used the term to indicate the usually unwritten attitudes and assumptions held by local people about their environment and how it should be managed and ‘that against elite, top-down conservation schemes that sought to criminalise customary and often sustainable practices such as the taking of wood and game, those already dwelling on the land resisted by continuing to live their lives as before.’ As described in the Introduction:

‘This book offers the first systematic study of how elite conservation schemes and policies define once customary and vernacular forms of managing common resources as banditry—and how the ‘bandits’ fight back. Drawing inspiration from Karl Jacoby’s seminal Crimes against Nature, this book takes Jacoby’s moral ecology and extends the concept beyond the founding of American national parks. From eighteenth-century Europe, through settler colonialism in Africa, Australia and the Americas, to postcolonial Asia and Australia, Moral Ecologies takes a global stance and a deep temporal perspective, examining how the language and practices of conservation often dispossess Indigenous peoples and settlers, and how those groups resist in everyday ways. Drawing together archaeologists, anthropologists, geographers and historians, this is a methodologically diverse and conceptually innovative study that will appeal to anyone interested in the politics of conservation, protest and environmental history.’

My chapter is on the relationship between the constituencies of northeastern Victoria before, during and after the Ned Kelly bushranging outbreak of the late 1870s, and their attitudes towards their environment, an embryonic form of moral ecology. Here is the full chapter list:

Moral Ecologies: Histories of Conservation, Dispossession and Resistance

Carl J. Griffin, Roy Jones, Iain J. M. Robertson

Pages 1-34

Conservation as Dispossession

Front Matter

Pages 35-35

PDF

Politics of Conservation, Moral Ecology and Resistance by the Sonaha Indigenous Minorities of Nepal

Sudeep Jana Thing

Pages 37-58

Global Ecologies and Local Moralities: Conservation and Contention on Western Australia’s Gascoyne Coast

Roy Jones, Joseph Christensen, Tod Jones

Pages 59-82

From Activists to Illegally Occupying Land: Aboriginal Resistance as Moral Ecology in Perth, Western Australia

Shaphan Cox, Christina Birdsall-Jones

Pages 83-97

Ghosts in the Forest: The Moral Ecology of Environmental Governance Toward Poor Farmers in the Brazilian and US Atlantic Forests

Scott William Hoefle

Pages 99-125

Conservation as Occupation

Front Matter

Pages 127-127

PDF

Crimes against Cultures: How Local Practices of Regulation Shape Archaeological Landscapes in Trowulan, East Java

Tod Jones, Adrian Perkasa

Pages 129-158

Of Necessary Work: The Longue Durée of the Moral Ecology of the Hebridean Gàidhealtachd

Iain J. M. Robertson, Mary MacLeod Rivett

Pages 159-187

Demographic Fluidity and Moral Ecology: Queenstown (Tasmania) and a Lesson in Precarious Process

Pete Hay

Pages 189-215

‘Fearless, Free and Bold’: The Moral Ecology of Kelly Country

Graham Seal

Pages 217-234

Squatting as Moral Ecology: Encroachment and ‘Abuse’ in the New Forest, England

Carl J. Griffin

Pages 235-263

A “Moral Ecology” of Afrikaner Settlement in German East Africa, 1902–1914

Thaddeus Sunseri

Pages 265-288

Afterword: On Moral Ecologies and Archival Absences

Karl Jacoby

Pages 289-297

Available fromhttps://www.palgrave.com/gb/book/9783030061111

A MAGICAL WAR

mascot copy

Mascot of Canadian troops

 

We like to think the modern era is a rational one in which superstition, or folk belief, has been relegated to the distant past. A Supernatural War: Magic, Divination and Faith in the First World War(Oxford University Press, 2018), a new book by Owen Davies shows that magic thinking was alive and well during, and after, World War 1. As anyone who takes the time to inquire into these matters will know, it still is.

Can there possibly be anything new to say about the history of the bloody madness that engulfed much of Europe and elsewhere from 1914 to 1918? It seems so.

Owen Davies leaves no form of delusion and deception unexamined in his new book on magic, divination and faith in the First World War. A great number and variety of practices professed to offer supernatural insights into life and death. They included almanacs, charms, divination, fortune-telling in all its nuances, ghosts, luck, mascots, prophecy, spiritualism, talismans, visions, witchcraft and ‘zepp charms’, crafted from the aluminum skeleton of a downed German airship. These are only some of the topics excavated and investigated in this enlightening study of a little-researched aspect of the Great War.

Davies casts his glamour widely. His extensive research takes in not only British and Empire beliefs but also those of many European countries, including Germany, as well as the United States of America. While the broad contours of supernatural belief were much the same everywhere, there were national emphases. Visions of angels were largely a British preoccupation, and not only in relation to the well-known sightings associated with the Battle of Mons.  Marian visions were rare in Britain but, not surprisingly, frequent in Catholic countries, yet also experienced in Germany.

