Only one American prisoner, John Jea, left an account of his time in a French prison and only one British prisoner, Stephen Clubb, wrote more than a line about the American prisoners he encountered while he was being held. The sources for some of the other details of life in the depots are the accounts written afterward by British prisoners: memoirs, autobiographies or biographies. Most of these British accounts were published after 1815, when the war was over and they returned home. (Some shorter accounts appeared as letters from prison in the British press.) They all contain elements of self-aggrandizement, of demonization of the enemy and of what appear to be marketing ploys. Nearly every title, for example, contains the supposedly alluring word “adventure”. Many contain accounts of fantastic and daring escapes that are not always confirmed in French archival sources. Moreover, one depot, Verdun, is disproportionately covered in the accounts. They are not the most reliable of sources. Alger, writing in the early twentieth century, commented that “the literature of the Verdun and other captives is disappointing”.

They are useful for descriptive passages of the depots but otherwise can contribute little to this study of American seamen prisoners who were not at Verdun.

A large part of the details about prisoners in this and later chapters comes from original research in the more than forty cartons of individual prisoner files, many of them on Americans, held in the archives of the Service Historique de la Défense (SHD) in Vincennes, and in the correspondence from the prisoners to American consuls and that between American diplomats and French authorities about the American seamen prisoners.

The pencil sketch on the second page of this book, drawn by Joseph Mallord William Turner in 1808, pictures a sparse coastal scene. A dimly visible line of Martello towers in the background, stark white cliffs, the shoreline, and a tumultuous towering sky. In the foreground the broken hull of a boat, two figures toiling on the road, and two riders rapidly approaching. What is depicted here is in many ways typical of the southern English coastal scenery of the time. It is what Turner could have seen, and probably did see, on the coast near Bexhill not long after 1800. According to Stopford Brooke, one of its interpreters, the scene portrays “the human life and work and sorrow of the sea-shore”. The “two swift-riding men” are identified as officers of the Customs and the Martello towers form a vivid reminder of the Napoleonic threats of invasion during the wars that ended in 1815. To the English observer of the nineteenth century such as Brooke, the scene's deeper meaning is clear: “It is”, he claimed, in the “guardianship of England that the sentiment of the subject lies, and the central tower, all in light, fixes our feeling on this thought.” The storm, moreover, “defends England also, nor is the great chalk cliff without its aspect of defiance”. But if that is so, then wherein lies the sorrow of the sea-shore?

The seacoast occupies a near mythical place in English and British national identity. Incidentally, it also points to a profound contradiction at the heart of this identity. From Shakespeare's “rocky shore” that “beats back the envious siege” to Churchill's call to fighting on the beaches, the seacoast is a strong reference to British insularity.

‘The exciting thing about the renewal in the 20th century is that it is being achieved through the people’. So argued a lay writer in a mid-1970s issue of Goodnews, the English Catholic charismatic magazine. He asserted:

The Goodnews article echoed various Second Vatican Council utterances about the diversity and oneness of ministry in the Church, including Apostolicam Actuositatem, the ‘Decree of the Apostolate of the Laity’ (1965), with its description of the laity's ‘apostolate of evangelization and sanctification’. Identifying antecedents in the Liturgical Movement and Cursillo, the writer in Goodnews claimed such movements represented a profound shift in the recognition and empowerment of the laity in the Church.

The clocks in the nearby villages had just struck six when Egon and Franziska, accompanied only by Andras, rode off for Nagy-Vasar. To their right and left were fields and meadows; only occasionally did a copse of birches mixed with firs interrupt the plain that stretched down to the lake. They were half an hour away at most; they would arrive in good time for the seven o’clock boat, even if they rode at a walk.

But the very first grove to which they came made them pause. In the middle of the woods they thought they could see a fiery glow between the trees, and hear the sound of many different voices. A fight, it seemed.

“We have to go see what it is,” Egon called, quickly turning his horse aside as Andras and Franziska followed him through the white trunks of the birches. But they found nothing, and finally, after much searching, returned to the main road.

“I was really hoping,” said Egon, “that we would find another child to bring to Toldy, a foster child.”

“Which he very probably would have rejoiced at, in his happiness over his own child.”

“Yes, undoubtedly. For one of the many unexplained riddles of existence is where ordinary people, the so-called disinherited of society, derive their tender affections.”

“The same place as everyone else does, or ought to, I should think—from the heart.”

Berlioz had devoted part of a JD feuilleton (10 November1837) to the concerts given by Johann Strauss senior in Paris: ‘It's curious that the arrival of a German orchestra, whose pretentions barely extend beyond playing waltzes, should be a musical event of such great importance…The name Strauss was known to us thanks to the music publishers who have brought out his waltzes in their thousands, and to Musard who has played some of them, but that was all; and of the orchestra's precision, fire, intelligence, and rare feeling for rhythm, we had absolutely no idea’.

