The Windsor Magazine, published by Ward, Lock and Bowden (later Ward, Lock and Co.), first appeared in January 1895 and finally ceased publication in 1939. From its first issue, the magazine perceived itself as a periodical which was read throughout the Empire by a diverse audience which was nonetheless united in its concern for the well-being of the Empire and its desire for a high-quality periodical. The Foreword to the first number makes it clear that the magazine’s loyalties are apparent even in the title, as the editors refer to it as a debutante which is “Making its obeisance to its Sovereign and to the public alike, mingling devotion to the gracious lady on the throne and to her three direct heirs, whose portraits are here presented with loyalty to some of the best and widest interests of her subjects” (1). The magazine could not claim a Royal seal of approval, (although a footnote in the March 1895 number did inform readers that “Her Majesty the Queen has been graciously pleased to accept a copy of the first number of the WINDSOR MAGAZINE” ), but it could, and did, represent itself as essential reading for those interested in the contemporary literary and social worlds of the 1890s. Moreover, the magazine’s subtitle, Illustrated Monthly for Men and Women,” indicated an inclusiveness which designated all members of upper- and middle-class imperial society as potential readers, and the editorial perspective concerning the publication’s appropriateness for this broad audience did not publicly deviate from this stance. However, while it is true that the editors did not openly acknowledge that the magazine’s material did alter, careful reading reveals that by 1900, only six years after the magazine’s establishment, the material offered to readers had subtly shifted in both content and focus.
The Foreword of the first issue clearly outlined the magazine’s objectives which were to “offer its readers the best in fiction” and to do so in such a way that “the dominant note of this magazine will be buoyant” (2). Throughout its history it alluded frequently to this self-confident objective: in volume 6, for example, it assured its audience that “the Windsor has thousands of readers” (“Editor’s Postbag” 72) and in volume 10 referred to itself as “Wonderful Windsor!,” a term which was apparently bestowed upon it by the Times.1 In terms of a wider comparison, it has been regarded as a rival to the Strand Magazine,2 and possibly saw itself as such, although no direct acknowledgment of other periodicals ever appeared in the pages of the magazine. It published the work of many popular writers including Rudyard Kipling, Edith Nesbit, Eden Phillpotts, Conan Doyle, Barry Pain, Robert Barr, Max Pemberton, CJ. Cutcliffe Hyne and Israel Zangwill, all of whom contributed to other monthly journals such as the Strand, the Idler and Cassell’s Family Magazine. This certainly could be regarded as seeking its readers from the upper-middle-class audience of these publications.
The magazine was of a standard format which remained unchanged until at least after the First World War. Each issue, apart from the December number, was approximately 120 pages, printed on 6-inch by 9-inch glossy paper and square bound. It was a monthly publication, costing sixpence per issue at first, later rising to one shilling, with bound volumes appearing at six-monthly, rather than yearly, intervals, although given that each volume was at least six-hundred pages in length, there is an obvious practicality to binding at six-monthly intervals. Interestingly, although the first volume commenced in January 1895, and the second in July of that year, this numbering was soon altered; volume 4 covered only the five months of July-November 1896, with volume 5 commencing in December 1896. From this point, new volumes commenced in December and June. These six-monthly volumes were bound in green boards with a central gilt outline drawing of Windsor Castle by Herbert Railton, with spine titling also in gilt. Titling and a floral motif on the front board were outlined in red as was an insignia on the spine. This binding remained largely unchanged between 1894 and 1910, although the use of gilt was not consistent during this time and by 1914 had been discontinued. There were no additional Christmas or summer numbers, but the December issue was approximately forty pages longer than the others and contained more short stories and poetry and fewer non-fiction articles. Occasionally, an additional short novel was issued with the December number, but this was bound separately, rather than printed in the main body of the magazine;3 a notable example of a Windsor supplement is a reprint of Conan Doyle’s A Study in Scarlet, the copyright of which was owned by Ward, Lock, and which appeared in December 1895 as an accompaniment to the larger Christmas number, presumably to enhance sales of the newly established periodical. This reprint of Conan Doyle’s first Sherlock Holmes story underscores the Windsor Magazine’s possible rivalry with the Strand, as it was of course in the latter publication that the short stories featuring Sherlock Holmes first appeared.
