Dr Elton has now written at length (Historical J. I (1958), 21–39) to support his view that Henry VII's reputation for rapacity was undeserved, while the idea that this ‘policy turned from just to unjust exactions was based only on insufficient knowledge of the facts’. He may have shown that Henry's actions were legal; he has not shown that they were just.What is unpopular is not necessarily unjust, but the opinions of subjects merit as full and sympathetic treatment as the policies of kings. Dr Elton's argument is of a type with those which claimed that, since Hitler's was a legally constituted government, it was sentimental to complain that its persecution of the Jews was unjust.

Patterns of voting in Britain between the second Reform Act of 1867 and the Franchise Act of 1918 have to be scrutinized afresh in the light of Dr Dunbabin's recent suggestion that very little changed in the period. The electoral profile of the regions, he argues, remained fundamentally constant from well before the period until well afterwards. The basis of the cleavage between conservative and anti-conservative voters was deeply ingrained in regional character and was merely modified slowly by processes of social change, of which the chief was the sprawling growth of London. This is to challenge earlier views holding that there was a deep-seated shift in the allegiance of the electorate in the years before the first World War. Of such views the most carefully worked out is that of Dr Clarke. The cleavage between the conservative and the anti-conservative at the beginning of the period, according to Dr Clarke, was founded on the gulf between different communities of which the primary social bond was religion. The confrontation between conservative and liberal corresponded to, and was the political expression of, that between church and chapel. By the end of the period, however, the basis of cleavage was no longer religion but class. Conservative strength was sapped by a tendency to working-class solidarity which at first benefited the liberals more than the infant labour party and which explains the two liberal general election victories of 1910. The social base of the parties had been transformed so that the electoral conflict was no longer a matter of ‘cultural politics’ – a rivalry of contrasted, classless cultural units – but a matter of class politics. Dr Clarke asserts what Dr Dunbabin denies, that there is a sharp discontinuity between the characteristic pattern of nineteenth-century politics and the characteristic pattern of twentieth-century politics.

While it is incontestable that the Great Fire led to a new awareness and to stronger measures to prevent and to fight fires, this was not because it was the worst in a long series of serious fires, but because it was one of the first. London had no really large fires in the four centuries before 1666, but was to experience fifty or more in the following 200 years. This article asks why. Alongside the obvious facts of rapid population growth and the resulting shoddy building, the continued use of timber for housing, and the inadequacy of fire prevention measures, it suggests that the growth of London's maritime trade and the concentration of stores of new types of highly flammable products, particularly along the river, created a new vulnerability to disaster that made earlier forms of fire control inadequate.

This article builds on the recent willingness among British, Canadian, and imperial historians to question older national histories, and to re-examine how the divergent societies, economies, and polities of the empire once interacted in a wider ‘British world’. It argues that the press acted as a key mechanism for the transmission of political ideas through the permeable internal boundaries of empire. This is demonstrated through analysis of contemporary debate over the Canadian–American reciprocity proposals of 1911. This controversy provided an opportunity for political groups in Britain and Canada to use the press to forge alliances with each other and work together on a specific issue. Two key forces made this possible. In Britain, constructive imperialists had since 1903 sought to rally Dominion support for tariff reform, initially with limited success. In Canada, neither western farmers nor eastern manufacturers seemed interested in imperial preference. It was the reciprocity proposals that changed the situation, providing the second driving force. Canadian manufacturing interests, seeking to prevent the lowering of tariff barriers against United States rivals, began to court British constructive imperialists. As a result political conflict was reshaped both in colony and metropole.

This article seeks to establish the burden of direct taxation in the city of London in the sixteenth century. Previous discussions have been confined to the yield of parliamentary subsidies which cannot give a full picture because of the way responsibility for equipping military levies was increasingly devolved on to the locality. Estimates of the costs of the various additional military levies are therefore made. Innovations in parliamentary taxation enabled the crown to levy extraordinary sums in the 1540s, but they required a level of intervention by the privy council which Elizabeth's government was not prepared to make. The subsidy performed especially badly in London in the later sixteenth century. Local military rates compensated to some extent, but tax levels in real terms were very much lower in the 1590s than the 1540s. Nevertheless taxation was becoming increasingly regressive, which helps explain the greater level of complaint in the 1590s.

