Professor Michael Rush was a man of books. His house was busy with books. He hadn’t written or contributed to all of them, but he did publish a fair few. His academic career touched on many areas of Parliament, though he was perhaps best known for his expertise and academic output on the social and educational background of Members of the House of Commons.

To help with his writing, Michael compiled a database of his research. Except, back then, it wasn’t a database. Instead, he compiled boxes and boxes of card index files, one card per Member, possibly more for those with longer and more illustrious careers. Both spare bedroom and garage were stacked with boxes of neatly filed cards, bound together into Parliaments and parties by rubber bands.

At some point before we met him, Michael had persuaded a colleague in the Computer Science Department of the University of Exeter to translate the fields on his cards into an Access database. He’d also managed to cajole the odd PhD student or two into taking on data entry duties. Whether everything on those cards made it into the database, we’ll never know. But enough did make it from card to computer, so that, by the time he’d finished – though Michael never actually finished – he had the most valuable dataset on the background of Members that we’ve ever met. So valuable that many other academics and academic institutions wanted to use his database in their own research.

Michael, being a generous man, was always happy to help. Which meant there were copies of his database not only on the PC in his spare bedroom, but also in the House of Commons Library and at the History of Parliament Trust. There were probably many other copies in institutions across the world. We heard tales of at least one copy in one of the famous American Universities. Whether that was Harvard or Yale, we can’t quite remember, but we’re fairly certain it was one of those.

So long as people are only referring to a database, having multiple copies matters little. The problems come when people start writing to their own copies. And write they did. The House of Commons Library added data to their copy that was useful to their work. The History of Parliament Trust did likewise. No doubt other institutions also forked their own version of the data.

There was value in all the data being added, but only value to the holder of that copy of the database. Which is where we came in. The obvious questions being: what if there was one copy, available over the internet, that any trusted academic or institution could not only query but also contribute to? Would that return more value to the community at large?

So we worked with a developer (James Jefferies) to convert the database to Postgres and wrap it in a basic website. The History of Parliament was more than happy to provide a home for it. And crucially, not only did Michael agree to open access, he also agreed to licensing it under a Creative Commons Attribution Licence. For which, we and many others in the future will remain grateful. He seemed both pleased and a little surprised. The index cards had been the tools of his trade, but not the output he focussed on. That was always the books – the cards and databases being only stepping stones to publication.

Hosting a website alone wouldn’t have met our goal of seeing the academic community both benefitting from the data and contributing their own knowledge. So James (again) helped us to make our basic website editable, with assorted access levels for the public, for academic users, for editors and for admin staff.

Michael retired from his position at the University of Exeter in 2003, a decade and a half before we met him. His academic life continued: more research, more publications. Every time a general election rolled round, he produced more cards, all to be entered into the newly released database and website.

I think it was at this point that we first met Michael and his wife Jean in person. We travelled down to Exeter to be greeted with tea and biscuits and a touch of political and academic gossip. Visits to Exeter were a little like visiting your favourite grandparents, only with a short seminar in 19th century politics on the side. After which, we’d climb the stairs to his office, to peruse records both on card and computer. Then travel back to Westminster with a box full of cards to enter into the database. Michael continued to research Members and cards continued to be filled in, the last lot arriving in Westminster in a Tefal toaster box by means of a motorcycle courier.

That was the start of more work. Whilst the source database was fine for Michael’s purposes, the reference data was less amenable to querying for other people. Computers are somewhere between hard task masters and really quite dumb. Entries like ‘Eton’ and  ‘Eton College’ work fine for you and me on a piece of paper, but make life more difficult than it ideally would be for querying by computer. A team of House of Commons librarians took the Rush data, tidied it and normalised it into new tables – always bearing in mind Michael’s original intent. The work here is a tidying exercise. Should we come across a type of information in Michael’s card catalogue that hasn’t been captured in the database, we’ll give consideration to adding. If there’s no evidence that Michael was interested in capturing a type of data, we will not add. Should you be an academic interested in the social background of MPs, these efforts should make your life easier.

Since then (with generous assistance from Michael, and further work by House of Commons librarians) the project has expanded to incorporate peerage data collected by David Beamish. There is still work to be done. Dates in particular need attention if we’re ever to make queries such as ‘who attended Eton College when David Cameron attended Eton College’ easier to answer. New records for new Members and new information on old ones will be added to the website, the History of Parliament Trust taking care of Members pre-1945 and staff in the Commons Library looking after the more recent.