Between 1895 and 1910, there were few changes in the editorship of the Windsor Magazine. Initially, the editors were William Sprigg and Flora Klickmann; Sprigg appears to have left the magazine during its first two years of publication, and his place was taken by Duncan Williamson, who remained in his position until 1898. After 1898, Arthur Hutchinson was appointed editor, a position which he occupied until 1927. Flora Klickmann remained with Ward, Lock until after James Bowden’s departure from the firm in 1899; by 1904 she was working for the Wesleyan Methodist Missionary Society, but the exact date of her final departure is unclear. Klickmann was the only one of the editors to have articles published under her name in the Windsor Magazine’, although Arthur Hutchinson was a prolific author,4 none of his work appeared in the magazine. It is notable that the names of the various editors were never shown, and no mention was made of changes in the editorship. A section called “The Editor’s Scrapbook” appeared in every issue after December 1895, consisting of short anecdotes, verses, jokes and brief comments on society. There is no editorial commentary, and no personal editorial presence is apparent. The magazine therefore appeared to exist as an entity in itself, rather than reflecting a specific editorial persona, and this might well have been intended to enhance the sense of universality that the Windsor strove to promote to its imperial readership. This lack of personal presence is apparent even in the announcement of material to be published in a new volume; photographs of contributors, together with positive reviews of their work, together with commendations of the Windsor Magazine itself form the basis of this promotional writing. Interestingly, despite the lack of overt, identified editorial presence, there are few anonymous articles and no anonymous fiction in the magazine, indicating the increasing importance of the signature and the persona of the writer at this time.
The magazine’s format remained largely unchanged throughout the 1890s and 1900s; thus each number contained two serial stories, one or more short stories, and at least one poem. As a rule, each serial was contained within the limits of the six-monthly volume, although there were some longer serializations such as Guy Boothby’s Doctor Nikola which ran in volumes 3 and 4, Hall Caine’s The Christian in volumes 5 and 6 and Rider Haggard’s Ayesha: the Return of She in volumes 21 and 22. The magazine prided itself on publishing fiction by popular and established authors such as Rudyard Kipling, Hall Caine, Justus Miles Forman, Rider Haggard, and Conan Doyle, as well as by emerging writers such as P.G. Wodehouse and E.F. Benson. The magazine also published fiction by colonial authors such as the Australians Ada Cambridge, Ethel Turner, Mary Gaunt and Mayne Lindsay, and the Canadians, Charles D.G. Roberts and Gilbert Parker. It also featured occasional fiction by Americans in addition to Forman, such as Bret Harte and Grace Richmond, and while the Windsor Magazine appears not to have circulated in America, fiction such as Kipling’s Stalky & Co. stories frequently appeared in US publications simultaneously with their British publication. When the fiction serialized in the magazine was subsequently published in book form, Ward, Lock and Co. was not necessarily the publisher. For example, several of Kipling’s Stalky stories were published by Macmillan after appearing in the Windsor.
Non-fiction covered a variety of concerns, but contemporary society and its organisation was the predominant theme. Thus, writers explained various aspects of government and economics, at local, national and international levels, while contemporary concerns in art, music, biography and sport served as a basis for a large number of articles. There were also several series; for example, the first and second volumes contained six articles entitled Unknown London and another six entitled Suburban London by H.D. Lowry and T.S. Crowther, each of which gave an account of a specific location in London. Volumes 14, 16 and 26 contain three series of articles by Cecil de Thierry entitled The Naval Bases of the Empire, which analyse the workings of various naval ports. Certain writers focused on one concern only, and their work appeared at wider intervals. An example of this is found in the ten articles on public and government finances by J. Holt Schooling which appeared at random intervals between 1897 and 1905, while Gambier Bolton’s nine articles on animals were published between 1896 and 1903.
