Harry Mount | The Spectator columnists & writers

Six rules for picking the wokest school

One of the great advantages private schools offer is an ability to change with the times. While some hold on to traditional notions, many are adapting nimbly to the new woke world — expunging their problematic historical figures and educating pupils in the new equivalent of U and Non-U. But how do parents ensure their little treasures aren’t triggered and are always confined to the safest of spaces? Here, then, is our guide to the wokest schools. Rule one: lots of schools were woke decades ago At my alma mater, Westminster, the history curriculum was pretty much decolonialised in the 1970s by left-wing teachers. An Old Westminster told me that, when he was at the school 50 years ago, there was a lurch to the left in the history department, which meant colonial history was off the menu.

Why is the National Trust so determined to lecture its members?

Can the National Trust dumb down any further? Its latest crazed venture, the Colonial Countryside project, is 'a child-led history and writing project', working with 100 primary school pupils, 16 historians and ten commissioned writers. The aim is to ensure that 'robustly researched stories of empire are communicated'. So here comes another highly politicised scheme – in the light of its disastrous LGBTQ campaign, forcing volunteers to wear rainbow badges, and outing the owner of one of its great houses, Robert Wyndham Ketton-Cremer, who bequeathed Felbrigg Hall to the Trust. As Charles Moore writes in his Telegraph column this week, the experts on the colonial project are of a predictable, Conservative-bashing nature: 'Raj Pal, who says he is working on Churchill and Chartwell (a National Trust property) …(tweets) that Denis and Margaret Thatcher loved one another because 'two of the vilest human beings had so much in common'.

The Edition

The Sturgeon paradox: how is she so popular?

37 min listen

The Edition

The Sturgeon paradox: how is she so popular?

37 min listen

Despite her government’s underperformance on education, health and Covid-19, Nicola Sturgeon’s popularity continues to climb – why? (01:10) Does spending more on overseas aid mean we care more? (14:05) And finally, are we all followers of the cult of casualness? (26:25)With The Spectator’s Scotland editor Alex Massie, former SNP finance spokesperson Andrew Wilson, development adviser Gilbert Greenall, former international development secretary Andrew Mitchell, journalist Melanie McDonagh and editor of The Oldie, Harry Mount. Presented by Lara Prendergast.Produced by Max Jeffery, Cindy Yu and Matt Taylor.

Covid has become the go-to excuse for shoddy service

When we were hit by Britain’s biggest crisis since the war, some people behaved like heroes, laying their lives down to fight coronavirus. Others made their excuses, put their feet up and had a good long six-month snooze. My favourite Covid excuse came from Eurostar, which declared in August that, ‘As a result of coronavirus, we are only able to offer wifi in our Standard Premier and Business Premier carriages’. Wireless broadband was duly disabled in its standard-class coaches — until, besieged by complaints, the company conducted a full reverse--ferret operation and turned the wifi back on. Again and again since the virus struck, companies and institutions, big and small, have pounced on Covid as a wonderful excuse to be lazy — or ruthless.

The Edition

Xi’s world: how Covid has accelerated China’s rise

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The Edition

Xi’s world: how Covid has accelerated China’s rise

32 min listen

The National Trust must stop obsessing about colonialism

When will the National Trust get it into its thick skull that it’s supposed to look after buildings and landscapes? It is not a political organisation. But now, yet again, the Trust has weighed in with its political blunderbuss, attacking its own properties for their connections with colonialism and slavery. It has published a document listing 93 properties and places, about a third of the total, with links to colonialism and slavery. Among them are Churchill’s house, Chartwell, thanks to his opposition to self-governance in India. Also there is Lundy island, Devon, once home to prisoners doing unpaid labour and Hare Hill, Cheshire, once owned by a slave-owner. 29 places in all are listed after their owners received compensation for slaves after abolition.

The trendies have destroyed the National Trust

And so the tragic dumbing-down of the once-great National Trust continues, at breakneck speed. In its latest dimbo announcement, it has declared its intention to 'dial down' its role as a big cultural institution and move away from being the custodians of the English country house. An internal briefing document says the Trust intends to put its collections in storage and hold fewer exhibitions at its properties to prioritise its role as the 'gateway to the outdoors'. The ten-year strategy attacks the 'outdated mansion experience...serving a loyal but dwindling audience'. The Trust will instead promote 'specialised experiences' and stop holding specialist exhibitions for 'niche audiences'. In fact, the Trust has been following a similar strategy for at least the last five years.