Another strength of the book is Davies’ dissection of the various intellectual approaches to the supernatural. He discusses psychology, sociology, folklore and anthropology and psychical research as well as history. While folklorists in Europe and, to some extent in the USA viewed the war as an ideal event through which to investigate supernatural beliefs and practices, their British counterparts were mostly missing in action. Only one individual appears to have bothered to conduct even casual fieldwork among acquaintances and the odd soldier he encountered. Consequently, we know much less about British folk belief on the ground at this time than in many other countries. Fortunately, Davies’ extensive archival research goes a long way to plugging this gap, allowing him to provide a convincing overall picture of faith in the war, both at home and at the front.

And faith, of one kind or another, is at the centre of this inquiry. Davies early on addresses the tricky definitional and conceptual issues associated with work of this kind. What term should be used to describe the subject of study? ‘Superstition’, the popular description – also still used by psychologists – is misleading. One person’s superstition may be another’s deeply-held belief, and who is to say which belief is valid and which is not? The word has been used as a bludgeon in the struggles between Catholics and Protestants (and, in another context, in the colonisation of indigenous peoples). Davies refuses to refer to his topic as ‘superstition’ and only uses the term between inverted commas. Following that wise observation, he further declares that: ‘I do not hold the view that the beliefs and practices explored in this book are in any way symptomatic of backwardness or credulity.’ (13)

While agreeing with this view, the numbers of those who succumbed to what seem to be blatant scams, does suggest a strong level of credulity, inflamed of course by the dreadful circumstances of loss and uncertainty that was the lot of almost everyone involved in those dreadful years of conflict. Nevertheless, people needed to find whatever consolations and hopes they could, regardless of their source. It is the willingness of some to take pecuniary advantage of those needs that is reprehensible, rather than the propensity of many to believe.

As a good historian should, Davies loses no opportunity to dissolve myths. In this area of research, there are many. A popular legend of the trenches among all the combatants was ‘the White Comrade’, a spectral figure seen tending to the dead and dying. The origins and identity of this folkloric phantasm were vague, even for legends, but the comrade was soon said by many to be Jesus Christ. Citing David Clarke’s earlier research on this topic, Davies provides an account of the origin of the belief in a short story published in early 1915 and spreading via republication in parish magazines and a variety of other print forms, as well as oral transmission: ‘Once again, fiction became fact…’ (68).

Through seven (lucky?) close-packed chapters on prophecy, spirits, fortune telling, soldiers’ folk beliefs and religious faith in the trenches, A Supernatural Warprovides a nuanced and learned exposition of the profound roles of belief in the supernatural during the Great War. Davies deals with various forms of ‘new thought’, including Christian Science and Pelmanism, the moral memory system that was a favourite butt of trench humour. He also looks at the role of the supernatural in some non-Christian faiths. Such a broad approach suggests that this book is likely to remain the definitive work for a long time to come.

A final chapter provides an overview of supernatural beliefs and practices since the First World War, into the second, and beyond. Witches, real and fictional; folk magic; spiritualism; psychic research; Theosophy; astrology; prophecy; lucky chain letters; mascots, amulets, bibles and the like all continued to appeal. Some practices thrived. Commercialised horoscopes, in particular, became a still-familiar staple of newspapers and magazines. There is also a brief mention of some fascinating uses of the supernatural as propaganda in the Second World War. A future research topic, perhaps?

While this book focusses on the First World War, the beliefs and practices it illuminates are as prevalent today as they were then. The supernatural was, and is, no different to other human activities: ‘Beliefs and practices constantly ebbed and flowed, disappeared and emerged, in response to broader trends in social, cultural and economic life.’ Owen Davies concludes his excellent book with the considered observation that, despite the long history of ‘superstition’, that ‘the First World War and its legacy confirmed that the supernatural was profoundly modern.’ (232)

Graham Seal (This review appears in a slightly different form as ‘Shamans at War’, in Literary Review, February 2019).

 

THE SECRET SPEECH FROM THE DEVIL’S ARSE

 

Mollcutpurse

Moll Cutpurse (BL)

What were the King of the Gypsies and Cock Lorel doing in the Devil’s Arse?

They were meeting in the Derbyshire cave with the memorable name to concoct a new language, the tongue of crime and criminals. The Gypsy King of the 1520s and 30s was Giles Hatherley and Cock Lorel was the mythical head (cock) of the rogues (lorels). Mostly referred to as ‘Cant’, the secret speech they allegedly created would last for centuries and some of its words are still spoken today.

Cant was a fluid amalgam of criminal codewords and street slang of the past and present, enriched with Romani and Parlary. Robert Copland’s Highway to the Spittal-House, published around 1536 contains the first record of this tongue. It included bousy cove, meaning a man under the influence of alcohol, a meaning still preserved in some slang. Another cant term that survived the centuries was patrynge (pattering) cove, meaning one who lived by some line of verbal deceit or other dubious activity. Others did not last so well, including dell for a virgin, pek for eat and jere for shit.

