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Words by Abby Louise Woodman Edits by Jillian Ducker Special thanks to Anya Pearson and MaryAnningRocks! The Statue of Mary Anning in Lyme Regis Anya Pearson is on a mission to redress the fact that whilst 85% of statues in Great Britain celebrate the achievements of men, only 3% commemorate named women. She began in 2018 when she and her daughter, then 11-year-old Evie, were inspired to start a campaign to raise a statue to Mary Anning in their community. Anning was a pioneering palaeontologist who spent her life collecting, identifying and selling fossils in Lyme Regis, a town on the Jurassic Coast, in Dorset. Mary Annning Rocks says that ‘It is important to remember and acknowledge Mary in a visual sense because she needs to have a tangible and physical presence put back in Lyme Regis.’ The initial campaign succeeded in their original mission of getting a statue of Mary Anning (and Tray the dog) installed on the 21st May 2022, the 223rd anniversary of Anning’s birth.  Mary Anning Rocks continues with the  Mary Anning Learning Legacy , and the campaign itself   has grown into a nationwide community led by Anya called VISIBLEWomenUK. Inspired by the efforts of Anya and the team in Dorset, campaigns working for a visual commemoration of women and their contributions to history have gained traction throughout the UK, including at home, in Dorset. Some of these movements include campaigns to raise statues to the Match Girls, in Bow, and Aphra Benn, in Canterbury.  I’ve followed Mary Anning Rocks from afar, and recently came across an article about Anya’s newest project, the Dorchester Sheroes . Last year, Anya was approached to advise on the raising of a statue to the man who invented the compostable toilet. She replied with what she describes as her usual polite rejection, listing the facts and statistics about women’s representation. To her surprise, the campaign organisers replied, well, then this needs to be a female campaign. Since then, Anya and the team have worked to find women who deserve a statue in Dorchester that will better represent and commemorate the women and people who have lived there. At the start of this year, they asked for ideas of the women they might feature, and in the end received over 48 submissions. Following the early success of the campaign, Anya is writing a book to spotlight as many of these women as she can.  In March 2024, I was lucky enough to meet Anya via video call to talk about all things Mary Anning, Dorchester Sheroes and what motivated her to activism.  About Mary Anning  Mary Anning, a Victorian woman whom you may know from the rhyme ‘She Sells Seashells by the Sea Shore’. Anning was born in 1799 in Lyme Regis, a small town in Dorset in the southwest of England, an area commonly referred to as the Jurassic Coast for its abundance of prehistoric fossils. It was common practice for locals to sell small fossils to tourists to supplement their income, something which Mary and her family participated in throughout her childhood. However, Mary’s dedication to and understanding of the pieces she found quickly made her a fundamental part of the development of palaeontology. Mary was 12 when she, and her brother Joseph, discovered the skeleton of an Ichthyosaur and by her twenties, Mary had taken on the leading role in the family’s fossil business. In 1826, aged 26, Mary opened her shop, Anning’s Fossil Depot, in which she displayed another Ichthyosaur she had found. She would continue to find and sell fossils, to tourists, wealthy collectors, and museums throughout her life. Mary taught herself much of the complex science and geology behind her finds, becoming (justifiably) resentful when the male geologists who published her findings did not mention her name in their work. Anning’s findings and scientific understanding of the fossils she uncovered contributed to significant developments about prehistoric life and the history of the planet. Mary Anning has come in and out of popular recognition from the time of her own life through to the present, often in children’s literature and recently, in a 2020 film starring Kate Winslet. Yet, on the coast where she spent so much of her life, Anning was unseen.  --- Why don’t we start with your background and how you found Mary Anning?  We did the Mary Anning Rocks campaign five years ago, and the statue [of Anning] was raised in 2022. [The reason] I came to that campaign; well it was a couple of things and it was the perfect storm.  I’ve always considered myself a feminist, and a bad feminist.  Because I always talked the talk, but I never really walked the walk. I was really inspired by Caroline Criado Perez’s campaign, [The Women’s Room Project], she’s amazing. It was following Perez’s journey on social media, and seeing the vitriol, and the negativity, and the quite hideous things that were happening to her, from mainly men. I just thought, wow, there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m never going to change that mindsight, it’s broken, those men are broken and there isn’t anything ever that we’re going to be able to do to change their perceptions. For me, as an educator, I thought, right, let’s look at the next generation.  When I started looking around Dorset, I mean, I do like the odd fossil, but it was really –if I’d been living in Manchester at the time, it would have been Emmeline Pankhurst, if I was living in Edinburgh, it would have been Doctor Elsie Inglis. I’d have been championing whoever that woman was that was in the town that I was living in. Mary Anning was in the right place at the right time for me and her to connect. But the main corner of the Learning Legacy – and it still is – is that it’s about working with children. From the get-go, with all the local schools and a local artist we wrote this creative project for them about women in science, and the outcome of that was designs to how they thought the statue could look, and ultimately those pictures, the ones we picked, led the artist.  That’s really amazing.  Yeah! It meant that they had that connection, they can look at it and know, I did that, that was my idea. All the fossils that are all over her skirt, that was a child’s idea, the overall composition of her striding out, that came from a child. Every single child put the dog in, so there was no way the dog wasn’t going in, even though the mayor of Lyme Regis wasn’t so keen. – Honestly, I could tell you some stories…  Go for it. Well first he tried to argue that there were so many more just as important people who deserve statues in Lyme Regis, not just Mary, and I thought I wonder if he’s going to give me a list – course he did – and he listed out all these men – men, men, men, men, men, men, men. They were all about war, army generals, or seafaring captains, and I just thought oh my god. He ended the email by saying that he considered her [Mary Anning] street furniture and that she would spoil the view. No, no that’s disgusting, are you serious? Oh yes. On the Maquette day, a year before the statue was unveiled [the model of the statue] so many amazing people came for the unveiling, all gathered around with the artist. He walked in in his regalia and said ‘it’s really beautiful.’ And this was in front of everybody. He said, ‘I’m really really disappointed that you’ve included the dog’ and everyone just started laughing because they thought he was joking, it’s like Punch and Judy, there’s no Mary without Tray. I knew he wasn’t joking, and I just lost it, and I said ‘why on earth would you say something like that? The dog’s even in her portrait! How could you not have the dog? Even the Natural History Museum does Christmas decorations with the dog !’ And do you know what his response wa s?  ‘We’ve got a dog fouling problem on the beach.’  I just walked away because I didn’t even know what to respond, and I said to the artist after the event, can we put a little copalite, a little fossilised poo, by the back of Tray’s paw, as a joke? She said brilliant, yeah let’s do it.  Oh my goodness, I love it.  That was Mary. Then last year, I got an email from the Dorchester heritage committee asking if I would help mentor and advise them on a statue campaign that they’d like to do in the town. They wanted to raise a statue to Reverend Henry Mule, who invented the compostable toilet.  Of course.  I thought, great that he invented the compostable toilet, but another man, and I just thought no. And I began this mentoring group about four years ago, called VISIBLEWomenUK, I mean we now have fifteen campaigns across the country, raising statues across the country. – one is for the Match Girls in Bow.  Oh wow, okay, I’m in Southeast London so that’s so close to me, actually.   Oh amazing! – They’ve been working on other ways of remembrance whilst they work on the statue, like Blue Plaques and things like that. And those girls [the Match Girls] were instrumental to changing employment laws. I’m used to getting people emailing me about statue campaigns and if it’s a woman I’m like, great, join the fold! But if it’s a man, I mean I’m polite about it, and I will reply with statistics – I’ve had two separate groups over the years approach me about [Percy Bysshe] Shelly, and I always go back with, but what about Mary? She wrote one of the most famous books in the whole world, but is there a statue for Mary Shelley, no, there bloody isn’t. So anyway, this email came through and I replied with the statistics, expecting not to hear anything back, because you often don’t, you’ve put people’s noses out of joint, you know? But this bloke did respond, he said ‘oh my god, I had no clue. That’s awful. Right, then this needs to be a female project then.’  The Dorchester Sheroes campaign are working to raise a statue to a woman from the area, they have recently shortlisted the suggested women to six, one of whom will be the subject of the statue. Touched by the volume of women submitted, Anya is also writing a book about the women nominated. I find it a bit mental that a man’s actually listened and changed - and it sounds awful but I’m a bit impressed?  Yeah, and he’s a very educated man, he’s a minority himself and therefore aware, so he got it. I had one meeting with him and we just got on like a house on fire and now we’re a team of four – initially the roll out was us asking, right who are these women in Dorchester? I swear I saw the number 48? Maybe this is me being a bit ignorant, but I didn’t really think there would be that many, it was a surprise when I read that in the article. Yeah yeah, well there was a criterion, of a 25-mile radius to Dorchester, which is the capital, and Dorset being the wider county. And that they needed to be inspiring and uplifting. Because, well, we have an awful history of hanging and burning women in Dorchester, and they’re crucial stories which shine a light on the judicial systems of the past. But we wanted this to be celebratory. The 48 includes women a bit wider than the initial parameters, there are some large hubs in Dorset so there’s a lot of history here and people are really excited by it. The book is going to be the Dorset Sheroes , to include as many of the women nominated as we can.  And do you have a favourite? Who are you most excited to write about? Well, because we’re focusing just on Dorchester at the moment, [for the statue],  we’ve got the final six and I’ll be happy if one of those wins. I think the one I’m most looking forward to, -she wasn’t born in Dorset, but she spent most of her life in Bournemouth - was the first ever black army officer to be made a major in the army – I, to be honest it’s so fresh I haven’t even done that much reading on her as she’s just popped into the inbox! I’m looking forward to digging deep with her. But the two, the favourites that I’ve got are quite personal. I’m in the fashion industry, so I really love the button makers, because that really celebrates a whole raft of women across two centuries and a really beautiful piece of art to commemorate what those women achieved with being able to forge their own careers and money, but also having something which marks the making, and the craft of their work. The other one I really love, and I am really hoping that she’ll win, is Sylvia Townsend Warner. Just because, I’ve read a couple of her books, and I mean, you have to stop yourself and remember the time she was writing these books. She  was just a young woman when she wrote her first book, Lolly Willowes , and it’s just brilliant. It’s about witches, but it’s a metaphor about women’s roles, and women’s sexuality – and of course, she’s a massive LGBTQ pioneer too. She openly lived with her lover, Valentine Ackland. It’s a really lovely inclusive thing.  I think it’s really interesting that women always go back to making things, producing things, and how society ignores that, even though it’s so fundamental. Like the way that embroidery at every level is often looked down on, especially in modern portrayals of history, as if that didn’t really matter. But, in reality, every single thing that they would have worn would have been entirely handmade, by a woman who had such incredible mastery of her craft, so I really think it’s important to focus on those women because craft is still looked down on as this arbitrary or artificial thing.  Yeah, and it wasn’t until Ruskin, William Morris that these art schools really changed – things like embroidery and knitting were really seen as art. When men get involved.  Yes, and it goes hand in glove, doesn’t it. It’s a woman’s thing, so it’s not considered real, or important.  I’m really excited to read more about them when it comes out.  One of the women that came out in the submissions was a woman named Rina Gardener, and she was a one-woman powerhouse. She was an artist and she ran her own publishing house from her kitchen table. Her books now sell for £3000.  Oh my god. Yeah! I wanted to get one of her books because I’m fascinated by her and I managed to find one at an auction, and that’s not an original, it’s a reprint from the early noughties, and even that was forty quid. That was a £12.99 book when it was first published.  She lived in Dorset, and she would walk all around an area, and in her books, she’d talk about all of it, not just Corfe Castle but the village, the farriers, the little church. She would hand paint and screen print, create these little illustrative books with chunks of writing about why we should be looking at this. I thought, this is what the Dorset Sheroes  book should be, very visual and collaborative.  How many women are you going to include in the book itself do you think? Well, I think I’m going to try and group them as much as possible, so Crime & Punishment, Makers & Creators, Theatre & Stage. But they’ll be callouts to the real important people, definitely the final six.  What motivated you to do this yourself? Firstly how did you learn about her and second why did you decide to do it yourself rather than just campaigning? If I’m honest, and hand on heart, the reason I got all into this was the menopause.  I woke up one morning and I was so angry, and so pissed off. I thought, I’m done. I was done with the erosion. Seeing what was happening, with the gender pay gap, what you could see coming with Roe vs Wade. I was done with it. I can’t do anything about that but from an educational point of view I can change how these kids see the world, from a different point of view, not just a male lens, constantly.  