Agricultural historians have long been aware that a major increase in productivity and output characterised the so-called ‘agricultural revolution’. Usually, however, this has been measured by indirect means: the fact, for example, that English farmers were able to feed some 3 million more people in 1700 than in 1540, and almost 20 million more in 1880 than in 1750. Since mouths were fed without recourse to massive imports -which would have had significant economic implications for the industrial revolution -and since these increases in output were achieved while the agricultural labour force was in steep relative decline, the obvious implication is that productivity was increasing. Measuring such changes has proved complex, partly because data were not collected in a systematic fashion prior to the 1870s, and partly because such evidence as we have relating to prices and rents hardly represents an adequate proxy for productivity. In general terms, the best material has been for the grain acreage, particularly for wheat and barley.

Cannon… is busy now bringing fern from the moor to use as bedding, he has cut it about a mile off up the lane behind Belle Green. It is a rough road to bring it down. I think I will go up next time with the cart and help the children to rake it, it is such a nice crackly fern.

At the East Grinstead Petty Sessions in March 1868 Charles, sixth Earl De La Warr brought ten poor men forward charged with oak and beech underwood cutting and trespass. George Edwards the Reeve had discovered six men cutting and tying, another three with handbills but who were not actually cutting at the time, and Abraham Card ‘a woodbuyer, etc.’ loading the wood onto his wagon. Edwards had cautioned the men against cutting: ‘When I got to them I read a paragraph from Mr Hunt's letter [Hussey Hunt, De La Warr's steward, warning against litter cutting]. They laughed and went on cutting. I then gave them all into custody’. It appears that the men were handcuffed and led away. Daniel Heasman, one of the men once again, was convicted and originally imprisoned for 21 days, the other defendants were originally fined 1s. damages, 1s. penalty and costs.

In December 1917, an article in the Daily Chronicle, entitled ‘The New Land Lady’, stated that:

One of the good things which may issue from this war is a revival of the old English countryside.

The happy village may be born again.

If this reformation should come, it will be the work of the women.

The nostalgia evident in this call for women's wartime ‘return’ to the land to restore a lost, pastoral idyll during an event more usually associated with modernity raises several questions. What meanings can be attached to the ways in which women agricultural workers were seen as the key to a ‘rural revival’ and thus as crucial to a revitalized nation during the First World War? And what are we to make of the seemingly contradictory appeal to women radically to leave their presumably urban and suburban homes and conservatively to restore the countryside?

As Raymond Williams pointed out, this emblematic English countryside has always been placed in a more ideal past, and the desires to return to or to preserve the allegedly unchanging patterns of land and the lives attached to it are integral to the problem of modernization itself. More recently, Alun Howkins has argued that the ideology and ‘ideal’ of England and Englishness have remained essentially ‘rural,’ and that in 1914 this was the vision of Englishness that ‘went into battle'. However, one might certainly be forgiven for assuming that the creation of the Women's Land Army and the resulting appearance of urban women in trousers, breeches and puttees in villages throughout Britain would herald something more like a ‘transformation’ than a ‘revival’.

A middle class ‘did not begin to discover itself (except perhaps in London) until the last three decades of the [eighteenth] century’. So wrote E. P. Thompson in the 1970s in a now-famous analysis which divided English society into patricians and plebeians, and which, along with J. H. Hexter's ‘The Myth of the Middle Class in Tudor England’, largely eliminated ‘middle class’ from the vocabulary of early modern English historians. During the past decade, however, there has been renewed focus on the middle ranks in early modern England, now commonly labelled ‘the middling sort’, and such studies explicitly or implicitly call into question Thompson's polarized portrayal of English society. A number of earlier works analyzed the middling in the countryside, particularly in the period 1540 to 1640; but recent discussions focus largely on townsmen, and most are concerned with a later period, the second half of the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. Even in a volume such as The Middling Sort of People: Culture, Society and Politics in England 1550–1800, a collection of essays presenting recent scholarship on the subject, the rural middling sort receive very little attention (a fact acknowledged by one of the editors). This essay will draw upon detailed evidence from several parishes to consider characteristics of the middling in the countryside during the later seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.

In the burgeoning literature on war memorials and the commemoration of the war dead in Britain after 1918, the growth of village halls in rural areas has not been extensively analysed. K.S. Inglis has alerted us to the dichotomy of monuments to mourn the dead and amenities to serve the living. He noted that where a preference was made for utility over monumentality, local war memorial committees did not confine their attention to commemorating those who died on active service and made the Great Sacrifice, but also had in mind those who served and returned. The complex locally-determined processes of negotiating ways which would bring solace or comfort to the bereaved, through the creation of an object of mourning, has been examined with great care and detail, but analysis of urban-centred initiatives predominates.

Consequently, the linkage which might be made between the experience of war and the participation of ex-servicemen in village war memorial debates, the demise of old elites and the quest for improved social and material conditions in rural areas, the diminishing support for parish churches as the focal point of community life and the emergence of undenominational social centres, all point towards the need for further examination of the proceedings of local committees, where parish records allow. As British participation in the Great War contained the powerful rhetoric of a religious crusade and was not connected to the improvement of social conditions until the publication of war aims in January 1918, many committees gave priority to the creation of sacred objects of mourning, with much use of exhortatory moral language and Christian iconography.