In addition to this broad range of non-fiction, there were articles which took the form of fiction, as a short story or anecdote, but which were based on, or intended to be, a purely factual account. An example is W.H. Fitchett’s “Jack’s Fighting Courage” in volume 9, which begins in documentary style with some general comments about the courage of the “average British sailor” but is followed by a highly coloured narrative of a particular example of that courage. Occasionally, this deliberate blurring of boundaries can mislead the reader, and it is only when the conclusion of the piece is reached that the author reveals the desired focus of the narrative. An example of this can be found in “The Enshrined Matchbox,” published in volume 2 (1895). This is an account of a meeting between a street boy who sells matches for a living and a man.who buys a box of matches and is mistakenly given incorrect change. To rectify his error, which was to his advantage, the boy pursues the man, gives him the correct change and is then informed that the purchaser of the matches is the Prince of Wales. The boy is rewarded with a place at a naval college, and is assured that the Prince will keep the matchbox. This account is initially presented as a short narrative; there is nothing to distinguish it from any other short fiction until the conclusion is reached. At this point the writer, Alfred T. Story, intervenes, explains that the fiction is in fact an account of an actual event, and directs the reader toward a reading of the text which does not permit any questioning of the context which produced the happening, or any possible outcome other than the one given. Such semi-fictional narratives have been included in the indexes below as they functioned much in the manner of the didactic writing associated with the religious fiction of the late-nineteenth century and can be read in much the same way.
The magazine was copiously illustrated, with regular contributions from well-known magazine artists of the day such as Maurice Greiffenhagen, Hilda Cowham, Harold Copping, Frederick Pegram, Henry Austin, Stanley L. Wood, Cecil Aldin, S.E. Waller and Harry Fumiss, all of whom published in a wide variety of journals, and whose illustrations accompanied much of the fiction that appeared in the Windsor. Indeed, certain of these artists became associated with a specific type of writing, so that Maurice Greiffenhagen’s sombre style featuring massively drawn figures that dominate the picture invariably illustrates dramatic stories such as Mary Cholmondeley’s “The Understudy,” Justus Miles Forman’s The Quest and Rider Haggard’s Ayesha: the Return of She. S.E. Waller’s and H.M. Paget’s more delicate historical illustrations accompany historical fiction such as Halliwell Sutcliffe’s short stories and Robert Barr’s The Strong Arm, while the comic and satiric illustrations by Stanley L. Wood (whose line drawings accompanied his own tale of “A ‘Tenderfoot’ in Texas”) and by Harry Fumiss are frequently found in non-fiction, particularly that which gives accounts of other cultures (see, for example, Canadian Sketches, vol 11, 1899/1900). Non-fiction was frequently also illustrated by photographs, and this mix of visual images proved most attractive. The importance of art and illustration in the magazine’s format is bome out by the inclusion of a regular article focusing on a specific artist or illustrator, period in art, or treasures of a specific art gallery. By 1896, these lengthy articles (they were between 12 and 15 pages in length) were appearing in each issue and were accompanied by numerous black-and-white illustrations of the artwork under discussion. By 1910, one or two colour plates were included in each volume, and the magazine had embarked on an ambitious series entitled England’s Story in Portrait and Picture, which examined artistic representations of every period in English history, beginning with the Roman occupation. This followed a series of biographical studies by Austin Chester of various contemporary artists (not all of whom were necessarily destined for glory), and this in turn had followed descriptions of the collections of a number of provincial art galleries.
Thematically, the Windsor Magazine reveals the concerns and anxieties of the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, both in terms of British society and in the ways in which the colonies and major international powers were represented. The limitations inherent in publishing a monthly periodical composed largely of lengthy articles meant that the Windsor could not respond directly and immediately to national events; for example, there is no article dealing directly with the death of Victoria in 1901, although there is a discussion of the coronation ritual later in the relevant volume. However, it is possible to assess the dominant concerns of the time as they appeared in its pages.
