A Politics of ‘Action’*

Philip M. Coupland

drpmc66@ntlworld.com

 

If there is an icon of British fascism for its opponents, it is the newsreel image of Sir Oswald Mosley in fascist uniform on the day of the ‘battle of Cable Street’. ‘Cable Street Man’ is the quintessential political bogeyman, the black sheep strayed leagues beyond the pale of political acceptability. In this vein, for the sixtieth anniversary of ‘Cable Street’, one author wrote of how ‘Mosley planned to send columns of thousands of goose-stepping men through the impoverished East End dressed in uniforms which mimicked those of Hitler’s Nazis.’[1] Whilst this evocative but unreliable image of ‘goose-stepping’ blackshirts communicates aspects of fascist politics, it obscures others and is therefore, ultimately misleading. Whilst never entailing ‘goose-stepping’, the militaristic side of British fascism was part of its essence, but seen at other times, or from other perspectives, fascism could pass for quotidian politics. Even before the Public Order Act undressed the BUF at the beginning of 1937, only a minority of members wore uniform and only a proportion of active fascists, and for some months only, wore the military tunic, breeches and peaked cap of the type worn by Mosley in October 1936. A good deal of the time blackshirts were inconspicuous in worsted or flannel: fascism appeared in the guise of the ‘poorly dressed chap of 35’ speaking from the town hall steps in Bolton or the woman ‘dressed in dark brown dress and coat, brown shoes, brown felt hat, bright yellow scarf’, who addressed an indoor meeting in the same town.[2]

 

The purpose of this article is to give a fuller picture of the political life of the average British fascist. What follows concentrates on the day-to-day practices of the BUF but also briefly examines how they related to the discursive and ideological dimensions of fascism. The customary practices of any political grouping are seldom devoid of ascribed meaning, but ‘activity’ gained a deeper meaning once translated into ‘Action’ - a key ideological term in fascist discourse.

An Overview: The BUF, 1932-1940[3]

Our concern here is the BUF rather than the other groupings which preceded it, principally the British Fascists, or existed concurrently, such as the much smaller Imperial Fascist League. In brief, the origins of the BUF were in Mosley’s break with Labour in 1931, in whose government he had been a minister. After first creating the New Party, which failed to make a breakthrough in the 1931 election, Mosley founded the BUF in October 1932. This new body initially brought together remaining elements of the New Party with renegade members of existing fascist groups. In the beginning, progress and recruitment was slow, but funding from Italy and the support of The Daily Mail coincided with a raised public profile and membership increasing to an estimated 40-50,000 by mid-1934.[4] 1934 was a decisive year: initially Mosley had reined in anti-Jewish tendencies within the early BUF, casting it as a movement to save the nation from crisis and communist revolution and create a utopian ‘Greater Britain’ based around his quasi-Keynesian economic ideas and a corporate state. During 1934 anti-semitism grew in influence until it became a major plank of fascist policy. Although the violence surrounding the BUF had more than one origin, the movement also became strongly associated with thuggery, especially following press coverage of its treatment of opponents at a meeting in London’s Olympia.[5]

 

In more exciting times, notoriety and the loss of Lord Rothermere’s support in 1934 would not have mattered. Founded when the immediate crisis of the slump was already under control, by the time the BUF had created a skeleton national organisation, the National Government was firmly in control and the economic situation – however dire – was stable. In conditions so unfavourable to the politics of crisis, it is not surprising that fascist membership declined steeply into 1935. Unprepared for electoral politics, it could only respond to the election of that year with the slogan ‘Fascism Next Time’.

 

However, despite being at the nadir of its fortunes, it was from 1935 onwards that the BUF made progress in building an effective political machine. Whereas the membership of its branches scattered across the country were often relatively few in number, those who remained were more likely to be effective and ideologically convinced activists, than the mixed bag who joined on impulse or in expectation of a fight or other mischief in 1933-34. It was also in the second half of the 1930s when fascism came closest to gaining a mass following. By the time of ‘Cable Street’, a substantial membership had been built up in the East End of London, which continued to grow thereafter.[6] It was fascism’s combination of patriotism with an anti-Jewish stance which was the key to its support there, and up to 23 per cent of the poll was secured in the local government elections of 1937. The BUF’s other distinctive policy over these years was its opposition to armed intervention in Spain, against Italy, and – most especially – Germany. It is a measure of both the appeal of the BUF and its organisational capacity at this time that it was able to successfully hold its largest indoor meeting at Earls Court in July 1939, which many thousands attended. After 3 September, although the organisation was weakened by many active members being called to the colours, blackshirts continued their campaign against the war. The end of the BUF came in May 1940, first with the internment of Mosley and other leading fascists, and then its proscription shortly afterwards.    