We’ve had emails from staff and PhD candidates in academic institutions from around the world seeking access to the data. In the early days of the website, they could get in touch with the History of Parliament Trust to request full access – either by granting increased permissions to the website, or by sharing a dump of data from the database sitting behind the website. We’ve added in functionality whereby they can be given access to a Datasette instance, making querying possible without having to ask their IT department to install software. 

We feel confident that Michael would be more than happy that his generosity is still helping students of UK political history far and wide – and that his work forms the foundation of systems allowing public access to essential research, both now and into the future.

M.S.

Users can access the Rush database here.

The digital publication of c. 5,700 previously unpublished transcripts of letters by the Victorian statesman Richard Cobden will be of immense interest to historians of nineteenth-century British politics. The letters are an invaluable resource, enriching our understanding of crucial historical events, from the 1840s Anti-Corn Law Campaign, to local politics in the constituencies Cobden represented as a Liberal MP (Stockport; West Riding of Yorkshire; Rochdale), to the Anglo-French trade agreement brokered by Cobden in 1860 and much, much more.

www.cobdenletters.org also uses Cobden’s letters to promote the theme of ‘active citizenship’, and to this end includes downloadable teaching materials for Key Stage 3 teachers on citizenship and history, and explanatory essays exploring Cobden’s key campaigns and significance.

While the value of Cobden’s letters might conventionally be seen to lie in their illumination of his political campaigns, they are also a rich resource for anyone interested in letters as a form of life-writing, and in the epistolary traces of human lives and relationships. Often entertaining and funny, at times poignant and moving, the letters mix lofty political discussions with captivating details of the quotidian, the domestic and the personal. They give us glimpses of a more human Cobden than the great statesman more frequently under the historical spotlight.

Unlike many published writings – in Cobden’s case, political pamphlets and treatises – part of the appeal of letters is their blend of the high-minded and public with the personal and intimate. In letters to his political ally John Bright, for example, Cobden often intermingled political commentary with expressions of concern about Bright’s health (and appetite!), as in this 1856 letter in which Cobden commented on the peace negotiations to end the Crimean War before remarking, ‘I hope you are taking care of yourself. Your case is a clear one. You are too full of blood & fat, & your only remedy is to eat less meat & take more walking exercise.’ Bright’s health had broken down in 1856.

That Cobden thought Bright was in fact rather greedy can be gleaned from an amusing letter to his wife Kate, ‘He [Bright] thinks himself a very small eater, & I am sometimes inclined to laugh at him when he talks about it. – We dined together at the Reform yesterday, & he ordered the dinner, in order that we might have something very “simple”. – We began with Cotelettes & piquante sauce – then a couple of jellies, & I had to check him whilst going to order an addition in the shape of an omelette aux fines herbes.’

During the nineteenth century, letters were a social glue and oiled the wheels of both personal relationships and professional networks. Cobden’s letters are peppered with warm sentiments, greetings to the families of his correspondents and expressions of concern about their health. These were all part of letter-writing conventions at the time, but also played a vital role in ‘cementing social bonds’ (Earle, 1999, p. 3). And, as Simon Morgan has argued, these bonds were integral not incidental to political campaigning.

Cobden’s letters to his wife Kate show, as Sarah Richardson has suggested, that she played a vital part in organising Cobden’s political life. His letters to her are scattered with instructions relating to the smooth running of his political life, asking her to forward on letters and pamphlets, or keep important newspaper clippings for him, for example.

The letters to Kate also reveal the important role that family networks played in his emotional sustenance. Cobden’s letters subvert the stereotype of the starchy, remote Victorian father. His letters to Kate frequently close with the enjoinder ‘kiss the little ones’ or even ‘kisses for the little cherub’. His fatherly affections are vividly evoked in this letter in which Cobden describes dandling his youngest daughter. They are also powerfully and movingly evident in this letter following the death of his fifteen-year-old son Dick in 1856.

It is also in his letters that we can discern something of the cost of Cobden’s political career to his family life and relationships, and the taxing effect of public life. In 1846 he wrote to George Combe, ‘I assure you that during the last 5 years so much have I been involved in the vortex of public agitation, that I have almost forgotten my own identity & completely lost sight of the comforts & interests of my wife & children.’