I think that says a lot about women’s experiences in society if I’m honest. I know quite a few women with huge health changes, like menopause, endometriosis, etc. So many things change when a woman’s health alters, both with the woman and how she exists but also in the way she’s treated. It’s something that’s not talked about enough.  I’m a very positive person, and we all get blue, a bit down, but I lost my confidence. I had anxiety. It manifested physically, I got electric shocks. And no one would listen to me, the GP’s, my husband, couldn’t understand. Speaking specifically about Mary Anning, when I was researching this issue, I really struggled with it. If it was up to you, what content or media would you put out there about Mary or any of the other women? I just want to see these women talked about more in conversation.  They are visually annihilated. When we launched the sheroes campaign it went into our local paper, and the first comment – I screen grabbed it because it was so excellent – the first comment was from Ron. Ron was obviously in his 60s, and he basically said it’s a false thing to retrospectively try to change history by forcing a statue when women didn’t really do anything of note until the twentieth century. And he genuinely believes that.  We’re doing this event with a load of authors and writers from the area, as a fundraiser, and I’m going to invite Ron. I really want to change his opinion, but me saying anything on the internet isn’t going to change that.  They [women in history] should be normalised in a way? Yes! I’m having the most unreal email conversation with the Manchester Museum at the moment. I’m originally from there so I was there recently visiting a friend, so we went and their display is great, they’ve got fossils, Ichthyosaurs. There’s this timeline on this cabinet and I’m going down, they’ve got [Henry] De la Beche [friend of Mary Anning], and all the usual suspects, but not one mention of the woman that found marine reptiles, nowhere.  I was going to say that’s baffling, but I work in museums and there are always women involved but they’re never written into the history properly.  I mean, even when I’ve said, we’re looking at pioneers for the first issue, so many people have said, well you can’t be writing that much then.  There’s so much! Manchester Museum – it gets better. I emailed as part of the Mary Anning Learning Legacy,  we’ve got quite a sizable fund that we can use to promote her. I said that I’d like to offer up some funding to help them promote her, because I know museums struggle for money. I heard nothing. Forwarded again a month later. Would be great to have an answer. I called them, I’m offering funding. Who do I need to talk to, to give you money?  A curator, quite aggressively, as if I’d said something personal, told me that they’re very proactive about putting women in the displays. But I hadn’t said that? I said, look I’m so glad you’re getting back to me, it’s great to talk to a female curator… She said, basically no.  Why? We don’t own any of Anning’s fossils. But do they own any of [Georges] Cuviers? Do they own any of De la Beche’s? If you do,  Mary Anning probably collected them anyway.  And you don’t need items in your collection to say the reason we know about this is because of this person.  You cannot have 3D Ichthyosaurs hanging from your ceiling without giving the person who discovered them credit.  I asked what about the timeline? She said that’s not part of her remit. But it’s a decal, it’s a modern sticker that you’ve put on in maybe the last five years.  There’s a huge issue across a lot of museums at the moment, there’s just no money there, and what suffers is the women.  The maquette has been on tour for a few years now, it’s booked until 2025 – a lot of the museums don’t even have fossils, but they’ve taken her and made these huge, amazing displays and Mary is the centrepiece.  It's fascinating that places that don’t have any connection to her want to give her a space but places that do, just nothing? Is there anything at the Natural History Museum? She’s named, there’s a wall of her and her findings, but it’s by a huge Plesiosaur which wasn’t hers, it was actually found in Yorkshire. It’s the same sediment, the same coast but it’s not hers! About five years ago they renamed the private members wing the Mary Anning Wing, and it’s got some of her archival work there too.  At Lyme Regis Museum they added a members wing there too named after her. Dorset Museum have a big display as well. They had a load of lottery money recently and they added her and Elizabeth Philpott.  Have you seen Ammonite (the 2020 film about Annings, starring Kate Winslet), and what did you think? Okay first of all, go and listen to my episode on the Cosmic Shed. In a nutshell, I think it was a lost opportunity, and I was disappointed that it wasn’t more about her achievements and how important she was scientifically. I read an interview with Francis Lee before the premiere, and they asked him where he got his inspiration for the character in the film the way that he did, and he had read two historical accounts from the time, one which described her as a vinegar face, pinched nosed, by Owens. Really awful and misogynistic. The other was in the diary of Lady Harriet, who had visited her, and she said that she had never met a young woman with such a glowing mind, self-educated who can hold her own in any male-dominated space. When you read it… Acknowledging that she’s working class and self-educated but can spin circles around these men of learning? Guess which one he went with? For me, she’s just always seen in the male lens, according to this recent book she was a failure because she never married and had children.  Mary Anning, and women are so much more than that.  — Ongoing VisibleWomenUK campaigns you can support The Sylvia Pankhurst Memorial Committee – www.sylviapankhurst.gm.apc.org The Elizabeth Elmy Group – www.elizabethelmy.com/ A is for Aphra – www.aisforaphra.org More than a Cell: The Legacy of Henrietta Lacks - www.bristol.ac.uk/research/impact/stories/hela-cells/ Friends of the Factories - www.friendsofthefactories.com/ The Matchgirls Memorial - https://www.matchgirls1888.org/the-story-of-the-strike Ada Nield Chew – www.statueforada.com Useful sources: Mary Anning Rocks, www.maryanningrocks.co.uk Denise Dutton (the artist), www.denisedutton.co.uk Mary Anning Goes on Tour! www.geologistsassociation.org.uk/maryanning/ Mary Anning, short film by Natashia Mattocks, www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1UOOC5zu1I Anya’s episode on the Cosmic Shed,   www.thecosmicshed.com/e/ammonite-1620737252/