The study of the Edwardian Conservative party is rapidly becoming as much of a minefield as that of the Edwardian Liberal party. Both parties were in serious difficulties in the years immediately preceding the First World War. But whilst the condition of the Liberal party is at least openly acknowledged as a disputed area, its perils clearly marked, the condition of the Conservative party is treacherous ground, the hazards uncharted. From one point of view, ‘it would be easy to give an account of Edwardian politics in which the emphasis fell on “the crisis of Conservatism” and on the parlous state of the Conservative party on the eve of the War… The fundamental weakness of the Conservative party lay in its inability to win elections.’ Alternatively, ‘Both at the local-government level and in national by elections in 1912 and 1913, what was at work was not so much “The Strange Death of Liberal England” as “The Strange Revival of Tory England”. The most likely outcome, moreover, was not apocalyptic, merely a Conservative triumph in the general election scheduled for 1915.’ By a curious coincidence, or perhaps editorial perversity, these two views are juxtaposed on consecutive pages of the same collection of essays.

Although higher murder rates have traditionally been associated with large cities, this view has recently been challenged by several historians who have argued that ‘homicide rates were negatively correlated with urbanisation and industrialisation’, and this is rapidly becoming the new consensus. By exploring the geography of homicide rates for one area undergoing rapid urbanization and industrialization – England and Wales, 1780–1850 – this article challenges this new view and re-assesses the relationship between recorded homicide rates and both modernization and urbanization. After discussing the methodological problems involved in using homicide statistics, it focuses mainly on the first fifteen years for which detailed county-based data is available – 1834–48 – as well as looking at the more limited late eighteenth-century and early nineteenth-century evidence. This data raises fundamental questions about the links historians have recently made between urbanization and low homicide rates, since the remote rural parts of England and Wales generally had very low recorded murder rates while industrializing and rapidly urbanizing areas such as Lancashire had very high ones. Potential explanations for these systematic and large variations between urban and rural areas – including the impact of age structures and migration patterns – are then explored.

In Venice on 5 October 1570:

A man of ordinary height, dressed in the foreign style, with a curved black beard, was escorted into the Holy Office and asked his age.

He answered, ‘Some forty years’.

He was asked his name, his surname, his father, his status, his country and his employment.

He answered, ‘My name is Abraham, called Righetto, my father's Num Rig (a Spaniard of Portugal), my occupation is that of an exchange-broker; I am no Christian but a Jew; and I have been detained in the prisons of the Most Excellent Council of Ten’.

He was asked, ‘For what reason have their Most Excellent Lordships sent you to this Holy Office?’

He answered, ‘I know not, and cannot imagine, for I have never heard of Jews entering this Office’.

He was asked, ‘Do you know what Office it is?’ He answered, ‘This moment I was told it was the Office of the Holy Inquisition’.

He was asked, ‘In the last ten years, where have you lived?’

He answered, ‘Lately I have been in Spain, and was there three years from leaving this place, and I journeyed, too, to France; and seven months have passed since my return to Venice’.

One of the central problems that needs careful analysis and explanation by any historian of the revolutions of 1848 is that of the failure throughout Europe of the predominantly urban, middle-class revolutionary governments to secure tiie support of the peasant masses. With the notable exception of die alliance that Kossuth formed between Magyar peasants and gentry, which resulted in die heroic resistance of the Hungarians until late in 1849, there seems little evidence of die peasantry being won wholeheartedly to die revolution. In fact, far from a repetition of the Jacobin model of 1793–4, the more familiar pattern emerges of counter-revolutionary armies, composed largely of peasantry, destroying die urban revolutions. Peasants from every part of Europe made up the armies of Windischgrätz, Radetzky, Haynau and Paskievitsch which crushed Prague, Milan, Vienna, Budapest and ultimately Venice. Little or no support came from the German countryside for the dying Frankfurt Assembly in the spring of 1849; and, in the rather different conditions of France, the ballot box army from the rural areas in April and December 1848 dealt fatal blows to the aspirations of the Parisian revolution. In most of the great cities of Europe, the middle class had some limited measure of success in gaining and keeping the urban poor on their side. It was this alliance, after all, between the advanced sections of the bourgeoisie and the rapidly expanding lower classes of the cities, that was principally responsible for the toppling of so many of the Restoration governments in February and March 1848. But in a largely pre-industrial society, as Europe was at this time, the peasantry still formed the vast mass of the population, and could rightly be seen to be the arbiters of the bourgeois revolution.