Membership

Inevitably, a member’s experience of this sweep of history varied according to when, and where, they joined. At one extreme, for example, was the handful of blackshirts in the small market town of Wellingborough, in Northamptonshire. Despite terrific efforts, progress was similarly slow in Dorset. One member wrote: ‘In a month we have made one convert, and she sounds like a halfwit.’[7] At the other extreme, were branches with a membership of hundreds in east London boroughs such as Limehouse or Bethnal Green. Across England many towns and cites hosted a BUF branch falling somewhere between these examples.[8] The lifespan of branches also varied. Wellingborough had its small outpost from 1932 to the end; elsewhere – for example, as in Peterborough – branches were founded during the 1933-1934 period, but after a burst of rapid growth and noisy enthusiasm died out, never to be reformed. There were also fascist associations at several universities and groups at some of the principle public schools. Where there was no local branch it was possible to join as a ‘Headquarters member’, as Jeffrey Hamm did after coming across a street meeting whilst on holiday from Pontypool.[9] Although there were many shared experiences among members of these different branches there were inevitably differences too.

 

Who and ‘what’ they were may also have influenced a person’s activities as a fascist. Rather than there being a typical fascist ‘type’, as has been noted elsewhere, the BUF attracted ‘all sorts of people who joined for a variety of reasons.’[10] Whilst a blackshirt was more likely to be male, a significant proportion were female.[11] During its formative years gendered conflict was one of several fissures undermining BUF unity, but despite this, women played an important part in the movement.[12] In terms of activities there were no absolute differences: both sexes participated in all propaganda efforts, women stewarded meetings and in the early years there was a Women’s Defence Force and later a Women’s Drum Corps was created. Nellie Driver, Women’s District Leader (WDL) for Nelson, wrote that the BUF ‘…had women who were quite capable of ejecting any male tough from a meeting, and whose zeal was an example to the men’.[13] Whilst there was a great degree of functional equality in their political work, men and women belonged to separate parallel organisations within the BUF. The women’s organisation was formed after the men’s and its officials were – to use Driver’s term – ‘subservient’ to their masculine equivalents.[14] For example, at district level, all female members were organised under a WDL who was responsible to the District Leader (DL) proper, who could only be a man.[15] In many cases men and women might be doing the same thing but separately, for example, when marching women would form a separate section toward the rear.[16] Should they be working together, perhaps in electoral work, and a woman be appointed a prospective electoral agent, she was not granted ‘executive authority’ over the male members but could ‘advise’ the DL.[17]

 

The BUF had organisations for children and youths, and members in their middle age - often former soldiers of the Great War - and older were also common, but those in their twenties and thirties were most strongly represented. A well-informed contemporary believed that there was ‘little doubt’ that the BUF had a higher proportion of ‘youth’ members than any other party.[18] Although the higher echelons of leadership were dominated by the middle or upper-middle classes, fascists came from all social classes.[19] The great many who came from the lower-middle and working classes were more likely to be small businessmen or artisans than waged labourers, but many fascists were trades unionists too. Their political backgrounds were similarly diverse, although Conservatism was probably most common. At the beginning, many fascists were former members of Labour, the ILP or the Communist Party. This influence diminished, but it would be misleading to suggest that former Conservatives ever completely dominated the BUF.

 

Finally, whilst the BUF was composed of the same human stuff as any other party, the decision to become identified with an organisation which was often notorious, might require an inner strength or some other unusual quality. One assessment at the time was that ‘[t]o be a Fascist now requires as much social courage as once it required to be a Communist.’[20] The pacifist Beverly Nichols wrote of Mosley’s followers as ‘animated by something akin to a religious faith’.[21] Whilst involvement in fascism might have been traced to some flaw of character or mania, such motivations were not typical. Another unlikely fascist sympathiser, George Orwell commented: ‘[e]veryone who has given the movement so much as a glance knows that the rank-and-file Fascist is often quite a well meaning person—quite genuinely anxious—for instance, to better the lot of the unemployed.’[22] To fully embrace fascism could begin a process of self-transformation. Robert Saunders wrote: ‘It was suggested that I should don a blackshirt and… sell… our papers on the streets. To enable anyone to understand just what this was asking of me, I have to relate more about myself… I was intensely shy. Meeting fresh people, or even entering a room of friends was an ordeal… If I attended a meeting… I was so nervous that what felt like a band around me compressed my chest.’[23] Through courage and conviction, comradeship and endless activity, Saunders became District Leader (DL), Dorset-West and was later a major figure in the National Farmers Union.

 

Of course, it was not especially challenging to be a member but take no part in public activities. One activist wrote of ‘the invisible membership’.[24] As with all parties, the BUF had a great many such members, which it came to classify as ‘third division’. Among those who were active, levels of participation varied. There were salaried officials and other paid functionaries: the BUF was, relative to the numbers of its membership, top-heavy in the number of officers based at its National Headquarters (NHQ) in London. NHQ not only required secretaries and other ancillary staff, but in the early years there was also a full-time defence force, known as ‘I Squad’. Due to various reasons, but most especially economies demanded by the loss of Italian subsidies in 1937, the numbers of these salaried officals declined over the period. Although the BUF probably never operated without some foreign financial support, increasing financial stringency may have had the beneficial effect of driving out opportunists. Although such individuals were a minority, they were a harmful one. A TUC report noted: ‘BUF members show great spontaneous enthusiasm for the movement. Many voluntarily work long hours overtime at it while even the NHQ staff all work up to 14 hours a day.’[25]

