SO FAR, THIS BOOK has concentrated on when, where and which music was to be heard in London, and its relationship with the wider world. But who initiated these trends – and what made them happen? Who was leading cultural change under the banner of improving English music?

❧ Power and money

Church and state were still influential in London’s music, whether through liturgical worship and organ recitals, or through royal events and military bands in public spaces. Musicians occasionally voiced exasperated opinions about establishment influence – such as Stanford chastising a church congress for their neglect of Tudor composers, or Mackenzie-Rogan lobbying for all-British music for state ceremonials. But neither church nor state were the prime movers.

Who were, then? Of course some charismatic individuals undoubtedly wielded power, whether through interpretative genius, innovative programming or entrepreneurial flair. London’s orchestras might have languished without Richter, Wood and Beecham, not to mention the self-managing London Symphony Orchestra. A second sphere of influence lay in the conservatoires, something dominating modern accounts, especially the role of RCM professors in the English Musical Renaissance. There is no mistaking their impact on orchestral training, nor that of the Royal Military School of Music at Kneller Hall on wind-playing. Indeed, conservatoire values were absorbed at every level, from their grade exam syllabuses to the programming of myriad choral and orchestral societies, across London and beyond.

But behind the scenes many others played a part in the complex web of disparate forces involved in the nascent ‘music industry’. These were often hard-nosed and seemingly in thrall to theatre runs and audience figures – but a few possessed sufficient authority and motivation to exert influence over public taste. Only through these ‘hidden’ voices can we analyse two critical levers of London’s musical life: power and money.

❧ Musical mediators

CRITICS

Shaw’s barb that ‘the English do not know what to think’ without laborious coaching was quoted in Chapter 1: and Londoners were influenced by a powerful set of men writing across a wide range of newspapers and magazines, who enjoyed telling people exactly ‘what to think’.

When the Conservative minister for the environment, Baroness Young, addressed the inaugural general meeting of the Historic Houses Asso-ciation in November 1973, she made a point of emphasising the importance of family life to the continuing vitality of country houses. “It is still part of the great appeal of our historic houses that so many are still owned by the families which have played so great a part in their history”, she said, demonstrating a shrewd understanding of her audience. The advantage, Lady Young continued, was that lived-in houses remained homes, “rather than merely still-life muse-um pieces”. Lest this be construed as too obvious a swipe at the National Trust and its mansion properties, she went on to emphasise the “immense contribu-tion” made by the Trust and its “high standards of maintenance and display”. Yet her preference was clearly for a house, any house, to remain as a domestic residence. Her message in conclusion was to stress the importance of individ-ual owners being “helped and guided in ways of managing and restoring their properties”, such that these buildings remained, above all, homes.

Baroness Young was a stalwart defender of the traditional family throughout her career. In this she shared some similarities with her contemporary as a parliamentarian, Margaret Thatcher, who at that time was serving as secretary of state for education in Edward Heath's cabinet. Both women were advocates for traditional, Christian family values, even while they doggedly pursued political power in a manner that was somewhat out of kilter with the housewifely public images that they sometimes sought to project. Lady Young's commitment to the conventional family informed her political positions: later, in the 1990s, she would make bitter enemies when she opposed moves to give equal rights to gay men and women, such as in relation to the adoption of children.

Lady Young's summary definition of privately owned country houses as lived-in family homes was entirely accurate. It was the clear difference that set the HHA's houses apart from those managed by the National Trust or by local or national government. This fact had been highlighted by Sir Ernest Gowers’ committee's report in 1950, which listed as a policy recommendation that important country house properties should, so far as was possible, “be preserved as private residences occupied preferably by the families connected with them”.

A monument in the park at Holkham Hall in Norfolk pays tribute to Thomas William Coke (1754–1842), agricultural improver and first earl of Leicester (of second creation). The foundation stone for the column was erected in 1845, three years after the earl's death, to mark his achievements as landowner, farmer, and steward of the family estates. The monument stands on an incline that overlooks the mansion. An imaginary line of symmetry would run, north to south, from the middle of the monument through the centre of the house before continuing beyond to connect with an obelisk built more than a century earlier, the towering grandeur of which the Coke monument replicates.

