A \ B \ C \ D \ E \ F \ G \ H \ I \ J \ K \ L \ M \ N \ O \ P \ R \ S \ T \ U \ V \ W \Z

Some Principles of Maritime Strategy by Julian Stafford Corbett

J >> Julian Stafford Corbett >> Some Principles of Maritime Strategy




To elucidate the point, it must be repeated that maritime communications,
which are the root of the idea of command of the sea, are not analogous to
military communications in the ordinary use of the term. Military
communications refer solely to the army's lines of supply and retreat.
Maritime communications have a wider meaning. Though in effect embracing
the lines of fleet supply, they correspond in strategical values not to
military lines of supply, but to those internal lines of communication by
which the flow of national life is maintained ashore. Consequently maritime
communications are on a wholly different footing from land communications.
At sea the communications are, for the most part, common to both
belligerents, whereas ashore each possesses his own in his own territory.
The strategical effect is of far-reaching importance, for it means that at
sea strategical offence and defence tend to merge in a way that is unknown
ashore. Since maritime communications are common, we as a rule cannot
attack those of the enemy without defending our own. In military operations
the converse is the rule. Normally, an attack on our enemy's communications
tends to expose their own.

The theory of common communications will become clear by taking an example.
In our wars with France our communications with the Mediterranean, India,
and America ran down from the Channel mouth past Finisterre and St.
Vincent; and those of France, at least from her Atlantic ports, were
identical for almost their entire distance. In our wars with the Dutch the
identity was even closer. Even in the case of Spain, her great trade routes
followed the same lines as our own for the greater part of their extent.
Consequently the opening moves which we generally made to defend our trade
by the occupation of those lines placed us in a position to attack our
enemy's trade. The same situation arose even when our opening dispositions
were designed as defence against home invasion or against attacks upon our
colonies, for the positions our fleet had to take up to those ends always
lay on or about the terminal and focal points of trade routes. Whether our
immediate object were to bring the enemy's main fleets to action or to
exercise economic pressure, it made but little difference. If the enemy
were equally anxious to engage, it was at one of the terminal or focal
areas we were almost certain to get contact. If he wished to avoid a
decision, the best way to force him to action was to occupy his trade
routes at the same vital points.

Thus it comes about that, whereas on land the process of economic pressure,
at least in the modern conception of war, should only begin after decisive
victory, at sea it starts automatically from the first. Indeed such
pressure may be the only means of forcing the decision we seek, as will
appear more clearly when we come to deal with the other fundamental
difference between land and sea warfare.

Meanwhile we may note that at sea the use of economic pressure from the
commencement is justified for two reasons. The first is, as we have seen,
that it is an economy of means to use our defensive positions for attack
when attack does not vitiate those positions, and it will not vitiate them
if fleet cruisers operate with restraint. The second is, that interference
with the enemy's trade has two aspects. It is not only a means of exerting
the secondary economic pressure, it is also a primary means towards
overthrowing the enemy's power of resistance. Wars are not decided
exclusively by military and naval force. Finance is scarcely less
important. When other things are equal, it is the longer purse that wins.
It has even many times redressed an unfavourable balance of armed force and
given victory to the physically weaker Power. Anything, therefore, which we
are able to achieve towards crippling our enemy's finance is a direct step
to his overthrow, and the most effective means we can employ to this end
against a maritime State is to deny him the resources of seaborne trade.

It will be seen, therefore, that in naval warfare, however closely we may
concentrate our efforts on the destruction of our enemy's armed forces as
the direct means to his overthrow, it would be folly to stay our hands when
opportunities occur, as they will automatically, for undermining his
financial position on which the continued vigour of those armed forces so
largely depends. Thus the occupation of our enemy's sea communications and
the confiscatory operations it connotes are in a sense primary operations,
and not, as on land, secondary.

Such, then, are the abstract conclusions at which we arrive in our attempt
to analyse the idea of command of the sea and to give it precision as the
control of common communications. Their concrete value will appear when we
come to deal with the various forms which naval operations may take, such
as, "seeking out the enemy's fleet," blockade, attack and defence of trade,
and the safeguarding of combined expeditions. For the present it remains to
deal with the various kinds of sea command which flow from the
communication idea.

If the object of the command of the sea is to control communications, it is
obvious it may exist in various degrees. We may be able to control the
whole of the common communications as the result either of great initial
preponderance or of decisive victory. If we are not sufficiently strong to
do this, we may still be able to control some of the communications; that
is, our control may be general or local. Obvious as the point is, it needs
emphasising, because of a maxim that has become current that "the sea is
all one." Like other maxims of the kind, it conveys a truth with a trail of
error in its wake. The truth it contains seems to be simply this, that as a
rule local control can only avail us temporarily, for so long as the enemy
has a sufficient fleet anywhere, it is theoretically in his power to
overthrow our control of any special sea area.

It amounts indeed to little more than a rhetorical expression, used to
emphasise the high mobility of fleets as contrasted with that of armies and
the absence of physical obstacles to restrict that mobility. That this
vital feature of naval warfare should be consecrated in a maxim is well,
but when it is caricatured into a doctrine, as it sometimes is, that you
cannot move a battalion oversea till you have entirely overthrown your
enemy's fleet, it deserves gibbeting. It would be as wise to hold that in
war you must never risk anything.