 

Eventually paid staff numbered only around 40.[26] The more typical active member worked for fascism in his or her spare time, paid their monthly subscription and for their uniform and other accoutrements. Active blackshirts were designated either ‘first’ or ‘second division’, depending on the amount of time they devoted to political work. First division fascists were expected to give at least two nights a week, second division one evening a month.[27] It was not unusual for members to move between the two active divisions and the inactive third division as their circumstances changed. Before the Public Order act came into force, all fascists were entitled to wear some form of uniform although its specific type was determined according to what division they belonged to and the evolution of fascist practice.[28] Active members generally wore the ‘fencing jacket’ style of shirt or what was known as the ‘undress’ shirt. The latter was cut in a conventional style but a black shirt of any sort in 1930s Britain would not be mistaken for a fashion choice. The ‘Action Press’ uniform was so called because it was officially restricted to those who gave up much of their time to the fascist press in public. It was worn by relatively few members in 1936. Following the Act, although there were efforts to test the new legislation and the wearing of ‘undress’ black shirts was not unusual, members were formally restricted to wearing a lapel badge and carrying a membership card. The reverse of the card was stamped to record payment of ‘subs’, which in 1938, for example, were one shilling a month for waged active members and 4d, for those unemployed. Division 3 members paid 1d. per week.[29]

Political Soldiers

A fundamental difference between the BUF and other political parties was that it did not seek to necessarily gain power through electoral means. In a statement taken in 1935, an ex-fascist stated that ‘…should the fascists fail in the election we should have to go to London and in a whole body storm the Houses of Parliament and take them by brute force. Arms would be issued but where from I don’t know but I think that is why I was told to enrol as many ex-service men as possible.’[30] The onetime BUF photographer, Kay Fredericks, also believed that the ‘general feeling’ in the movement was that fascism would not take power by constitutional ways.[31] At the very beginning, Mosley spoke of a coming ‘crisis’, ‘collapse’, ‘anarchy’ when fascism would face communism in the ‘struggle for the mastery of the state’. Whereas a few years later the BUF would formally state that it had no wish to ‘usurp’ the functions of the state,[32] in 1932 Mosley predicted that the time was coming when the ‘normal instruments of government, such as police and army’ would not suffice and ‘only the technical organisations of fascism and of communism’ could prevail. In consequence, he pledged ‘…we shall prepare to meet the anarchy of Communism with the organised force of Fascism.’[33] It was preparedness for this role which determined much of the form, discourse and practice of the early BUF. From 1935 onwards this changed, such that by 1940 it was prepared to fight an election. However, despite this shift the organisation never altogether lost the paramilitary aspect of its character.

 

Despite its avowed counter-revolutionary role and Mosley’s pledge in 1933 that ‘red violence’ would be met with ‘fascist machine guns’, there is no reliable indication that any official efforts were made to obtain firearms, or to train members to use them. Various improvised coshes and knuckledusters were held and used early on, but the carrying of any weapon whatsoever was later forbidden.[34] Even if not armed, the paramilitary aspect was otherwise to the fore, and many former soldiers were among the membership. Fascists were organised in a hierarchical structure and wore badges of rank, they drilled, marched and saluted their officers. BUF ‘administrative methods’ were ‘more akin to those of an army orderly room than to a political office.’[35] Both leadership and discipline were core principles of fascism. One report noted that ‘…obeying instructions without … discussion of policy or action is the fundamental difference between all other English political parties and the Mosley Movement.’[36] In was directed that the training of blackshirts should be:

 

based on cultivating initiative and responsibility and not merely on the printed word. It should develop quick perception, speedy decision, quick action and that sense of superiority with which skill invariably endows a man. Sports such as boxing, ju-jitsu, wresting, fencing and swimming are invaluable means of training, as well as games which demand quickness of brain and limb.[37] 

 

The importance of physical training and fitness was such that fascist premises sometimes included a gymnasium.[38] The fascist press frequently carried reports of boxing and other sporting contests and a number of teams and sporting clubs were set up. At one point, for example, NHQ fielded rugby and soccer teams. Elsewhere, several of the active members of Northampton district were keen cyclists and one of their number set up a BUF cycling club; at Newcastle a blackshirt ‘harriers’ group combined distance running and propaganda.[39] Among the multitude of insignia produced was a swimming suit motif.[40] Physical fitness reflected the fascist model of masculinity and its aesthetics of the body but also indicated a need to prepare for a political struggle which would be literal rather than metaphorical.[41]

 