The rise of the Econian

A study has shown that protestors who took part in Extinction Rebellion’s demonstrations last year were overwhelmingly middle-class, highly educated and southern. Well, there’s a surprise. It turns out some 85 per cent of the London protestors had a degree, a third had a postgraduate qualification and two thirds described themselves as middle-class. Three quarters of those charged with offences lived in the south. And, if the accents I heard from the protestors as I biked through the throng on my way to work were anything to go on, a high percentage were public school--educated, too. I’d never seen so many Econians — the public school boys and girls who rule the wokerati world. Where their ancestors ran Whitehall, the army and New South Wales, Econians are leading lights in eco-protests, cancel culture, Marxist politics and the trans rights movement.

Why would anyone want to work from home?

I’ve been having an office romance. Not with anyone in the office — but with the office itself. I’ve been going into the office every day during lockdown and I love everything about it: the bike ride from my Camden flat to work in Fitzrovia; the professional feeling that comes from being in a place dedicated to work; a chance to see more life than the limited activities that go on in your sitting room. I even like office furniture, the soft hum of the photocopier and the stationery box, with its neat cellophane packs of Post-it notes and extensive range of envelopes. But sadly, as an office-lover, I’m in a minority. The office, which has existed since the days of ancient Rome, is under threat. The Home Office has told its staff not to come back for a year.

The Edition

The Edition: are white working class boys being left behind?

38 min listen

The Edition

The Edition: are white working class boys being left behind?

38 min listen

The famous cities of the ancient world were surprisingly small and fragile

Greg Woolf didn’t know his book would come out during an urban crisis. Thanks to coronavirus, Venice’s population, for example, is now somewhere between 25,000 and 40,000 — the lowest for centuries. Horrific pandemics were nothing new for ancient cities, which, as this scholarly book shows, have gone through heady rises and catastrophic falls. Rome had a population of nearly a million under the Emperor Augustus. By the sixth century AD it was down to 10,000. Troy, one of the great Bronze Age cities, was buried by the time Byron visited: ‘Where I sought for Ilion’s walls, the quiet sheep feeds and the tortoise crawls.’ Still, plenty of cities have staying power. Athens has been continuously inhabited for nearly 4,000 years, and Rome, Naples, Marseilles and Alexandria are all well over 2,000 years old.

Holy Smoke

Unlock the churches!

26 min listen

Holy Smoke

Unlock the churches!

26 min listen

Harry Mount, the editor of The Oldie, is appalled that thanks to the coronavirus regulations, he can't seek spiritual comfort in any of Britain's glorious churches. And he's not a religious believer. Last week he wrote a short but withering piece on his magazine's website, with the headline 'Unlock the churches!' It began: At a time of national crisis, if only there were some big, empty buildings where people could go and reflect, in an atmosphere of beauty and calm. If only they were so big that you would automatically practise social distancing because there are so many chairs and so few people.Oh, hang on! Like magic, these buildings do exist in every village, town and city in the country. They're called churches – and yet both the Anglican and Catholic Churches have, in their infinite wisdom, closed them down.

Holy Smoke

Unlock the churches!

26 min listen

Holy Smoke

Unlock the churches!

26 min listen

Carve his name with pride: Andrew Ziminsky rebuilds the West Country

Andrew Ziminski is the man who rebuilt the West Country. For 30 years, this skilled stonemason has renovated some of Britain’s greatest buildings. Along the way, he has acquired an unparalleled understanding of this country’s stones. He got hooked as a young man when a mason asked him if he noticed that tea tasted different in different parts of the country. That was because the land’s personality had an effect on its water; and so it is with stones. It’s oolitic limestone that gives Bath its golden tint. It’s granite that gives Aberdeen its mighty, hard-as-rock profile — fizzing, incidentally, with a batsqueak of radiation. Until the 18th century and the arrival of canals and, later, trains, buildings were largely made of the stone beneath them — except in places without building stone nearby, such as Westminster Abbey.

Rod Liddle on Brexit: The Great Betrayal reviewed

Rod Liddle has taken a huge gamble with this book. It could be out of date very soon. The book’s premise is a conversation he had with his wife on the day after the Brexit vote in 2016. She, like Liddle, is a Brexiteer and said to him that morning, ‘They won’t let it happen.’ Liddle agreed. ‘Betcha we don’t leave,’ he said. And that is the book’s principal argument: we’ll never leave the EU. The Great Betrayal was published in July and, so far, Liddle is right. But what about on 1 November: will this book be massively outdated and will Britain be out of the European Union? It’s anyone’s guess. Even now, quite a few of the references in the book are dated. It was published before Boris Johnson became Prime Minister.

