Communist – Breaking the Fetters

To Shape the World Anew.

It’s a week since the founding conference of Your Party and the less said about the mess of factionalism and wasted opportunity the better. However, it did put me in mind of another gathering that attempted to harness the potential of Britain’s left- the formation of the Communist Party of Great Britain in 1920. Here’s an extract of my account of it from the book I’m writing about Bob Stewart.

There’s a photograph in the CPGB archive at the People’s History Museum in Manchester depicting a large gathering outside London’s Cannon Street Hotel in 1920. It resembles the kind of yearly school photo they used to take at the better type of educational establishment during the early part of last century. The passing of a hundred years or so has lent these figures some semblance of respectability – if you didn’t know who they were then it would be hard to identify them as revolutionaries and a threat to the British state. Red flags and ushankas are conspicuous by their absence. The men are all in sober suits and ties and, for the most part, adhere to the code of the time that a gentleman is not fully dressed without a hat. The headgear on display ranges from formal looking homburgs, some egalitarian flat caps and even a couple of jaunty straw boaters. Possibly interlopers from the Fabians. The comparatively few women present look out from under wide brims and give the impression that they do not, under any circumstances, suffer fools gladly. Everyone looks as if they have something extremely important on their mind. Bob is there, instantly recognisable with his broken face, sitting on the cobbles front row, seventh from the left. As ever, he looks more serious and full of intent than anyone else. Everyone looks as if they have something extremely important on their mind. This was the Communist Unity Convention. Over a hundred and fifty delegates from all across the country drawn from over twenty different left wing groups. Although it was formalised the following year in Leeds, this last day of July was essentially the beginning of the Communist Party of Great Britain. The following day, as the conference continued at a second venue, the International Socialist Club on East Road, Bob was voted onto the Executive Committee and became its Scottish organiser.

It had been two and a half years since the October Revolution. The Red Army was engaged in a brutal civil war repelling counter revolutionary forces aided by Western European allies. This support stemmed from the worry that the worker’s state would default on loans made to Imperial Russia and that insurrection would spread across continents like a disease. Winston Churchill, then Secretary of State for War, voiced his antipathy in visceral terms. In conversation with the Prime Minister David Lloyd George, he was purported to have said, “One might as well legalise sodomy as recognise the Bolsheviks.” Publicly, he announced that the ideology should be “strangled in its cradle.” Right wing groups such as the British Empire Uniontoured the country to “campaign against Bolshevist propaganda.” A photograph in The Daily Mirror shows that this amounted to a small group of portly, middle aged men each resembling the cartoonish stereotype of a bowler hatted capitalist standing dourly in front of a carriage daubed with the slogan, ‘Britain for the British.’ The union flag was unfurled and one of their number meekly held a placard decrying the red menace. The ‘B’ word became the pejorative of the day. More often than not its application was ridiculous. Even Austen Chamberlain, the Tory Chancellor of the Exchequer of the coalition government had his 1920 budget described as containing “the seeds of Bolshevism.” Any prospect of the mildest wealth redistribution would draw similar accusations. Appealing for greater harmony between Liberal and Conservative MPs, Lloyd George called for a united front against socialism. He emphasised his commitment to restoring the country through a “fair reward for individual effort” and damned the Labour Party’s commitment to “the doctrine of common ownership” as essentially the same as Lenin’s hated vanguard party. An absurd comparison but thanks to the extension of the franchise, Labour had emerged as the official opposition and so would inevitably be subject to incessant outlandish claims such as this.

If it attracted so much invective, what was it that drew some people towards communism in the 1920s? The answer is simple. For many, the shattering experience of The Great War was capitalism’s greatest crisis. As the population attempted to forge some kind of normal life in the years that followed they were assailed by a raft of social problems. What people got in actuality was far from what they thought they had been promised. At the beginning of the 1918 General Election Campaign, the Prime Minister had acknowledged the dire situation for many in the country. The war had been like a “gigantic star shell” illuminating the land. It had lit up “all the dark places […..] that we have never seen before.” The past four years of conflict had shown the “appalling waste of human material” in the nation. If people had been fed and housed properly and had lived in healthy conditions a million more men would have been fit for the services whereas there were millions “below par.” This was to be put right. Children could not be brought up in these conditions. After a death toll of millions in the battlefields of Europe he warned that there were, “more lives being lost and maimed through the atrocious social conditions that prevail, than through the terrors of this war.” The work of the nation was summed up in the memorable line, “What is our task? To make Britain a fit country for heroes to live in.” Slums would be cleared, houses built and industry and agriculture revived. Stirred by this rhetoric, the electorate rewarded Lloyd George’s coalition with a landslide victory. The type of victory that, once the fuss has died down, can only ever disappoint and disillusion. Bob’s view was this:

“I came out of gaol in April 1919 and entered an entirely changed world from the one I had left. The heroes had returned from the war to find the golden promises of a land fit for heroes to live in had not materialised. Many were unable to find work. Many, when they found it, got low wages on which they could not adequately provide for their wives and children. The housing shortage became a serious social problem as the soldiers, married during the war, tried to set up house with their war-wives and young children. The landlords, taking advantage of the shortage, found ways and means to raise rents.

The Dundee I came back to had all these problems and more. Lack of work, low wages, unemployment, bad housing and a housing shortage, and to add to the confusion, thousands of war disabled demanding work and maintenance.”

The economy was nosediving and social reforms put in place as an insurance policy against another Petrograd were failing to lift people out of misery. In the light of this, communism offered a compelling vision of the world.

The birth of the CPGB was made possible by the creation of the Communist International. Also known as the Comintern or the Third International it was formed in Moscow in 1919 and it’s raison d’etre was to advocate for a world revolution. Lenin believed that, unless there was a successful socialist uprising in Europe, all that the Bolsheviks had achieved would be crushed by the military might of its capitalist neighbours. To protect itself it would establish communist parties across the world and provide funding, instruction and training. The parlous economic state of much of the continent and the memories of the war still fresh in people’s minds meant that there was fertile ground for radical militancy. There were many eager to learn from the one band of Marxist revolutionaries who had actually achieved what others spent so much time discussing in smoke filled rooms or shouting about in front of factory gates.

