This article takes a fresh look at Anglo-American nuclear relations between 1946 and 1958. It concentrates on the relationship between the military establishments of the two countries in general and the ties between the United States air force and the Royal Air Force in particular. The article argues that an understanding of military relations is essential for an understanding of the high politics of the nuclear relationship. It is shown that senior officers in the armed services were the main ‘functional elite’ dealing with nuclear delivery systems and the planning for their use. Relations between these groups were personally and institutionally close and on the whole cordial. In Britain the link sustained optimism about the possibility of close nuclear co-operation in the 1940s and early 1950s and suppressed fears about the loss of nuclear independence in the late 1950s. In the United States it was recognized that military relations were an important channel through which to influence British nuclear policy. The article offers accounts, based on new archival research, of the nuclear aspect of the October 1947 Pentagon talks on the Middle East, Churchill's visit to the United States in January 1952 and the first Anglo-American joint nuclear targeting agreement – the Wilson/Alexander agreement of 12 March 1954. It reveals for the first time details of Plans E and X which equipped the RAF with American atomic and thermonuclear weapons between 1955 and 1958. The article concludes that the British nuclear force was becoming subordinated to the United States even before negotiations about Thor, Skybolt and Polaris missiles became central to the relationship.

The popular mind loves the dramatic and the macabre, and so it has come about that the two events of British Indian History which the man in the street is aware of are the Black Hole of Calcutta and the Great Mutiny. When there were no Mutiny horrors to contemplate, their place was taken by the legend of Tipu Sultan; even in 1831 Ram Mohan Roy was followed about by crowds in London crying Tipu Tipu. It has been a misfortune for British Indian understanding that these two events seemed discreditable to India; for though Seraja-Daula is now acquitted of responsibility for the Black Hole, and the military revolt theory of the Mutiny generally prevails, the popular legend continues. The well of Cawnpore is remembered where the well of Ujnalla is forgotten.

Few men have ever shown a more sublime faith in the divine origin of their mission than the papal reformers of the eleventh century. They set to work with a ‘modest proposal’ to destroy two of the most intimate and powerful foundations of clerical society: they aimed to abolish simony and with it the lay control of patronage; they tried to destroy the family life of the clergy. From one point of view they were doing only what every policeman does—they were trying to enforce the established law. From another point of view their platform was a devastating social revolution. If we may admire the high idealism of Leo IX, Humbert, Hildebrand and Peter Damian, we must also concede that their work had many victims; the legislation of the eleventh-century Popes on clerical marriage must have produced as many broken homes and personal tragedies as the morals of Hollywood. Both Damian the ascetic and Heloise the deserted wife have a claim on our sympathy as historians; and both found their supporters in their own day. Between the unbending demand for the enforcement of celibacy and the view of the Anonymous of York that it was entirely proper for the clergy to be married there were many possible positions. The Anonymous (writing at the turn of the eleventh and twelfth centuries) was propounding opinions already obsolescent; and clerical marriage found few defenders in the middle and late twelfth century. But if the field narrowed, the subtleties of the problem were more fully appreciated. The twelfth century was an age of growing sophistication in lay circles as well as clerical. Nowhere was this more true than in the world of love and of marriage; in that century (whatever the lot of womankind as a whole) the romantic ideal was born, under whose spell we still live. It is the variety and the subtlety of the view-points which give my subject its interest, and also its intractability. Clerical marriage is an exceedingly delicate topic, though it has not always been delicately treated.

The debate over Free Trade was central to modem British history. This essay shifts attention from party politics to the changing discourse and perception of state and economy within the business community. It distinguishes three phases in the erosion of liberal political economy: reciprocity, defensive tariff reform, and modernizing protectionism. An analysis of the changing argument for protection points to the emergency of a new politico-economic settlement in the age of war and coordinated capitalism. The Free Trade culture of individualism and market was displaced by a new economic vision of combination and regulation. In political culture, however, state and economy continued to be viewed as separate spheres. Instead of a corporatist system, the new settlement between state and business was marked by a dissociation of economic from political pluralism.

The professionalization of history in Ireland resulted from the 1930s effort of T. W. Moody and R. Dudley Edwards to fuse writing on Irish history with a received version of the history of early modern England. This enterprise enhanced the academic standing of work on early modern Ireland, but it also insulated professional history in Ireland from the debates that enlivened historical discourse in England and continental Europe. Those who broke from this restriction, notably D. B. Quinn, Hugh Kearney, and Aidan Clarke, made significant contributions to the conceptualization of the histories of colonial British America, early modern England, and Scotland. These achievements were challenged by the New British History turn which, for the early modern period, has transpired to be no more than traditional English political history in mufti. None the less, writing on the histories of Ireland, Scotland, and colonial British America has endured and even flourished. Such endeavour has succeeded where the focus has been on people rather than places, where authors have been alert to cross-cultural encounters, where they have identified their subject as part of European or global history, and where they have rejected the compartmentalization of political from social and economic history. The success of such authors should encourage practitioners of both English history and the New British History to follow their examples for the benefit of endeavours which will always be complementary.

References to England abound in nineteenth-century French political thought and what interested French writers about England varied enormously. English education, agriculture, religion, morals, national character, social structure: all figured in their writings. Very few failed to take note of England's rapid industrial growth and commercial power. England, in the words of Eugène Buret, was ‘le pays privilégié pour les études sociales’. Few Frenchmen, however, developed an enthusiastic admiration for English philosophy in this period. Yet there was one prevailing and predominant theme in French writings about England.

