This edited article about espionage around the Spanish Armada originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 706 published on 26 July 1975.

The Spanish Armada (top) preoccuppied Elizabeth’s spymaster general, Sir Francis Walsingham (centre), but of all Britain’s spies, Christopher Marlowe, who was killed in a Deptford tavern (bottom), was the greatest loss. Pictures by Eric Parker

Who defeated the Spanish Armada? “Sir Francis Drake,” would be the universal answering chorus.

But as anyone who lived in the days of Good Queen Bess would have told you, Drake was only half the answer. Behind him lurked another Sir Francis – a knight named Walsingham, Britain’s super-spy of the sixteenth century.

He was tall, slender, dark and mysterious, like an Italian cavalier. His tread was soft and he spoke only when it was necessary, but his eyes were everywhere. “He is my Moor,” laughed Queen Elizabeth, likening him to a stealthy Arab servant, but she knew his value to her and to her realm.

Walsingham’s official title was Secretary of State, an office he gained after many years in Europe as diplomat and ambassador. At home, as England’s spy-master, he was never short of enemies, for these were the times when England and Spain were perpetually in an ugly mood with each other.

With war always on the cards, Walsingham concentrated his agents in Spain. The star among them was Antony Standen who, using the name of Pompeo Pelligrini, and his own great charm, ingratiated himself with the courtiers of Spain’s King Philip in Madrid.

Thus it was that three years before the mighty Spanish Armada sailed up the Channel to invade England, Standen and his fellow spies were reporting to Walsingham that the Spaniards were assembling a great fleet in Cadiz harbour, and their plan was to use it to attack England.

Read the rest of this article »

This edited article about Hughenden Manor originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

Hughenden Manor

Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, bought Hughenden in 1847. The manor is really Georgian in style but was altered to its present Tudor appearance to satisfy the romantic passion for English tradition of the young Disraeli.

Hughenden has an incomparable position, standing high among the Chiltern Hills, overlooking a lovely park in which stands the church where Disraeli is buried.

With its contemporary decoration, the house is a typical example of a Victorian gentleman’s country seat and contains many relics of the statesman.

There are portraits of his friends, letters from Queen Victoria and some of the manuscripts of his novels. His study is arranged exactly as he left it at the time of his death.

The statesman’s son, Major Coningsby Disraeli, lived at Hughenden until 1936, When Mr. W. H. Abbey generously purchased the house, contents and the park for preservation. It was opened to the public in 1949, and is now run by the National Trust.

During World War II, the house became a storehouse of target maps which were used by the Allied air forces.

This edited article about tea-clippers originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

The Cutty Sark by John S Smith

Protesting creaks came from the Ariel’s three masts as the wind billowed the sails and whistled through the rigging of the tea clipper tied up at the jetty in China’s Foochow harbour in 1866.

In his cabin, the skipper looked up from his charts and turned to his mate. “Are we ready to sail?” he asked.

The mate nodded. “Cargo’s all stowed,” he said. “What do you reckon of the other clippers, sir?”

“They’re fine vessels,” mused the skipper. “But we’ll show ‘em a clean pair of heels, all the way to England.”

Opening the door of his cabin, the skipper stepped on to the deck to look at his competitors. There were four other sailing ships, either tied up at the jetty or anchored midstream. All were waiting for the right moment to set sail for England and each wanted to get there first.

These were tea clippers, fine vessels of the mid-nineteenth century with sleek lines for fast speed. If their freight space was small, this did not matter for the cargo they carried was worth a good deal in London. But it had to be got there quickly to fetch the best price and to keep its quality. Consequently, there was always keen competition among the clipper captains to be the first to arrive in London.

Read the rest of this article »

This edited article about County Durham originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

At Jarrow Bede taught children the message of the Gospel, by Peter Jackson

On September 27, 1825, a steam engine was standing on a newly-built railway line near the little Durham village of Shildon. It would have looked ridiculous to us today, for it was very small, and had a tall funnel that was quite out of proportion to the rest of its size. It looked rather like a present-day tar-boiler, and was coupled up to a string of trucks and improvised carriages.