Kemp, Mitchell and Trotter identify “the recognition of suburban humanity as an irreversible feature of modem England” (xi) essential to the literary culture of the time, and the Windsor certainly supports this. Much of the fiction is centred on urban, suburban and business life, particularly as these were represented in the constantly shifting social terrain of the middle classes. There was an increasing emphasis on the insecurity and uncertainty of income and social position, and added to this was a focus on the increasing isolation of the individual, obvious despite the growing crowds in the cities. Arnold Bennett’s The Loot of Cities: the Adventures of a Millionaire in Search of Joy (vol 20, 1904) underscored this as did Robert Barr’s Young Lord Stranleigh, (vol 27, 1907/8), Arthur Morrison’s The Dorrington Deedbox (vol 5, 1896/7) and Barry Pain’s City Chronicles (vol 13, 1900/1). Allied with this increasing sense of isolation and insecurity is the notion that the world is not what it seems and that truth and reality must be actively sought for and revealed. There is the possibility that the individual may be participating in a complex masquerade and that morality may be subverted to expedience. Given this, there was a growing interest in mystery and detective fiction which depended upon the recognition of pattern and the establishment of reality. While Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories were dominant in this genre, there were numerous other authors also writing detective stories. Four examples published in the Windsor are Arthur Morrison’s The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, Investigator (vol 1, 1895), and The Adventures of Martin Hewitt (vol 3, 1896), Percy Andreae’s Lauder Caine the Confessor (vol 4, 1896), Baroness Orczy’s Skin O’ My Tooth: His Memoirs by his Confidential Clerk (vol 18, 1903) and Stories of the Gold Star Line (vol 9, 1898/9) by L.T. Meade and Robert Eustace. In each of these series it is noticeable that the central character is a lone investigator whose exploits are described by a close associate who, while admiring the protagonist, does not comprehend how or why his actions are undertaken. Thus, the investigator, while clarifying a seemingly incomprehensible series of events, remains an enigma in himself and is occasionally represented as working outside the law to attain the desired result (see, for example, the protagonist of Baroness Orczy’s Skin O’My Tooth, a lawyer who uses unorthodox and even illegal methods to gain his ends).
A fascination with the blurring of moral boundaries and perspectives was in itself a characteristic of the time. A concern with criminal behaviour, in which the criminal was not automatically apprehended became apparent—so a successful and stylish swindle performed by an attractive protagonist as in Fred M. White’s short story “The Language of Flowers” (vol 29, 1908/9) and C.J. Cutcliffe Hyne’s “The Twins” (vol 32, 1910) was presented as something which the reader could at least sympathise with, if not emulate. It must not be forgotten that this was the era of the “gentleman thief,” such as E.W. Homung’s Raffles, whose birth and breeding overrode conventional social norms and, in doing so, argued for the recognition of values that superseded middle-class conventions of religion and morality. This suggested that moral codes were a matter of expedience rather than absolute constructs and were dependent to a large extent upon the internal acknowledgment of a class structure that defined the moral characteristics pertaining to each level of society. The insecurity and anxiety that this suggested is evident in the number of stories in which the assumption of another’s identity is foregrounded together with the need to define precisely the origins of one’s family. This is coupled with an increasing focus on historical fiction; such stories tended to be located predominantly either in times of unrest such as the English Civil War, or the Scottish uprising of 1745, or in eras associated with public nostalgia for a lost “golden age” such as the reign of Elizabeth or a generalised “middle ages” remarkable for idealised notions of chivalric order. (See, for example, Robert Barr’s The Strong Arm, [vol 11, 1899/1900], and S.R. Crockett’s Joan of the Sword [vol 9, 1897/8]). Like detective and mystery stories these tales centred upon the re-establishment of a pattern of everyday living and a reassuring restoration of the status quo, if only at the individual level.
