Alice Loxton on Recounting Britain's History in Eighteen Young Lives

In the UK, eighteen is the age we are officially an adult. The chrysalis of teenage years – with its irresponsible behaviour, terrible haircuts and blotchy skin – suddenly breaks open. Out flies the Beautiful Butterfly of Majority. Childhood is over, and adulthood begins. 

Of course, it’s not quite as simple as that. The law may flick the switch, but youth is a much more fluctuating, personal thing. The dictionary tells us that ‘youth’ is the age between childhood and maturity. Maturity. I wonder: what is that? Is it not answering back in a fight? Is it passing the crisps around before helping yourself? At twenty-eight years old, am I there yet? Will I ever get there? 

Today, the life expectancy in the UK is seventy-nine for men and eighty-three for women. So perhaps ‘youth’ is 0–30, young middle age is 30–50, upper middle age is 50–70, and old age is 70+? But what about in the past? 

This is a tricky question to answer. Throughout history, figures on mortality have been warped by the vast numbers of childhood deaths. It’s depressing to realize that many of our ancestors were already shuffling off this mortal coil at a very young age. In Shakespeare’s time, Stratford-upon-Avon had an average of sixty-three children baptized and forty-three buried each year. So, everyone in history who lives to eighteen – or beyond - is lucky to be there. 

The concepts of ‘youth’ and ‘old age’ were seen differently by our ancestors. In the fourteenth century, a man was considered at his prime in his twenties, mature in his thirties and growing old in his forties. Women had even less time: Chaucer considered a thirty-year-old woman to be ‘winter forage’ (I look forward to it!). In the time of Elizabeth I, the composer Thomas Whithorne felt turning forty marked ‘the first part of the old man’s age’. In 1813, Lord Byron despaired at turning twenty-five: ‘At five-and- twenty, when the better part of life is over, one should be something – and what am I?’ He had a point: Byron died at thirty-six, and his fellow romantic poet John Keats died at twenty-five. 

Today, turning 18 is a big turning point. But isn’t this strange? If we look at the long course of history, the markings of adulthood have started much earlier. 

Perhaps - to shine a light on our modern perceptions of what it means to be eighteen - we must break away and examine what being eighteen has meant for over a thousand years. This is what I’ve set out to do in my new book, Eighteen: A History of Britain in 18 Young Lives. Here, I examine 18 figures from British history, and interrogate what they were up to at 18 years old. The likes of Bede, Nelson, Brunel, Elizabeth I, Vita Sackville-West, C.S. Lewis, Richard Burton, Vivienne Westwood - as well as some you’ve probably never heard of. They are a lively bunch, with extraordinary young lives - surviving plagues, being captured by pirates, fighting at the Somme.

Some were thrust into positions of immense responsibility. By the time Empress Matilda reached her 18th birthday, she’d been married to the Holy Roman Emperor, Heinrich V, and ruled Italy on his behalf. It was a lot of work for a sixth former: sponsoring royal grants, leading petitions, maintaining the peace. 

Others, such as 18-year-old Jacques Francis, had already made a pretty stellar contributions to our national story. Living in Southampton in the 1540s, he worked as a diver, retrieving the cannons from Henry VIII’s sunken warship, the Mary Rose, which lay at the bottom of the English Channel. 

Or what of Mary Anning? At 18-years-old - despite no connections, wealth, or formal education – Mary Anning was already a respected palaeologist. By walking the coast of Lyme Regis, she had discovered some of the greatest fossils ever found (still on centre display at the Natural History Museum), and was ‘writing and talking with professors and other clever men on the subject’, all of whom recognised that Mary knew ‘more of the science than anyone else in this kingdom’.

There are plenty of historic figures, too, whose success in life comes later on. Though she would go down in history as one of the greatest designers of all time, 18-year-old Vivienne Westwood – or Vivienne Swire, as she was known then – had no idea of the thrills which lay ahead. She dropped out of art school, thinking there weren’t any creative careers other being an artist: ‘I was just too working-class to see beyond that one stereotype’. She started a Pitman’s typing course, to train as a secretary, then became a teacher. Eventually, it was Vivienne’s daring creativity which would bring her back to design work. As Vivienne herself put it, many years later, ‘I lived all my life as if I’m young’. This was her secret to success. To never grow up, to always rebel, to stay – for ever – a teenager. 

So it’s a remarkable, important lens through which to view our past - this age of 18. It reveals early moments of anxiety, vulnerability, and naivety. These are the rougher, grittier, messier – more interesting - moments of people’s lives. 

Is there is a lesson here for the teens of today? History tells us this: when young people are pushed through hardship or difficulty, or given immense responsibility, they tend to step up to the mark, revealing brilliance, bravery and daring. After researching the lives of these 18-year-olds past, I have an inkling that young people today are much tougher than we give them credit for. Who knows which mopey teenager would – if given the chance – have the brilliance of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, or the spirit of Empress Matilda, lurking beneath that mop of hair?