It may be thought surprising that one should attempt to reassess the 1945 general election, in view of the attention which has already been paid to it. The election was, as is well known, the subject of the first of the Nuffield election surveys, which have continued thereafter to the present day; and although that book, unlike more recent Nuffield studies, contained no account of the politics of the period preceding the election, such accounts have appeared in more recent years, most notably, perhaps that by Dr Paul Addison entitled The road to 1945. Addison’s work, however, full though it is on the politics of wartime, stops short at the election itself; and the Nuffield study, being the first of its series, was also, it is fair to say, the crudest and least adequate – although when it was published it marked an enormous technical advance on any previous rapid study of a British general election.

‘Labour Comes of Age’, Kingsley Martin observed a few days after the party's electoral landslide of 1945. This might have been more precise if a chorus had added, sotto voce, ‘…And Comes Into an Inheritance’, for since the publication of Paul Addison's The road to 1945 (1975), the history of the Labour party during and after the war has been dominated by the notion of a political consensus forged during the Churchill coalition and left as a legacy to the Attlee government. According to Addison, it was the consensus of Keynes and Beveridge that shaped post-war politics rather than any distinctive contribution from Labour.

Although the broad outlines of al-Qa'ida's story are well known, less attention has been paid to its early development and evolution. How and why did al-Qa'ida leaders latch on to the United States as a primary adversary? What motivated Usama bin Laden to form al-Qa'ida in the first place? Did this motivation change over time? This article utilizes a series of recently discovered al-Qa'ida documents – such as al-Jihad magazine financed by Usama bin Laden during the 1980s, internal memos written in the early 1990s and captured by the US military in Afghanistan, and autobiographical accounts written since 2001 by former Afghan Arab fighters – to deepen our understanding of a clandestine organization that has caused havoc for the past two decades.

The object of this article is to reassess received views about the significance of the 1934 rally at Olympia for the fortunes of the British Union of Fascists. It begins by analysing the debate in the House of Commons which is traditionally seen as reflecting a reaction against BUF methods, and shows the extent to which it actually revealed sympathy amongst National Government members. Then follows a discussion of reactions in the press. The article suggests that far from being purely negative, the effect of Olympia in some parts of the press was to attract more attention, and not necessarily of a hostile nature. Finally it examines the reasons for hesitation on the part of the government in using the law and the police to curtail BUF methods in the aftermath of Olympia. It shows how far Mosley continued to conduct large indoor meetings, partly because he was able to make use of the existing law. The article concludes that the British defence of free speech after 1934 was less firm than is usually supposed and that resistance to fascism by the authorities was of marginal significance.

This article revisits the late seventeenth-century histories of two of England's most successful overseas trading monopolies, the East India and Royal African Companies. It offers the first full account of the various enforcement powers and strategies that both companies developed and stresses their unity of purpose in the seventeenth century. It assesses the complex effects that the ‘Glorious Revolution’ had on these powers and strategies, unearthing much new material about the case law for monopoly enforcement in this critical period and revising existing accounts that continue to assert the Revolution's exclusively deregulating effects and that miss crucial subtleties in the case law and related alterations in company behaviour. It asks why the two companies parted company as legal and political entities and offers an explanation that connects the fortunes of both monopoly companies to their public profile and differing constituencies in the English empire and the varying non-European political contexts in which they operated.

As British efforts to secure the approaches to India intensified in the closing years of the nineteenth century, expert knowledge of the states bordering the subcontinent became an increasingly sought-after commodity. Particularly high demand existed for individuals possessing first-hand experience of Qajar Persia, a state viewed by many policymakers as a vulnerable anteroom on the glacis of the Raj. Britain's two foremost Persian experts during this period were George Nathaniel Curzon and Edward Granville Browne. While Curzon epitomized the traditional gentleman amateur, Browne embodied the emerging professional scholar. Drawing on both their private papers and publications, this article analyses the relationship between these two men as well as surveys their respective views of British policy toward Iran from the late 1880s until the end of the First World War. Ultimately it contends that Curzon's knowledge of Persia proved deficient in significant ways and that Anglo-Iranian relations, at least in the aftermath of the Great War, might well have been placed on a better footing had Browne's more nuanced understanding of the country and its inhabitants prevailed within the foreign policymaking establishment.