“This is a fine engine,” said a man with a tall, shiny stovepipe hat and a green brocade waistcoat.

“Aye,” replied the friend who stood beside him. “Our Mr. Stephenson’s done a right good job!”

Suddenly a man appeared, struggling through the crowd towards the engine.

“There he is!” called the man in the stovepipe hat. “Mr. Stephenson!”

George Stephenson smiled at the excited crowd, then climbed on to the engine tender. The man in the stovepipe hat, his friend, and the rest of the assembled crowd, climbed aboard. Although tickets had only been issued to 300 people, nearly 200 more scrambled on to the train!

Read the rest of this article »

This edited article about swimming originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

Matthew Webb was the first man to swim the English Channel by John Keay

Just 100 years ago next month a lugger and two rowing boats took a little under 22 hours to make the crossing of the English Channel from Dover to Calais.

That may sound a long time to take to cover a distance on the map of some 21 miles but, in fact, their zig-zag crossing was dictated by the movements of a former merchant seaman battling against the waves and tide to become the first to swim that famous stretch of water that separates England and the Continent.

Captain Matthew Webb, a native of Shropshire, had set his heart on making the historic crossing. Early in August, 1875, he had to give up after being in the water for seven hours but had drifted hopelessly off course.

Less than a fortnight later he tried again and succeeded in swimming almost 40 miles through three changes of tides to win a place in swimming history. Sadly, Webb the hero did not enjoy his glory for very long. Eight years later when attempting to swim the rapids above Niagara Falls the task beat him and he was drowned.

However Webb’s Channel crossing did much to popularise swimming as a sporting pastime. Today we take a running tap and a purified swimming pool for granted but it must be remembered that the first swimming pool was not built in Britain until 1828.

Read the rest of this article »

This edited article about the Graf Zeppelin originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

The Graf Zeppelin by Alberto Salinas

Mountains to the left, mountains to the right and, far worse, mountains straight ahead. They surrounded a twisting valley in eastern Siberia through which Dr. Hugo Eckener was piloting his huge airship, the Graf Zeppelin. The jagged peaks were the Stanovoi mountains, and the pass below the airship, now forcing it to the limit of its altitude, was over 1,500 metres high. The winding canyon grew narrower. While the passengers in their luxurious lounge felt that they could have leaned out to touch the rocks, the crew knew that any sudden gust of wind could blow them to certain destruction on the mountains.

Then they saw the summit of the pass ahead, but still above them. Time seemed to stand still as Eckener squeezed a few more metres out of the silver Zeppelin until, with only a metre or so to spare, they were over the peak. Before them lay the welcoming Sea of Okhotsk, sparkling in the sunlight.

The historic flight had begun on August 8, 1929, from Lakehurst, just south of New York. From there the huge airship, named after its inventor, Count Zeppelin, had travelled across the Atlantic to Germany and thence across Europe to Russia.

Read the rest of this article »

This edited article about Charles Dickens originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

The charismatic novelist, Charles Dickens, gave dramatic readings which captivated his spellbound audiences. Picture by Neville Dear

The fashionably dressed audience applauded enthusiastically as the curtain went up. Most had paid heavily for their seats, some as much as £5, which was a lot of money in 1870. But none regretted it. It was money well spent to hear the great Charles Dickens reading from his own works.

Dickens stood there in the glare of the gas lights, a grey-haired, bearded man in a perfectly tailored evening suit with diamonds gleaming in his shirt front, but looking a good deal older than his 58 years. Then, as the house lights went down, Britain’s greatest living author began to speak. Within a few minutes, no fewer than thirty members of the audience had fainted.

It was not unusual. The medical attendants who set about rendering first aid had known what to expect as soon as they had read the programme. Even veterans of the Crimea were likely to feel distinctly queer when Charles Dickens read one of his bloodthirsty episodes, because he always made it sound even worse than the real thing.

Reading in public from his own work was something that Dickens started quite late in life.

Read the rest of this article »

This edited article about General Gordon originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

General Gordon of Khartoum by Graham Coton

In London, the bells were ringing to celebrate the arrival of the New Year. In houses, great and small, glasses were being raised, and in the streets people were linking arms to join in the singing of Auld Lang Syne. It was a time for jollity, of optimism and hope for a better and more prosperous year than the last. A time when the future was something to celebrate.