Jog on

Forget the cigar, the homburg and the V-for-victory sign. If Winston Churchill were around today, he’d be pounding the streets in T-shirt, shorts and chunky trainers. Jogging is an almost compulsory obsession for any Tory alpha male. Boris Johnson and Jeremy Hunt are forever out running; Michael Gove has lost a drastic amount of weight racing around west London; and Boris has revealed he’s down to 15 and a half stone, from 16 and a half. He’s also declared he’d freeze obesity taxes on fattening food — the answer to losing weight was more exercise, he said — and admitted to failing to keep up a vegan diet (he likes cheese too much). But he is certainly looking slimmer since he started going out with Carrie Symonds, 24 years his junior.

A tribute to Norman Stone

Norman Stone has died at the age of 78. In 2007, Harry Mount paid tribute to the historian and author, republished here: It’s four in the afternoon in the Garrick Club and Norman Stone is steaming with rage. The steam is not alcohol-fuelled. Professor Stone — historically no flincher from the glass — is on the wagon at the moment but is feeling no undue withdrawal pangs. He is, though, longing for a cigarette, and his beloved Garrick has just outlawed smoking, in line with the new legislation. ‘It’s quite clear that cigarettes calm you down, the opiate of what was once the working classes,’ says Stone once he has lit up and sat himself down on a pavement stool outside a Covent Garden pub. ‘If you take them away and you make booze so cheap, you end up with the Cornmarket [Oxford’s main shopping street] on a Friday night.

You can get the staff

Montego Bay, Jamaica When the Kennedy clan were children, JFK and his siblings would tear off their clothes before leaping from the pier at Hyannis Port, Massachusetts — safe in the knowledge their servants would pick up their discarded clothes. That used to strike me as the ultimate in entitlement before I ended up here in a hotel in Jamaica. I’m being waited on hand and foot in a way that wouldn’t have disgraced the Kennedys — or a 19th--century duke. Someone’s just rung to ask when would be a good time to fill my fridge with beer. A driver is waiting to take me on a tour of Montego Bay. When a friend, also staying here, forgot her diary, her butler brought it from her room to our breakfast table. I thought this level of service was confined to holiday resorts and then I suddenly realised that I, like much of the British population, am now dependent on a new boom in servants.

Britain’s Gothic cathedrals owe everything to Notre-Dame

No wonder we feel the agony of Notre-Dame so acutely in Britain. Not only does the cathedral hold a special place in British hearts. But our greatest cathedrals and churches owe a huge stylistic debt to Notre-Dame. Most of Britain's great cathedrals are Gothic – and the Gothic style was born in northern France. And the greatest global example of French Gothic is poor, torched Notre-Dame. The Gothic style began in northern France in the 12th century AD. Notre-Dame wasn't quite the first Gothic building. That honour goes to Saint Denis Cathedral, four miles outside the Paris city centre. In 1144, Saint Denis was the first church in the world to have all the Gothic elements. But very soon after, in 1163, Notre-Dame emulated Saint-Denis's Gothic style and pumped it up to a massive, heavenly scale.

Irish ruins

The Celtic Tiger has come and gone. Over the past 30 years, billions of pounds poured into Irish houses and then drained out again. The ruins of Ireland have slumbered on through the peak, the trough and the current blessed recovery. Medieval castles, Georgian country houses, Victorian lodges… They cling on, disappearing under the ivy, slowly crumbling, in demesnes across the island of Ireland. As Robert O’Byrne, aka the Irish Aesthete, writes in his new guide Ruins of Ireland, we tend to think Ireland lost most of its great houses as a direct result of the Troubles of the early 1920s. Several hundred did get burnt to the ground then. But lots more were dismembered and abandoned thanks to public indifference, and sometimes outright aggression, as grand houses were associated with the hated Anglo-Irish landlord class.

A nervous traveller

Is this finally Boris Johnson’s moment?

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more. That was the message of Boris Johnson’s speech this morning at a JCB factory in Staffordshire. He admitted this week that he regretted bottling his leadership bid in 2016. This time is his last chance to have a go at swiping the ultimate prize – the keys to Downing Street – a prize he’s coveted since he was a boy. Boris’s earliest known quotation is when, asked by his sister Rachel as a child what he wanted to be when he grew up, he said, “World King.” He’s thinner and more smartly dressed than he’s been for years. That might have been influenced by the reported acquisition of his new 30-year-old girlfriend, Carrie Symonds. But clearly – as today’s speech shows – it’s also part of a major new leadership bid.

The rock of ages past

How lazy, snobbish and wrong it is to mock Gibraltar for the lager and fish and chips clichés. Yes, you can get lager and fish and chips there; nothing wrong with that. The pint of lager I had in a pub in Gibraltar Main Street was excellent. And the funny thing is that, unlike consciously ‘British’ pubs in Rome or New York, there was no ersatz feel to it. It was exactly like a pub in Britain, down to the two middle-aged office workers in shirtsleeves, exchanging dull office chat, breaking off occasionally for low-level, awkward flirting with the barmaid, who was in her twenties. That’s what’s so gripping about Gibraltar: you move, in an instant, from carbon-copy Britain to a completely parallel, foreign universe.