In Britain, those others were the myriad of leftist groups that weren’t the Labour Party or the ILP. Veterans of the trenches and veterans of the anti-war movement. Trade unionists and suffragettes. All haunted by the horrors of recent years and united, in the grand tradition of British radicalism, by an intense distrust of each other. That aside, there was a feeling, which Bob shared that, with things the way they were, there should be more progress politically towards socialism. All had been galvanised by the events of October 1917 and began to hold talks to foster greater cooperation. The Comintern began to court several of these parties and Lenin secretly donated £500, 000 towards setting up the CPGB. A phenomenal sum worth well over £10 million today. As Francis Beckett noted in his history of the CPGB, Enemy Within, “Without Lenin’s continual encouragement, and the careful distribution of Soviet money among groups which had always been starved of funds, the Communist Party would not have existed.” The Unity Convention, in the Italianate surroundings of a railway hotel, was the first fruition of that investment comprising of representatives from the British Socialist Party, the Socialist Labour Party, Sylvia Pankhurst’s Workers’ Socialist Federation and also from tiny organisations such as the Doncaster Worker’s Committee, Ferndale Socialist Society and Bob’s own band of socialist temperance campaigners. The sun had decided to shine after several days of rain. Things were looking up. The collapse of capitalism was surely imminent.

Amid a fug of pipe smoke, it was clear, when the first resolution was debated, that this new party would be closely modelled on the Russian one. The conference declared for a Soviet system as a means for the working class to achieve power. Lenin’s slogan, “All power to the Soviets!” from the October Revolution still had the capability to thrill or terrify. The term referred to the worker’s councils that had begun in 1905 and proliferated in 1917. Emerging from the factory floor, they were created to fight against the Imperial regime’s control of the workforce through strikes, direct action and also military force. After the Tsar’s abdication, the Petrograd Soviet played a key role in toppling the provisional government during the Bolshevik coup. Those gathered in the room were convinced something similar could be achieved in Britain and that this would lead to the dictatorship of the proletariat. This concept was also much discussed and Bob admitted to the delegates that he did not know much about it and doubted whether anyone else gathered there did either, an early indication of how impenetrable the language of the CPGB could alienate even the most sympathetic listener. Still, it was deemed a necessary step in order to achieve the party’s main aims – a society where the means of production would be communally owned and controlled. The conference also declared that they would ally themselves with the Communist International. Bob could not know at this point how this organisation would come to dominate his life.

There was a debate as to whether the Party should follow a Parliamentary route or whether it should be an armed revolutionary movement – the disenchantment many felt regarding the Labour Party’s reformist path was tangible. Not that it would prevent several futile attempts by the CPGB to affiliate with them in the immediate future. A social revolution could not be delivered through the ballot box alone. And yet, “electoral action [would provide a] valuable means of propaganda and agitation.” Any elected representatives from the CPGB would be considered as having a mandate from the Party rather than the constituency in which they happened to sit. The majority of attendees wanted to get councillors and MPs elected but there were a few who enthusiastically advocated “the use of the gun” to achieve their aims. Given his experiences of the past three years, Bob was not among them. He said he often found the people who wanted to “shoot it out” to be the “worst stayers in the movement” and felt that such people seemed “unable to cope with the hard day to day grind of politics.” Bob rebuked one such comrade with the memorable line, “A great many people talk about guns who would run away when they saw one. I am more interested in folks having brains in their heads.” Bob went on to outline his argument further.

“Whether guns come soon, late or not at all, there will be times when it is far more revolutionary to refuse to have anything to do with guns. I think the provisional executive which is to be set up by the conference will be far wiser to devote themselves to building up such organisation as will make it possible to win the maximum of our party policy with the minimum of violence.”

In his account of the conference, Francis Beckett relates a story about how Bob attempted to get the Communist party to go down the prohibitionist path. The temperance movement had struck a chord with many of the comrades – alcoholism being one consequence of the hardship suffered by the poverty stricken and several saw abstinence as an essential part of their socialism. To Bob, prohibition was a revolutionary tactic.

“After the main resolution was carried, the stout sincere man with a sober moustache walked solemnly to the platform to ask the new Party to come out in favour of suppressing the manufacture of alcoholic drinks. Few thought much of the idea, but they liked Bob Stewart, so they referred it to the executive for action. In seventy-one years no action was ever taken.”

Sadly, this moment was left unrecorded in his memoir, Breaking the Fetters.

Alan Stewart.

RIP Diane Keaton.

Diane Keaton (1946-2025). Forget her superlative performances as Kay Adams in The Godfather movies. Forget Annie Hall. Remember her for her performance as Louise Bryant in Reds. That’s the one. We lost a comrade today.

Alan Stewart.

PS Obviously don’t forget her performances in The Godfather movies and Annie Hall but Reds is her best work and it is an amazing film.

Wartime Scrapbook (Marxist-Leninist)

Despite growing up in the 1970s, The Second World War loomed large in my childhood. Probably due to a mixture of factors but mainly because the children who had grown up in its shadow were now the adults in charge. Television output seemed mainly to consist of afternoon repeats of black and white acts of heroism such as The Longest Day, The Dambusters and Ice Cold In Alex. their influence on the seemingly endless free time we had back then cannot be underestimated. My parents ran a village pub in Suffolk and so, between the hours of 11 and 3 and then from 6 until bedtime, my brother and I were free to do as we pleased. Activities usually centred on tree climbing, den building and war games. We had access to a formidable arsenal of toy weaponry and would take great delight during these unsupervised hours in pretending to massacre the pub’s clientele. Sporting our plastic tin helmets and armed with authentic looking cap guns we imagined ourselves comic strip heroes from Victor or Commando. The pillbox left over from Second World War in the paddock behind the beer garden lent some authenticity to the proceedings. For a time I was convinced my father had won the war all on his own. I have a distinct memory of my five year old self looking up at Dad and visualizing him engaging in brutal hand to hand combat with Adolf Hitler against the background of a bombed out city, eventually dispatching the Nazi leader with a Gurkha knife. In reality my father was eleven years old at the time of Hitler’s suicide and living in Colchester while his father remained in London.

I’d always wondered what my lovely grandad, Bill Stewart, did during the war. I know what his father Bob was up to – passing secrets to the Soviets. There were some rumours that in the years before Germany invaded Poland that Bill had helped smuggle people out of mainland Europe to safety but unfortunately I’ve so far not been able to find any concrete evidence to support this. I used to wonder why he had never joined up when everyone else around me seemed to have a grandparent in the Army, Navy or Air Force. This was answered a couple of years ago when I read his files at the National Archives in Kew. He’d been prevented from joining up due to his communist views and his close links to the Soviet Embassy. It was Civil Defence for Comrade Stewart. I’m quite interested in British communists’ experience of 1939-1945 and it’s something I might return to later. In the meantime here’s some images showing my grandad’s involvement in the Home Front.