It would seem to have been the evil influence of this travestied maxim
which had much to do with the cramped and timorous strategy of the
Americans in their late war with Spain. They had ample naval force to
secure such a local and temporary command of the Gulf of Mexico as to have
justified them at once in throwing all the troops they had ready into Cuba
to support the insurgents, in accordance with their war plan. They had also
sufficient strength to ensure that the communications with the
expeditionary force could not be interrupted permanently. And yet, because
the Spaniards had an undefeated fleet at sea somewhere, they hesitated, and
were nearly lost. The Japanese had no such illusions. Without having struck
a naval blow of any kind, and with a hostile fleet actually within the
theatre of operations, they started their essential military movement
oversea, content that though they might not be able to secure the control
of the line of passage, they were in a position to deny effective control
to the enemy. Our own history is full of such operations. There are cases
in plenty where the results promised by a successful military blow oversea,
before permanent command had been obtained, were great enough to justify a
risk which, like the Japanese, we knew how to minimise by judicious use of
our favourable geographical position, and of a certain system of
protection, which must be dealt with later.

For the purpose, then, of framing a plan of war or campaign, it must be
taken that command may exist in various states or degrees, each of which
has its special possibilities and limitations. It may be general or local,
and it may be permanent or temporary. General command may be permanent or
temporary, but mere local command, except in very favourable geographical
conditions, should scarcely ever be regarded as more than temporary, since
normally it is always liable to interruption from other theatres so long as
the enemy possesses an effective naval force.

Finally, it has to be noted that even permanent general command can never
in practice be absolute. No degree of naval superiority can ensure our
communications against sporadic attack from detached cruisers, or even
raiding squadrons if they be boldly led and are prepared to risk
destruction. Even after Hawke's decisive victory at Quiberon had completed
the overthrow of the enemy's sea forces, a British transport was captured
between Cork and Portsmouth, and an Indiaman in sight of the Lizard, while
Wellington's complaints in the Peninsula of the insecurity of his
communications are well known.[9] By general and permanent control we do
not mean that the enemy can do nothing, but that he cannot interfere with
our maritime trade and oversea operations so seriously as to affect the
issue of the war, and that he cannot carry on his own trade and operations
except at such risk and hazard as to remove them from the field of
practical strategy. In other words, it means that the enemy can no longer
attack our lines of passage and communication effectively, and that he
cannot use or defend his own.

[9] In justice to Wellington, it should be said that his complaints were
due to false reports that exaggerated a couple of insignificant captures
into a serious interruption.

To complete our equipment for appreciating any situation for which
operations have to be designed, it is necessary to remember that when the
command is in dispute the general conditions may give a stable or an
unstable equilibrium. It may be that the power of neither side
preponderates to any appreciable extent. It may also be that the
preponderance is with ourselves, or it may be that it lies with the enemy.
Such preponderance of course will not depend entirely on actual relative
strength, either physical or moral, but will be influenced by the
inter-relation of naval positions and the comparative convenience of their
situation in regard to the object of the war or campaign. By naval
positions we mean, firstly, naval bases and, secondly, the terminals of the
greater lines of communication or trade-routes and the focal areas where
they tend to converge, as at Finisterre, Gibraltar, Suez, the Cape,
Singapore, and many others.

Upon the degree and distribution of this preponderance will depend in a
general way the extent to which our plans will be governed by the idea of
defence or offence. Generally speaking, it will be to the advantage of the
preponderating side to seek a decision as quickly as possible in order to
terminate the state of dispute. Conversely, the weaker side will as a rule
seek to avoid or postpone a decision in hope of being able by minor
operations, the chances of war, or the development of fresh strength, to
turn the balance in its favour. Such was the line which France adopted
frequently in her wars with us, sometimes legitimately, but sometimes to
such an excess as seriously to demoralise her fleet. Her experience has led
to a hasty deduction that the defensive at sea for even a weaker Power is
an unmixed evil. Such a conclusion is foreign to the fundamental principles
of war. It is idle to exclude the use of an expectant attitude because in
itself it cannot lead to final success, and because if used to excess it
ends in demoralisation and the loss of will to attack. The misconception
appears to have arisen from insistence on the drawbacks of defence by
writers seeking to persuade their country to prepare in time of peace
sufficient naval strength to justify offence from the outset.

Having now determined the fundamental principles which underlie the idea of
Command of the Sea, we are in a position to consider the manner in which
fleets are constituted in order to fit them for their task.

* * * * *

CHAPTER TWO

* * * * *

THEORY OF THE MEANS--
THE CONSTITUTION OF FLEETS

* * * * *

In all eras of naval warfare fighting ships have exhibited a tendency to
differentiate into groups in accordance with the primary function each
class was designed to serve. These groupings or classifications are what is
meant by the constitution of a fleet. A threefold differentiation into
battleships, cruisers, and flotilla has so long dominated naval thought
that we have come to regard it as normal, and even essential. It may be so,
but such a classification has been by no means constant. Other ideas of
fleet constitution have not only existed, but have stood the test of war
for long periods, and it is unscientific and unsafe to ignore such facts if
we wish to arrive at sound doctrine.