Check your brags

Over the past 20 years, the old British trait of self-deprecation has been killed off. And in its place, boasting is booming. Last week, I was told by an 80-year-old Scottish businessman what a successful shipping tycoon he is, how wonderful his poems are, and why young women find him so attractive. Over a three-hour dinner, he never drew breath, never asked a question and only ever talked about his brilliant self. Tycoon types have always shown off, but now the habit has migrated down the generations and from men — the traditional show-offs — to women. I can no longer face seeing one old friend in her thirties, because every time I see her she says: ‘You know what? I’m bloody good at my job.’ At the younger end of the spectrum, the boasting has been boosted by the mollycoddling effects of an over-indulgent education system.

Uncommon knowledge

So farewell, then, to the Common Entrance Exam, bane of a million schoolchildren’s lives since it was introduced in 1904. Three of the biggest public schools — St Paul’s, Wellington College and Westminster — are giving up the exam. From 2021, they will do the pre-test: verbal and non-verbal reasoning, maths and English, taken at the age of ten and 11. Common Entrance was a more gruelling thing, involving up to 14 exams over three days. It’s under-standable that schools want to ease the strain on over-examined children. But all the same, it’s the latest blow to the Great British Eccentric Exam Question. I still cherish the eccentric questions from my own Westminster entrance exam in 1984: 1. Using Newton’s First and Second Laws, explain why drivers should wear seat belts.

Bats in the belfry

As the wordy title of this book and the name of its author suggest, this is a faux-archaic, fogeyish journey around England’s oddest vicars. The Reverend Fergus Butler-Gallie is, though, the real thing: a young curate in the Church of England. Yes, he’s given to sometimes tiresome jocularity: he describes himself as ‘a Bon Viveur first and foremost, with a soupçon of Roguishness and Prodigality’. But, still, his essential thesis is right: the Church of England has produced some real oddballs in its time, and this is an entertaining gallop through several centuries’ worth of them. For 400 years after the Reformation, the Church of England was the ideal Petri dish for nurturing eccentricity. Take plenty of money, lots of free time, a good education, power and class confidence, and vicars were bound to overindulge their whims.

Boris’s gloating critics should be ashamed of themselves

Am I the last person in the metropolitan elite bubble who likes Boris Johnson? You’d certainly think so, going on the reaction to the sad news of his divorce from his wife, Marina Wheeler, after 25 years of marriage. Every divorce is a whirlpool of misery for all those involved: parents, children, family and close friends. And yet the coverage of Boris’s sad news bubbles on a seething undercurrent of gloating and delight. ’Twas ever thus with Boris. For all his huge fan club, there have always been MPs who are jealous of his popularity; who were angry with him, when he edited The Spectator, that he didn’t accept their stultifyingly dull pieces on ‘Whither the euro?’ Boris is completely aware of all this. When he was sacked by Michael Howard in 2004, he wrote a characteristically brilliant, contrary column on what a pleasure it was to be sacked.

Losing streak

England didn’t just lose the World Cup. When it comes to male nudity, the country has also lost its sense of shame. Everywhere — on the Tube, in buses, on the streets, in the pub — men are striding around topless. On Sunday in north Oxford I saw a man skiing topless, on roller-skis, with poles, down the Banbury Road. It’s as if Adam and Eve never ate from the tree of knowledge. Yes, it’s very hot. And yes, in the summer of 1976, men took their tops off but only in particular situations: on the beach, on a building site or in their back garden. I must admit that I cycle with my shirt open in this heat. But because I’m moving at speed, no one is exposed to my mottled flesh for long. When my old prep-school teacher spotted me, half-dressed on my bike in Camden, I felt deeply ashamed and apologised to her.

All hail Æthelflæd!

This week, Prince Edward was paying tribute to a much-loved Queen. Not ‘Mummy’ — but Queen Æthelflæd, Alfred the Great’s eldest child, the Lady of the Mercians and one of our greatest, if largely forgotten, Anglo-Saxon leaders. If it wasn’t for Æthelflæd kicking the Danes out of Mercia during her reign from 911-918, we’d all be speaking Danish. You could call her the first Brexiteer. Æthelflæd died in 918, 1,100 years ago this week, in Tamworth, Staffordshire, heart of her Mercian kingdom (roughly equivalent to Gloucestershire, Worcestershire, Herefordshire and Shropshire). In the West Midlands some people call her the Founding Mother of England. A huge statue of ‘Our Aethel’ sporting a Usain Bolt pose, with her spear aloft, dominates the Offa Drive/Saxon Drive round-about outside Tamworth Railway Station.