Concurrent with this interest in the past is an increasing focus on technological and social development and its implications for the future. Nonfiction in the Windsor offered readers accounts of the development of radio and telegraphy (“Marconi’s Achievement: Telegraphing across the Ocean Without Wires,” vol 15), electricity (“How London gets her Electric Light,” vol 13), new concepts in astronomy (“The Other Side of the Moon,” vol 8), the invention and subsequent rapid adoption of the car (“The Momentous Motor,” vol 18), and the invention of the airship together with its potential for use in war (“The Aerial Battleship,” vol 32). This concern with advances in technology was also apparent in some of the short fiction published in the magazine; examples included “A Scientific Balloon” (vol 3, 1896), “The Aerial Brickfield” (vol 6, 1897), “Frictional Electricity” (vol 17, 1902/3) and “From Pole to Pole: an Account of a Journey Through the Axis of the Earth; Collated from the Diaries of the Late Professor Haffkin and his Niece, Mrs Arthur Princeps” (vol 20, 1904). However, unlike the non-fiction mentioned above, these stories, particularly the last-named, demonstrated an awareness of the comical aspects of human reliance on technology, even while stressing the importance of technological progress and its potential benefits for human society.
While clearly demonstrating the centrality of British domestic and social life in its selection of material, the Windsor never lost sight of the significance of both colonial and foreign issues in its contents. Thus from its first appearance, the magazine obviously included a colonial audience in its readership, and both fiction and non-fiction encompassed imperial and other international themes. The magazine clearly responded to significant events such as the outbreak of the Boer War (1899) and the celebration of Australian Federation in 1901, but did so in ways which would reassure its domestic audience of the supremacy of the Empire; thus, Frederick Dolman’s “The Colonial Office” and “Leaders in the Australian Commonwealth,” both published in 1901, carefully explained to readers the working of Australian political institutions while also affirming that Australia would remain a loyal part of the Empire after Federation. York Hopewell’s “Remember Majuba! an Interview with the Man who has Most Cause for Doing So” (1901) initially appears to have little to do with the Boer War, focusing as it does on a battle fought against the Zulus, but Hopewell makes plain the need to support the present war effort by emphasising the past sacrifices and achievements of soldiers who had recently fought in other South African campaigns. Of more contemporary interest are Robert Machray’s 1900 articles “Our Reserve of Generals” and “Soldiers of the Press: all About War Correspondents and their Work” and George A. Wade’s “To the Memory of the Brave: How the Public Schools Honour their Dead Heroes” (also published in 1900); however, it must be noted that these articles do not assess the Boer War in any great detail, concentrating instead on rather more peripheral issues. These non-fiction articles are essentially expository rather than analytical or argumentative and as such reflect an editorial stance which remains constant throughout the Windsor in the period under discussion; the magazine does not attempt to analyse the underlying causes of contemporary events (something which a monthly magazine would find difficult to do given the need to go to press well in advance of publication date), but instead offers new perspectives on current affairs.
In terms of the fictional representation of imperial and international issues, the Windsor Magazine demonstrates the underlying concerns of the time. An increasing fascination with the exotic and alien can be seen in stories such as Anthony Hope’s Ruritanian novel Sophy of Kravonia, (vol 23, 1905/6; vol 24, 1906), Max Pemberton’s White Walls (vol 30, 1909), and Justus Miles Forman’s The Quest (vol 29, 1908/9). The last is particularly interesting as it demonstrates the inability of modem society to assimilate those who do not conform to its ways; the protagonist succeeds in his quest (which is remarkable for its chivalric associations), but cannot remain within society, and he and his wife withdraw to an unnamed island in the South Seas where they can successfully live according to their own beliefs. Together with this concern with the exotic, there is an increasing focus on political unrest and stories of invasion and spying, such as Max Pemberton’s Pro Patria (vol 12, 1900). Pro Patria was serialized during the latter part of 1900 and centres on a proposed channel tunnel and the threat that this apparently progressive idea poses to national security. Short stories by E. Phillips Oppenheim and Francis Gribble also deal with political and social unrest: Oppenheim’s series of short stories (vol 13, 1900/1) focuses on incidents in the career of an inexperienced but capable young diplomat, and Gribble depicts a number of events in the life of an Anarchist named (appropriately) Stromboli (vol 12, 1900; vol 13, 1900/1). Occasionally, the fear of invasion and social unrest is coupled with a focus on the alien and their destabilising potential, as in Rider Haggard’s Ayesha: the Return of She (vol 21 1904/5, vol 22 1905) in which the depiction of Ayesha’s almost superhuman status is coupled with a desire for military conquest. Given the threat of civic and moral disruption with which both of these themes were imbued, the Edwardian sense of anxiety is here doubly emphasised.