While the final rehearsals of La Fée aux roses were taking place at the Opéra- Comique in Paris, the city of Vienna was mourning one of its favourite artists. Strauss has just died. This melancholy organizer of balls, during which his orchestra would deliver such ardent melodies, such abundant joy, and sometimes also such outbursts of passion and tenderness that they brought tears to the eyes, has just laid down his pen and his bow. I am not one of those who say: ‘It's not important; it's just one waltz-monger less!’ I say it is important, because Strauss was an artist in every respect. Some of his rivals turn lovely operatic music into appalling dance music; he on the other hand wrote such charming things for his dance orchestra that they could have made the fortune of many an opera.

INTRODUCTION

The text edited below is the financial accounts for the trial and execution of a small group of witches in the town of Peebles in 1629. Expenses are listed for various officials in the local court, for the cost of obtaining a commission from the privy council, and for materials and labour costs for the pyre. The execution method may have been unusual. Other information enables us to identify the executed persons as Susanna Elphinstone, John Graham and (probably) Margaret Johnstone.

Serial witch-hunting in Peebles seems to have begun in October 1628, a time when panic over witchcraft was gathering pace in numerous Scottish localities. On the 21st, Marion Greig was suspected of witchcraft by the presbytery of Peebles. John Syd, minister of Newlands, and David Plenderleith, burgess of Peebles, stood surety for her that she would appear when summoned. This investigation evidently turned up the names of further suspects, since on 3 February 1629 the privy council issued a commission of justiciary to James Williamson, provost of Peebles, Alexander Muir and Patrick Thomson, bailies of Peebles, and four named lairds, to try Marion Greig, Isobel Rutherford alias Graham, and Katherine Young, for witchcraft. No record survives of their trial, but they may well have been tried and executed. The accounts edited below show that Isobel Graham, as she was then known, made a ‘confessioun aganes the rest of the wiches’ that was used in the later prosecutions.

The presbytery of Peebles then seems to have stepped up its involvement. In June 1629, we learn from the privy council records that the presbytery gave in a list of twenty-seven named people from at least six different parishes who were ‘vehementlie suspect’ for witchcraft. The presbytery seems to have conducted an extensive trawl for suspects.

Introduction

Tourism is widely credited in the literature as the largest and most diverse of all industries in the world. Tourism has developed as an integral component of the economy in recent times as scholars, policymakers, and community members continue to consider it as a major means of facilitating economic, cultural, and social developments. According to a 2017 report, tourism accounts for about 8.3% of employment and 1.4% of the world's total gross domestic product (that is, US 9.4 trillion dollars). On its diversity, the United Nations World Tourism Organization (UNWTO) has highlighted it as one of the fastest-growing industries across the world, having spanned its diversities across different subsectors and areas in the last few decades. For academic purposes, tourism includes nature, culture, sports, religion, health, and adventure. Some authors have strongly suggested that these various forms of tourism can contribute significantly to environmental protection and sustainable development of the economy if various stakeholders – national governments, local communities, private companies, and individuals – collaborate. This chapter discusses how the historicity of riverscapes has become integral to tourism initiatives in various African countries. It examines how African rivers have contributed to economic development within the context of hospitality management. This encompasses the dynamics of ecotourism in Africa, the connections between the continent's international rivers and the evolution of ecotourism, and the potentials, problems, and prospects in harnessing Africa's water resources for ecotourism. The chapter argues that developing ecotourism centered around rivers can promote sustainable economic growth and environmental conservation.

The novel Das indische Grabmal (The Indian Tomb), published in 1918 by the prolific author and screenwriter Thea von Harbou, was adapted into a film on three separate occasions: in 1921, directed by Joe May and co-written by von Harbou and her later spouse Fritz Lang; in 1938 by Richard Eichberg; and, for the last time, by Lang in 1959. The films not only document the Germans’ enduring fascination with India, but each version can also be read as a paradigmatic expression of German film history across three political epochs: the Weimar Republic, the Nazi era, and finally, the still-young Federal Republic of Germany. Each version freely adapts the novel differently, with certain shifts in the constellations of characters, lovers, and conflicts, but the main story remains an escape thriller. While a rich bibliography exists on May's and Lang's film adaptations from the perspectives of film history, ideological criticism, and postcolonialism, Eichberg's version has received less scholarly attention. To fill this gap in current academic literature, this chapter focuses on Eichberg's adaptation of von Harbou's novel, providing a reading of its nuanced representations of India that sometimes go beyond the wellworn stereotypes of the country as a highly exoticized and Orientalized space of the German imagination.

Eichberg filmed the story in two parts, the first of which, Der Tiger von Eschnapur (The Tiger of Eschnapur), is a kind of prequel to the actual novel Das indische Grabmal, which constitutes the second part.

On the eve of Independence, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, Minister for Home Affairs of what was still the Kenya Colony, issued Ministry Circular No. 2. Innocuously titled ‘Membership of Clubs’, the circular was addressed to private and non-private clubs. It stated that:

[The government] wishes to advise all clubs against any discriminatory constitution they might have at present. The government is of the opinion that any constitutions which bar membership solely on grounds of race, colour, or creed, is out of step with the times.