But we should remember – as Rebecca Earle reminds us – that letters do not provide us with unmediated access to the writer’s emotions; letters are often artful and performative. We can see this in some of Cobden’s humorous letters, as in this 1858 letter about his enjoyment of pig-keeping: ‘I relax a good deal with pigs! Sheep look all the same, – but there is an individuality about pigs & we become quite acquainted. – There is a cunning expression in their eye, when they are speculating whether you are about to give them a slice of turnip or carrot, that looks dreadfully human.’

Other letters are unintentionally funny for present-day readers, but were not necessarily intended to be amusing – as in this 1834 letter to his brother Fred, written from Switzerland, where he was travelling at the time, ‘All the world smokes in Berne & I am bringing you a crack pipe, bag of bakky, flint & tinder all à la German.’ Of course, it was not that kind of crack pipe! His letter to a Reverend Drought, a constituent, about the 1852 Ilkley water bill probably also falls into the unintentionally funny category.

Several letters give us insights into Victorian health remedies, many of which sound bizarre and even gruesome to present-day readers. These include drinking ‘tar water’ (favoured for respiratory conditions), ‘hot oil & opium’ massaged into stiff muscles or taking ‘hot onions’ for a common cold. Perhaps most alarming are Cobden’s entreaties to John Bright to be ‘cupped’, a form of blood-letting believed to restore the balance between the four humours. In one letter Cobden commented rather breezily, ‘I am aware that there is much prejudice against bloodletting in our day.– In this we have run into the opposite extreme of our fathers who used to open a vein in the spring as naturally as they took to their light clothing… Now, it could not possibly do you any harm to lose 12 oz of blood from your temples or the back of your neck.– I have been cupped in both places.’

www.cobdenletters.org makes accessible a resource which sheds fascinating light on Cobden’s political endeavours and active citizenship; through his letters we also catch sight of a flesh-and-blood Cobden, and learn something of the texture of everyday Victorian life.

HD

Further reading:

R. Earle (ed.), Epistolary Selves: Letters and Letter-Writers, 1600-1945 (1999)

S. Morgan, Celebrities, Heroes and Champions: Popular Politicians in the Age of Reform, 1810-67 (2021)

S. Richardson, ‘”You Know your Father’s Heart’. The Cobden Sisterhood and the Legacy of Richard Cobden’, in A. Howe and S. Morgan (eds.), Rethinking Nineteenth-Century Liberalism: Richard Cobden Bicentenary Essays (2006)

The proposed PhD will investigate the experiences of female MPs at Westminster 1970-2010, exploring the diversity of female MPs’ experiences and asking how, and the extent to which, the presence of more women has changed parliamentary cultures. The candidate will use our oral history interviews with female MPs – which give a valuable insight into life in Westminster, see our Women in Parliament in the 1970s and 1980s and Women MPs in the 1990s blogs – as well as undertaking more interviews and engaging in archival research. There will also be opportunity to carry out various public engagement activities in Westminster, Keele and Manchester, all supported by the supervisors.

We are very excited to be part of this collaboration and to further explore some of the valuable insights gained by our Oral History Project. All applications are to be made through Keele University: for full details and advert please see Keele’s website.  Please feel free to contact Dr Emma Peplow (epeplow@histparl.ac.uk) with any informal enquiries.

The History of Parliament’s researchers have been trying out the Curations tool recently launched by Art UK, which enables anyone to create a digital exhibition from the artworks on its site. With art galleries and museums currently closed, it is an excellent way to visit their collections online. It also has the advantage of being able to see works from geographically dispersed collections side by side. The Art UK website hosts almost 250,000 artworks from over 3,250 locations. This gave us plenty to choose from in putting together a variety of exhibitions to share different aspects of our research, which can be accessed through the links below.

Dr. Andrew Thrush, editor of the House of Lords, 1558-1603 section, used Art UK’s excellent range of portraits to focus on a key figure in the early modern Lords: George Villiers (1592-1628), 1st Duke of Buckingham. A favourite of James I, he was showered with lands, offices and titles by the king, but also acquired many parliamentary enemies, before dying at the hands of an assassin in 1628. Find out more about him in the exhibition here.