Four decorated panels make up the base of the monument and relate to Coke's life and work. The first features a scene of farm hands attending to sheep, indicating the importance of livestock to the Holkham estate. The second shows cattle, each of a substantial size and proportion. A third panel depicts the earl himself seated at a table, consulting maps and documents alongside his estate managers and agents. The final panel is a dedication to the earl inscribed in bronze, which recalls “a life devoted to the welfare of his friends, neighbours and tenants”. The inscription goes on to note for posterity that Coke “pre-eminently combined public services with private worth”, and that the loss of such a “father, friend and landlord” was felt keenly in the worlds of politics, the arts, and agriculture.

Farming, livestock, and land management were the principal sources of the wealth that financed the building of the Palladian-style mansion at Holkham. A visit to the estate today, more than two centuries on from Coke of Norfolk's time, makes clear that its income is now derived from a variety of wholly different sources. On a blazing hot summer's day in 2022, the grass in the park turned yellow by the effects of an ongoing heatwave, the estate is alive with all sorts of activity. Crowds of visitors arrive in a steady stream of cars, which rapidly fill the parking spaces nearest to the house. Soon there will be so many cars that vehicles must be directed towards another section of the park roped off for the purpose.

By the early 1990s, country houses were in a better position than they had been a decade or so previously, but their future remained far from secure. This chapter returns to the pivotal question of how houses have been rescued and restored over the last half century, and the changing contexts within which this has happened, particularly in the last few decades.

The fate of Pitchford Hall in Shropshire, a half-timbered house held by the Colthurst family for nearly five hundred years, was a reminder of how wider political and economic events could have implications for heritage. The family was hugely invested in Lloyds of London, which suffered catastrophic losses in the aftermath of the Piper Alpha oil rig disaster of 1988. The losses forced the family to sell Pitchford and its contents, but not before they offered it and seventy-six acres of grounds ‘to the nation’ for just under two million pounds. The house was arguably of some significance: it had been selected as one of the residences to which the royal family might be taken in the event of evacuation during the war. The National Trust expressed an interest, but that year had already offered to take on Chastleton in Oxfordshire with support from the National Heritage Memorial Fund. The Conservative heritage minister, David Mellor, rejected the idea that Pitchford might be saved by direct government intervention, which led to the arrival of Christie's auctioneers in September 1992.

As with Mentmore fifteen years earlier, the government had passed up on a bargain. Those who came to watch the auction get underway in the marquee could see the quality and significance of the collection. The sales catalogue featured paintings by Hoppner, Reynolds, and Cornelius Jonson, as well as furniture, silver, ceramics, glassware, and books. Rowena Colthurst, the daughter of the owners, was studying at Bristol University at the time. She later described the loss of Pitchford as “like a bereavement”. Her husband James recalled people “sitting in a tent bidding for paintings by Reynolds, or the lumpy bed that Queen Victoria had slept in … And then a porter would just carry them to the front of the house to be put in vans and cars and driven away. It was surreal.”

BETWEEN 2001 and 2011, the governing Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD), under the party and national presidencies of Levy Mwanawasa (2002–2008) and Rupiah Banda (2009–2011), and the opposition Patriotic Front (PF) led by Michael Sata dominated Zambian politics. Mwanawasa was sworn in as president on 2 January 2002 after a narrow win against Anderson Mazoka of the opposition United Party for National Development (UPND). He polled 28.69 per cent of the total vote, defeating Mazoka, who obtained 27.76 per cent, and nine other presidential candidates, including Sata who gained only 3 per cent. Of the total 150 seats in parliament, the MMD won 69, followed by the UPND (49), United National Independence Party (UNIP) (13), Forum for Democracy and Development (FDD) (12), and Heritage Party (HP) (4). Like Ben Mwila's Zambia Republican Party (ZRP), Sata's PF obtained only one seat. This tally is striking since, five years later in the 2006 general elections, Sata only lost to Mwanawasa, who polled 42.98 per cent, by a 13.61 per cent margin. The PF captured forty-three seats in parliament and rose to become the largest parliamentary opposition, dislodging the UPND.