This article reconsiders Mary Tudor's victory in the succession crisis of July 1553. It challenges the traditional interpretation which accounts for Mary's unexpected triumph as the result of a ‘spontaneous’ rising of the East Anglian gentry. Instead it reclaims a central role for Mary's household affinity in the succession crisis and as such presents a longer-term perspective than accounts of Mary's coup d’état have provided hitherto. It concludes by pointing to the implications of the role of Mary's household for interpreting the politics and religion of her reign.

In the last fifteen years military history in Britain has gained considerably in respectability, both in the country at large and in academic circles specifically. But it still has problems of identity. On the one hand, military history can at last find itself judged as part of ‘total history’. But, on the other, its origins as the staple fodder of nineteenth-century military academies have bequeathed it a strong didactic flavour which has proved hard to shed. Military history and strategic theory do not yet stand in the same relationship to each other as, say, political history and political theory. Perhaps because in Britain there is still too little independent informed analysis of defence, military history can be employed in a dual role. The ‘lessons of history’ are stronger here than in any other area. However impeccable the motives of military historians, their work is too often used as a prescription for the future rather than as a study of the past.

The origins of the Scottish National Covenant of 1638 in the traditional practice of banding have been explored in the past, as have the links between the Covenant and a millenarian perception of the Scots as an elect or covenanted nation. By locating the Covenant in the context of the sort of debate that went on about the legitimacy of the Five Articles of Perth after 1618, and in particular by considering the use in that debate of arguments relying on the Negative Confession of 1581, this paper suggests that the Covenant may have had less to do with asserting the particular heritage and destiny of the Scottish people than with re-tying the bonds of the universal law of God.

This essay challenges the established interpretation of the political allegiances of the miners of north-west Derbyshire. It shows that, far from being dominated by parliamentarian and puritan ideas in 1642, the miners were deeply divided in their response to the war. Both the king and the parliament were able to recruit troops from amongst the miners throughout the first civil war. From this, a broader critique of recent historical work on popular politics and popular allegiances before and during the English Revolution is mounted. It is argued that ‘post-revisionist’ and Marxian historians have deployed overly schematic and deterministic models of allegiance which frequently fail to reflect the complexity of popular responses to war and revolution in England in the 1640s.

In the General Introduction and Conclusion to our book, Paris 1961: Algerians, state terror, and memory, we argue that the time has come to move beyond the current phase of political battle, the fixed-position trench warfare, over the events of ‘17 October’ for a more open history that can begin to address some wider and more fruitful questions. At the core of the polemic during the last decade has been the almost obsessive ‘battle of numbers’ that has raged between the maximalist Jean-Luc Einaudi (200–300+ deaths at the hands of the police) and the minimalist Jean-Paul Brunet (at most 30–50 deaths, but only 13 conclusively ‘proven’). In replying to Jean-Paul Brunet, we shall discuss two substantive issues: the nature of the evidence and its interpretation, and inevitably the question of the number of fatalities.

This article utilizes the metaphor of the post-war Lost Generation to investigate the chronology of middle class political realignment and Liberal decline. It suggests that the Liberalism of twentieth-century Norwich owed its existence to the perpetuation of a closed culture based on business, chapel and urban residence. It questions the degree to which dissenting Liberals had been assimilated into the dominant ideology before 1914 by reference to marriage ties and associational links such as the freemasons. It asserts that the downfall of this Liberal culture in the long run, though not immediately, was the result of the Great War, which allowed the younger generation to break out of their insular world and mix more freely with the Anglican upper-middle class. However, it also demonstrates that the closed culture was such that those of the Edwardian political generation, although affected by the War, did not reject their Liberalism. Most continued to actively support the party into the 1930s, questioning the view that the middle classes had largely deserted the Liberals by 1924. Rather, it was the political maturation in the 1930s of the War generation which heralded the end of urban Liberalism and the triumph of middle class Conservatism.

Although ‘Whig’ and ‘Tory’ are among the most historic words in the language of English politics, their origins have never been subjected to modern scholarly study. Modern historians of the Exclusion Crisis are attracted by other aspects of the period; we find in the words little of die immediate relevance or historical continuity which Macaulay saw when he wrote glowingly of ‘two nicknames which, diough originally given in insult, were soon assumed with pride, which are still in daily use, which have spread as widely as the English race, and which will last as long as the English literature’.

Recent work in the modern history of sexuality, now an established field of inquiry, is characterized by particular approaches to the interpretation of modernity and selfhood. In general, and in contrast to previous approaches, the books under review treat modernity as a localized process with specific effects. Sexual identity is understood in a similar way, as a phenomenon bounded by locality, class, age, nationality, gender, patterns of sociability, and other contextual factors. As such, speaking of sexual identity as a unitary entity, or as something that has historically been structured by an opposition of homosexual/heterosexual, no longer makes sense. In fact, the homo/hetero binary is of much more recent vintage than has been hitherto thought. These histories of sexuality challenge historians of all kinds to rethink the nature of categories like selfhood, identity, and modernity.

The Conservative party's preparations for the 1929 general election have been harshly treated by historians. Because the election was lost, they have understandably concentrated on explaining the defeat and so looked for weaknesses in Conservative leadership, policies and organization. It is also understandable that in the light of subsequent economic analysis, the Conservative election platform of ‘Safety First’ has suffered badly from comparison with the Keynesian-style policies of the Liberal party programme, We can conquer unemployment. But the contention here is that all too easily such hindsight has impeded a proper understanding of Conservative policies and tactics.