The exhibition put together by Dr. Robin Eagles, editor of the House of Lords, 1715-1790 section, accompanied his blog on the eighteenth-century garden, taking us on a virtual tour of the key features of the gardens created for Viscount Cobham at Stowe in Buckinghamshire. This landscape was not just a place for recreation; its design also reflected Cobham’s political stance as a ‘patriot’, as the exhibition explains.

Although he suggests that ‘Parliaments can make bad paintings’, Dr. Paul Seaward, our British Academy/Wolfson Research Professor, has chosen some of the ‘hits’ in paintings of the House of Commons from the eighteenth to the twentieth centuries. An important theme in his exhibition is key moments of parliamentary change, from the first Parliament to assemble after the 1832 Reform Act, as painted by Sir George Hayter, to the first Labour prime minister addressing the Commons in John Lavery’s 1923 work (seen below). Discover what other paintings he chose here. Complementing this selection of images of the Commons, his second curation looks at depictions of the Lords.

Hayter’s depiction of the reformed Commons is the starting point for an exhibition from Dr. Kathryn Rix, assistant editor of the House of Commons, 1832-1868 section. This selection looks at the major changes to Parliament’s buildings during this period, as the old Palace of Westminster captured on canvass by Hayter was destroyed by fire in 1834. This forced MPs into temporary accommodation while the new Houses of Parliament designed by Charles Barry were being constructed. For more on these buildings and the people who made and used them, see her exhibition.

With so many paintings to choose from, our 1832-1868 project also moved beyond Westminster to the constituencies, looking at depictions of elections and electioneering. Some of these artworks show imagined election scenes; others portray actual events in constituencies ranging from Bedford to Blackburn. All of them give a good flavour of the vibrancy and colour of elections in this period, with widespread popular involvement in proceedings, despite the limited franchise, as seen here.

Finally, Dr. Emma Peplow showcases the work of our Oral History project, which has interviewed over 170 former MPs since it began in 2011. Her curation includes depictions of some of the MPs who have been interviewed, among them Denis Healey, Michael Heseltine, Tam Dalyell and Helene Hayman, as well as large-scale works such as June Mendoza’s 1986 painting of the House of Commons. From the chamber to the tea-room, our archive, which has been deposited at the British Library, provides illuminating insights into parliamentary life, as the exhibition explains.

K. R.

Did you know that the History of Parliament is now on YouTube? We post new videos every month (on a Wednesday afternoon). Click here to check out our channel and don’t forget to subscribe.

Throughout 2019 at the History of Parliament our Public Engagement Team and the House of Commons 1832-68 project (@TheVictCommons) worked with the Citizens Project at Royal Holloway on a number of their public history projects. These included their free online course Peterloo to the Pankhursts: Radicalism and Reform in the 19th Century, which will be running again later in 2020 – click here for further details. We co-produced a number of videos which are now available on YouTube. For teachers, they are perfect introductory videos to use in the classroom.

Our nineteenth-century radicalism and reform playlist has biographical videos about key figures such as William Pitt the Younger…

 … and Lord John Russell, in which you can learn about their particular stance on electoral reform as well as their key contributions to debates and legislation.

Forthcoming videos in the series will feature the man famous for repealing the Corn Laws and establishing the police force, Sir Robert Peel; the Radical politician and staunch opponent of the Corn Laws, John Bright; and political adversaries who both achieved the office of Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli and William Gladstone.

So far, this playlist also contains videos about Chartism and the Peterloo Massacre.

We’re also looking forward to producing content about prominent MPs from throughout parliamentary history, from the medieval to the modern, as well as other key events and anniversaries.

We want to hear from you too!

Teachers, what would be useful in the classroom or for revision?

History enthusiasts, is there a particular parliamentary procedure or piece of legislation that you would like us to demystify?

Students, what would you like to know about researching and writing parliamentary history and biography?

Drop us a line on Facebook or Twitter with thoughts and suggestions.

S.S.

For more resources from the History of Parliament Trust head over to the website. You’ll find all of our published work relating to the House of Commons (House of Lords 1660-1715 is currently available in print only), information about our Oral History Project, and KS3 teaching materials about the Reformation, 19th century political reform, and 1930s international politics.

All published History of Parliament biographies, currently covering periods up to the nineteenth century, begin with a highly compressed digest of information about the life of the man in question. The first paragraph mostly contains genealogical information, such as life dates, parentage and marriages, along with details of education and personal honours. The abbreviations employed in this section are generally explained at the start of each volume (or in the relevant introductory survey, for those reading online).