But far away in the besieged city of Khartoum there was no cause to celebrate the New Year for the very good reason that it promised only suffering and probably death for everyone behind its walls. For nearly three hundred days, the men, women and children there had been surrounded and hemmed in by an evergrowing army of rebels under the control of the fanatical Mahdi, the self-styled Messiah of the Mohammedans.

Already the situation seemed hopeless. The streets swept by shell fire; rations down to the barest minimum for survival; hundreds already carried away by disease; troops continually deserting; the city held daily with the greatest difficulty and loss of life; communications with the outside world completely cut off: it was hardly surprising that those who still survived saw no reason to celebrate that first day of 1885.

It was, sadly, a situation which would not have occurred but for the stubborn pride of General Gordon, who had been sent to the Sudan charged with a commission to withdraw the British from the Egyptian garrisons of Suakin, Berber and Khartoum. Instead, on arriving at Khartoum, he had decided that its fall would inevitably lead to a widespread revolt and the eventual control of the whole of the Sudan by the Mahdi.

Fearing nothing, and convinced that he was an instrument in the hands of God, he had decided to hold Khartoum. After coming to this decision, he wrote cheerfully in his Journal: “I own to having been very insubordinate to Her Majesty’s Government and its officials, but it is my nature, and I cannot help it. I know if I was chief I would never employ myself, for I am incorrigible.” The possible fate of those under his care apparently did not seem to have worried him unduly.

Read the rest of this article »

This edited article about motorcycle stunts originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

Some motor-cycle stunts are more spectacular than others

Captain Tony Scarisbrick is a man with an iron nerve. He needed this courage on 4th June, 1971, when he volunteered to be the forty-first man in a line of closely packed soldiers at a Royal Artillery motorcycle display at Woolwich, London.

Scarisbrick lay there unflinching as a motorcycle ridden by Sergeant Major Thomas Gledhill roared up a ramp at the end of a line of prone volunteers. As Gledhill reached the summit of the ramp, his 441 c.c. B.S.A. Victor Machine took off like a snarling beast. Would Gledhill have the power at his command to clear the men beneath him? Or would he crash upon them with disastrous results?

The watching crowds knew who was the most likely victim of an accident. It was Scarisbrick, calmly confident that Gledhill’s skill would enable him to rise to his feet unscathed at the end of the feat.

This confidence was fully justified. Gledhill cleared the 41 men successfully in a most spectacular leap on his machine which no man has yet been able to surpass.

This edited article about protecting and conserving Britain’s heritage originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

Londinium as the Romans built it, by Ralph Bruce

The occupant of an earth-satellite poised in space over Britain at the right altitude, would be able to see almost at a glance, if he knew what to look out for, evidence of man’s existence here during more than 5,000 years. This would be the record of his way of life, at first agricultural and then industrial, from the time when he originally established himself and laid his ‘signature’ upon the land. From Muckle Flugga at the tip of Shetland to the granite crags of Land’s End, history and prehistory would be spread out beneath his gaze. This is what we call our heritage.

His eye would be caught by the greatest prehistoric monument within our shores, Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain, the masterpiece of Stone Age Man which may have taken 1,000 years to build and was completed perhaps 3,500 years ago. Its true purpose is still not known. Not far from it, he would see the Avebury Stone Circle, the largest of its kind in all Europe, and the avenue of giant stones leading to Silbury Hill, the largest man-made mound in Europe. He would see, too, the hundreds of round and oval burial-mounds, especially in Wiltshire, marking the last resting-places of chieftains who died over 3,000 years ago.

All these are impressive relics of Stone Age and Bronze Age Man, the earliest inhabitants of Britain. The hills and ridges of Berkshire, Dorset, Derbyshire and elsewhere carry the relics of their successors. These are the great earth ramparts and ditches of the hill-forts established by Iron Age Man. They may be seen from the air, but you can see and explore them on foot. All are prehistoric sites. All were there when, in the last years B.C., the Romans arrived in Britain.

Read the rest of this article »