Anyone who thinks that removing statues is rewriting history should ask who wrote the history in the first place.

I wrote that sentence on Facebook this morning, having already (editorial privilege) read Paul Reynolds’ excellent article, in which he discusses the very many omissions in the current teaching of history.

My own experience of history in school was dire. I hated it, not least because of the way it was taught. The teacher spent almost every lesson dictating notes which we duly wrote down in our notebooks and attempted to remember for exams. At the end of the third year in secondary school we had to choose between History or Geography, so I chose the latter. As a result I studied no history later than the second Jacobite rebellion in 1745, and because I changed schools I actually studied that twice.

So I left school with huge gaps in my knowledge of 19th and 20th century history. For example, I didn’t know anything about the origins of Liberalism in the UK until I started reading J S Mill and others for my Philosophy degree. I didn’t understand the causes of the two World Wars and hadn’t heard of the Holocaust. I was living through the independence of former British colonies but hadn’t learned the history that would have explained why they had been coloured red on the map. I was denied any understanding of the importance of prime sources, or of historical method, and I didn’t appreciate that records were always created by the literate elite.

Of course, over my life I have gradually pieced together a lot of information about that period but still wish I had had a more formal foundation. I learnt that the history of wars is always written by the victors, so is inevitably skewed. And today’s political interference in the curriculum in the UK has striking parallels with the airbrushing of history practised by autocratic regimes.

Much has already been written about the contemporary relevance of the BBC mini-series The Salisbury Poisonings which ended yesterday and is now available on i-Player. Although written and produced before anyone had ever heard of the coronavirus, the way in which the public emergency in Salisbury was handled two years ago has some uncanny parallels with the events of this year.

I was struck by one simple fact – the operation was headed by the Director of Public Health for Wiltshire, Tracy Daszkiewicz. She, in fact, was the main focus for the dramatic retelling of the story, and it is clear that her timely actions and highly professional approach to the problem prevented many people from dying from Novichok poisoning.

Directors of Public Health are in a unique position to track and trace major health emergencies. But, during this coronavirus emergency their very specific skills and local knowledge were sidelined by the Government.

At one point in the series, Tracy Daszkiewicz is challenged by a civil servant who has been sent down from Whitehall. Tracy had just learnt how Nick Bailey, who was the first police officer to enter the Skripal’s home, had become infected by the nerve agent, in spite of wearing protective clothing.  Spots of Novichok were found throughout the house; it was only when the police viewed bodycam photos of the initial search that they realised that they had been put there by Nick himself, and that he had picked it up from the handle of the front door. They concluded that the Skripals must have got it on their skin from the door handle as well. Tracy’s response to this information was to track Nick’s movements afterwards, and as a result she recommended the immediate closure of the local police station so it could be isolated and examined for contamination.

At that point the Government official intervened and over-ruled her, on the grounds that closing a police station would cause public panic. Parts of the building were then tested whilst normal activity was going on elsewhere, and, as Tracy predicted, traces of Novichok were found. The police station was closed and the Government adviser was sent packing.

Last week I wrote about the joys of living near a zoo. Over 30 years ago it was transformed in a theme park, Chessington World of Adventures, and became part of The Tussauds Group of tourist attractions (now Merlin Entertainments). The name of the area where I live is now synonymous with thrill rides, an animal park and above all, with clogged roads in the summer. In 2018 it attracted 1.67 million visitors.

Although the park is only a mile or so from the M25, the access roads, whichever route is taken, pass through residential areas. In the summer months local people like us know exactly how to avoid the traffic, but it often involves long detours. And those who live in Malden Rushett (which still lies within Greater London) have a real problem as the cars build up along the only road through their village. After a quiet few months, that disruption will start again this Thursday when the park opens for Zoo Days, and get worse on 4th July when the whole park re-opens.

Right at the beginning, the Council laid down some ground rules, which still apply today.

First, the site is set in the Outer London Green Belt, so the Council identified the build envelope, and no buildings were allowed outside that boundary. The park has got round that a bit by grazing giraffes and oryx on the Green Belt, somewhat to the surprise of the neighbouring horses, and then applying to install buildings to support animal husbandry (and by pure co-incidence, of course, a safari ride).  They have also squeezed in two resort hotels within the envelope, which offer some resources for the local community, such as a gym, indoor pool and function rooms.

Second, substantial planting on site became a requirement, and today visitors are surprised at how green it is.

Third, no construction was allowed to appear above the tree line. As a result, the park is almost invisible from the road and nearby houses, and the trees form a noise barrier as well. I do remember one planning application for a rollercoaster that we turned down. The ride would have risen well above the surrounding trees, and the park tried to justify it on noise grounds – apparently, people only start screaming when they are one third of the way down and behind the trees.

Am I descended from a slave owner?

That uncomfortable question was prompted by the current debate over Black Lives Matter, and specifically by an article by Catherine Bennett in the Observer yesterday. She has been researching the hereditary peers in the House of Lords and checking the sources of their wealth against the database of slave ownership constructed by University College London.

The database identifies anyone who was connected with the slave trade in Great Britain or the British colonies, and records the amounts given in compensation when slavery ended. The deal which resulted in slave owners receiving eye-wateringly large sums in compensation for the loss of their slaves, while the slaves received nothing, is one of the huge shameful blots on our nation’s conscience.

Catherine Bennett was naming and shaming the descendants of those beneficiaries who still sit in the House of Lords. Now I think she is going down entirely the wrong track here. It is a total anachronism that we still have 92 hereditary peers sitting in a chamber of Government – they should be removed as soon as possible – but attacking them because of their ancestors’ ill-gotten gains is a dubious way to go about it.

One reason for saying that is because many of us could, potentially, track our family tree back to people involved in slavery. Some of us could even today be benefiting from the wealth they accrued through their business ventures and specifically through the compensation. What should we do if we discover such unwelcome roots?