However, the remaining material before we arrive at a biography’s main text can pose more of a challenge. For the most part this comprises summaries of offices held by an MP or peer. Some of the terms used, such as ‘j.p.’ (justice of the peace) are still current today, while others, like ‘commr.’ (commissioner – someone appointed, usually by central government, to perform a specific task) feature in the lists of abbreviations. But the tasks themselves are generally not abbreviated, so definitions are not provided – and some of these job titles can be tricky to understand. Certain roles are more or less what you’d expect – for example, a commissioner for swans was the distant ancestor of those modern officials who still perform the ritual of ‘swan upping’ on the Thames and elsewhere. But what about commissioners for aliens, or annoyances, or perambulations? All genuine job titles, but what did they involve? Here are a few pointers to a better understanding of early modern local government (and History of Parliament biographies).

Commissioner for gaol delivery. Nothing to do with the provision of new prisons. Rather, this was about the emptying of local gaols – literally the deliverance of their inmates. Four hundred years ago, few people other than debtors were incarcerated for long periods of time. Most suspected criminals were locked up in the nearest gaol only until they could be brought before a magistrate or, in more serious cases, put on trial at the six-monthly assizes, after which non-custodial sentences were handed down. Commissioners for gaol delivery were local j.p.s appointed to assist the itinerant judges sent out from London to hold the assizes. Senior magistrates might also serve during the assizes as commissioners for oyer and terminer (Old French for ‘hear and determine’), which empowered them to participate in trials for treason or felony. Another related role was the commissioner for nisi prius (Latin meaning literally ‘if not before’), who dealt with cases referred to the assizes by the central courts at Westminster so that supplementary evidence could be collected locally.

Commissioner for ecclesiastical causes. Another legal role, but this time involving the implementation of church law. (In this context ‘cause’ is simply the early modern word for ‘case’ or lawsuit.) The Church of England had extensive powers to discipline both clergy and laypeople for non-criminal offences, and special commissions for ecclesiastical causes were typically awarded to help tackle recusancy or nonconformity in a particular diocese. Further examples of local legal commissions to deal with a specific problem were commissions for admiralty causes or for piracy; in this case, the issues at stake were likely to be disputes over naval jurisdictions or confiscated cargoes, and the punishment of buccaneers.

Commissioner for aid. As you might expect, this is to do with money, but not modern-style overseas aid. Instead, the beneficiary was the monarch. Exercising one of his last remaining feudal rights, the king was entitled to financial assistance from his principal tenants to cover certain extraordinary expenses, such as his daughters’ marriages, or the creation of his eldest son as prince of Wales. In effect, these commissioners were tax collectors – except that they identified potential donors, then left someone else to do the actual collecting. A similar role was that of the commissioner for subsidy, which involved assessing people at local level for parliamentary taxation. Prior to the Civil War, the king was expected to fund central government through his ‘ordinary’ income, such as the money generated by the crown lands, and the customs levied on trade. Taxes granted by Parliament were considered ‘extraordinary’ income, effectively subsidizing the king’s ordinary revenues.

Commissioner for innovated offices. This was essentially the seventeenth-century equivalent of an official appointed to tackle problems of red tape. A commission of this kind would inquire into recently created posts which were deemed to impose unnecessary burdens on the local population. A very similar role was the commissioner for exacted fees, whose focus was on existing officials who were demanding new or increased payments for their services; while a related functionary was the commissioner for charitable uses, whose purpose was to check that charitable foundations were being managed correctly.

Commissioner for annoyances (or nuisances). While it’s tempting to imagine that this was about anti-social behaviour, it actually concerned the kind of nuisance that you wouldn’t want to step in. Seventeenth-century sanitation was fairly basic by modern standards, and ‘noisome’ waste generated by both people and animals tended to pile up in the streets. Commissioners for annoyances helped ensure that the problem didn’t get out of hand. Curiously, they should not be confused with commissioners for sewers, who at that time were more likely to be responsible for the drainage associated with reclamation of the fens.

Commissioner for perambulations. That’s the same root word that gave us the modern ‘pram’, and it’s about walking. The closest modern equivalent is the ceremony of ‘beating the bounds’ of a parish, which still happens in some parts of the country. Commissioners for perambulation were more likely to be checking on the boundaries of a forest, to ensure that the special laws pertaining to them were correctly applied.