Photograph of Màiri Mhòr with her spinning whorl. 1 January 1890. Wikipedia Commons. < https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mairi_Mhor_nan_Oran.jpg > [accessed 18 December 2024] Ma thog neach eisir ann an cliabh, No maorach ann am meadhon mara, Théid an cur fo ghlais ‘s fo dhìon, Le laghan diongmhalt’ dìon an fhearainn. If someone lifts a creel with an oyster, or in the open sea they find a clam, they’ll be apprehended and locked away, under the law protecting the land. -Brosnachadh nan Gaidheal / Incitement of the Gael In the mid-eighteenth century, an Enlightenment-driven push for economic progress and agricultural 'improvement' swept through Scotland, dramatically altering the Highland way of life. The concept of dùthchas , the inalienable right of clansmen to protection, security, and a share of ancestral land, was forsaken as chiefs, who had once acted as custodians of communal land, became commercial landlords focused on profit. The first phase of the Highland Clearances (1780-1825) saw clan chiefs adopt new agricultural practices to maximise estate income. Prior to ‘improvement’, the social structure of Highland township, called the baile , had consisted of common land and the traditional run rig system. This was where arable land was divided into strips and rotated among tenants, and families took collective responsibility for agricultural work and survival. However, this system was abandoned as common grazing land was fenced off, the baile was dismantled, and crofting communities were established alongside large-scale sheep farming.  Land became the clan chief’s personal property, and their clansmen became their tenants. These tenants, known as crofters, were assigned small landholdings insufficient to sustain their families. Forced to take on supplementary employment in local industries, like fishing or kelp, to survive, they were further disadvantaged by short-term leases that provided no guaranteed access to land, leaving them vulnerable to evictions and displacement by sheep farming. The region was further strained by the second wave of clearances (1825-1855), which was marked by recurrent famine, the decline of the kelp and fishing industries, widespread evictions, and mass emigration to industrial centres such as Glasgow, and beyond.  The daughter of a crofter and one of the most influential and celebrated Gaelic poets of all time, Màiri Mhòr nan Òran (‘Big Mary of the Songs’) was born Mary MacDonald at Skeabost on the Isle of Skye in March 1821. She witnessed the devastating effects of the Clearances on her community and, at age 50, became a key political voice in highlighting the Highlanders’ struggles, especially those displaced by the Clearances. Her poetry and songs, as this article will highlight, sought to preserve the endangered Gaelic language and culture, galvanised a sense of identity, protested against unjust rents and land practices, and incited support for the Crofters’ Wars of the 1880s.  In place of a formal education, her childhood on Skye equipped her with ‘ample experience in the management of cattle and all that pertains to the conduct of a house in the olden days, from cooking to cloth making, and, further, in storing her mind with the lays and lyrics of her native isle’. Poetry and song were intrinsic to Gaelic society and village bards remained important figures and spokespersons for their communities until after the Second World War. They recorded ‘the human experiences of the Gaels… they react to every major event affecting the lives of their community, and their songs mirror their folk-history’. These songs, which were passed down orally through generations, relied on use of ‘formulae, fugitive passages, runs, [and] stock characters’, and, most importantly, the acceptance of the piece by the community to survive. In many ways, Bateman explains, Màiri’s compositions were ‘an extension of the 18,000 lines of traditional poetry she knew by heart’. Although she could read English and Gaelic, she was never taught to write and relied on existing rhyme schemes to compose her songs- blending new words with old tunes. However, it wasn’t until 1872, when she was 50 years old, that Màiri began to share her poetry. Amidst the Great Highland Famine of 1846, which blighted potato crops for a whole decade and initiated a momentous surge in emigration, Màiri relocated to Inverness to marry a shoemaker called Isaac Macperson at the age of 27. Upon his death in 1871, she was pushed to find employment to support her four surviving children, and found work as a domestic servant. Unfortunately, this was short-lived as Màiri was accused of stealing clothing by her employer. Despite claims of her innocence, she was charged and sentenced to forty days of imprisonment. It was this humiliation and miscarriage of justice which changed the course of her life as she later claimed: S e na dh’fhulaing mi de thamailt a thug mo bhàrdachd beò  (‘It’s the injustice I suffered that brought my poetry to life’).  This mortifying experience lent her poetry an ‘unrivalled emotional drive’ and an abiding resentment of the establishment which encouraged her to link her sense of personal injustice to that of the crofters. Bitterly, in Tha mi sgìth de luchd na Beurla  (I'm tired of the English speakers), she expressed frustration, lamenting that if she was ‘in my own land, where I was first raised, there was not any English-speaker in the service of the Crown, who would look on me unjustly’.  The same year, Màiri joined the waves of mass emigration which served as a safety valve in the Highlands for the ‘rurally impoverished, hungry and evicted’, and relocated again to Glasgow, and then Greenock in 1876. In Glasgow she enrolled at the Royal Infirmary and studied nursing and obstetrics at the Royal Infirmary for five years before practising as a midwife. Here she was welcomed by a vibrant community of Highlanders, regularly participating in Gaelic music hall culture and performing at social gatherings and cèilidhs. In 1892, she competed at the first ever National Mòd in Oban, a celebration of Gaelic language and culture which gave poets another platform to showcase their talent, though she did not win a medal. Màiri’s poetry played a significant public function for her newfound community of displaced Highlanders for whom her songs were created to be nostalgic and comforting.   In ‘When I Was Young’, she painted a highly romanticised image of her childhood on Skye and mourned the modernisation of the island where lies ‘Andrew’s croft, overgrown with nettles’, and the steamship which carried her away: Nuair chuir mi cùl ris an eilean chùbhraidh, ‘S a ghabh mi iùbhrach na smùid gun seòl, Nuair shéid i ‘n dùdach ‘s a shìn an ùspairt, ‘S a thog i cùrsa o Thir a’ Cheo; Mo chridhe brùite ‘s na deòir le m’ shùilean, A’ faibh gu dùthaich gun sùrd, gun cheòl When I turned my back on the fragrant island, And boarded the steam-ship with has no jib, when she blew her horn and began her churning and made her way from the Isle of Mist, my heart was broken, my eyes tear-filled, leaving for a land without cheer or song By reminding emigrants of their endangered way of life and promoting Gaelic culture in urban centres, Màiri’s music helped foster a growing ‘migrant Gaelic cultural consciousness’ which, in turn, contributed to the ‘politicisation of crofter unrest’. As Newby highlighted, a surge in temporary migration brought urban Highlanders into direct contact with radical reform philosophies, such as Irish Land Agitation.  As a result, second-generation Highlanders in urban Scotland became some of the most enthusiastic supporters of the crofters agitation in the 1880s. Furthermore, Gaelic songs and poetry served as a powerful medium for distributing information to Gaelic speakers who couldn’t read English and, therefore, were marginalised by the printed press. As such, poets could wield significant political influence. This tradition stemmed from medieval Gaelic Scotland where, through the public praise or ridicule of clan chiefs, skilled poets were tools for the endorsement of the social and political status quo. With the decline of traditional Gaelic learning throughout the 17th century, the role of poets developed. Poetry was increasingly written by less formally educated, largely unpaid, or even illiterate poets, who shifted their focus from clan chiefs to celebrating the common man and leaders as heroes. By the 19th century, as Meek illustrates, every community in the Highlands possessed its own poet. As the struggle for land rights gained momentum after 1874, poets emerged as spokespersons for their communities.  