After President Mwanawasa died in office, a presidential by-election was held in October 2008, and despite having insufficient time and financial resources to mount a credible and effective campaign, Sata lost narrowly by 2 per cent to the MMD candidate, Banda, who gained 40 per cent of the total vote. In September 2011, during the country's general and presidential elections, Sata, making a fourth try for the presidency, secured the seat with 42.24 per cent of the total ballot, defeating the incumbent Banda, who got 35.63 per cent. In this election, Sata's PF did strikingly well, winning sixty seats in parliament, the most of any rival political party. Although parties do tend to be younger in Africa than in many other parts of the world, the PF's rise from 3 to 42 per cent of the popular vote over a ten-year-period is unusual. It is this remarkable rise of an opposition party and a leader's efforts to build it that I explore in this and the next chapter. The present chapter examines Sata's rise from 2001 to 2006. The subsequent period, 2006 to 2011, is covered in the following chapter.

IN HIS BIOGRAPHY OF Havergal Brian, tellingly entitled Ordeal by Music, Reginald Nettel rehearses the frustrations of a working-class hopeful moving to London from rural Staffordshire. First he wrote sunnily to Bantock: ‘I am asking “B. and H.” to send copies of the songs and scores to all the critics of the London Press. After they have been out three days I intend to make appointments with the lot.’ He tried Parry, Vaughan Williams, Elgar and others: but only three of the critics replied, and not a single review – let alone a performance – resulted. Humiliated, furious, and convinced that London publishers were only interested in ‘church pot-boilers’, he abandoned the quest after a few months and headed back north.

It's an affecting tale, though not quite the whole story. Despite lacking London connections, Brian had previously enjoyed some success, with performances by Wood and Beecham – he had even been generously bankrolled by a wealthy Staffordshire businessman. A series of personal crises precipitated his renewed assault on London, but he also failed miserably to capitalise on his early breaks.

Brian's career encapsulates many of the themes of this chapter: the vicissitudes experienced by the aspiring composer, particularly a working-class provincial with no London base; and the crucial roles played by forward-looking conductors, rich sponsors – and grasping publishers. Above all, it raises the question of the capital. Was London the solution – or part of the problem?

❧ A national musical culture

Current views of British music of the period tend to lean towards one of two opposing poles. From one perspective, it was a triumphant celebration of victory over adversity (the English Musical Renaissance, the Royal College of Music, Elgar and Edwardian imperialism, Wood and the Proms, the rise of Beecham). Alternatively, it represents a sorry rollcall of social oppression and dismal philistinism, as reflected in the railings of the disaffected and in the bitter and forlorn campaigns for government funding, in response to years of neglect.

Reality, as usual, was more nuanced. New British voices were never truly restricted to those few prominent venues – such as the Proms – which partial histories tend to overemphasise.

With the death of Baldwin in November 1190, the building works at Lambeth stalled. It seemed that no grand new church would be erected. The monks had removed the archbishop's obedientiaries from their positions in the convent and replaced them with their own men, including the replacement of Prior Osbert with Subprior Geoffrey – one of the staunchest and most active defenders of the monastery's rights. The pope had issued mandates, ordering the demolition of all the buildings at Hackington and the confirmation of all his predecessors’ mandates which were favourable to the convent. The monks, it appeared, had achieved victory. Yet the dispute was not just about the building of a church. It was about the monks’ rights vis-a-vis their archbishop. The convent's abilities to appoint their own officers and manage their estates were wrapped up in the controversy over the new church. For the monks only the first stage of the conflict had ended; they now had to fight for their right to elect the new archbishop.

On 10 October 1191, Walter de Coutances, archbishop of Rouen and the king's justiciar, summoned the monks to London for 22 October, to elect a new archbishop. If a free election had been held, the monks would have chosen the bishop of Ely, William Longchamp. William had several points in his favour. As bishop, he was the head of a monastic cathedral chapter and, more importantly, one he was on good terms with. There is no sign that there was any friction between the bishop and his chapter. The monks for example did not object to William installing his brother as prior of the community in 1190. Similarly, upon his death in 1197, the Winchester chronicler felt able to describe Longchamp as the ‘father of monks’. In 1191, Longchamp was also the most powerful man in the realm. As chancellor and justiciar, Longchamp was entrusted with the care of the realm while King Richard was on crusade. Similarly, at the king's request, the pope had made Longchamp papal legate in 1190. Being favoured by both king and pope would certainly have been beneficial to the monks in ensuring the protection of the rights and status of Canterbury. It could also have been a big risk if the archbishop chose to pursue projects opposed by the monks as Baldwin had.