There are still comparatively few investigations which look, in detail, at who the rural English emigrants of the nineteenth century were, the villages and communities they came from, and the rural kinship and recruitment networks which supported their decision. Deficiencies in the published statistical returns, and the fact that good historical data about the English is mainly concerned with the first half of the nineteenth century, have not helped further emigration research. This has led to the situation whereby English emigration has been largely disregarded by some historians or, because British governments were initially preoccupied with emigration as a means of relieving distress, interpretations have tended to rest, precariously, on generalisations that English emigration was the product of economic dislocation. The dearth of historical studies is most striking if we note that, between 1853 and 1930, the English contributed over nine million emigrants to the European diaspora, that numerically they dominated Britain's non-Irish (English, Scottish and Welsh) emigration to most of the destinations available to them, and that the English have proved to be some of the most mobile and persistent of all international migrants.

In his book Green and Pleasant Land, Howard Newby used the term ‘occupational communities’ to describe the villages of rural England in the nineteenth century. By using this term he intended to convey simultaneously the notions that the populations of these villages were dependent upon a single economic activity, agriculture; that social and economic life within them therefore revolved around the agricultural cycle; and that social relations in such villages were defined and understood on the basis of occupational relationships within agriculture.

Although rural leisure in the half-century before the First World War is an under-researched subject, its most striking features seem to have been (at least according to the existing historiography) that it was dominated by the gentry and clergy, and restricted both in scope and quantity. The robust rural popular culture of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries had come under increasing pressure from gentry and clerical attempts to reform and sanitise it, initially through evangelical organisations such as the Society for the Suppression of Vice in the 1790s, but by the 1840s on a broad front due to the middle-class vogue for promoting ‘rational recreation’. Partly as a result of this, many popular pastimes either fell into disuse or became emptied of much of their former spontaneity in the second half of the century, a commonly cited example of the former being cock-fighting and of the latter maypole-dancing. In their place came carefully marshalled dinners and prize-givings sponsored by the gentry and clergy. On these occasions the labourers (and sometimes their families too) were sat down at trestle tables in some appropriate venue, often the squire's park, and edifying speeches were made by representatives of local landed society. The role of the rural workforce in all this was entirely passive, except for one or two labourers who might be singled out to give a speech of gratitude to the presiding landowner for his beneficence, and the ritual ‘loyal toasts’.

A recent article in Rural History illustrated how the Women's Institutes between the wars Were influenced by contemporary feminism. The argument of the article was that in seeking to change the material condition and status of countrywomen, and in effect, emulating craft trades union strategies, the WI movement sought to alter perceptions of women's labour in the home by enhancing their skills, encouraging co-operative endeavour and promoting an ‘active domesticity’. Furthermore, the domestic arena was extended to cover all aspects of rural life related to the home, garden, farm or allotment.

However, as time passed between the wars, less interest was shown in agricultural work outside the home, and, as Morgan states elsewhere, the agricultural ‘side’ of the movement became ‘severely diminished’. Whilst one might not seriously quarrel with this statement with reference to some periods of WI history, it is, nevertheless, a somewhat reductive approach to have taken when considering the interwar period. During that time, there is evidence to suggest that in some regions at least, WI members maintained more than a passing interest in agriculture per se. This was not simply in relation to the production and preservation of food, but rather as a means of maintaining the influence of women in rural policy making. This interest can be best detected in the educational sphere, from the promotion of classes in a wide range of agricultural activities and demonstrations at agricultural and horticultural shows, to WI membership of local agricultural education committees. Furthermore, the National Federation of Women's Institutes (NFWI) fought in many ways to maintain the agricultural ‘side’ of the movement because it was an integral part of its wider mission to educate countrywomen, particularly those who were destined to live and work in the Empire

William Cobbett was, during his own lifetime, a highly controversial figure who often found it necessary to defend himself against supposed misrepresentation. His historical persona remains no less controversial. The complexities of Cobbett's career and character have supported a variety of interpretations, and many writers this century have felt the need to define ‘the real Cobbett’. Modern misrepresentations have arisen less from false stories invented to damn him than from the misleading emphases employed to praise him, with both Left and Right seeking in their different ways to appropriate what they see as his legacy. For conservatives, he has been an essentially timeless figure, standing for Old England and all that may have made such a place great. Writers on the Left have treated him rather as a figure of the past, rationalised to fit into the rise of working-class consciousness and organisation, and divested of some aspects unseemly in an early representative of ‘the cause’. Cobbett has been adopted as an important figure for the Left, but readings based on the assumptions about working-class radicalism held by the modern British Labour movement have often found it necessary to exclude aspects of his writings as inconsistent, or at least idiosyncratic.

The St. Lawrence Seaway and Power Project was a massive restructuring of the St. Lawrence River bordering Canada and the United States. The river had always been used for human transportation, and a shipping canal for commercial vehicles was constructed and enhanced throughout the nineteenth century. However, the river grew increasingly incapable of handling an international fleet composed of larger boats during the twentieth century. Proposals to undertake major renovations for shipping were debated at the highest levels of policy for several decades. Finally, the St. Lawrence River was substantially altered during the 1950s. These changes created a Seaway able to accommodate vessels with deeper drafts and permitted the development of hydro-electric generating facilities through the construction of dikes and dams. All of this activity involved numerous agencies in the governments of the United States, Canada, the Iroquois Confederacy, New York, Ontario, other states and provinces, as well as commercial and industrial entities in the private sector.

Towards the end of his bittersweet novel Vile Bodies Evelyn Waugh has his heroine Nina Blount flying across England en route for her disastrous honeymoon. Attempting to make what passed with him for conversation, her stupid and rather boorish husband managed lamentably to misquote John of Gaunt's ‘Sceptered isle’ speech from Richard II. Then, as Waugh wrote:

I was most interested in the article by John Beckett et al. which appeared in volume 9 of Rural History. It contained detail about the Enclosure Commissioners' handling of the transition from open to enclosed field farming based mainly on Midlands evidence of which I was unaware and which I have not come across in East Anglia. Continued research may produce comparable material in local record offices and estate and solicitors' collections in other regions.