Fictional representations of colonial and American society also reflect specific imperial concerns. Canadian life, for example, is realised wholly in terms of mining and pioneer farming with little mention of any established urban communities. The beneficial influences of isolated western communities can be seen in stories such as Harold Bindloss’s Hawtrey’s Deputy (vol 31, 1909/10; vol 32, 1910); here the simpler life of the farmer, apparently uncomplicated by the problems of urban existence, allows the characters of the protagonists to be assessed accurately and also provides a context in which the morally dubious can be redeemed. Clearly, this apparent simplicity is not what it appears to be, as it can also permit concealment and deception to feature as an intrinsic part of the story; however, this is carefully minimised and can even be presented positively if it supports the overall aim of praising the pioneering lifestyle.
Similar stereotypical representations of American and Australian life also appear, with an important exception in the case of the latter. Thus, depictions of America focus either on commerce and the figure of the shrewd businessman of humble origins (as in Spencer Leigh Hughes’s “The Panjandrum Incident” [vol 11, 1899/1900]) or the rough, but morally unambiguous society of the American West (see for example Owen Rhoscomyl’s “The Kid: a New Story of Cowboy Life”, vol 4, 1896, and Guy Boothby’s “The Treasure of Sacramento Nick”, vol 7, 1897/8). Occasionally the two perspectives are represented simultaneously as in Henry A. Hering’s “The Dry Calculator of Silas P. Cornu,” (vol 7, 1897/8) in which the protagonist is clearly an able man of business, but his naivety blinds him to the subtleties of urban business practices. Australian society is similarly represented with a marked emphasis upon the Bush or mining communities as in F. Fitzgerald’s “At the Bush Inn” (vol 6, 1897) and “Pollie Palmer” (vol 8, 1898), Alfred Slade’s “The Conversion of Toughie” (vol 7, 1897/8) and Guy Boothby’s “The Reformation of the Jackeroo” (vol 6, 1897). However, it is interesting to note that there is one author whose representations of Australian society do not depict either of these themes and that is Ethel Turner.
Turner is an example of a colonial author whose relationship with the Windsor Magazine, and indeed with Ward, Lock who published the majority of her novels, has been clearly documented.5 Between 1895 and 1907, Turner wrote twenty stories for the magazine, for which she was paid between five and ten pounds each. These stories focused primarily on suburban Sydney and the lives of middle-class families whose surroundings very obviously did not conform to those depicted in the popular stereotypes of Australia referred to above. Thus, stories such as “Saucepan Sketch”(vol 2, 1895), “Bedtime at Brown’s: a Very Domestic Sketch” (vol 6, 1897), “What the Postman Brought” (vol 8, 1898) and “Early Morning at Brown’s” (vol 14, 1901) all describe the daily activities of middle-class suburban living in Australia. Consequently, they might be said to represent precisely that readership at which the Windsor Magazine was aimed.