While this role was not exclusive to male poets, as Gaelic culture has a strong tradition of female poets, women were often challenged by a paradoxical ‘threshold’ status. There are many examples of women possessing a high status within Gaelic oral tradition, such as Màiri nighean Alasdair Ruaidh and Mairghread nighean Lachlainn, and Ò Baoill has advocated that the better-known women poets after 1600 were ‘public poets’ in the sense that their work dealt with political rather than personal or lyrical subjects. However, it is also true that their gender made them vulnerable to suspicion, and even accusations of witchcraft. For example, both Màiri nighean Alasdair Ruaidh and Mairghread Nighean Lachlainn were reportedly buried face down. Ò Baoill linked this to a Norse tradition for burying witches, suggesting that these two female poets may have been viewed ‘by the tradition-bearers as wielders of sinister supernatural powers’. McKean likewise has identified these traditions as acknowledgment or punishment for their bardic activities. As a result, women were often confined to composing lullabies and wool-felting songs, rather than the male-dominated grand panegyrics dedicated to clan heroes. In this light, Màiri’s accomplishments can be read as exceptional as her commentary on the Highland clearances transformed her into an icon of Gaelic poetry. On the other hand, however, older women were often assigned roles as ‘storytellers, teachers, and advice-givers’. It should be considered that the highly emotional nature of the clearances, along with the role of women as preservers of family and tradition, may have enabled Màiri to assume this matriarchal poetic role, gaining widespread societal approval, and becoming a powerful voice in defence of the Highland people. Her exceptional success and status within Gaelic tradition can then be partly attributed to societal upheaval which created a space for women’s voices within public and politicised discourse and allowed her to break through barriers that typically confined women to domestic genres. Màiri’s poetic and political voice was recognised and harnessed by Highland politicians. During her trial in 1872, Màiri was offered support by John Murdoch, the editor of the Highlander  newspaper, a high-profile advocate for land reform, Gaelic education, and Scottish home rule. Support was also offered by Charles Fraser Mackintosh, the Liberal MP for Inverness and a proponent of land reform, who acted on Màiri’s behalf during the trial. Whilst likely that Mackintosh's actions were elicited by Murdoch’s influence, the nature of Mackintosh’s interaction with Màiri remains unclear. What is certain, however, is that their relationship continued as two years later, during his campaign for the Inverness Burghs, Mackintosh enlisted Màiri’s help to create a sympathetic image among his constituents. This involved composing songs in support for land reform, such as  Nuair a chaidh na ceithir ùr oirre which named Mackintosh alongside other leading land campaigners. As Meek noted: ‘The power of poetry was no romantic delusion; it could help to make or break the prospective candidate.’ Unlike other ‘township bards’ or ‘community poets’, such as Alexander MacLean of Glendale, Skye, and John MacLean of Balemartin, Tiree, Màiri’s allegiance was not confined to a single district. Her mobility- from Skye to Inverness to Glasgow- and her active role in rallying support for Mackintosh elevated her profile and allowed her to cultivate a ‘greater bardic persona’. As McKean notes, her village, ‘if she were to be called a village bard, would have to be the entire Gàidhealtachd [Gaelic region], wherever Gaels were downtrodden’. Màiri’s most famous works, ‘The Song of Ben Li’ and ‘Incitement of the Gaels’ were composed upon her return to Skye in 1882 at the age of 61. This coincided with the outbreak of the Crofters War at the Battle of the Braes. Despite Richard’s findings that there were approximately fifty known instances of Highland resistance between 1780 and 1855,  historians of the Highland clearances have long puzzled over the Highlanders’ failure to actively resist landlord policies before the 1880s. Resistance was typically ‘highly localised, sporadic and uncoordinated’, and were often desperate, spontaneous responses to the threat of eviction that easily crumbled in the face of police or military intervention.  The first example of direct action by Skye crofters occurred in Valtos, Skye, 1881, in the form of a rent strike against their landlord’s high rent and threat of eviction. The success of this altercation, as Newby highlights, had two crucial short-term consequences: it sparked significant publicity which spread unrest throughout the island, creating a ‘siege mentality’ and an ‘air of confrontation’; and it was widely publicised through the wider British and Irish press. The scene was then set for the famed ‘Battle of the Braes’ which kicked off other widespread acts of protest on Highland estates.   In the decades preceding the battle, evictions had caused serious overcrowding of the land in the township of Braes. The landowner, Lord MacDonald, exacerbated the situation when he denied the crofters access to common grazing land, instead leasing it to a sheep farmer. Despite being forced onto smaller, less fertile plots, the crofter’s rent was not reduced. When the tenancy for the land came up for renewal in 1881 due to the new tenant’s inability to pay rent, a petition was sent to ask for the restoration of former pastures. This was staunchly denied. In retaliation, the crofters proactively organised a movement to regain the grazing rights they had lost 17 years prior, and defiantly grazed their livestock on Ben Lee and withheld rent payments until their right was redressed. On rent collection day, the 8th of December 1881, none of the Braes tenants paid their rent and were threatened with eviction.  Màiri described the events in ‘Incitement of the Gaels’. In contrast to elegies, such as ‘When I was Young’, which lamented the social and physical changes on Skye, this song followed the tradition of stirring the bravery of warriors before battle, and aimed to incite crofters to engage in acts of land agitation. In response to the rent strikes, the landowners: Sgrìobh iad àithne dhaingeann dhian, Do’n ionad air nach dèan sinn labhairt, Na h-aingle is am fear nach b’fhiach A thighinn a riaghladh lagh an fhearainn. They wrote an urgent pressing letter, to the accursed angels and that scurrilous man, stationed at the place we will not mention to come and enforce the law of the land The ‘scurrilous man’ in question was Sheriff William Ivory. In April 1882, a sheriff officer left Portree with witnesses to serve eviction notices to eleven tenants identified by the landowner as ringleaders. On the way, however, they were met by a large crowd of protestors who chased them back to Portree and burnt the papers. Having obstructed the officer from fulfilling his legal duties, the protestors committed the crime of deforcement. In response, the authorities contacted Sheriff Ivory, instructing him to gather 50 officers from Glasgow and Inverness to apprehend the guilty parties. Nuair leugh Ivory an àithne, Chùnnt e chuid a b’fheàrr d’a aingil Ivory counted out the best of his angels, having read all that was in the demand While the arrests themselves were not disputed, as officers passed through the township of Gedintailor on their return journey to Inverness, riots started when it became clear that the men were being removed from Skye. As the officers traversed a narrow gorge and crossed the burn, Allt nan Gobhlag , a crowd gathered and the Battle took place.  