The fascist headquarters ‘Black House’, which existed between 1933 and 1935, was very much in line with this military character. Whereas the later NHQ operated primarily as an administrative hub, Black House could easily be viewed as a barracks or a strong point. Parades were held at 7.30am every morning and bugle calls punctuated the day. Hundreds of blackshirts worked there, and it was the base of the defence force, ‘I Squad’.[42]  At night, around a hundred members slept on the premises and it was claimed that, in a crisis, up to five thousand men could be accommodated there. Except for attending mixed classes or concerts women were not permitted on site.[43] Outside there was a yard, where ‘young men seemed always to be attending the transport, or acquiring the smart drill which distinguished the Fascist movement’.[44] Cars and a fleet of lorries were available to move speakers and defence squads around the capital and elsewhere. In the Radio Control Department, Fascist Bogle operated a transmitter, and there is evidence of plans for all of the principle BUF branches to be connected to NHQ by wireless.[45] Black House might also be seen as a fascist community in microcosm having offices, lecture rooms, dormitories, a canteen, mess and reading rooms, a printing-shop and other workshops. Ju-jitsu, boxing and other disciplines took place in the gymnasium and ‘in the small theatre earnest young people strove to build the theatre of the future’.[46] In addition to departments for policy, electioneering, propaganda and publishing, defence, and industrial activities, there were sections providing not only support functions such as photography, publications, and accounts but also administering medical, dental and optical services.[47]

 

Just as the army was bound by HM Regulations, so the BUF had its ‘bible’, although it was not published in an elaborated form until 1936.[48] The obligations and duties of officers, behaviour on duty, the convening of disciplinary boards, the conduct of meetings, movement on the march and by coach or rail, personal appearance and the carrying of weapons were among the topics dealt with among the 255 paragraphs of the Constitution and Regulations. This also detailed an organisational structure built on a military model. Five active fascists comprised a unit, five units made a section, and five sections a company, each with their specific officer. Spatially, after January 1935, a BUF company was organised within a district corresponding to a parliamentary constituency, and each ward or polling district within it was to be the area of a section or unit.[49] The extent to which it was possible to realise this structure varied according to local circumstances and in many cases – probably most outside of London – would not have been fully possible. This national structure was organised under the NHQ, which had its staff of district inspectors and, above them, executive and administrative officers headed by a chief of staff. At the pinnacle of the hierarchy was Mosley, ‘The Leader’ as he was reverently called. The stress on individual leadership rather than committees within this structure reflected both the military model and fascist ideology. Appointments, resignations and demotions were published in a national gazette, part of the considerable paperwork generated by the BUF’s bureaucracy.

 

One of the main purposes of the blackshirt political soldier was to protect public meetings from organised attempts to disrupt them. Although fascist attacks against opponents did also occur beyond the official gaze, much of the violence associated with the BUF occurred in response to the actions of anti-fascists, as is demonstrated by state records.[50] This was inevitable, given that the Communist Party and other anti-fascist groups explicitly set out to oppose fascism in a struggle which both sides saw as part of a decisive moment of history.[51] Thus, in the course of propaganda activities, blackshirts took part in many battles although personal experiences varied tremendously. Undoubtedly a member of I Squad would have been involved regularly in violent encounters. Fascists, in this bodyguard unit or elsewhere could suffer injury, sometimes of a serious nature. Edmund Warburton lost an eye following the ‘battle of Stockton-on-Tees’.[52] During a melee at a meeting at Cowan’s Monument in Newcastle, Ken Dick was struck across the face with a piece of the smashed speaker’s rostrum, splitting his upper lip through to the gum.[53] John Charnley was thrown through a glass shop window, albeit without serious injury. In contrast, Robert Saunders who was a steward at the notorious Olympia meeting, and attended 169 meetings between June 1935 and June 1940 wrote ‘I never hit anyone and was only once myself hit.’[54]

 

Although a good deal of the violence associated with fascism occurred at meetings and was reactive, on occasions blackshirts did go on the offensive. One such episode occurred at Stockton-on-Tees in 1933. After meetings held by the handful of local fascists had been regularly broken up by opponents, a force of a hundred blackshirts from the surrounding area were assembled. After marching to the town square this force fought in a concerted action against anti-fascists throughout the afternoon.[55] During the early years of the BUF in particular, various other forms of direct action also took place. In a campaign known as the ‘tithe war’, fascists attempted to prevent bailiffs seizing the property of farmers to pay monies due to the Church of England. The Fascist Union of British Workers, a subsection of the BUF not only propagandised on issues of particular interest to the working class but also intervened in several industrial disputes.[56] There was also the shadowy realm of activities which, although not carried out with official sanction, were part of the activities of some blackshirts. After the Public Order Act put fascists into plain clothes they were more often found disrupting their political opponents’ public meetings. ‘Jew baiting’ took place too. For example, Hull fascists carried out minor harassment of Jewish owned shops and in Northampton the town’s synagogue was subject to a symbolic defilement, which it is difficult to attribute to any other agency.[57] In the East End of London similar activities were relatively common, although NHQ sought on occasion to rein in the perpetrators.[58]

Propaganda

The militarised and ‘theatrical’ dimension of British fascism in the 1930s was projected into the public sphere by a series of large-scale marches and public meetings. The ultimate expression of fascist political theatre took place at the Albert Hall and the great exhibition space at Olympia. The pattern of these London spectacles was echoed – albeit on different scales – not only in other metropolitan centres but in many smaller towns throughout the country. For example, Northampton, which was by no means a BUF stronghold, hosted three indoor public meetings at which Mosley spoke.