Here’s the note I found in Grandad’s MI5 file in the National Archives suggesting that his call up was blocked due to his links to the Soviet Embassy.

A letter from grandad’s old boss the Soviet Ambassador Ivan Maisky. The family were clearly glad that the Red Army was now an ally!

Bill Stewart is the figure second left in the dark suit holding the pole while defending Tottenham Lido from the enemy.

I love this photograph too. Especially the sign ‘Bathers in Swimming Costume NOT SERVED in Restaurant.’ Grandad was a very dapper man and despite his his belief in Marxist-Leninist revolution clearly had standards.

On a related note I think this extract from Matthew Sweet’s The West End Front is interesting – British communists led by Phil Piratin forcing their way into The Savoy’s as air raid shelter provision was inadequate. As my great grandad Bob wrote, “Everything you get must be fought for.”

When Max Levitas Stormed the Savoy

Alan Stewart.

Harry Pollitt and the Chamber of Bastards.

When we started this project on our great grandfather Bob Stewart, my brother and I both agreed that we thought there was much to admire about the man but also much to criticize. Although I’ve tried to steer clear of hagiography in my writing I probably haven’t been as critical on this blog as the subject deserves. Lately I’ve been working on Bob’s life during the Second World War. In my misremembered reading of Francis Beckett’s Enemy Within I had been under the impression that Bob had objected to the CPGB’s acceptance of the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact – Stalin’s squalid arrangement with Hitler. Turns out I was wrong. He followed the Stalinist line. So disappointing. Below is part of the first draft of my chapter on this period. Thanks to Katherine Mackinnon from Glasgow, who sent me the material on Bob from About Turn – the transcript of the CPGB’s meeting about the non-aggression pact. I wouldn’t have been able to write about this without her help and you can find out about her work at kmackinnon.org.

Bob Stewart and Harry Pollitt in 1947. Photograph taken by Edith Tudor Hart.

A spectre had been haunting Europe. The spectre of fascism. During the 1930s this new doctrine, fusing myths of noble past eras with a disturbing sense of victimhood, tantalised nations still shattered by The Great War. Many looked to Mussolini’s rise the decade before and sought to emulate his example. It was time for an iron hand. A need for discipline and national pride. Paramilitary uniforms accompanied political violence. Parties with an authoritarian distaste of the masses and enthralled with notions of racial purity flourished across the continent from Portugal to Romania. For a time it seemed unstoppable. Hitler had come to power in 1933, Franco took Spain few years later. In Britain, Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists were given a sympathetic hearing in the press for several years and attracted a membership of around 50,000. Reactionaries aghast at liberal advances in society found themselves a natural home.

Anti-fascism was the impulse that caused a new generation to gravitate towards communism. Whereas Bob’s politics had progressed to Marx and Engels via temperance, trade unionism and the anti-war movement, younger comrades viewed the world in which they found themselves with horror. A rising tide of cry bully dictators and the terror they’d bring. Communists were added to the long list of scapegoats that fascists believed were polluting society. Inspired by the Nazis, Mosely often denounced Marx to his followers, in part because of the philosopher’s Jewish heritage. Communists were often at the forefront of disrupting the British Union’s rallies and stopping them marching through Jewish areas to intimidate the populace. By the middle of the decade the Comintern encouraged communists across Europe to form popular fronts with other anti-fascist parties with the aim of halting the spread of the far right. The CPGB, having exhausted its approach of decrying everyone else on the left as ‘social fascists’ threw itself into this new line. Campaigns to aid republican Spain or to challenge Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s attempts to appease Adolf Hitler benefitted from drawing in a wider range of people. The party considered itself the bulwark against fascism. It had to be fought at every opportunity. Socialism or barbarism. It was a rare edition of The Daily Worker that didn’t highlight the fact that Hitler was the greatest threat to the world. Right up until the moment that he wasn’t. And everything turned upside down.

The volte -face was the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact signed on the 23^rd August 1939. A treaty of non-aggression, it committed the USSR and Germany to ensure neither country made alliances with an enemy of the other. Russia had been an implacable foe of Nazism; it now supplied the Wehrmacht with fuel and grain. Many made justifications that Stalin was buying time in order to build up his armed forces in order to more readily combat the threat from Hitler but the grubby deal included not so secret plans to carve up parts of Europe between them. Germany invaded Poland from the West on the 1^st of September causing Britain to declare war. Sixteen days later the Soviet Union invaded Poland from the East. The British communists were caught in an unresolvable conundrum. Their opposition to fascism was genuine and strident but the leader they had held up as a paragon of all that was good and true, Joseph Stalin, was now arm in arm with Adolf Hitler.

In the second week of hostilities, the CPGB’s leader, Harry Pollitt, published a pamphlet that laid out his party’s position explicitly:

“The Communist Party supports the war, believing it to be a just war. To stand aside from this conflict, to contribute only revolutionary-sounding phrases while the fascist beasts ride roughshod over Europe, would be a betrayal of everything our forebears have fought to achieve in the course of long years of struggle against capitalism…. The prosecution of this war necessitates a struggle on two fronts. First to secure the military victory over fascism, and second, to achieve this, the political victory over the enemies of democracy in Britain.“

On the day these words appeared Pollitt received a telegram from Moscow giving him instructions that the war was to be opposed. Stalin had instructed Georgi Dimitrov, the current head of the Comintern and one of Bob’s travelling companions on his first visit to Russia, that communist parties abroad should condemn their governments’ involvement in the conflict as imperialistic and, to keep Hitler on side, he wanted anti-fascist rhetoric to be minimal. Foreign communist parties were expected to correct their line immediately. Douglas Springhall, the CI’s British representative was on his way back from Moscow to clarify matters. On his return there followed a series of bad tempered meetings of the CPGB’s Central Committee to thrash out what they should do about the change of circumstances. Although Bob was not a member of the committee at this time he was seen as a senior voice in the party and attended the final two sessions.