Nuair a ràinig iad na glinn, ‘S ann bha na suinn nach dèanadh mearachd Air an crioslachadh le fìrinn, ‘S cha robh innleachd air am prannadh. When Ivory and his army reached the glens, before them stood the men that wouldn’t falter girded about with righteousness, Evil had not made them slacken. In addition to praising the brave men who stood against Sheriff Ivory and his forces, Màiri highlighted the role of women in the ‘Song of Ben Li’, thanking ‘ The kind women who carry themselves so courteously, their skulls were broken on the slopes of Ben Li ’. While the vivid imagery arguably delivers a shock value and capitalises off sensitive attitudes which would be disgusted by the violent treatment of up-standing women, it also accurately reflects female agency. As Richards later recognised, ‘Highland riots were women’s riots’.  The Scotsman reported on 20 April 1883: ‘one poor woman, said to be enceinte, was seriously hurt- cut terribly about the head with a stone or baton. She was left bleeding and fainting on the road side. Another old woman said to be about seventy years of age, was hurled down a steep hill and badly injured’. Despite the violence of the account, It was also largely thought that women could protest with impunity and were less likely to be injured by constables and army troops compared to their male counterparts.  Praising the community’s courage, the poem is an active appeal to crofters on Skye to resist their landlords’ extractions. Significantly, Màiri lays the blame on Ivory. Nicknamed ‘the Satan’ in the ‘Song of Ben Li’ Màiri exhibited a vendetta against the man, who she perceived as a threat against her local community, and celebrated his sudden death in 1886 with a mock elegy which held him up to public censure and ridicule. Most poets craved the preservation of the traditional Gaelic community and even after the clearances, the concept of dùthchas  remained entrenched. The Napier Commission, in 1883, observed that the poor still held  ‘much reverence for the owner of the soil’. Typically, nineteenth century Gaelic poets blamed tenants, tacksmen, sheep-farmers, and even sheep for the Highland plight; they rarely singled out individual landowners, and criticisms of the landed class were often anonymous.   Màiri was not immune to this trap and was guilty of romanticising a ‘golden age of kindly cooperation and harmony’ by not critiquing land-owners or referencing the 1846 famine. However, this is perhaps less surprising due to the fact that the Laird of Skeabost, Lachlan MacDonald, provided Màiri with a rent-free cottage upon her return to Skye.  She often blamed the English for the conditions on Skye, as Tanner highlights, ‘though it was very plain that not one clearance had been made in Skye by anyone who had not a name as Gaelic as her own’. Instead of traditional hardships or natural disasters, as Devine highlights, it was the intrusion of a new, foreign, economic order, imposed from the outside that threatened the local community, and alarmed the poets. The presence of lowland shepherds, officials, and gunboats, and the removal of people, were a perceived violation and infringement of the traditional system of mutual support between tenants and landlords. Following the battle, five crofters were found guilty and charged with ‘deforcing an officer of the law in the execution of his duty’ before the Sheriff Court in Inverness Castle in May 1882. However, the crofters continued to protest, and tenants continued to graze their stock on Ben Li. Further writs were issued in 1882, with deforcement committed again when the sheriff officers attempted to serve summonses on the 2nd of September and the 24th of October 1882. Finally, at the end of 1882, Lord MacDonald compromised and the crofters were victorious, able to graze their sheep on Ben Li. Although the Battle of the Braes did not directly lead to immediate legislation protecting crofters’ rights,  it coincided with the emergence of ‘an effective political campaign for crofters rights’ and was instrumental in the establishment of the 1883 Napier Commission. Throughout 1882, authorities became increasingly cognisant of the parallels of the Highland and Irish land questions. Irish agrarian protest had pressured the British government into passing the 1881 Irish Land Act and critics of land reform were increasingly highlighting the growing influence of ‘Fenianism’ among crofters. More than any other factor, such as growing public support for the crofters’ cause and the determination of the Highland League which was formed in 1884 (who advocated security of tenure, fair rents, and the redistribution of land to crofters, and were instrumental in raising public awareness and widespread support),  Macoll argues that it was the anxiety of the governments to stem the rise of Highland agrarian and political discontent before it reached Irish proportions that pushed them to establish the Commission, and forced government legislation on the crofters’ behalf.  Indeed, Cameron similarly posited that the formation of the Commission and following legislation was the first time that the British government acknowledged the persistent and unique nature of the Highland issue and paid sustained interest in the region. This culminated in the drafting and passing of the Crofters’ Holding (Scotland) Act of 1886. This was a major victory for the movement as it limited the powers of landlords to evict their tenants and granted several key rights to all crofters, regardless of their rent. These included: security of tenure, the right to fair rents (determined by impartial bodies), and compensation for land improvements. It also recognised their right to use natural resources like common grazing land and materials like peat, seaweed, and heather. While it did not fully resolve the crofters’ demands (for example, it failed to protect the needs of landless cottars or redistribute land), it was a significant step forward and set the stage for further land reform. As Cameron explained, ‘it did not give the crofters the world, but it made them secure in their own little patch, and that was no small gain.’ The land agitations of the 1880s were perceived to be a series of battles by contemporary poets and the public, beginning with the first documented legal victory for Highland crofters at the Bernera Riot of 1874 in the Outer Hebrides; the Battle of the Braes in 1882; and the General Election of November-December in 1885. When the Voting Act of 1884 extended suffrage to many crofters, Màiri was called upon again to support parliamentary election campaigns, particularly for Land Law Reform Association candidates in the 1885 and 1886 elections. The Crofters Movement had nominated candidates in all the crofting counties and northern burghs, and five were successfully elected for parliament-including her friend, Charles Fraser Mackintosh. As Devine stipulates, it would be wrong to see a causal relationship between the general election of 1885 and the 1886 legislation as the main clauses had been drafted the previous year with minimal involvement by the five candidates. However, Gaelic poets had a remarkable involvement in this victory because they empowered people to discriminate between candidates and participate in elections. In doing so, the franchise was portrayed as a weapon no less effective than the sword, with the ballot box as a battleground.  