 

Such meetings were advertised with a simple statement ‘Mosley Speaks’, and that was apparently sufficient to fill a hall with devotees, opponents and the curious. The speaker’s dais and backdrop would be adorned with fascist symbols and what was reputed to be the largest union flag in the country. Within and immediately outside the hall would be sufficient uniformed blackshirts – both local and imported – to not only ‘maintain free speech’ but also to project strength. Even before the first word was uttered, the attention of the audience had been seized, their anticipation wetted and emotions heightened. The speaker’s entrance was made from the back of the hall, through the body of the audience, and was ‘heralded by a stirring fanfare of bugles and drums’.[59] Without introduction or preamble Mosley would then begin to speak. As the centrepiece of this performance, he had the physical attributes for the role and was a charismatic orator. Leslie Grundy, DL Huddersfield, described what took place: ‘The brilliance of his oratory was striking. He seemed to have the ability to almost hypnotise his audience, as he held their attention for over an hour without a note of any kind. The final passages of his speech… had the effect of lifting the listeners to such a pitch of enthusiasm that they were rising to their feet to cheer as he roared out the final words of his speech.’[60] In all respects a spectacle beyond the ordinary.[61]

 

‘Leader meetings’ – as they were known – were undoubtedly a highpoint in the political lives of fascists. John Beckett – a leading figure in the BUF who became a bitter critic of Mosley – claimed that ‘The Leader’ was always sure of an ego boost from the clique of supporters who would attend any meeting within reach and ‘behave as hysterical film star fans’.[62] Certainly there were strong emotions released at these events. After the public had left, it was the BUF leader’s practice to speak privately to his followers. Nellie Driver wrote of how ‘… scenes of great enthusiasm and devotion followed. Strong, tough men wept openly, and women cried and cheered hysterically, as Mosley flung his arms wide to them and urged them on to greater efforts. Forests of arms were raised in salute and thousands of voices roared marching songs. ‘Hail Mosley’ was shouted until everyone was hoarse.’[63]

 

Each of the many hundreds of ‘Leader meetings’ which occurred across the country was the culmination of considerable preparation and required the combined efforts of the local branch and the national organisation. Such an event was at the apex of the fascist propaganda effort, but stood tall among a myriad of other meetings presenting variations on the same theme. For example, Northampton also hosted indoor meetings featuring Alexander Raven Thomson and A.K. Chesterton, whilst nearby Wellingborough was visited by William Joyce. Also – although now disappeared – in the 1930s the tradition of open-air political speaking on market squares and local ‘spouters’ corners’, at factory gates and to labour exchange queues was still vibrant. A trawl of the fascist and local press for any locality with an active branch will show the week-by-week efforts of local fascists or visitors from the BUF’s corps of fulltime propagandists. Typically speaking from a portable wooden dais, either purpose made or improvised, often with the black fascist and national flags in the background, with perhaps only a handful of supporters for moral and – if necessary – physical support, Blackshirt street oratory was a common weekend and evening occurrence. Paper sellers might circulate on the fringes of the crowd and a collection and sale of literature at the end of the meeting was usual. If ending in good order, proceedings would conclude with the national anthem and the fascist salute. To be entitled to speak, a member needed to have passed a ‘Speaker’s School’, after which they would be ‘graded and indexed according to their suitability’.[64] Notes were also regularly published, providing not only facts and argument but also guidance on effective phraseology and the type of audience a particular topic would appeal to.[65]

 

Modern technology also augmented this established tradition of public speaking. The BUF had a fleet of propaganda vans, which travelled the country on propaganda tours. Sign-written on their coachwork with fascist insignia and acting as a moving billboard for fascist slogans, the roofs of these vans also provided a platform for the speaker and they also carried amplification equipment. The use of ‘Tannoy’ type technology seems to have been quite widespread. Even Wellingborough’s handful of blackshirts had a locally concocted apparatus transported by handcart and the use of amplification was eventually prohibited in Northampton’s market square. Elsewhere, Robert Saunders broadcast the fascist message to the apparently indifferent walls of Dorset villages from a loudspeaker on the roof of his car.

 

A meeting, especially a major outdoor one, was often preceded and/or followed by a march. The ‘Propaganda March accompanied by bands and banners both of men and women’ was deemed to be ‘a fine form of propaganda.’[66] For example, in 1939, the open air May Day rally to be held in the evening at Ridley Road, Darleston was preceded by a march. Blackshirts gathered at 3.45pm on the Victoria Embankment, forming three unbroken ranks stretching from Westminster to Hungerford bridge which, after an inspection, marched to the meeting place.[67] Driver gives a fine description of usual practice and atmosphere of such a march:

 

… everyone obeyed orders with unquestioning discipline. It was like an inexorable machine and the marchers were in threes. Heading the march were the drum and bugle corps, who went at it hammer and tongs, then the Leader and the guard of honour of picked men, the massed standards followed by the largest group of men. Then the women’s contingent, the women’s drum corps, and a smaller body of men bringing up the rear. Behind all came the loudspeaker vans. … No speaking was allowed; no waving to friends or relations on the pavements – eyes forward, silent and grim. No lipstick or make-up was permitted to the women.[68]

 