Against the new line were Pollitt, J.R. Campbell and the party’s only MP, Willie Gallacher, figures who Bob was closely aligned with. Everyone else on the committee favoured following Moscow’s instructions which, as a travel weary Springhall admitted in the first meeting, amounted to the CPGB to not only highlight the imperialist nature of the conflict but to actively work for Britain’s military downfall. Revolutionary defeatism. When pressed on the possibility of fascism being imposed from within or without as a consequence of this Springhall confessed he had raised this question at the Comintern but had received only non-committal answers. A state of affairs which should have made the majority pause but, instead, the lemming like desire to adhere to Stalin’s directive was too strong to resist.

The hardline theoretician Rajani Palme Dutt opened the next meeting on the 2^nd of October. He was the main proponent of the Stalinist line and began by fashionably traducing an old comrade – Harry Pollitt. The new policy needed to be accepted by every party member with absolute conviction and those that had misgivings should be mercilessly cleared out. It was “foul slander” that the CPGB was changing because of the Soviet Union. The reversal was necessary because, “our line was the wrong line.” He implied that Pollitt was a half-hearted vacillator and that the crisis had unveiled “dangerous tendencies in our Party.” The duty of a communist was not to disagree but to accept. Reading the transcript of Dutt’s speech what springs to mind is not a key moment in the liberation of the international working class but, instead, a badly acted one man fringe theatre production of Animal Farm performed to a minuscule audience in a tatty room in Covent Garden. Which is what it was. Gallacher was outraged. Never before had he listened to a “more unscrupulous and opportunist speech.” Pollitt assured his opponent that he would not be intimidated, “I was in the movement practically before you were born, and will be in the revolutionary movement a long time after some of you are forgotten.”

When Bob spoke up it was to deplore the manner in which the topic was being discussed. He was glad not to have been present at the previous session and, in defence of Pollitt, he was wary of “sledge-hammer demands for whole-hearted convictions and solid and hardened Bolshevism and all this bloody kind of stuff.” Aiming a barb at Dutt, he emphasised that the tone he had struck at the beginning of the meeting was “not a good way to start.” It was a very difficult situation that they were facing and they had to find a way through. Clarity was essential. And he was unequivocal, “I am for the line.” Over eighty years later, I wish his words had been different. He qualified his support – the thesis the CPGB had received from the Comintern had been very short and he anticipated a longer explanation of why this policy was necessary and correct but he was willing to accept it in the meantime. Part of his reasoning stemmed from his background as a conscientious objector. If they could stop the war the communists would, “be doing a service to the people of Europe and the world in general.” He also reflected on Winston Churchill’s address as First Lord of the Admiralty which had been broadcast the previous night. It was a month into the war and the statesman had described Russia as, “a riddle, wrapped in mystery, inside an enigma.” It only acted in its own self-interest. In Churchill’s analysis, this might not be a wholly undesirable trait. He might have wished that the Russian Army had acted as friends and allies of Poland rather than its invader, but the Soviets were standing where they were because it was, “necessary for the safety of Russia against the Nazi menace.” The invasion from the East had halted Germany’s designs on the Baltic states and Ukraine. A small silver lining. Bob imagined that the situation would bring about a “very definite searching of hearts even amongst the bourgeoisie.” His own contemplation had led him to an overly charitable reading of the situation.

“Is it not the case that in the workshops there is no serious antagonism at all to the Soviet Union having walked into Poland? In the first few hours there was, but after a little bit of thinking and after they saw the newspapers, with the peasants getting their landlords’ land, etc, then a different kind of attitude began to occur in the minds of the workers.”

Tens of thousands of Polish prisoners of war were murdered by Stalin’s secret police, 22, 000 in the Katyn massacre alone. The Soviet occupation was marked by mass deportations to Russian Gulags and brutal repression. Bob’s comments, even in these early weeks, were as shameful as they were misguided.

The meeting dragged on until the next day in a belligerent atmosphere but it was clear the majority were prepared to support the Comintern directive whatever misgivings they may have had. The Second World War was a conflict between old Imperial powers and should be denounced and opposed by communists everywhere. I am thankful that my great grandfather was not a member of the committee and could not participate in the final vote on the resolution the next day. His friends Pollitt, Gallacher and Campbell remained consistent in their anti-fascism and voted against. Bob would have joined sixteen of his comrades in adopting a position endorsing Stalin and Hitler’s marriage of convenience which spat in the face of all they had campaigned for over the last decade. Once the meeting was over, Pollitt was no longer the leader of the Communist Party of Great Britain though his last act was to ask that the record show that Gallacher had voted with the majority. As the party’s only presence in Parliament he had to be seen to be following the line. Dutt took over as General Secretary in all but name.

Walking out of King Street that evening, mithering over what had just occurred, Bob would have been greeted by the sight of London’s preparations for war. Barrage balloons beginning to dot the skyline like eerie sentinels. Railway stations crammed with duffle coated school children weighed down with kitbags and boxed gas masks being shepherded onto hissing steam locomotives hauling them away to safety and homesickness. Late afternoon in autumn took on a gloomier aspect with the street lights and neon advertising extinguished in the blackout. A depressing and maddening day. It would be the last time he’d visit CPGB HQ for months. He’d not been coming in very often for a while. Through the tapped telephones MI5 kept track of people trying to reach him. They were often told that it was no good enquiring for him, that the only way to get hold of him was to visit him at home. He did not come in these days. Was he ill? No. As time went on there seemed to be some confusion over his whereabouts. In November one caller asked whether Bob was in London and received the reply, “I think he is.” Time and time again people were informed he wasn’t in and nor was he likely to be. He was no longer at King Street. Had he washed his hands of the whole lot of them after the rift? Or had he gone to ground?

Harry Pollitt used the free time he had unexpectedly acquired to write his memoirs, Serving My Time. In its pages he described the moments he shared with my great grandfather in 1924 when, surrounded by snow and ice, they attended Lenin’s funeral in Moscow. The event was of paramount importance to them both.

As Bob Stewart and I stood there, we pledged ourselves and the Communist Party to which we belong to prove worthy of our trust , and to build up in Britain a revolutionary party of which we could be proud. And Comrade Lenin would desire no greater tribute, no greater memorial , than the building up of a Communist Party in Great Britain that will lead the working class in the age-long fight to smash capitalism and achieve the emancipation of the workers.

How long ago that must have seemed.

Alan Stewart.

Bob Stewart, Ho Chi Minh and the Tattered Red Flag of the Communards.