A dictionary of cant by ‘B.E. Gent.’ was published in the late 1690s under the exhaustive title A New Dictionary of the Terms Ancient and Modern of theCanting Crew, in its Several Tribes, of Gypsies, Beggars, Thieves, Cheats, &c. with an Addition of Some Proverbs, Phrases, Figurative Speeches, &c. Useful for all sorts of People, (especially foreigners) to secure their Money, and preserve their Lives; besides being very Diverting and Entertaining, being wholly new. This early example of multi-marketing by whoever the gentlemanly ‘B E’ might have beenechoed the speech of a vast underworld of vagabondage, thievery and deception. A New Dictionary, and the many publications like it, were mostly written to pander to the insecurities and curiosities of the literate classes and so often exaggerated aspects of the lives and language of conny-catchers and sturdy beggars.

Another early example of this publishing fad was The Third and Last Part of Conny-Catching. With the new devised knavish art of Foole-taking by ‘R G’, Robert Greene, which tells a number of cautionary tales of those who have fallen victim to the wiles of ‘this hellish crew’ who ‘cheate, cosen, prig, lift, nippe and such like tricks now used in their Conie-catching Trade’. The book ends with the warning ‘let each take heed of dealing with anie such kind of people’. There were no police forces at this time, so the honest citizen was generally responsible for his or her own safety and security. Similar works such as Thomas Harman’s A Caveat or Warening for Common Cursetors (1566), The Defence of Begging by ‘Cuthbert Cunny-catcher’ (1592) and Thomas Dekker’s The Belman of London (1608), among many other similar titles allow us to hear this tongue and know something of the lives and crimes of those who spoke it.

 

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The Tudor period experienced increasing numbers of masterless men and other vagrants wandering the roads. By the time of Elizabeth’s reign, vagrancy and crime had become major issues for society and government. The poor – which meant the vast majority of the population – were seen as a possible source of disaffection and political violence. This was held to be especially so of those who would not or could not work, preferring instead a life of crime and, it seemed to the authorities and the respectable classes, of dissipation. In 1596 an Order by the Privy Council to the Justices of the Peace of Middlesex described the activities of such people:

a great number of dissolute, loose and insolent people harboured and maintained in such and like noysom and disorderly howses, as namely poor cottages and habitacions of beggars and people without trade, stables, ins, alehowses, tavernes, garden howses converted to dwellings, ordinaries, dicying howses, bowling allies and brothell howses. The most part of which pestering those parts of the citty with disorder and uncleannes are either apt to breed contagion and sicknes, or otherwize serve for the resort and refuge of masterless men and other idle and evill dispozed persons, and are the cause of cozenages, thefts, and other dishonest conversacion and may also be used to cover dangerous practizes.

Almost twenty years earlier the author of a polemical pamphlet had made similar complaints aimed at “Dauncers, Fydlers and Minstrels, Diceplayers, Maskers, Fencers, Bearewardes, Theeves, Common Players in Enterludes, Cutpurses, Cosiners, Maisterlesse servauntes, Jugglers, Roges, sturdye Beggers, &c.”

These light-fingered (from at least the 1570s) Canting Crews involved themselves in a bewildering variety of criminal specialisms and sub-specialisms. Cozenage was an Elizabethan version of the con trick, from the name that such people gave to their prospective victims, cousins or cozens. To prig was to steal, also used as a term for the stealer. To liftwas to steal goods from a shop, as in shoplifter, or to practice a form of robbery in which the lifter assumed the identity of a servant to gain access to luggage or other belongings. The nippe was a form of cutpurse thief who stole purses by slicing them from their owners clothing with a knife. A more refined nippe was the foyst, who used pickpocket skills to achieve the same ends.

From the sixteenth century Conie-catching also referred to deceptive practices, conie (conny, connie) being a term for a rabbit or, as we might say today, a bunny, who is caught by a con man. These swindles involved the catchers making the acquaintance of their intended conie, winning his trust then cheating him of his money or other possessions. In one variant or another the word has had a continuing presence in criminal tongues. In the nineteenth century a coney, coney dealeror coniacker was one who dealt in counterfeit money and the term eventually produced con man in all its English-speaking variations during the late nineteenth century and on into the twentieth and the twenty-first. These include con artist,con game, con girl, con woman, con head, con mob, con job, con racket and simply a con.

A slice of Cant from what is usually said to be its first record in print was written by Copland around 1536. While this is a contrived piece of verse conversation, it well suggests the difficulty of comprehending such talk for anyone not schooled in its complexities. The speaker is a porter of whom Copland has asked whether pedlars ‘with broken hose and breche’ pass this way:

Ynow, ynow; with bousy cove maund nace,

Teare the patryng cove in the darkeman cace

Docked the dell for a coper meke;

His watch shall feng a prounce’s nob-chete,

Cyarum, by Salmon, and thou shall pek my jere

In thy gan, for my watch it is nace gere

For the bene bouse my watch hath a coyn …

Copland admits that even he has difficulty understanding this ‘babble’, or ‘pedlyng frenche’.

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The canting crews (BL)

 

1808 mermaid tattoo