If the average apolitical Briton had stuck to home and hearth and rarely opened a newspaper they might have missed all the great multitude of performances of fascist theatre. They would needed to have been agoraphobic to avoid the most ubiquitous means of fascist propaganda, the public sale of the fascist press. For example, at one time in Newcastle city centre, five separate pitches were maintained, each with four uniformed fascists.[69] Public indifference made meetings in Wellingborough a wasted effort but Jeffrey Gent, on his pitch outside Boots and Woolworths, over six feet tall and resplendent in blackshirt, grey breeches, and the red, white and blue BUF armband was, Wellingborough News wrote, 'well known among the Saturday night throng' for his 'persistent but good-natured efforts to sell his papers'.[70] During the heady months of early 1934 an official in Hull claimed to have sold 500 papers in less than two days.[71] Sometimes efforts were considerable but progress more modest, in Weymouth Eric Peake disposed of 32 papers, but this included ones that he gave away to ‘interested’ people and paid for himself.[72] John Wynn joined after such an encounter – ‘[o]ne day in 1938 I was stopped by a news seller in Bristol and I wanted something to read while I had an evening meal’.[73] The movement poured considerable financial and human resources into the production and distribution of a weekly paper. For a short while in the early years The Fascist Week was its chief propaganda vehicle and, from 1936 onwards, Action performed this role. This paper mixed political content with commentary on the news, cartoons, fiction, reviews and other material aimed at the ‘average’ reader. Blackshirt was also produced as a weekly and sold publicly, but for much of its history was intended to be an in-house journal. The papers circulated among members and sympathisers but considerable efforts were made to encourage Blackshirts to sell them on the streets. Time so spent was an essential duty of the active blackshirt. Prizes and other inducements were also offered – after setting a new sales record Fascist Gent received a signed copy of Mosley's The Greater Britain. Even paper sales could be turned into something of a drama, mass sales were organised, and in Newcastle on one occasion, a team of six fascists wearing sandwich boards moved through the city in formation, stopping to chant ‘…in unison: “Read all about it” … “Read Mosley”.’[74]

 

Street sales of the fascist press were an important propaganda activity in their own right but following the decision of wholesalers in 1937 to boycott Action they became the primary means of distribution. Fascists frequently accused the wider world of seeking to ‘smother’ fascism by denying it a voice. In the 1930s Mosley’s voice was heard twice on the BBC, debating with Megan Lloyd George in 1933 and, very briefly, following the Olympia meeting. Even without taking into account the numerical weakness of the BUF, given the Corporation’s prohibition of ‘party political’ material and the poor reputation of fascism, it would have been surprising if things had been otherwise. Despite this, an indignant fascist slogan commanded: ‘Let Mosley Broadcast’. This, along with ‘Mosley Will Win’, ‘Britain First’ and many others, appeared alongside the BUF ‘circle-flash’ symbol painted or chalked on walls, bridges and anywhere else that might catch the public eye. Sallying forth with brushes and pots of whitewash became another widespread, albeit covert propaganda activity. An East London official wrote of occupying the more ‘boisterous spirits’ of his branch ‘…‘till the early hours… whitewashing etc.’[75] A Lancashire fascist ‘one dark night… ventured out and painted huge slogans all over Reedeyforth Bridge under the very noses of the police.’[76]

 

On a smaller scale, gummed labels bearing similar slogans were also available for purchase and appeared affixed to public places. Driver was fined 5/- for defacing a poster of the L.M.S. railway with one.[77] More conventionally, house-to-house distribution of leaflets was commonplace.[78] Besides the basic ‘Ten points’ leaflet which gave the most concise summary of BUF policy, a plethora of other topical productions were distributed. At the time of the Munich crisis, for example, two million anti-war leaflets were handed out, some in the vicinity of Westminster itself.[79] In Nelson, fascists ‘poured leaflets through every letter box in town’, and ‘[s]ometimes… received them back in the form of confetti’.[80] Copies of Action were sometimes also distributed door-to-door, or left on public transport. [81] In common with all political parties fascism made use of the correspondence columns of national and local papers. The latter were a lively forum for local debate and the smallest mention of fascism or any allied issue in the press would be enough to draw forward a letter from a local fascist or – presumably alerted by its cuttings service – from NHQ

Electoral Organisation

As already mentioned, for the first few years after its foundation the BUF expected to come into power through an extra-electoral route. The crisis which Mosley had anticipated did not occur and so the BUF was forced to create the machinery to contest elections. A slate of prospective parliamentary candidates was announced and at district level preparations were made for electoral campaigning. Although this machinery was never used in a general election, a number of local government contests were fought and, in 1940, several by-elections. Except in one very specific case, these interventions were unsuccessful and – outside of the East End – only secured a meagre share of the vote. Nonetheless, the preparations made were genuine and constituted a significant aspect of the day-to-day political life of fascism.

