Society

From The Spectator, 7 November 1914: We are glad to note that the Indian Government has issued a reassuring proclamation as regards the Holy Places. We trust, however, that before long France, Russia, and Britain, all of whom are Powers with large numbers of Mohammedan subjects, will join in a common declaration to the Moham- medan world that in no circumstances shall we interfere with the Holy Places or the religious feelings of Mohammedans. Moslems may be perfectly certain that no rearrangements made after the war will compromise in the very slightest degree religious rights in Arabia. We owe such a declaration to our Mohammedan subjects and to ourselves. It

Looking for real power? Get a jump-start on the future of global fuel at The Spectator’s energy conference on 1 December. Tickets are still available here. There’s a great New Yorker cartoon – two cavemen, sitting in a cave, looking suitably homo habilis or something, all sloping foreheads and protruding jaw. The caption reads: ‘Something’s just not right – our air is clean, our water is pure, we all get plenty of exercise, everything we eat is organic and free-range, and yet nobody lives past thirty.’ I think of it whenever someone trots out a living-close-to-the-soil, modern-lives-are-killing-us mantra about how we should stop eating cooked food or only wear natural fibres or whatever. Humans

From The Spectator, 7 November 1914: THE most important event of the week has been the declaration of war on Turkey by Britain. In the words of the London Gazette of Thursday: “Owing to hostile acts committed by Turkish forces under German officers, a state of war exists between Great Britain and Turkey as from to-day. Foreign Office, November 5th, 1914.” The Gazette also contains an Order in Council annexing the island of Cyprus. The Order points out that the outbreak of hostilities annuls the Convention, Annexe, and Agreement made between us and the Turks in 1878. In addition, the British Fleet during the past week has been busily bombarding

Anyone surprised by the revelation that workers manufacturing those expensive Fawcett Society/Whistles T-shirts are paid just 62p per hour will probably get a nasty shock if they research the origins of the clothes in their own wardrobes. That’s why it’s a little hard to pass judgement on Ed Miliband, Nick Clegg and Harriet Harman for not knowing where those £45 T-shirts came from. Alex wrote a splendidly provocative blog a while ago about sweatshops which reminded us of the alternatives that are realistically available to most of the workers who crouch over sewing machines to produce tops that only survive a few washes anyway. But even with that acknowledgement, you

From The Spectator, 31 October 1914: THE following are extracts from the diary kept by a Red Cross probationer this autumn: Tuesday—A rumour has gone about that we are to have wounded here one day this week. I wonder! Instead of dusting, I polished all the twenty electric-light switches all round the ward this morning, besides doing the taps. Far more amusing than dusting and much better exercise. Wednesday—One of the patients—No. 8—ran quite a bad temperature to-day, and seemed in great pain. It was wretched to see him suffer; he seems unable to eat or sleep, and gets no rest from his pain. Such a wet day! For the

Possibly you’ve missed this. However, for the last three years or thereabouts, I have been conducting a low-key campaign for the revival of the turnip lantern. And this year, for the first time ever, I am remembering to write about this before Halloween, rather than afterwards, albeit narrowly so. Fie on this pumpkin nonsense. If you are thirtysomething or older, one surefire way of figuring out whether somebody comes from outside the M25 is to ask them whether they have ever carved a turnip. ‘A what?’ they’ll ask, if they are from the south-east, because they don’t even know what turnips are, because they call them swedes. Which is just

Autumn in New York: they even wrote a song about it that was a great hit 60 years ago. Last weekend the sky was awash in blue, Manhattan at its best, with Central Park gleaming in green and only the crowds marring the views. New York has changed dramatically these last 50 years, but what city has not? The place has got richer, but not better as far as the quality of life is concerned. That ghastly Bloomberg midget sold the place to the highest bidders, so developers are singing his praises, not unlike bootleggers paying homage to Al Capone. Manhattan was always chic in the Upper East and West