During the 1930s, and for some time after, the phrase 'national projection' became widely used to describe a particular form of official propaganda. The example of architecture, and its potential, had been central to the earliest and most influential vision of national projection, the one sketched out by its main advocate Sir Stephen Tallents in The Projection of England. National projection was about the conveyance of a group of images of England and approved new subject matter: industry, tourism, universities, scientific research. The United Kingdom Pavilion for the Empire Exhibition, Johannesburg, had been the tallest and one of the two most prominent buildings in the 1936 exhibition. Reactions to the British Pavilion were predominantly hostile. The main criticisms were that it was indecorous or undignified and insufficiently British. Attacks on the pavilion tended not to distinguish its exhibits from their container: 'dignity' was at stake in both.

As the conflict progressed, clerical criticism of the British campaign became ever more vociferous. The bishops gave a clear lead in their October pastoral of 1920. The sentiments expressed there were broadly shared by the Irish clergy, and animosity towards the crown forces only increased when it became apparent that ‘neither sacred places nor sacred persons were spared’, as Pope Benedict XV put it in April 1921. This new focus on British atrocities enabled the clergy to shift their attention away from the moral dilemmas that republican violence presented. However, it also created fresh problems. Clerical condemnations of IRA violence had often included protestations of the innocence of Catholic RIC members. Now that denunciations began to focus on the wrongdoings of the crown forces, the question of the moral status of Catholic constables needed resolving. This chapter examines the development of clerical responses to the British campaign, charting the emergence of the discourse of persecution described in the previous chapter. It also looks at the small number of priests who continued to support the crown forces and analyses their motives.

Through writing and publishing together, C. L. R. James, George Padmore, Johnstone Kenyatta, Wallace Johnson, and their allies strengthened their common belief that they could bring into being a new, independent Africa. In the communal act of writing and publishing, they created an 'imagined community', an Africa free of imperial rule. Unlike Kenyatta, both James and Padmore, their own ties with African tradition attenuated by centuries in the New World envisioned an Africa becoming more rather than less Western and leaving its tribal ways behind. Ras Makonnen recalled that the communists saw them as '"generals without an army, they have no base and must depend on their pens"'. Communists had worked themselves into positions as magazine editors and reviewers, and, Fredric Warburg feared, were certain to hand out rough treatment to books that were unsympathetic towards communism.

This chapter evaluates the legitimacy of parental licences and the monitoring and training of parents. It discusses the evidence for the effectiveness of parental training programmes as a means to protect children's interests. It explores conceptual questions, relevant empirical evidence, and legal, policy, and service issues concerning parental licences and the monitoring and training of parents. The chapter also explores various proposals for the State's role in respect of adults becoming parents and retaining the right to parent, including the licensing and monitoring of parents. Through the passing of legislation, the implementation of policies, and the provision of services, the State exercises a profound influence on parenting. The chapter examines opportunities both to acknowledge the presence of moral conflict and to try to resolve such conflicts through practical reasoning and practical judgement.

This chapter explores the heterogeneity of imperial sexuality politics and more generally of imperialism from a different angle. It suggests that regulation travelled poorly to Africa, in part because it was impeded by colonial environments, as seen and experienced by those who inhabited and governed them. English purity movements made an equally weak impression in Africa, despite pretensions to world-wide, or at least empire-wide, significance. When the British attempted to overreach their limited authority in West Africa, they were opposed. The chapter traces the deliberations on the possibility of introducing contagious diseases (CD) laws on the part of key figures in Sierra Leone's colonial establishment. It reflects and perhaps reproduces a preoccupation within historical and geographical research on imperialism and sexuality with CD laws. It might equally be argued that the government of Sierra Leone did not introduce CD laws because it had found other ways of regulating prostitution.

The island trades were a separate category, sitting apart from the New Zealand coastal and trans-Tasman trades. Temperate New Zealand stood at the edge of unruly tropical space. The development of a Pacific world shaped by maritime transport operations clearly increased anxieties about family life. Navigational challenges in the Pacific were a source of significant stress to Union Steam Ship Company of New Zealand (USSCo.) captains. Letters were awkward instruments in building and maintaining company operations across regional ports. The mobile histories of European workers at sea and ashore reveal some of the attendant preoccupations and problems the USSCo. faced in moving men and conducting shipping operations at a tropical distance from New Zealand. The competency of white captains routinely rested on indigenous pilots who guided steamers through reef passages safely.

