The opening of the Royal Geographical Society's archive, revealing its wealth of historical and geographical material, marks a new era for what was traditionally a secretive and elitist institution.
Besides groundbreaking scientific work by members like evolutionist Charles Darwin, the society's intrepid explorers paved the way for imperial conquest. They often embodied 19th-century Britain's supreme self-confidence and sense of superiority.
A map of the Amazon from the 1850s, for example, charts Clements Markham's quest for the cinchona tree, from which quinine, an early treatment for malaria, could be extracted. The map also includes brief written asides on various Amazonian tribes encountered along the way.
While most tribespeople are referred to only as "cannibals," one Indian group of Brazil is described as "quiet and inoffensive, very short." Bizarrely, another tribe is noted as having "tails eight inches [20 centimeters] long." The Cocamillas Indians of Peru were listed as "lazy and drunken, good boatmen."
"It's a fascinating record of how the British regarded native peoples of the day," Brace said.
Other Royal Geographical Society members from the grand age of imperial discovery included John Speke, credited with finding the source of the Nile; Richard Burton, the first Christian to enter Mecca; and the explorer and missionary David Livingstone.
Livingstone's Cap
Livingstone's battered cap is in the collection, as is the pith helmet worn by the American journalist-explorer Henry Stanley when, famously, he tracked down Livingstone in East Africa in 1872.
The archive also contains slave shackles of the type Livingstone brought back from Tanzania. "He came across a slave-raiding party and used the shackles back in Britain to denounce slavery," Brace said.
Among more recent items in the collection are maps drawn up by Royal Geographical Society cartographers for the D-Day invasion of Nazi-occupied France 60 years ago this month.
There's also an unusual collection of images of the Normandy coast used for planning the D-Day landings. The photographs weren't taken by soldiers, spies, or military aircraft but by seaside vacationers before the war.
The holiday snaps—of families picnicking on beaches and paddling in the sea—were sent to naval intelligence after a national appeal on British radio in 1943. The request was vague about the locations intelligence was interested in, because the Germans monitored U.K. radio broadcasts.
Brace says the snapshots provided vital information for the amphibious beach assault that could not have been gleaned from aerial reconnaissance: for instance, the height of sand dunes, how deep the water was, and whether the beaches would be suitable for tanks.
Referring to this and the rest of the newly opened collection, society director Rita Gardner, added, "They tell so many stories for so many people and are a history of geography that document a changing world."
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