L-R: Bob Stewart, Unknown, Nikolai Antipov, Grigory Zinoviev, Kliment Voroshilov, Ho Chi Minh, Unknown.
Partially visible behind L-R: Avel Yenukidze.

One of the benefits of researching a distinctive looking ancestor is that they’re easily recognisable to others studying the same topic. During the summer holidays, Maurice Casey, author of Hotel Lux (out now in paperback!) spotted Bob Stewart’s familiar broken face in a photograph taken in Moscow dating from 1924 when he was the CPGB representative to the Communist International. He could be seen, furthest left, in a group lined up behind a banner proclaiming, “ Long Live the Global Union Of Soviets!” Above them is a flag with a hammer and sickle in the centre of the globe which is framed by sheaves of wheat. The group look as if they’re in the middle of the chorus of The Internationale, The Red Flag or a similar revolutionary anthem. Bob has a broad smile on his face. Of the others, the only individual I could recognise was Grigory Zinoviev, the head of the Comintern, essentially my great grandfather’s boss at the time. In his email, Maurice pointed out the figure second from right, “a young delegate of the French Communist Party, originally born in French Indochina: today known as Ho Chi Minh.” Frankly I was stunned. Despite his attendance at Lenin’s funeral, late night consultations in the Kremlin with Stalin and his visit to China in the 1950s where he met Mao Zedong, I had no idea that Bob had ever encountered the man who would become one of the most influential leaders of the twentieth century. Even my teenage son was impressed having studied the Vietnam War in GCSE History. “They named a trail after him!” was his initial reaction. Yes – also an avenue, a square, several monuments across the world and a whole city.

The photograph encapsulated something I’ve grown to love about the communists of the 1920s. The optimism. The hope. The unwavering belief that they would change the existing state of things. Life would be better for millions. A lifelong abstainer from alcohol Bob would nevertheless would find life at the epicentre of this struggle intoxicating. It’s something I marvel at, especially in today’s atmosphere of grim resignation of successive governments that – no – nothing in society can ever be improved. Here’s more cuts. Here’s more crackdowns. Nothing to be done. The romance of this image of my forebear and his comrades – and it is Romantic – was only heightened when Liz Wood from the Modern Records Centre at Warwick University pointed out on Bluesky where the image had come from. It was taken on the 6^th of July during a massive celebration when representatives from the French Communist Party symbolically handed over a tattered red flag which had flown over the Paris Commune in 1871 to be placed in Lenin’s mausoleum which was then under construction.

In an eyewitness account published in the US version of The Daily Worker the journalist Anna Louise Strong describes how a four hundred thousand strong crowd poured into the October Field just outside Moscow. The ceremony took place on the International Day of Co-operation and the first anniversary of the signing of the new Soviet constitution. I imagine it was also organised to rally the workers after an appropriate period of mourning for Lenin after his death in January that year. The solemn grief of the funeral which took place in ice and snow months before was replaced by sunshine and a carnival atmosphere.

*The Passing of a Banner to the Moscow Workers by the Communards on Khodynka Field in Moscow* by Isaak Brodsky.

The fraying flag perforated by bullet holes had been taken down from the barricades of the Paris Commune over fifty years before and had been passed along various socialist groups in the intervening years in the manner of a religious relic. It had left the French capital with a farewell parade of one hundred thousand workers and was greeted on it’s arrival in the worker’s state by magnificent scenes captured stirringly in an oil painting by the artist I.I. Brodsky. I’m fairly sure Bob is depicted as one of the distant figures on the middle row of the tribune. It’s probably me being sentimental but it does correspond with the photograph.

Yeah, I reckon that’s Bob on the middle platform second left.

Strong’s narrative outlines the speeches, the songs, the performances and the sporting displays of this public holiday but at the centre of events is the handover of the scarlet standard.

“For nearly five hours they were marching 10 abreast into Hodinka field now named the Field of October. A great tribune 70 ft. square, with a pyramid of platforms one above the other, held the delegates of the Communist International, the central executive of Russia and the Moscow city government. Massed around the tribune were hundreds of encircling factory delegates bearing their factory banners of embroidered red silk or velvet topped with metal stars or sickles. Around these was a wide aisle and then came the hundreds of thousands of spectators with eight wide aisles formed through their midst by single lines of soldiers.

A festival spirit pervaded the assembly. Men and girls were raised aloft on the arms and shoulders of their friends, and balanced above the throngs. They led the cheers and salutations and even made speeches.

The worn red banner was borne down one of the aisles by the delegation of French Communists. It was lifted aloft to the highest platform of the tribune, where it was visible for half a mile away. President Kalinin received it.”

The next day a Russian newspaper carried the message, “We will give it back to France when we have carried it throughout the world.” A sentiment which should still make any self-respecting leftist go all husky and brave and, yes, I did find myself welling up. There had been a world to win. If only we could leave it there. But of course we can’t. When this photograph was taken, capturing my great grandfather full of confidence that a fairer society was just around the corner, very bad things had already happened. Very bad things were happening at that time. And very, very bad things were going to happen in the future.

Another image from the day. Bob Stewart furthest left.

I’m currently working on the period in Bob’s life where this hopefulness turns to tragedy. The 1930s and 40s. A few enquiries on social media helped identify some of the other figures on the platform. Nikolai Antipov became Deputy Premier of the Soviet Union but during the Great Purge he was arrested, expelled from the Communist Party and sentenced to death. A similar fate was in store for Avel Yenukidze. Grigory Zinoviev, the Comintern Chairman, was tortured, forced to confess to outlandish crimes during the Trial of the Sixteen and shot in the back of the head. Apart from Bob and Ho Chi Minh, the only other identified person to survive until old age was Marshal Kliment Voroshilov who emerged from Stalin’s maniacal purging of military officers unscathed only because he was an enthusiastic participant in the process having personally signed 185 execution lists.

These names can be added to this list of Bob’s comrades, friends and family I made to try and make sense of the chaos of a few short years:

Aug 1936: Kamenev (and Zinoviev) executed.

January 1937: Karl Radek’s show trial. Murdered in prison in 1939.

February 1937: Sergo Ordzhonikidze kills himself.

March 1937: Arrest of David Petrovsky, a former Comintern liaison with CPGB and friend of many British communists including Bob. Shot in September.

June 1937: Grigory Kaminsky, The People’s Commissar for Health and Bob’s daughters’ brother-in-law was arrested. He was executed in February 1938.