Throughout the first half-century of colonisation the family and with it particular configurations of gender and sexual relations had assumed diverse functions and taken different forms. In the aftermath of abolition, the colony was figuratively reborn, renamed Tasmania in a conscious bid to cast off the 'convict stain'. In the colony itself, the family had, from the outset, been imagined explicitly as a site of discipline and a channel for power. Family and state power were associated, in particular, with the expression of masculine authority. From the late 1810s on, the settler family was, however, reconceived as a prison house and as a site, through the exploitation of convict coerced labour, for class domination and capital accumulation. In the absence of convicts it was hoped that a new, and less polluting stream of population and labour would spring forth, in the form of increased free emigration.

In the decade or so prior to the arrival of the Welsh missionaries, elements of Khasi religion had been superficially described by European visitors to the hills. They barely advanced on late eighteenth century characterisations of the tribes of north-east India as heathen savages who practised human sacrifice. The first generation of Welsh missionaries rarely chronicled Khasi religious beliefs. The baptism in 1848 of Ka Nabon was a moment of particular celebration for the Welsh mission, and the subject the following year of a published account of her conversion and persecution. Intervention into the ritual and spatial worlds of the village was a more clear-cut method of domination and control. Visual and textual representations of tribal women in the north-east, and across India more generally, reveal much about what Europeans imagined of the savagery of Indian sexualities.

Alice Ward Loomis's story forces us to consider white Southern women and their relationship to property and the implications for white women in a society within which wealth and social status was grounded in property ownership. In June 1826, Alice Ward Loomis married Col. Daniel M. Dulaney. Alice Ward Loomis Dulaney would probably never have secured her place within historical memory were it not for the fact that she was a white woman of substantial wealth and property. Southern white women's rights over property were always subject to legal restraint once married, but as a widow Alice's full rights in property were restored. In North Carolina, as elsewhere throughout the South, white women's access to property was determined primarily by their marital status. Investment in slave property enabled all but the poorest whites to earn an independent income.

In the twilight of the British Empire, flying imperially was one last expression of the reach of British overseas ambition and style. By securing administrative, cultural and trade ties in the Empire, flying also had a politico-strategic purpose. Moreover, for Imperial Airways passengers, and for private purchasers of British light aircraft, flying imperially was also patriotic. Flying imperially was an experience, an expression and always partly an act of imagination. The dreams began after the First World War. Demobbed airforce pilots sought new victories, frontiers and exhilaration by flying first, furthest, fastest or highest. The business of creating an imperial air passenger market in the 1930s drew heavily on selling novelty, sensation and status. Aviation may not have prolonged Britain's historically maritime Empire, but it did give imperialism new dimensions, meanings and significance.

The book examines the relationship between Indian and Irish nationalists in the period between 1919 and the late 1940s, and culminates in documenting the establishment of formal diplomatic ties between the two countries. It takes in the Irish and Indian independence struggles, placed respectively at the start and the end of the period in question, with neither route a peaceful one. The book focuses on the cogency of the Irish–Indian narrative, as for example when the two countries became republics within a year of one another, one outside of and the other within the Commonwealth. It addresses Indo-Irish contacts within the confines of Moscow-controlled bodies like the League Against Imperialism (LAI) and other communist-inspired associations. The book supplements the relevant historiographies and redefines the accepted paradigms of decolonisation. The book also discusses Subhas Chandra Bose's extensive contacts with Ireland.

This chapter examines the development of punk fanzines from the late 1970s, exploring the role of these music fan-produced publications in giving meaning to the experience of a music community. It talks about the way that punk zines have been understood in broader analyses of punk culture. The chapter focuses on one example of a British regional anarcho-punk fanzine and the way it constructed anarcho-punk as music, politics and, most importantly, as a community and movement. It seeks to understand how the zine author produced a publication, a sense of regional activity and a discourse of anarcho-punk authenticity. The chapter looks to more online uses of the idea of a punk webzine and evaluates the degree to which the visual, verbal and editorial practices of earlier print fanzines are reproduced in internet publishing.

This chapter argues that Andromache and her suppliant rhetoric stand at the heart of a wider Trojan presence in a play that Francis Meres described as a tragedy in 1598. King John is 'tragical- historical- mythological', a genre overlooked by Polonius. The chapter explains the Trojan matter of the play, which powerfully structures and textures the scenes of the siege of Angiers and, more specifically, the tragic fates of Constance and Arthur. Trojan motifs weave their way through Arthurian and other monarchical romances without much explicit acknowledgement. In King John, such processes include the Hercules/ Richard analogies and are evident in the ways Shakespeare revisits the historical material he found in sources such as Holinshed's Chronicles, and scenographic considerations. As in Heywood's play, the verbal and physical sense of towering verticality is a key to the dramatic tension of a number of scenes in King John.