Màiri Mhòr nan Òran remained on Skye until her death on the 7th of November 1898, aged 77. It is thanks to Lachlann MacDonald that her prose was preserved as he paid for the transcription of some 8000 lines of Màiri’s poetry, which was published in 1891 in a volume entitled Gaelic Songs and Poems . Due to her involvement in ensuring the success of the crofter candidates in the 1885-6 elections, Màiri has been crowned the Bard of the movement. Through her works, which functioned both as tools for cultural preservation and incitement and galvanised the crofters’ fight for land reform, she remains an iconic figure in Gaelic literature. As Batemen argued, the political forthrightness evident in her work would not be seen in a published form by Scottish women poets until the 1980s. In 2022, she joined the only three Gaelic (and male) writers to be honoured in Makars’ Court in 2022, where Scottish wordsmiths have been honoured since 1998. Here, her words continue to inspire Gaelic speakers to protect their cultural heritage, as her commemorative flagstone reads: Cuimhnichibh gur sluagh sibh/ Is cumaibh suas ur còir (Remember that you are a people / And stand up for your rights). Màiri Mhòr nan Òran’s commemorative flagstone at Makar’s Court - Pickering, Dave.Màiri Mhòr nan Òran is the latest addition to Scotland’s literary greats at Makar’s Court.October 2022. Photograph. North Edinburgh News. < https://nen.press/2022/10/13/mairi-mhor-nan-oran-is-the-latest-addition-to-scotlands-literary-greats-at-makars-court/ > [accessed 18 December 2024] Bibliography Bateman, Meg, ‘Women’s Writing in Scottish Gaelic Since 1750’, in A History of Scottish Women’s Writing , eds. by Douglas Gifford and Dorothy McMillan (Edinburgh University Press, 1997),  pp. 684-701 Bloomfield, Morton W. and Charles W. Dunn,  The Role of the Poet in Early Societies  (Cambridge and Wolfeboro: D. S. Brewer, 1989) Boos, Florence, “We Would Know Again the Fields…’: The Rural Poetry of Elizabeth Campbell, Jane Stevenson and Mary Macpherson’, Tulsa Studies in Women’s Literature , 17.2 (1998), pp. 325-347 Cameron, A. D.,  Go Listen to the Crofters: The Napier Commission and Crofting a Century Ago  (Acair, 1986) Cameron, Ewen A., ‘Journalism in the Late Victorian Scottish Highlands: John Murdoch, Duncan Campbell, and the ‘Northern Chronicle’’, Victorian Periodicals Review,  40.4 (2007), pp. 281-306 Cameron, Ewen A., ‘Politics, Ideology and the Highland Land Issue, 1886 to the 1920s’, The Scottish Historical Review , 72.193 (1993), pp. 60-79 Devine, T. M., Clanship to Crofters’ War: The Social Transformation of the Scottish Highlands (Manchester University Press, 1994) Highlife Highland, ‘Battle of the Braes: Agitation at Braes’ (n.d) < https://www.highlifehighland.com/archives-service/highland-archive-service-online-exhibitions/battle-of-the-braes/battle-of-the-braes-agitation-at-braes/ > [accessed 18 December 2024]  Highlife Highland, ‘Battle of the Braes: The Battle and Trail’ (n.d) < https://www.highlifehighland.com/archives-service/highland-archive-service-online-exhibitions/battle-of-the-braes/battle-of-the-braes-the-battle-and-trail/ > [accessed 18 December 2024] Highlife Highland, ‘Battle of the Braes: The Legacy’ (n.d) < https://www.highlifehighland.com/archives-service/highland-archive-service-online-exhibitions/battle-of-the-braes/battle-of-the-braes-the-legacy/ > [accessed 18 December 2024] Hunter, J., The Making of the Crofting Community  (Edinburgh, 1976) Kerrigan, Catherine, An Anthology of Scottish Women Poets  (Edinburgh University Press, 1991) Lodge, Christine, ‘The clearers and the cleared: women, economy and land in the Scottish Highlands’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Glasgow, 1996) < https://theses.gla.ac.uk/819/#:~:text=Lodge,%20Christine%20(1996)%20The%20clearers%20and%20the%20cleared :> [accessed 6 October 2024] MacColl, Allan W., Land, Faith and the Crofting Community  (Edinburgh University Press, 2022) MacPherson, Hamish, ‘Màiri Mhòr nan Òran: Celebrating one of our greatest Gaelic poets’, National , 9 March 2021 < https://www.thenational.scot/news/19145415.mairi-mhor-nan-oran-celebrating-one-greatest-gaelic-poets/ > [accessed 6 October 2024] McKean, Thomas, ‘A Gaelic Songmaker’s Response to an English-speaking Nation’, Oral Tradition , 7.1 (1992), pp. 3-27 McLeod, Wilson and Michael Newton, The Highest Apple/An Ubhal as Àirde: An Anthology of Scottish Gaelic Literature  (Francis Boutle Press, 2019), Meek, Donald E., Tuath Is Tighearna = Tenants and Landlords : An Anthology of Gaelic Poetry of Social and Political Protest from the Clearances to the Land Agitation, 1800-1890  (Scottish Academic Press for the Scottish Gaelic Texts Society, 1995) Newby, Andrew G., ‘Land and the ‘Crofter Question’ in Nineteenth-Century Scotland’, International Review of Scottish Studies, 35 (2010), pp. 7-36 Ò Baoill, Colm, “Neither Out nor In’: Scottish Gaelic Women Poets 1650-1750’, in Women and the Feminine in Medieval and Early Modern Scottish Writing, eds. By Sarah C. Dunnigan, Marie Harker and Evelyn S. Newlyn (Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), pp. 136-152) ‘Òran Beinn Lì (Song of Ben Li)’, The People’s Voice, n.d.< https://thepeoplesvoice.glasgow.ac.uk/song-ben-li-cathy-ann/ > [accessed 6 October 2024] Orr, Willie, Deer Forests, Landlords and the Crofters  (John Donald, 1982) Richards, Eric, Debating the Highland Clearances  (Edinburgh University Press, 2007) Tanner, Marcus, The Last of the Celts  (Yale University Press, 2004) Withers, Charles W. J., Urban Highlanders: Highland Lowland migration and urban Gaelic culture, 1700-1900  (Tuckwell Press, 1998)

Lee Miller (1907-1977) US Army official photograph. Lee Miller initially rose to fame as a model and surrealist, notably through her close working and personal relationship with artist Man Ray. However, Miller’s most profound work was created during her time as a war journalist and photographer. She spoke of this time so rarely that it was completely unknown to her only son, Anthony Penrose until he uncovered boxes of manuscripts and negatives in the attic of their family home after her death in 1977.   Born in Poughkeepsie, New York in 1907, Lee Miller’s relationship with the camera began at home. Her father was an amateur photographer and she often modelled for him throughout her early years. At just 19 years old, Miller began her modelling career through extraordinary circumstances. Whilst living in New York, she was almost hit by a car and was saved by none other than Conde Nast, publisher of Vogue  magazine. It was not long before she appeared on the cover of Vogue , and soon became interested in becoming a photographer herself. Her career as a model however was quickly derailed when Kotex, a period product company, used her image without consent. With little work available for a model who was the face of a period product brand, Miller decided to move to Paris and pursue photography. In Paris, Miller sought out Surrealist artist Man Ray and the pair would quickly become lovers and collaborators. They worked so closely together during this time that it is hard to decipher which artist made what work. Man Ray introduced Miller to the Surrealists, whose philosophy would profoundly influence Miller for the rest of her career. A key theme of surrealism that reoccurs in Miller’s work was the idea of the found object, where easily accessible objects are reconfigured or combined to create something new and interesting. For instance, whilst Miller was living in Paris she also worked as a medical photographer. On one occasion, after a mastectomy procedure, Miller asked the surgeon if she could take the woman’s breast that had been removed and place it on a dinner plate so that she could photograph it.   After she left Man Ray and Paris behind, Miller returned to New York to start a photography studio, which she also abandoned when she decided to move to Cairo in 1934 to marry Egyptian businessman Aziz Eloui Bey. Although she was not formally working at this time, she continued taking photographs, which are considered some of her best work. Growing bored of her life in Egypt, her husband suggested that Miller take a trip back to Paris to catch up with her many friends and intellectual circles. During this trip, she met artist Roland Penrose, who Miller would leave her husband for and move to London with.   