In terms of broad content (in type if not amount), the Windsor Magazine remained largely unchanged between 1894 and 1910. However, as noted previously, there were some changes apparent in the focus of the magazine, particularly in terms of its perception of its audience. Thus, despite the subtitle’s gesture towards inclusiveness and the statement in the Foreword to the first number that “It is to the home that the WINDSOR MAGAZINE desires specially to appeal” (1), it is clear that the magazine was swiftly redirected toward a predominantly male audience. Initially, there did appear articles which were specifically directed to a female readership; the first volume included articles on fashion by Charlotte O’Conor Eccles, advice on housekeeping by Mrs Humphrey and a plea for Marriage Insurance as a means of providing some resource for widows or abandoned wives. However, by 1898 this type of article with an avowedly female focus was no longer being published, although articles on male hobbies and sports continued to appear. Even serials such as Cotterel Hoe’s Jennie Baxter, Journalist (vols 7 and 8, 1897/8) and Mrs C.N (Alice) Williamson’s The Career of Joan Carthew: the Adventures of a Girl who had Nothing and Wanted Everything, (vol 19, 1903/4), both written from the perspective of their female protagonists, nevertheless reinforced the gender divisions of Edwardian society even while praising the apparent independence and unconventional ity of the protagonist. Both heroines do achieve a measure of economic independence which is not surprising—as Kemp, Mitchell and Trotter indicate, “Edwardian writers . . . give serious attention to women at work” (xiv). However, Hoe and Williamson do this in a context which is ultimately directed toward the successful establishment of their protagonists as wives who will support their husbands in their endeavours.
One significant change that did occur in the format of the Windsor Magazine was in the increasing amount of space that was given to fiction. Volume 1 for example contained two serialized novels and twelve short stories, and volume 2 published a further two serializations and twenty short stories. Seven years later in 1902, volume 15 contained 36 stories, including the two novels, and volume 16 contained 32. A further increase is evident throughout the rest of the decade, volumes 31 and 32 containing 63 and 37 stories respectively. While it is clear that the increase in fiction is partly attributable to the presence of the larger Christmas number with its greater number of short stories, it is evident that this is not the only reason for this change, and as the journal did not increase appreciably in size, it follows that there is an obvious decrease in the amount of non-fiction that appeared. No explanation is given for this change in emphasis, but it would be reasonable to assume that it occurred in response to the demands of the readership. Given that between 1895 and 1914 “fiction was the most important section of the leisure industry” (Kemp, Mitchell and Trotter, xv), it would appear that the Windsor Magazine responded to this development and gave its audience the fiction that it demanded. The curtseying debutante of the Foreword of volume 1 had become a story-telling matron who, in her own words, represented “a triumph in magazine literature” (vol 16, 659).
This project could not have been completed without the staff at the Fryer Library, University of Queensland whose assistance was invaluable. I am also deeply indebted to the Library staff at the University of New South Wales who were persuaded to send precious volumes of the Windsor Magazine to Queensland, and to the Queensland Parliamentary Library, the Mitchell Library at the State Library of New South Wales and the Barr Smith Library at the University of Adelaide. Barbara Garlick was the enthusiastic and patient adviser that she has always been for me, and David—-thank you for the iBook and the technical advice!
- I have been unable to trace this reference. [↩]
- See, for example, commentary on the FictionMags Index, a website which briefly describes the history of a large number of publications in relation to one another: http://users.ev1.net/~homeville/fictionmag/Ostart.htm. [↩]
- For instance, two pieces of fiction appeared as separate supplements to volume 27—Ambrose Pratt’s The Remittance Man, 1907: 209-320; Fred M. White’s “The Lord of the Manor,” 1907: 331-70. In one copy of volume 27 I have examined (from the University of New South Wales), these items were bound in with the rest of the volume (although not part of the volume’s consecutive numbering) with the word “Supplement” added next to the page numbers. No other bound volumes I have seen contain bound-in supplements, either other copies of volume 27 or any other volume. Details of these supplements have not been included in either the author or chronological indexes because of the random nature of their survival in this form. [↩]
- He was also apparently editor of the Daily Graphic between 1912 and 1916, according to Sandra Kemp, Charlotte Mitchell and David Trotter, eds, Edwardian Fiction: an Oxford Companion (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1997), 200. [↩]
- See, for example, A.T. Yarwood’s From a Chair in the Sun, Ringwood, Vic: Penguin, 1994. [↩]