August 1937: Rose Cohen, David Petrovsky’s wife and close family friend of Bob’s arrested. She had given up her British passport and become a Soviet citizen. Shot after a twenty minute trial in a closed court in November.

June 1938: Anatole Kaminsky, Bob’s son-in-law arrested. The family presumed he was dead but he was executed in 1941 as the Nazi forces began their attack on the USSR.

November 1938: Nannie Stewart, Bob’s daughter and Anatole’s wife makes it back to London alive with her baby son Greg.

The madness of it all. Whatever the words I find to relate all this, they will be inadequate.

Alan Stewart.

PS: Thanks (one again) to Maurice Casey and to Liz Wood and to anyone else on Bluesky or Twitter who helped identify Bob’s comrades on the platform. Anna Louise Strong’s account can be read in full here – ‘Tattered Red Flag of Paris Commune Flung to Breeze in Moscow as Workers Cheer’ by Anna Louise Strong from the Daily Worker. Vol. 2 No. 112. July 29, 1924. – Revolution’s Newsstand

Comrades: Annie ‘Nan’ Stewart.

L-R Bob, Annie and Margaret Stewart. Photograph probably taken in Moscow around 1924.

Today’s post is about Bob Stewart’s youngest child, his daughter Annie who was my dad’s aunt.

Annie, otherwise known Little Nannie or Nan was born in Dundee on 30^th November 1913. Her earliest memories would have been those of her father imprisoned for refusing to fight; her mother bringing up the family with the assistance of a legion of aunts and the contempt in which the general public held conscientious objectors such as Bob. Whether there was sympathy for the family among her neighbours I do not know but the common opinion that ‘conchies’ were cowards and traitors would have been part of the atmosphere that she grew up in. There was talk in the press of banning COs from positions such as teaching lest they contaminate the young and many, many similar stories. A law was even passed in which they could be disenfranchised. Bob actually lost his vote in 1921, shortly after the Caerphilly by-election, when a jute merchant, John Willison, petitioned for him to be removed from the electoral register on the grounds that he had refused military service. Willison, a prominent Dundee Unionist, stressed that there was no political party behind his application and that he bore no ill will against Mr Stewart, it was simply that men of his ilk were “embittering people against doing their duty” and should face, “the full measure of the law.” So, from the time she was learning to walk to her first years at school Annie would have understood that her family stood for something and that the attacks these principles drew had to be stood up to.

L-R Harry Pollitt, Annie Stewart and Bob Stewart.

It was an unusual childhood. The Bolshevik revolution took place when she was four and it shaped the rest of her life. How could it not? In his study of CPGB members, Communism in Britain, 1920 – 39: From the Cradle to the Grave, Thomas Linehan points to the idea that the communist upbringing of ‘red diaper’ babies would help them withstand the future demands of capitalism but would also help prepare them physically and mentally to play a future role in the party organisation. It’s difficult not to view Annie as an example of this tendency. Bob went to work for the Comintern in 1923 and took Nan with him. At that time, travelling to the Soviet Union was not an easy task and not entirely legal. Whatever route Bob, Margaret and Annie took to get to their destination they would have risked arrest at certain stages and the journey would have been arduous and uncomfortable. The strangeness of leaving Dundee behind and settling in Moscow at the age of ten must have been overwhelming. In a Henry Sara slide taken at the Pushkin School she looks a little ill at ease and awkward amongst her classmates. However, the experience left her able to speak Russian – a language her parents never managed to learn.

Pushkin School: Nannie Stewart fifth from the right in the front row. Bob and Margaret just about visible in the back row. (Henry Sara Archive, Warwick Modern Records Centre)

The young Annie’s fluency with Russian is the focus of this remarkable news report in the Aberdeen Press and Journal dated 3^rd June 1925:

WOMEN COMMUNISTS

Police Raid Glasgow Meeting.

GREETINGS IN SCOTS AND RUSSIAN.

Glasgow police raided yesterday the conference there of women Communists.

A demand for the names of the delegates failed to produce the desired results, and a request that each representative should speak produced remarks in braid Scots, Esperanto and Russian.

GLASGOW, Tuesday. Glasgow police raided the congress of women Communists in St Mungo Hall, Glasgow, to-day, five minutes before the dispersal of the meeting. Forty uniformed and plain-clothes men surrounded the hall, the plain clothes men entering the congress room. The visit of the police was regarded by the women as a comedy.

The plain-clothes men entered by the South York Street door. They swept aside the inner guard, and were confronted by Mr William Gallacher, who objected to the intrusion, and only four detectives and the aliens’ officer entered the congress room.

A Bit of Scots.

Immediately the presence of the police was known the women rose and greeted them by singing the “Internationale.” When quiet was restored, the police demanded the names of all the delegates present. This was refused, and the officers then asked that all the women present speak in turn, the request being made apparently for the purpose of detecting any foreign accent. This caused some hilarity, and Mrs Helen Crawfurd who presided shouted in braid Scots, “It’s a braw, bricht, meen-licht nicht the nicht, pipe clay, up the lum. Camarachanchoo.” Greetings in Esperanto were given by a delegate of Irish birth from Alexandria and an 11 year old girl, Nannie Stewart, daughter of the Communist candidate for Dundee at the last general election addressed the detectives in Russian. With her parents, she lived for some time in Russia and had been a pupil in a Russian school for about a year.

The officers then withdrew. Their search was obviously for the purpose of discovering if any foreign delegates, whose presence had been banned by the Home Office, were in the meeting.

The Girl’s Greeting.

Little Nannie Stewart told the Press that what she had said to the police was, “I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t care.” Asked what the police replied, she said, “I don’t think they understood me, because they never answered.” A remarkable sidelight on the intensity of the Communist instruction of the young was revealed in her remark, “They are a lot of moral cowards, any way.” The statements in Esperanto were interpreted simply as, “I thank you for your visit.”

Some of the women Communists were in terror, and Mrs. Crawfurd remarked, facetiously, that she thought it was a great compliment to the women’s section of the Communist Party that, while four detectives were considered sufficient for the main congress the previous day, over 30 officers were sent to the women’s conference. Others laughingly described the raid as “A rare sporting finish.”

The police refused to make any official statements.

I adore this article. As much as her youthful commitment to Marxist-Leninist revolution is apparent in this encounter, many decades later she became a resolute anti-communist – even going so far as to join the Conservative Party. And, after what she experienced – her husband murdered in Stalin’s purges with her and their baby son escaping by the skin of their teeth – who could blame her?