It was unsurprising that Circular No. 2 was one of the first official acts of Kenya's first (broadly) popularly elected government. While colonialism has taken different forms in its journey around the world, one of its common building blocks has always been the maintenance of racial dominance through spatial segregation and exclusion. Look to the history of any anti-colonial freedom movement and you will find it recorded in stark terms, memorialised as a marker of humiliation and subjection.

Under colonialism, spatial segregation was enforced both through laws, and through the action of “private individuals,” who owed their power, status, and ability to exclude to their positions within the colonial hierarchy. This is why Ministry Circular No. 2 was categorially addressed to private and non-private clubs. Oginga Odinga would later say that his goal was to ‘outlaw the social colour bar’. He would also wryly note that ‘some [bars, hotels, and clubs] tried to wriggle by claiming that their exclusiveness was based not on colour but on interest, but we were not persuaded’.

Berlioz habitually misspelled the name of Louis Niedermeyer (1809–65), pianist (a pupil of Moscheles), composer, and teacher of Swiss origin. He studied operatic techniques with Rossini in Naples, then settled in Paris in 1823. He was an important pioneer in the development of French song but was unsuccessful as an opera composer. He founded a ‘Society of Vocal and Religious Music’ in 1840 which came to be known as the Niedermeyer School, where Gabriel Fauré studied and Camille Saint-Saëns was a teacher.

Towards the end of last month, this remarkable work was performed in the church of Saint-Eustache through the efforts of the committee of the Association of Musical Artists. I am not to blame if I haven't had the occasion before now to speak about it and give the composer the justice he deserves. But the impression this religious work made on me was not one of those that fades after several days, and I think it is still sufficiently clear in my head for me to write about it without presumption.

I shall abstain totally from touching here on a question that's much in the mind of a small musical sect: a question answered by those followers of the unthinking schism which, on the pretext of making Catholic music, prefers to have religious services without any music at all. First of all, these musical Anabaptists didn't want violins in churches, because violins remind us of theatrical music (as if theatres don't also have voices and, in their orchestras, violas, cellos and contrabasses, etc.). After that, the stops of modern organs, in their opinion, are too varied, too expressive, too beautiful. Then they started to condemn melody, rhythm, and even modern tonality. The moderates among them still allow Palestrina; but the hardliners, the Balfour of Burleys of these new puritans, won't accept anything but unaccompanied plainsong.

This appendix provides information and texts on unofficial publications of prayers before and after the 1688–9 revolution in England, and on Jacobite special days of worship in Scotland during the rebellion of 1715–16.

Williamite prayers, 1688 (England)

The eighteenth-century historian Sir John Dalrymple observed that during the autumn of 1688 ‘the clergy of Holland and of Britain wearied heaven with their prayers … for the success, or the disappointment, of their different Princes’. As William of Orange gathered forces in the United Provinces for an armed intervention in England, James II's government published on 11 October a form of prayer for use in all parishes in England and Wales ‘during this time of publick apprehensions from the danger of invasion’ (see 1688–EIr3). This form contained three prayers, for repentance, for the king and for peace and unity, which as well as appealing for divine favour, were intended to anticipate and counteract Williamite propaganda. This Williamite propaganda developed on a considerable scale and included various printed prayers, as part of the effort to establish a religious as well as a political claim for the prince's cause.

The main Williamite statement, The declaration of his royal highnes William Henry, … prince of Orange, dated 10 October (n.s.: 30 September in the old style used in England) gave as his first reason for armed intervention the ‘preserving of the Protestant religion’. Some versions of this document contained ‘a praier for the present expedition’ (printed below as prayer A). Perhaps 60,000 copies of the declaration were printed in The Hague, Amsterdam and Rotterdam, and dispatched to England.

Note from the author

This book is written already knowing the many positive and wonderful aspects of the tradition of Irish traditional music. Examples include but are not limited to: a sense of identity, belonging, and community; a space in which to meet new people and new friends – many of whom you perhaps would not have met without the common bond of music making; the unique performance opportunities that can come from participating in the scene, whether as a soloist or as part of an ensemble; and the many potential opportunities for collaboration and creativity with musicians from all genres. I have been fortunate to experience all of these positive aspects and am so grateful for the many friends I have met through participating in the scene and the unique experiences music has opened to me.

However, the aim of this book is not to discuss the many positive aspects of the tradition. While I have presented some alternative discussions and experiences to demonstrate different lived experiences of the scene and industry, the research has purposely focused on those who have been impacted negatively by the industry and scene at various points in their lives/career. In doing this, I have aimed to give those who have been most negatively impacted a platform because while the positive accounts of the commercial Irish traditional music industry and recreational scene are important and should be noted, they have become understood and normalised for years, creating an echo chamber that constantly disputes and minimises those who are pushed to the margins.