The man we love to love

The life and death of Nelson grip the imagination, not just because of the bicentenary of Trafalgar but because more is known about him than any other major figure in British history. He was a tireless correspondent, writing for hours with his left hand letters that would be kept in their hundreds because he was famous in his lifetime. These illuminate the complicated, contra- dictory character that continues to entice biographers, whether revisionists, hagio- graphers, bodice-rippers, amateur psychoanalysts, spinners of rattling good yarns, or serious historians, amongst the last being Roger Knight.

As the author was for many years deputy director and chief curator of the National Maritime Museum and is now professor of naval history at Greenwich University, he could be expected to command access to the more obscure sources of Nelsoniana, as seems to be borne out by some 300 pages of notes at the back of his hefty book.

However, anyone conversant with the story may first note omissions rather than fresh inclusions. There are no stories about boyhood pluck and the fight with the polar bear is dismissed, there being no written record; the mystical experience while recovering from malaria is not mentioned, presumably for the same reason; even the telescope clapped to the blind eye at Copenhagen is discarded as ‘a myth’. More surprisingly, there is no account of Nelson’s disastrous foray into politics at Emma Hamilton’s urging.

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But just as one misses a familiar Nelson story, the strength of the author’s scholarly rigour becomes apparent. The subtitle of his book stresses Nelson’s achievement and he never loses sight of that. Knight is assessing and analysing the achievement of one naval officer. He takes us through the career and the development of the character, starting with the young Nelson benefiting from a well-placed uncle in the navy but socially insecure and chippy.