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Why were Germans being interned, regardless of their political affiliation or opinions? In May 1940 Germany had opened up its western front, invading first the Benelux countries and then France, and this had put the British government on red alert. There was a fear that Nazi sympathizers might be lurking in Britain as a fifth column, waiting in anticipation of a German invasion and doing all they could in readiness for it. British intelligence was unprepared for the many tasks facing it at the outbreak of war. It had too few people in its ranks, and the reigning political uncertainty led to a rash turnover at the top. In May 1940 Winston Churchill fired the boss of MI5 and replaced him with Oswald Allen Harker, who was himself replaced by Sir David Petrie in April 1941. It was Petrie who reorganized the security services and was responsible for their many subsequent successes in the espionage war against the Nazis.
Great Britain had been accepting German refugees since 1933. There had been no doubt from the start that the Nazis wanted to erect a totalitarian, racist state, and by the end of 1933 already more than 37,000 people had left the country for reasons of politics or race. Some 2000 of these came to Great Britain. The situation worsened drastically in 1940 when Denmark, Norway, Holland, Belgium and France were overrun by the Germans and an invasion of Britain itself was feared by many.
It was all over. In 1967 the master classes took place for the last time, after which Friedelind was once more an outsider, just as she had been in New York in 1941. She did not belong, was without a real home and yet again had to build a new life for herself. To make matters worse, the ‘Nationaldemokratische Partei Deutschlands’ (NPD), a new far-right party founded in Germany in late 1964, had managed to achieve a respectable 13.6% of the vote in Bayreuth. It offered a home to numerous ex-Nazis, and Winifred was delighted: ‘Well – the result of the elections was a real surprise – let's hope that the representatives of the NPD now prove themselves too. It's really time to muck things out!’
What's more, a former prominent Nazi called Hans Severus Ziegler was busy giving a series of lectures at the Bayreuth adult education centre (the ‘Volkshochschule’). He had organized the infamous Nazi exhibition of ‘Degenerate music’ in 1938 and had, in 1964, published his anecdotal book Hitler aus dem Erleben, in which the ‘Führer’ is portrayed as a cultured, intellectually interested man. After the book's publication the city of Bayreuth banned Ziegler from giving any more lectures, so Winifred invited him instead along with 80 other interested parties. Her daughter was annoyed to see how Winifred continued her old friendships with Nazi enthusiasts and made no secret of it.
Verdi's operas - composed between 1839 and 1893 - portray a striking diversity of female protagonists: warrior women and peacemakers, virgins and courtesans, princesses and slaves, witches and gypsies, mothers and daughters, erring and idealised wives, and, last of all, a feisty quartet of Tudor townswomen in Verdi's final opera, Falstaff. Yet what meanings did the impassioned crises and dilemmas of these characters hold for the nineteenth-century female spectator, especially during such a turbulent span in the history of the Italian peninsula? How was opera shaped by society - and was society similarly influenced by opera? Contextualising Verdi's female roles within aspects of women's social, cultural and political history, Susan Rutherford explores the interface between the reality of the spectators' lives and the imaginary of the fictional world before them on the operatic stage.