Books: Curating Empire: Museums and the British Imperial Experience

At first glance this looked as though it was to be yet another of those “conference on a stick” books for which the basic recipe is relatively simple: take a dozen or so contributions to a recent conference; reformat conference papers into essays; sprinkle in a few photographs; top with an introduction that sets the context; and allow to bake.

Simple enough, but not always easy to achieve – the result can often be dry; the buzz that may have characterised the conference, reduced to a murmur when in a written, rather than spoken, format; the final dish more of a pancake than a soufflé.

But the proof of the pudding is, as always, in the eating. This time the main ingredient was Museums, Material Culture and the British Empire, a conference held at the British Museum and the National Maritime Museum in October 2009.

Curating Empire follows the recipe instructions with care and flair, and the result is a highly readable collection of essays on aspects of museums and the British empire.

It forms part of a well-established series of publications edited by that doyen of imperial studies, John MacKenzie, who contributes his own short but pertinent introduction to set the context for the 12 essays that follow.

In their own introduction, the book’s editors, Sarah Longair and John McAleer, quote William Flower, the director of the Natural History Departments of the British Museum, writing in 1898: “What a museum really depends upon for its success and usefulness is not its building, not its cases, not even its specimens, but its curator.

"He and his staff are the life and soul of the institution, upon whom its value depends.”

This recognition of the importance of the role of curator coincided with a resurgence of interest in museums across the empire.

The way in which curators shaped their museums and built relationships with the mechanics of empire, from Australia to Zanzibar; Sierra Leone to Ceylon, is the book’s leitmotif.

Whereas all too often the personalities in books of this kind lie flat on the page, here some real characters come to life. Take, for example, Longair’s own contribution to Curating Empire.

This is the fascinating story of Ailsa Nicol Smith, who in 1936, aged 28, took up the post of curator of the Zanzibar Museum.

At first this appeared to be a progressive appointment. Richard Rankine, the British resident, wrote in her favour that, given the recognition of the need to provide educational opportunities for women, “the possibilities of the educational side of the museum being used to the best advantage will be much enhanced by the appointment of a suitable woman to the post of curator”.

This was Nicol Smith’s first posting abroad. Although she plunged enthusiastically into her work, it’s difficult to imagine how tough life must have been for a single woman, negotiating a colonial and male-dominated society.

It wasn’t long before things began to go awry. By 1939 the senior medical officer was writing that Nicol Smith is “a woman and likely to be disregarded on that account”.

Three years later, Nicol Smith resigned her post. The rapid decline of the museum after her departure served to reinforce that observation.

There are others who rise up from the printed page – among them Thomas Baines, carriage painter, artist, explorer, curator, a veritable bundle of energy who brought Africa to King’s Lynn; the elegant campaigning Maori, Maggie Papakura; Edgar Thurston, who, for 25 years led the Madras Museum, moving his own attention from zoology to anthropology, and turning the museum into a centre of research and education.

And the self-confident Irish museophile, William Gregory, governor of  Ceylon and a driving force behind the Colombo museum. There is some fine writing too.

Jennifer Wellington’s short history of the creation of the Australian War Memorial is sensitive in its understanding of the moment when Australia came of age.

She records how the creators of the large dioramas, “depicting sites of violence and death”, turned to soldiers who were there for their advice.

There are photographs of these dioramas. Fittingly perhaps they are in black and white, but so too are all the illustrations in this book. Is it too much to ask for a little colour in a £70 book?

Timothy Mason is a museum Consultant