After Bob, Annie is the most important character in the book I’m writing. It wasn’t until recently that I realised I have never seen a photograph of her as an adult. I will have to do some more digging.

Alan Stewart.

PS – Many thanks, once again, to Maurice J Casey. This time for turning up the photographs of the Stewart family and their friends in Moscow in a newly discovered cache of letters belonging to Rose Cohen. For the upteenth time buy his book Hotel Lux!

Marxism (Night Off).

Long before I got caught up in my family’s communist past I was an East Anglian small town goth obsessed with The Sisters of Mercy. In 1987, at the age of fourteen, I begged my dad to let me go and see Ghost Dance, the band formed by Sisters co-founder Gary Marx at Lowestoft Pier. Alas, he thought I was too young and it was two years until I was allowed to go to my first gig (Fields of the Nephilim at UEA in 1989- they were ace!)

Anyway, Marx has been fairly low profile since the demise of Ghost Dance in the late 1980s. He was always my favourite member of the Sisters because he looked so fucking cool and, as so many years have passed, I thought I’d never see him. Until tonight. Gary Marx is playing and telling all.

I’m in Old Woollen in Farsley watching the heartwarming scenes of old faces from the 1980s Leeds goth scene greet each other while I nurse a pint on my own as I was unwilling to subject my partner to a level of detail about the early years of The Sisters of Mercy that I thought she couldn’t cope with. I admit I was wrong. I’ve spotted the parent of one of my son’s childhood friends in tow with his kid who’s now the age when I was most in thrall to the Sisters. The guy used to do their merch. I’ve already texted my kid to say it’s as if I dragged him along to a CPGB meeting. The show’s about to start so I’ll hold off for a while.

…………….

OK! He started with Anaconda, played the Damage Done and Adrenochrome, Burn was on there and the last song was Heartland- my favourite Sisters song of all time. The anecdotes were funny and he was an engaging performer. So why am I telling you all this?

They’re on the left. They’ve always been on the left. Since the days where their drum machine sounded like, as Jon Langford described, “a mouse tap dancing.” They came from a scene that included Gang of Four and The Mekons and, although they’re not explicitly political they’re actually consumed by politics. I wasn’t old enough to see the original version of the band but I’ve seen most incarnations and I’m heartened that they are defiantly supportive of their current non binary guitarist. Gary Marx is actually Mark Pearman, a pseudonym for the DHSS but to be honest all of that doesn’t matter right now.

I had the best time tonight.

Alan Stewart.

Postscript. Sunday evening. Countryfile’s on.

If the above post doesn’t make much sense it’s because I was slightly tipsy (understatement) when I wrote it. Now leaning into my hangover…

1955: Harry Pollitt and Bob Stewart meet Chairman Mao.

I thought I’d post some things that I’ve previously shared on Twitter/X. First of all here’s a set of photographs I found detailing Bob’s visit to China. It’s a particularly resonant event for me due to the ornamental walking stick which was presented to him when he met Mao Zedong. When my brother and I were children we were fascinated by it as it was beautifully inscribed with intricate black and red Chinese script. Dad told us these were quotes from Mao’s little red book; he mentioned some stuff about paper tigers and gun barrels but I didn’t really understand. Ian and I used to pretend it was a guitar to mime along to Beatles records with until, inevitably, the writing was completely worn away. Yet another significant historical artefact that didn’t survive intact. As he entered his last decade it became my dad’s walking stick. Now it’s leaning by my front door waiting for the time when it will be mine.

The first photograph is quite well known as it’s reproduced in Bob’s memoirs. He shown smiling and laughing with Chairman Mao. This one usually produces a “WTF?!” when I show it to friends.

Bob, his friend and General Secretary of the CPGB, Harry Pollitt and a Chinese official – if anyone out there recognises any of these people please let me know – I’ll be writing the chapter that includes this visit in a month or so.

Bob and Harry view a parade in Tiananmen Square.

I don’t know anything about this photo but it’s amazing.

And to finish, a transcript of Bob boasting about what he smuggled through customs on his return courtesy of the bug MI5 placed at CPGB HQ.

Alan Stewart.

Bob Stewart and the Cambridge Spies.

Notes from Anthony Blunt’s confession in 1964 where he mentions Bob Stewart’s role in the network.

On Tuesday I received a late Christmas present courtesy of The National Archives – a selection of previously secret MI5 files were made available to the public for the first time. This latest release of material is largely concerned with the Cambridge Five. There’s acres of material on Kim Philby, Anthony Blunt and John Cairncross as well as Philby’s first wife Litzi Friedmann. It couldn’t more opportune time as I’m currently attempting to write the first draft of the 1940s chapter in my biography of Bob Stewart.

I’ve known about Bob’s involvement with the Cambridge Five since I was a teenager in the 1980s; it was mentioned in Peter Wright’s Spycatcher. It’s been further outlined by security expert Nigel West who states in The Historical Dictionary of British Intelligence that, “in the absence of [their Soviet contact] Anatoli Gorsky in 1940, Stewart had run Blunt, Kim Philby, and Guy Burgess.”

Although it’s a minor part of the book I’m writing, I recognise that people are still fascinated by the Cambridge spies. I’m fascinated too. Recently, I loved the TV adaptation of Ben MacIntyre’s A Spy Amongst Friends which sent me rushing to the book; I recently finished the excellent Guy Burgess biography Stalin’s Englishman by Andrew Lownie (Burgess has always been my favourite since Alan Bates in An Englishman Abroad) and I’m currently rereading Enemies Within by Richard Davenport-Hines which argues that the whole affair shaped modern Britain. It’s always blown my mind that my great grandfather was involved. I’ve been trying to write about it for a while now but, as so much of the detail is, well, secret, I’ve found it very hard going. I am so relieved all this material is now easy to access. I had a quick scan through some files the other night and here’s a few things that I found.

Bob’s involvement was first revealed when Anthony Blunt confessed in 1964. After this MI5 renewed their interest in Litzi Friedmann and, in one of the documents in her file, you get a fuller exploration of her and Bob’s roles,

Also in Litzi’s file is the transcript of a lengthy interview in 1968 with Edith Tudor-Hart her friend and the woman who helped recruit Kim Philby as a penetration agent for the Soviets. I love her evasiveness in this passage.

