London
In the song “Barracuda” from his 1974 album Fear, John Cale sings an ominous refrain: “The ocean will have us all.” Not exactly the most reassuring sonic backdrop for a 3,500-mile flight over the Atlantic Ocean. Yet I found myself listening to Cale’s Welsh burr in early August as I traveled to England for a research trip to The National Archives (TNA).
Prior to my visit, I had only heard good things about TNA. But I still began the trip with some trepidation. My research often takes me to government archives, and the experience can be less than ideal. Reticent staff, opaque procedures, and a chilly atmosphere are not uncommon. Thankfully, my visit to TNA was the exact opposite.
Staying near London’s center, I took a breezy tube ride out to Kew each day to visit the archives. The process for requesting materials is essentially automated, so I could work at my own pace and conserve energy. All the better, since I generally find archival research mentally exhausting; I sometimes liken it to spending eight hours looking for lost keys. With a vague sense of what you’re after, you work under mild strain for indeterminate periods, only to arrive at sudden moments of relief and revelation.
At the same time, archival research also entails its own curious form of embodiment. Sitting in the same position performing repetitive motions all day can pull you into your body in unexpected ways. My terrible posture suddenly becomes an acute concern. Silence, even when not expected, must be preserved at all cost. The general lack of drama makes simple movements seem, well—dramatic.
Historical research can also be unavoidably voyeuristic. I sometimes feel like a member of the Greek chorus, standing silently offstage full of hidden secrets about the action unfolding on the page. During one of my days at TNA, I came across a memo from an official in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. The official had received a report from his US counterpart about a conference they both attended, though he didn’t reciprocate the gesture. He wrote to his superiors that the British government had no policy to do so, adding: “I imagine they prepare confidential reports and papers on the sessions which they do not volunteer to us!” Having seen the corresponding records in US archives, I could readily confirm.
After assuming the archive routine, it can be easy to forget the outside world. A strike at Heathrow Airport, called off at the last minute, almost extended my stay. A visit to the Tate Modern one evening was canceled after a bizarre incident in which a six-year-old French boy was thrown from the museum’s tower. (The boy survived the five-story fall, and the teenager who threw him has been charged with attempted murder.) And shortly thereafter the trip was over. I had to pack my things and go, still thinking of all those boxes I needed to go through.