 

Guides to constituency organisation and canvassing were published and the first of these emphasised that preparation for an election was a constant process and not just a matter for the weeks immediately preceding polling day.[82] The ideal was that every ward and polling district would have its designated fascist unit pursing a planned programme of propaganda through meetings and the distribution of literature. It was noted that the latter had the ‘very definite advantage that it enlists the help of those members who are not good platform speakers but who yet desire to help in the movement’.[83] It was recommended that all literature carry the names and addresses of the fascist official in that ward or district as a point of contact. This person, in addition to responding to enquiries, would archive and collate letters and allied papers as part of a continual effort to ‘know’ the vote in their locality. It was suggested that each ward within a borough constituency would have a dedicated ‘team’ and that every block of houses within a ward would be the responsibility of a specific fascist. They would collect subscriptions from division three members living there, enrol new members, sell papers, collect donations for the electoral fund, canvass and come to learn the political opinions of residents generally.[84] In addition, so called ‘Action Teams (‘A Teams’) could be organised to undertake particular propaganda functions such as mass-canvasses or literature distribution. Women fascists were expected to take a prominent part in electoral activities. For example, Ward Teams could contain both sexes and be led by either a man or a women.

 

As part of its shift away from the military model after 1936 the term ‘team’, as used in ‘Ward Team’ and ‘Action Team’ replaced military nomenclature. The titles of fascist officials were similarly revised such that – for example – ‘District Officer’ became ‘District Leader.’ These changes, when combined with the prohibition of uniforms, meant that in the second half of the life of the BUF it came to more closely resemble other political parties. However, although these preparations to fight elections were genuine, at the same time the influence of the symbols and forms of the first few years remained strongly in the background as a permanent influence. Bellamy wrote that the ‘difference was in outward form only’.[85]

The Internal World of Fascism

After the closure of Black House, NHQ moved to more modest premises in Sanctuary Buildings, Westminster. These functioned as an administrative centre rather than a barracks and lacked the residential accommodation or other additional facilities of Black House. One visitor described the entrance hall as ‘small and dank’;[86] another found ‘…coming in and out, a constant procession of young men who suggest by their bearing, that they are soldiers. … In the ante-room is a table covered with copies of the Fascist magazine Action. Over the mantelpiece hangs a large photograph of Sir Oswald Mosley…’[87] WDL Driver, attending NHQ for leadership training and a tour of the ‘well-run London districts’, was surprised by the amount of time spent in the Roma café next door, and noted how the ‘atmosphere’ changed once Mosley entered the building: ‘everyone became tensed up and more alert’.[88]

 

BUF districts frequently had their own District Headquarters (DHQ). Photographs of premises often show them with the name of the organisation across the frontage and a union flag displayed. Whilst some had a gymnasium or at least some equipment for boxing or other sporting disciplines, during the early period there was a tendency for premises to become social clubs with negative consequences for political work. For example, Plymouth – besides its gymnasium – offered a canteen, bar and lounge;[89] Smethwick’s premises was closed down after a visiting official found that branch activity centred around its two bars.[90] Ever afterwards, the emphasis was deliberately ascetic: DHQ was ‘an office and not a social club’; the work of fascism was ‘done not in HQ but in the streets and on the doorsteps of the people.’[91] Although a ‘purely club spirit’ was denounced as an ‘old gang party’ characteristic, social events were advertised in the fascist press and it was suggested that women fascists organise bazaars, whist drives and dances to raise funds.[92] Fascist sociability was also expressed in a series of seaside summer camps.[93]

 

Financial stringency demanded cheap rents and consequently premises were ‘generally up many flights of stairs, dimly lit, stale smelling and in the poorest quarters.’[94] On the front door of a ‘dingy’ building in the centre of Blackburn an ‘amateurishly painted panel… proclaimed it the “District Headquarters, British Union”. Within, it was furnished ‘frugally with an assortment of… obvious throw outs or pieces obtained for a few shillings form back street junk shops.’[95] The meanest of Northampton’s three premises was over a workshop in the back yard of a terraced house, amid a red brick sprawl of terraced streets and boot-and-shoe factories. Even when the district could afford their own building it was in the oldest and poorest borough of the town, later swept away by post-war slum clearance.

 

DHQ was an administrative centre and the only complete set of branch papers to survive shows that even a vestigial district like Dorset West generated a substantial archive of paper. Aside for storage of correspondence and membership records, flags, banners and other paraphernalia were on the premises. The building also served as the distributive hub for the fascist papers, delivered to the local railway station, and the ground floor might function as a bookshop, selling books and pamphlets. A considerable range of other merchandise was also for sale. In addition to 78rpm discs of Mosley’s speeches and fascist anthems, a plaster bas-relief with Mosley’s profile was available, and – among other things – diverse badges, cuff-links, women’s brooches, flags and pennants, playing cards, stationery, tea mugs, glasses and ashtrays bearing fascist insignia. At one point there were even ‘BUF’ cigarettes for sale.[96] 

 

Members’ meetings commonly took place in the evenings at DHQ. A visitor to Newcastle branch’s meeting would come in to find a large union jack covering one wall, in front of which were ‘rows of seated blackshirt uniformed young men and women.’ The evening would commence with a 15 to 20 minute talk on current national affairs and often trainee speakers would present a short lecture, or question and answers sessions might be held.[97] The formation of study groups was encouraged, to develop understanding of fascist policy and aims and to draw new members into the movement.[98] The 1930s were the great age of the political book club and a British Union Book Club was advertised in Northampton.[99]