The most dramatic period of the Canterbury dispute took place between 1187 and 1189. There was a significant heightening of animosities between Baldwin and the monks, with greater royal and papal involvement. It was during this period that the main legal battles at the curia took place, as well as open hostilities in England with Baldwin placing the cathedral under siege. It is also in this period that we are introduced to one of the most colourful of the participants in the conflict: the monk Roger Norreys. A supporter of the archbishop, Roger was so reviled by the convent that they imprisoned him for several months before he escaped, only to be imposed by Baldwin as the new prior. Gervase's description of Roger shows just how much he was hated. From youth he was:

Roger's involvement in the dispute reveals an important theme often overlooked in conflicts of this type. The monastery was not united in their opposition to the archiepiscopal plans, but rather a small group of monks (often holding important positions in the convent) was supportive of the archbishop. This, combined with greater royal and papal involvement in support of each side, led to a hardening of positions between the two parties, resulting in a turbulent time for the community at Canterbury.

Negotiating with King and Pope, August–December 1187

In early August 1187, Baldwin returned from his tour of Wales and once more seized the conventual estates in the face of the monks’ continued disobedience, and appealed to the pope against the mandates they had secured from the curia. The archbishop then summoned the cellarer and chamberlain to him, and ordered them to be responsible only to him instead of the conventual chapter as was the norm. This was the first step in Baldwin's plan to overhaul the management of the conventual estates. He proposed to divide the revenues into three: one part would go to the cellarer for the feeding of the monks; another would go to the chamberlain for their clothing, while a third part would be assigned to the sacrist for maintaining the church.

In his valedictory address as inaugural president of the Historic Houses Asso-ciation, Lord Montagu gave a bravura account of his five years in the role. Over the course of those years, he said, a mixed economy approach to country houses had been adopted. No longer was the government at odds with owners. A true partnership was now in place, involving the triangulation of the state with, on the one side, an emboldened and growing National Trust, and on the other the private sector. The formation of the association was essential to the working of this heritage triumvirate; it was, after all, “a coherent and effective lobby to represent private owners … a body representing the private sector which the State could itself consult.” It was in the best interests of private own-ers to keep their houses and to pass them on to their successors. It was equally in the government's interests for this situation to prevail. Therefore, the gov-ernment needed to avoid constantly changing the rules relating to taxation: the “altar of fiscal egalitarianism” that dictated draconian new capital tax policies needed to be shunned if heritage was to survive intact. It was hard enough living in one of these houses, Montagu argued, let alone being bled dry by the tax authorities for the privilege. The government needed to make concessions, or else owners would simply give up the ghost. After all, Montagu went on, “we know the hardships of living above the shop – how much more comfortable we would be in a smaller, warmer house.”

With these words Lord Montagu effectively summarised the existential dilemma faced by those responsible for privately owned country houses. These places were lived-in family homes. Yet their ongoing survival was also dependent on those houses being active places of business, whether as tourist attractions or as hospitality venues. Living above the shop was a practical necessity for anyone born into the life of a country house owner. Owners wanted both to maximise their business revenues and minimise the impact that business activity had on the day-to-day lives of them and their families. They could not depend on direct help from the government: which government, after all, would see their mission as being to enable the owners of stately homes to maintain their lifestyles?

The start of Hubert's archiepiscopate was a peaceful period for the Canterbury monks. With no further mention of the planned church at Lambeth and the community left to tend to their own affairs, it appeared as though the archbishop did not plan to pursue his predecessor's dream. Yet Hubert had the same problem as Baldwin: how to provide for the clerks of his household. This was the same problem bishops at other sees were facing. Hugh of Coventry solved this by expelling the cathedral monks and installing canons (albeit temporarily). The bishops of Bath, rather than reforming their cathedral chapters, tried to gain control of Glastonbury abbey, thereby increasing their income. At Canterbury, a collegiate church was still a sensible answer, being less contentious than evicting the cathedral monks or trying to take over another local monastery. As Baldwin's friend and executor of his will, Hubert had a personal interest in seeing the plan fulfilled. The reason Lambeth was not mentioned immediately after his election was that Hubert was busy dealing with the problems arising from Richard's imprisonment and ransom. Only once these had been settled could he revive Baldwin's plan.