And finally … commissioner for aliens. In the early seventeenth century, most people travelled only short distances during their lives, and language reflected this fact. Someone from the next town was a stranger, a visitor from another county a foreigner – and people from overseas were aliens. Unless they were naturalized, or became denizens, aliens lacked the benefits of normal citizenship, could be taxed more heavily, and were viewed with suspicion in times of emergency. Commissioners for aliens monitored them, so that the government had a clearer idea of numbers and locations, the early modern equivalent of visas and border control.

PMH

Of course, finding images of our earlier or less famous MPs can be a challenge. Luckily, if portraits do not survive, many MPs have monuments or memorials which include a brass or statue, for example Sir William Bagot or John Cowper. For our Director, finding these memorials in churches and photographing them has become a minor obsession  – yesterday he blogged about finding the memorial to William Smart, MP for Ipswich in 1589.

So we have a challenge for you all. Can you help us find more images for our website? Perhaps from their local tomb or memorial, there are plenty of examples in our gallery to give you an idea of the sort of thing we’re after. We are also on the lookout for images to illustrate elections or constituencies, perhaps benefactions by MPs to towns, or sites of known elections.

If we use three of your images on our website we can send you a set of printed volumes (take your pick from 1509-58, 1558-1603, 1660-1690, 1754-90 or 1790-1820). Any images we reproduce will of course be properly credited, although we can only use ones where the copyright is fully owned by you. Please send any you have to me (Emma) at website@histparl.ac.uk. Happy snapping!

EP

Complaints from MPs about the state of their accommodation had been rumbling on since the 1790s, and reached a peak when they found themselves packed into the hot, airless and cramped Commons chamber during the passage of the Great Reform bill.  Unable to agree on a solution for new accommodation, in the end the decision was made for them.  The long-overdue catastrophe finally occurred on 16 October 1834.  Throughout the day, a chimney fire had smouldered under the floor of the House of Lords chamber, caused by the unsupervised and ill-advised burning of two large cartloads of wooden tally sticks (a form of medieval tax receipt created by the Exchequer, a government office based at Westminster) in the heating furnaces below.  Warning signs were persistently ignored by the senile Housekeeper and careless Clerk of Works, leading the Prime Minister later to declare the disaster, ‘one of the greatest instances of stupidity upon record’.

At a few minutes after six in the evening, a doorkeeper’s wife returning from an errand finally spotted the flames licking the scarlet curtains around Black Rod’s Box in the Lords chamber where they were emerging through the floor from the collapsed furnace flues. There was panic within the Palace but initially no-one seems to have raised the alarm outside, perhaps imagining that the fire – which had now taken hold and was visible on the roof – could be brought under control quickly.  They were mistaken.  A huge fireball exploded out of the building at around 6.30pm, lighting up the evening sky over London, and immediately attracting hundreds of thousands of people. The fire turned into the most significant blaze in the city between 1666 and the Blitz, burning fiercely for the rest of the night…

To continue reading Caroline’s article, see ‘The Fire of 1834′.. For what happened after the fire, read Stephen Farrell’s ‘The New Palace of Westminster’.

‘The Day Parliament Burned Down’ is available from Oxford University Press.

EP

Now, we’re beginning to expand our schools activities. We’re delighted to announce the launch of a new set of resources aimed at Key Stage 3, based on the Reformation. Parliament had a major role to play in this dramatic period, passing laws that made the church of England Protestant, then Catholic, and then back to Protestant again. These measures had a major impact on the Tudor church and population and gradually turned England and Wales Protestant.

Our specially written articles on Tudor Parliaments, MPs and constituencies tell the story of what happened and why. They explore the lives of MPs who influenced the religious upheaval (or just tried to live through them without losing their heads!) and they investigate how these events affected ordinary people across the country in different constituencies. We also have a number of work schemes, activity sheets and resources to help teachers who want to use our materials in the classroom. Next year’s KS3 competition will be based on these resources.

All being well, this set of materials will be the first in a number on parliament’s role in British history, and we’d love to know what you think of the ones we’ve now published. And don’t forget to keep watching this space for our competitions news!

To view the new schools section, click here.

To view the new resources on the Reformation, click here.

For the latest news about our schools competitions, click here.

EP