Tudor-Hart’s interview was in 1968 as Blunt spent the years following his confession in endless debriefs with MI5. Here’s more information from one of those sessions.

So far all of this simply adds a bit more detail to what we already know. If I’m lucky there’ll be a bit more buried somewhere in this latest release although it might take a while to uncover it in the thousands of documents. In particular I’m hoping to uncover Peter Wright’s interview with Bob that he alludes to in Spycatcher. I’ll never uncover the whole story though. I’d need to visit Russia and gain access to the archives there. Given the world situation and the state of my finances there’s two hopes of that. Appropriately enough, one of those hopes is called ‘Bob.’

Alan Stewart.

The latest release of MI5 files by The National Archives is available here:

https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/about/news/latest-release-of-files-from-mi5-2/

‘Hotel Lux’ by Maurice J Casey.

I can’t let the year end without posting something about my favourite book published this year – Maurice Casey’s ‘Hotel Lux’. I’ve no time to write a proper review so these hastily written words will have to do…

One of the least edifying aspects of being a socialist is the tendency of some comrades always having to prove to those present that they are the most left wing person in the room. Last week I achieved this enviable position with practically no effort on my part at all. And me being only slightly to the left of Ed Miliband. The occasion was the presentation of the Biographer’s Club Elizabeth Buccleuch Prize for best proposal for a first time biographer for which I was nominated for my Bob Stewart book. I didn’t win but it was fantastic to be in the running. The event was held at Albany, a large Georgian apartment block in the heart of London’s Piccadilly, the previous residents of which include Wordsworth, Byron and Gladstone.

It’s an exclusive address. Apartments or ‘sets’ rarely become available for sale and, when the occasion arises, you would need to have several million and be able to convince the residents’ association that you were just the right kind of person to have as a neighbour. Families tend to put their names down for a place a few generations before they secure one. As a child of the lower middle classes I was somewhat out of my depth in these surroundings. My hosts could not be faulted, however. My partner and I were made very welcome, wine flowed and I spent the evening chatting to other guests about our biographical obsessions.

The subject of my own work did occasion several wary enquiries as to whether I was a communist myself. It was if they were worried that I was about to requisition the property on behalf of the proletariat or collectivise their Hampshire estates. I reassured anyone who asked that there hadn’t been a Marxist-Leninist in the family since my grandfather died in 1978. Most of the guests were placated but one elderly gentleman in and immaculate Prince of Wales check jacket and a rather fetching bow tie muttered to me, “Communism is a virus!”

I bridled a little at first, taking it personally, a potential family insult, before we both steered the conversation away from the controversial. Encounters such as this do reflect one of the dilemmas of this project. Getting to know my ancestors has been a privilege, I find so much to admire and to celebrate. However, though their beliefs were shaken in 1956, they were staunch defenders of Stalin. This is a hard pill to swallow. I can understand, even when I don’t share it, this gentleman’s reaction. When I began my research this inheritance seemed far too huge for me to do it any justice. The best commentary I’ve read on it has been in ‘Hotel Lux.’

The book’s main focus is the relationship between three revolutionary women who came to Moscow and stayed at the Comintern’s preferred lodgings in the early twentieth century. It’s an immersive read full of fascinating detail. Woven through the narrative are the author’s reflections on being part of the radical left tradition and how one should deal with the ramifications of Stalinism. Early on in his research in Moscow, Casey is asked by a University professor, “So, are you for the Romanovs or the Bolsheviks?” The author fumbles his answer and wishes he could have given the more considered response he came up with after the event.

“The Soviet experiment inaugurated by the Bolsheviks was the culmination of many projects for revolutionary emancipation that arose in 19th century Europe. For better or worse, I consider all those emancipatory projects a part of my political ancestry. This is a messy inheritance, one that includes revolutionaries embracing one another in enthusiasm for a shared dream and former comrades sentencing one another to death in service to their cause. At the most basic level, the Romanovs did not want the world that I and others like myself desire. The Bolsheviks sought what I seek: equality. Therefore, when presented with this choice and within this context, I am for the Bolsheviks.“

This theme is developed during his research when he comes across that rare but not rare enough figure, a modern day admirer of Stalin.

“For two weeks, I made my way through the Comintern’s personnel files, folders where personal material relating to comrades and enemies of international communism was collated. I struck up an acquaintance with another English speaking researcher who regularly visited Moscow to work with Stalin-era materials. This researcher, I learned over coffee breaks, supported a resolutely hard-line form of communism. This gradually became clear over coffee- break discussions of our research topics. ‘Stalin was a man of great depth,’ he told me as I sat, disconcerted, before a disappointing cappuccino.

With one part of my mind thinking over the steel Memorial plaques I constantly saw on the walls of Moscow residential block, our conversation turned to 1937 and the Great Terror. For those who saw communism as a dead idea, it was not merely the Great Terror but one of the many inevitable red terrors. Violent oppression was, according to this theory, the unavoidable outgrowth of left wing ideas. They could not be fulfilled without it: radical levelling required violent purging. Such determinist readings, including those made by proponents of a teleological Marxism, always seemed unconvincing to me through their wilful blindness to the extraordinary range of possibilities that exist in the past. In our conversation, my coffee break companion appeared to share with the anti-communists a belief in the inevitability of terror. He differed only in his approach to its desirability. He upheld the orthodox communist line: yes, mistakes were made, but the terror was ultimately necessary to defend socialism: counter-revolution needed to be met with all-encompassing violence

This interpretation of the terror, one I’ve encountered occasionally in left wing circles seemed to render socialism a cruel idea. Yet I needed to confront how many of those I wrote about and researched people whose lives seemed to me so full of sympathetic moments accepted similarly cold logic. Before coming to Moscow I found it easier to see my people as those who courageously faced the firing squads without renouncing their ideals but now I could see more clearly that our political ancestry is never so neat. This was an admission that I tried to keep central in my mind once I returned to my work. I continued passing through fragments from a time when other paths seemed open, when dreams were not yet vanquished. I was learning to become more comfortable with murky moral complexity of revolutionary lives.“

Similar reflections are woven into the narrative as the book progresses and the protagonists and their families are affected in different ways by Stalinism. It’s an incredible piece of work and I’d encourage anyone to grab themselves a copy as soon as possible. If you’ve already read it buy it for friends and family for Christmas. It’s been invaluable to me as I contemplate the “murky moral complexity of revolutionary lives” of my own family.

Alan Stewart.