 

Driver, whose health was delicate, found the pall of smoke in which meetings were conducted ‘unbearable’.[100] She also wrote of how ‘private member’s meetings’ were told that ‘Fascism in Britain would last a thousand years’.[101] These words hint at the existence of a comprehensive fascist sub-culture which incorporated not only official policy but developed its own more mystical aspects.[102] Whereas fascism has been tagged as an anti-intellectual creed, this was not the case in its British manifestation. There was a fascist ‘metaphysics’ stressing the importance of ‘will’ and ‘spirit’, but this was integrated with an often closely argued critique of bourgeois democratic society and a detailed prescription for its transformation into the ‘Greater Britain’. The march and the meeting sought an effect which was visceral, ‘preconscious’, but this was always accompanied by the word. Propaganda was the public face of an internal culture of words. ‘Peter Fletcher’, the representative young blackshirt imagined by Frederic Mullally, began his initiation into this subculture by secretly reading a ‘well-thumbed copy of The Greater Britain.’[103] Besides Mosley’s two major books The Greater Britain (1932; 1934) and To-morrow We Live (1939), a great number of other short books and pamphlets appeared under the names of the BUF leader and his colleagues. In addition to the movement’s weekly press, The Fascist Quarterly (later British Union Quarterly) published in-depth theoretical, critical and analytical articles. Whilst fascism in Britain never built up the support among intellectuals enjoyed by the Left, the contents page of this journal did on one occasion carry the names of Ezra Pound, Wyndham Lewis and Roy Campbell. As to the wider reading habits of fascists, fascist bookshops sold a range of other titles alongside official publications. These include such ‘classics’ as Mussolini’s My Autobiography and Hitler’s My Struggle and a wide range of titles from the literature of anti-semitism and conspiracy theory, including the works of Nesta Webster, Jews and the White Slave Traffic and the Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion.[104] The contents of the local headquarters and bookshop of the Northampton branch of the BUF were almost exclusively restricted to official BUF publications, although also to be found were pamphlets including Jews in America and Jews’ Bandleaders and Film Stars.[105] Official BUF publications and pronouncements generally tended to steer clear of darker recesses of anti-Jewish conspiracy paranoia but some blackshirts immersed themselves in this material.

The Rhetoric of ‘Action’

The purpose of the practices outlined here was to articulate the fascism by word and deed to the British public. At one level of communication, this was BUF policy and its official ‘line’ on the questions of the day, but at the same time what was being communicated were the core values and sentiments which premised the particular. Within fascist discourse the themes of national crisis and decay and Britain’s rebirth through fascism were omnipresent as the basic narrative structure within which all other points of policy and aspects of critique were secondarily inserted. Within this narrative, fascism as agency identified itself as the epitome of patriotism, whilst as a process or force it claimed to be the essence of ‘Action’.

 

As noted at the beginning, in fascist discourse ‘Action’ was a favoured term, and often capitalised for that reason. In Mosley’s words fascism was a ‘creed of action’ and he stated that ‘We have had enough talk: we will act!’[106] Under ‘Action’ in the BUF’s concise statement of policy it was declared: ‘British Union stands for Action in Government which Parliamentary obstruction prevents. British Union will give Government power to act thus to carry out the will of the people.’[107] Bernard Talbot, local government election candidate, offered himself to Manchester as the bearer of a ‘new creed and policy of Action’ and as a ‘man of Action’.[108]  Besides signifying a desire to free the state to act independently, swiftly and decisively, the cult of ‘Action’ also incorporated  British fascism’s identification with the dynamism characteristic of modernism, demonstrated in the BUF’s embrace of power, force and speed manifested in industry and technology. The centrality of ‘Action’ to British fascism was indicated by its adoption as the title for BUF’s major paper. Similarly, whereas the BUF initially borrowed the venerable fasces for its symbol, in 1935 it innovated its own unique symbol, the ‘circle-flash’, representing the ‘flash of action within the circle of unity’.

 

‘Action’ also had a meaning within the day-to-day discourse of fascist activism. For example, at the end of a letter settling inter-branch conflicts, the author, indicating his desire that the disputing parties put their differences aside and return to their political work, wrote ‘…all that is now necessary is Action on all sides.’[109] Just as it described the use of power in the fascist state to come, so ‘Action’ also described collectively – and so elevated – the BUF’s practices during the struggle for power. Within fascist discourse the blackshirt is idealised as the revolutionary, who by his (sic) courage, discipline and self-sacrifice would save Britain. The actual BUF member, despite their inability to live up to this ideal, was nonetheless its corporeal representative, rhetoric made flesh. Similarly, the day-to-day activities of the blackshirt could also be elevated and idealised as ‘Action’. In such a way, rhetoric drew out human energy to sustain the practices of fascism. At the same time, the countless marches, speeches and so on justified the rhetoric – vestigially in reality, but much more substantially at the level of symbol and fantasy – by making the fascist a man of ‘Action’ on the historical march towards the Greater Britain.

 

Notes