Lambeth Revived

In 1196, the Lambeth proposal was renewed. Knowing that the monks would still oppose him, Hubert decided to begin by offering a compromise. He suggested that the chapel be built at Maidstone on the conventual estates, thereby giving the monks significant control over the foundation. Like Lambeth, Maidstone was within a day's journey of London, making it a convenient site from which the archbishop's business could be conducted. Hubert had also received permission, in 1195, to hold a weekly market and an annual fair at Maidstone, which might have brought added profits for the foundation were it based there. The monks, however, protested against such a plan. After listening to the monks recount the long history of the conflict, Hubert declared that, while sorry to go against the wishes of the church which had elected him as its head, he could not leave the proposed work unfinished. In April 1196, the king confirmed the exchange between the archbishop and the monks of Rochester, by which Lambeth was obtained in return for the manor of Dartford, the chapel of Helles in Darenth, and property in the vill of Cliffe (Kent).

On 25 November 1186, Becket appeared in a vision to Brother Andrew John. In this vision (recorded in detail by Gervase) the martyr bade the monk rise from his bed and follow him into the tower next to the choir. There, Andrew John was shown a large Catherine wheel hurling blue flame. Andrew John asked the name of the man who was leading him. Becket replied, ‘I am Thomas your archbishop, who for this church and in this church suffered martyrdom.’ Withdrawing from the wheel, Andrew John saw Baldwin approaching the phenomenon. Taking three swords and leaning on each in turn to test their strength, the archbishop summoned Prior Honorius. On his arrival, Baldwin said to him ‘I wish to destroy this new work [the recent renovations to the cathedral in honour of Becket], and for this purpose I have made this wheel, but without you I cannot move it.’ The dismayed prior obeyed the archbishop and summoned the other monks to help him. Andrew John begged Becket to intervene. The saint drew his sword, inscribed with letters of gold, and suddenly the archbishop vanished. Becket gave his sword to Andrew John, showing him the inscription ‘Gladius beati Petri apostoli’. He ordered Andrew John to present the sword to Honorius who should use it to destroy the Catherine wheel. Reluctant to disturb the prior, Andrew John had the vision three times before he finally spoke of it. According to Gervase, the Catherine wheel was interpreted by Honorius as symbolic of the new church that Baldwin planned to build as well as a representation of the destruction of the convent if Baldwin's plan was to proceed. The prior interpreted the sword as representing the process of appeal to Rome. Just as St Peter had attempted to protect Christ with his sword, so would the successors of Peter protect the monks with their spiritual weapons.

According to the vision, it was Baldwin's desire to destroy the cathedral convent, and the blessed martyr's wish that the monks resist with all their strength. The depiction of the Hackington church as a Catherine wheel is significant, since the wheel was a device of torture, or execution, to which the victim would be tied so that their bones might be shattered. This was the method by which Emperor Maxentius had hoped to execute St Catherine.

THE PRE-EMINENT political force in Zambian society from independence in 1964 to 1991 was the United National Independence Party (UNIP) led by its founder, President Kenneth Kaunda. UNIP's dominance of national politics was first highlighted in two competitive multi-party elections: one at the close of the colonial period in January 1964 when the party won an outright majority, and the other in 1968 when it increased its support across the country. UNIP consolidated its political hegemony in December 1972 when Kaunda declared Zambia a one-party state. This declaration ushered in a second and longer phase of UNIP's formal grip on power that ended only in 1991 when a popular uprising, spearheaded by a newly formed opposition party named the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD), saw the reintroduction of multi-party politics and the subsequent defeat of Kaunda and his nationalist movement.

It should not be assumed that the one-party state was monolithic. General elections, which were competitive especially at parliamentary level, were held in 1973, 1978, 1983, and 1988. The first two of these have been the subject of detailed research by scholars of Zambian political history. The latter two, in contrast, have not, and are important because they took place after UNIP removed the unpopular restriction that had previously limited the number of candidates who could run for election to the National Assembly to three per constituency. In instances where there were more than three prospective candidates in a constituency, primary elections were held to determine the finalists. Although prospective candidates still had to apply to the party's Central Committee for adoption, the abolition of the primary elections paved the way for greater voter choice and more open electoral contests. Studying electoral contests in this greatly altered political environment can yield significant insights into our understanding of the workings of one-party participatory democracy.

Moreover, the 1983 and 1988 elections are of particular interest to this chapter because they occurred after Sata, who went on to become one of the key political actors in the one-party state until its demise, made his formal entry into Zambian mainstream politics in 1981. He ran for parliamentary office in both elections, defeating nine other contestants including an incumbent Member of Parliament (MP) in the first election before being re-elected five years later.