How do we imagine Livingstone? Were you, like me, brought up with images of the pith helmeted explorer, with stiff upper lip, striding purposefully into the heart of Africa?  If that is indeed the stereotypical image, from whence does it come? No less a place, of course, than the newspapers of the day. They were just as inclined to mould the news into their own vision of the world as the newspapers of today, and it was them that made Livingstone into a hero. In order to do this they portrayed him in their own idea of what a British hero should be like. Of course, another thing for which the British press is famous is for building people up and then tearing them down again.
Only one thing seems capable of preventing this – a premature demise. If that should happen, the subject becomes frozen in time – look at Princess Di or Jade Goody. In Livingstone’s case, he became frozen in time as the stereotype, and so the real Dr L is in danger of becoming lost to us.

I am no historian, but I have retraced many of the routes trodden by the famous man and consequently have taken the time to read a good number of the accounts of his travels. It is fascinating stuff and it has led me to feel closer to history in Africa than I do when at home in my native UK, even though I have often lived in homes that are several centuries old.

When you come to think of it, the days of Livingstone are not that far away. The worst time in Livingstone’s life took place in early 1862. He was due to meet the new Bishop of the Shire Highlands at the beginning of the year, but the plans all went awry. Livingstone was hopelessly late for the rendezvous and was seen passing down the river days after he was supposed to arrive up the river bearing Bishop Mackenzie’s sister and his assistant’s new young wife. Doubtless the Bishop wondered what Livingstone was up to when he arrived a few days later. Anyway, en route to the meeting place at the confluence of the Shire and the Ruo, Mackenzie and the Rev Burrup had lost a great deal of their baggage when a canoe overturned. Settling down to wait for Livingstone, the good Bishop took sick. The capsizing proved to have been a fateful accident as their quinine had been in the overturned canoe, and he went steadily downhill and died of blackwater fever.  The young Reverend Burrup returned to the mission station with the body, but by the time he got there, he also was very ill and passed away in turn. T’was not for nothing that Europeans called Africa the white man’s grave. On that day in 1862 when Livingstone was due to meet the Bishop at Chiromo, and the good Bishop paid with his life, my great grandfather was already in his twenties and embarking on a career as a Minister. My grandparents were brought up with the ventures of Livingstone still very much in the here and now.

Fortunately we have a great deal of information that tells us exactly what Livingstone did. Not only did he make copious notes and write diaries, but also many of his associates did likewise. Consequently, we can be in no doubt as to his many achievements. For much of the time we know where he was at any given moment and what he was doing. What does not shine through, however, is the nature of Livingstone the man.

So what was he really like? The first thing that is clear from the accounts of the time is that Livingstone was not an easy man to get on with. At one stage or another he fell out with almost every European with whom he worked, including with his brother Charles who accompanied him on his travels as Consul to Quelimane. Even his right-hand man, Dr  (later Sir) John Kirk, found him hard to put up with at times. (Kirk was to go on to become almost as important an explorer as Livingstone himself.) Strangely, however, Livingstone almost always maintained the best of relationships with his African friends who did not seem to be subject in the same manner to the vagaries of his temper. With his European colleagues he could become quite vicious in his condemnation of them, which could spread to a conviction that people were being lazy and dishonest. This seems odd when examined alongside the high moral values to which he espoused. We have ample evidence of the latter in his lifelong hatred of the slave trade and his genuine, if paternalistic, concern for the people that he came across on his travels. However, the periods of condemnation were, in most instances, finite, and he was afterwards fulsome in his praises of the work carried out by his closest colleagues.

I have read many accounts that seem to point in the direction of him being a manic-depressive.
He had periods of great endeavour followed by periods of moroseness, characterised by paranoia towards his colleagues. On one occasion he beat an African stoker with a piece of timber, and confided to a shocked Kirk that he would break peoples’ heads in order to get things done. However, soon afterwards he recorded in his journal that he was overcome with remorse and shame.

Although these foibles did not reach the press, one person was very unhappy with Livingstone’s behaviour – his mother-in-law! She was highly critical of the way that Livingstone would leave his wife and family at the drop of a hat and head off into the unknown – or worse; he would take them with him! We must assume that Mrs Moffat’s views were formed by complaints from her daughter Mary. There is no doubt that Mary’s life was not a happy one. She was indeed often left to manage the family’s affairs by herself, and in order to be with her husband she was faced with undergoing many of the same hardships and extreme privations that Livingstone chose for himself. Her final journey epitomises this.

When Livingstone sailed from Britain to take up his role as Consul to Quelimane, Mary sailed with him. However, she soon found that she was pregnant again with her sixth child, and continuing to the Zambezi was out of the question. She opted to stay in South Africa with her parents to have the baby, and it wasn’t until that fateful start to 1862 that she arrived off the Zambezi to join her husband. Living with Livingstone had by then taken its toll and she was an alcoholic. Consequently she was drinking heavily on the voyage, and she was very obese as well. Only one other passenger would have anything to do with her; a Scottish Presbyterian missionary called the Rev James Stewart. On board the same ship were Bishop Mackenzie’s sister and the new young wife of the Rev. Burrup. Stewart’s kindness to Mary was viewed as scandalous by Miss Mackenzie and she spread rumours of a clandestine affair. Just as the news of the Bishop’s death, together with the death of his young colleague, was reaching Livingstone, Mary contracted malaria. She was not in a good shape to fight it. Overweight and drinking heavily, she must also have been aware of and worried by Miss Mackenzie’s malicious rumour mongering. Vomiting up the quinine that had been administered, her condition deteriorated and she died in Chupanga in what is now Mozambique on 29th April 1862.

Livingstone was desolate and seems genuinely to have viewed Mary as his life’s partner and soul mate. His mood and hence his treatment of colleagues was scarcely assisted by this great loss, and it is doubtful if his mother-in-law ever forgave him.

Strange to recount, none of this was taught in history lessons in school!

We are left with the stereotype of the British press of the time; the pith helmeted explorer, with stiff upper lip, striding purposefully into the heart of Africa. Had he lived, would they have taken pleasure in bringing him down? We cannot say. However, the present-day tabloid press would scarcely have shown such restraint during his life. We might imagine the following headlines:

“Dr. Livingstone drove me to drink” – Mary lifts the lid on life with the explorer.

Missionary sex romps as Mary Livingstone rejoins her husband. “James Stewart is the only one who understands me!” she says.

“Missionary hits worker with plank.”  Race attack shock by famous explorer.

Neither the cloying image of the 19th Century press nor the facile simplifications and inventions of a modern mock-up are capable of really bringing the good doctor to life. After reading many accounts I am left with a view of an immensely complicated man, full of high morals and good intent, but at times thoughtless and inconsiderate of the feelings of family and colleagues and capable of being downright unpleasant. There is one thing that we can all agree on. Someone who did so much to combat slavery deserves our thanks and respect, whatever foibles he may have had.