While residing in London with Roland Penrose, Miller supported herself by working as a fashion photographer for Vogue. When the Blitz started in London in 1940, Miller began photographing the ruined remnants left behind by the bombing. In true Surrealist fashion Miller’s photographs captured comedic and absurdist elements of the bombed city, once again through the lens of the found object. The title of her photograph Bridge of Sighs refers to the bridge in Venice of the same name, where crossing prisoners would sigh at their last view of Venice before being sent to their cells. Miller’s interpretation comes in the form of a bridge created through the hollowed out remains of a bombed out apartment building. This version perhaps echoes the sentiment of the prisoners in Venice, with the citizens of London looking out at the city as the sun sets, not knowing what a night of bombing could destroy next. This photograph, like many others that Miller took during the war, highlights her ability to capture the absurd leftovers of the carnage of war without losing any sense of pathos for the tragedy. Lee Miller, Bridge of Sighs, 1940.    As an American citizen, Miller was prohibited from contributing to the British war effort. Instead, she captured the activities of women serving in the British royal navy, known as Wrens. Miller highlights the uncanniness of modern warfare by placing women behind fire safety masks and machinery as if they are a fashion accessory. In her 1944 image Behind the Sight ,  she photographs a woman standing in front of a mounted gun. This playful image blurs the woman into the gun and her smile perfectly aligns with the mesh of the gun sight. The metal below this appears like two breasts, perhaps commenting on the boundaries being crossed by men and machines during the war. Lee Miller, Behind the Sight, 1944. Just days before D-day at the suggestion of her friend, David Scherman, Miller signed up to be a war correspondent for the US forces. She soon found herself on Omaha Beach, covering a story about an evacuation hospital. Her first story was published in Vogue in August 1944 entitled 'Unarmed Warriors', where she captured pictures of nurses doing their daily tasks, surgeries in progress and the many wounded men waiting for treatment or waiting to be sent back to the UK. One burn victim asked Miller to take his photo because he wanted to see how funny he looked. Miller later said that it was “pretty grim and I didn't focus good.” Lee Miller, 1944. Initially, Miller was confined to the field hospital, as female journalists were prohibited from venturing to the front lines. However, Miller unintentionally broke this rule when she arrived at St Malo in Brittany, for a story that was supposed to cover 'how the Civil Affairs team moved in after hostilities to get things running smoothly again'. The press had published that St Malo had been 'captured but not occupied'. In reality, the Germans had just been isolated from the mainland and had to be driven back into the fortress. Due to heavy machine gun fire, Miller was not allowed near the action and instead joined a group of soldiers to watch from a hotel window, where she captured incredible images of distant artillery explosions as Allied forces laid siege on the German fortress. Lee Miller, 1944. Miller covered the Allied forces in France all the way through to the campaign’s success. She became the first female journalist present during the liberation of Paris and travelled extensively in Europe throughout the rest of the war, covering the German retreat through Luxembourg, and eventually into Germany itself. Towards the end of the war, with her friend and fellow journalist, David Scherman, Miller visited the recently liberated Nazi concentration camps Buchenwald and Dachau. Many of the photos she took of the camps were later destroyed but she saved enough that the horrific events would not be forgotten. Shortly after visiting Dachau, Miller and Scherman went to Munich and were staying at Hitler's apartment when the news of his suicide was announced. On that same day, the pair decided to stage a photoshoot in Hitler’s bathtub. In the picture, the bathroom’s white carpet was soiled by the dirt of Dachau on the photographer's shoes. Nearly a whole roll of film was used on pictures of Miller in the bath. However, one of the most poignant images is one of the last, with a skinny looking David Scherman, uncomfortably sitting in the bath looking at the camera. Scherman was Jewish, and the carefully aligned shower over his uncomfortable body holds a different meaning considering that days before the pair had witnessed the horrors of the concentration camps and the gas chambers. When the war ended, Miller struggled to return to England, emotionally shaken and angered by what she had witnessed. She continued to wander around Europe living on a diet of amphetamines, coffee and alcohol. She somehow ended up in a children’s hospital in Vienna. Her last photographs as a war correspondent were of children in this hospital, who were well taken care of with the cruel paradox of the complete lack of medicine available. She wrote to her editor, “for an hour I watched a baby die… this tiny baby fought for his only possession, life, as if it might be worth something.” Miller was haunted by what she had seen during her time in the war and was permanently changed when she returned to England, and was prone to alcoholism and periods of depression. She continued being a photographer for Vogue until completely giving it up in the mid 1950s, where her passion for photography turned to the kitchen and she became a gourmet cook. Lee Miller strongly believed her war photography simply documented the war - she claimed “I’m busy making documents not art”. Despite this, without her time as a fashion model and Surrealist, her wartime work would not have shown the war as brutally and honestly as it was. Her son wrote that 'being a Surrealist artist must be the only possible training to enable a person to retain their objectivity in the face of the total illogicality of War - to make sense of the nonsensical.' The images she captured are arguably some of the most important and poignant images of the last century, let alone the war itself. The full extent of her impact has only emerged after her death with the efforts of her son, Anthony Penrose and their relationship is explored in the excellent film, Lee (2023)   starring Kate Winslet that focuses on Miller’s time during the war.   Further Reading: Davis, Caitlin S. (2006) ‘Lee Miller’s Revenge on Culture: Photojournalism, Surrealism, and Autobiography.’ Woman’s Art Journal  27, no. 1, pp. 3–9. Hessel, Katy. (2019) ‘Ami Bouhassane on Lee Miller.’ The Great Women Artists Podcast.   How Lee Miller became such an influential force in Surrealist Britain  (2018) The Independent . Available at: https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/art/lee-miller-surrealism-uk-photo-man-ray-avant-garde-a8409826.html   Liu, J.-C. (2015) ‘Beholding the feminine sublime: Lee Miller’s war photography’, Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society , 40(2), pp. 308–319. Penrose, Anthony. (2005) Lee Miller’s war . London: Thames and Hudson. Salvio, P.M. (2009) ‘Uncanny exposures: A study of the wartime photojournalism of Lee Miller’, Curriculum Inquiry , 39(4), pp. 521–536. Sliwinski, S. (2011) ‘Air War and dream: Photographing the London blitz’, American Imago , 68(3), pp. 489–516. The big picture: Lee Miller’s Sphinx-like Blitz spirit  (2021) The Guardian . Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2021/mar/28/the-big-picture-lee-miller-self-portrait-with-sphinxes-vogue-blitz-second-world-war