The truth is, that the classes of ships which constitute a fleet are, or
ought to be, the expression in material of the strategical and tactical
ideas that prevail at any given time, and consequently they have varied not
only with the ideas, but also with the material in vogue. It may also be
said more broadly that they have varied with the theory of war, by which
more or less consciously naval thought was dominated. It is true that few
ages have formulated a theory of war, or even been clearly aware of its
influence; but nevertheless such theories have always existed, and even in
their most nebulous and intangible shapes seem to have exerted an
ascertainable influence on the constitution of fleets.

Going back to the dawn of modern times, we note that at the opening of the
sixteenth century, when galley warfare reached its culmination, the
constitution was threefold, bearing a superficial analogy to that which we
have come to regard as normal. There were the galeasses and heavy galleys
corresponding to our battleships, light galleys corresponding to our
cruisers, while the flotilla was represented by the small "frigates,"
"brigantines," and similar craft, which had no slave gang for propulsion,
but were rowed by the fighting crew. Such armed sailing ships as then
existed were regarded as auxiliaries, and formed a category apart, as
fireships and bomb-vessels did in the sailing period, and as mine-layers do
now. But the parallel must not be overstrained. The distinction of function
between the two classes of galleys was not so strongly marked as that
between the lighter craft and the galleys; that is to say, the scientific
differentiation between battleships and cruisers had not yet been so firmly
developed as it was destined to become in later times, and the smaller
galleys habitually took their place in the fighting line.

With the rise of the sailing vessel as the typical ship-of-war an entirely
new constitution made its appearance. The dominating classification became
twofold. It was a classification into vessels of subservient movement using
sails, and vessels of free movement using oars. It was on these lines that
our true Royal Navy was first organised by Henry the Eighth, an expert who,
in the science of war, was one of the most advanced masters in Europe. In
this constitution there appears even less conception than in that of the
galley period of a radical distinction between battleships and cruisers. As
Henry's fleet was originally designed, practically the whole of the
battleships were sailing vessels, though it is true that when the French
brought up galleys from the Mediterranean, he gave some of the smartest of
them oars. The constitution was in fact one of battleships and flotilla. Of
cruisers there were none as we understand them. Fleet scouting was done by
the "Row-barges" and newly introduced "Pinnaces" of the flotilla, while as
for commerce protection, merchant vessels had usually to look after
themselves, the larger ones being regularly armed for their own defence.

The influence of this twofold constitution continued long after the
conditions of its origin had passed away. In ever-lessening degree indeed
it may be said to have lasted for two hundred years. During the Dutch wars
of the seventeenth century, which finally established the dominant status
of the sailing warship, practically all true sailing vessels--that is,
vessels that had no auxiliary oar propulsion--took station in the line. The
"Frigates" of that time differed not at all from the "Great Ship" in their
functions, but only in their design. By the beginning of the eighteenth
century, however, the old tendency to a threefold organisation began to
reassert itself, but it was not till the middle of the century that the
process of development can be regarded as complete.

Down to the end of the War of the Austrian Succession--a period which is
usually deemed to be one of conspicuous depression in the naval art--the
classification of our larger sailing vessels was purely arbitrary. The
"Rates" (which had been introduced during the Dutch wars) bore no relation
to any philosophical conception of the complex duties of a fleet. In the
first rate were 100-gun ships; in the second, 90-gun ships--all
three-deckers. So far the system of rating was sound enough, but when we
come to the third rate we find it includes 80-gun ships, which were also of
three decks, while the bulk of the rest were 70-gun two-deckers. The fourth
rate was also composed of two-decked ships--weak battle-units of 60 and 50
guns--and this was far the largest class. All these four rates were classed
as ships-of-the-line. Below them came the fifth rates, which, though they
were used as cruisers, had no distinct class name. They differed indeed
only in degree from the ship-of-the-line, being all cramped two-deckers of
44 and 40 guns, and they must be regarded, in so far as they expressed any
logical idea of naval warfare, as the forerunners of the "Intermediate"
class, represented in the succeeding epochs by 50-gun ships, and in our own
time by armoured cruisers. The only true cruiser is found in the sixth
rate, which comprised small and weakly armed 20-gun ships, and between them
and the "Forties" there was nothing. Below them, but again without any
clear differentiation, came the unrated sloops representing the flotilla.

In such a system of rating there is no logical distinction either between
large and small battleships or between battleships and cruisers, or between
cruisers and flotilla. The only marked break in the gradual descent is that
between the 40-gun two-deckers and the 20-gun cruisers. As these latter
vessels as well as the sloops used sweeps for auxiliary propulsion, we are
forced to conclude that the only basis of the classification was that
adopted by Henry the Eighth, which, sound as it was in his time, had long
ceased to have any real relation to the actuality of naval war.

It was not till Anson's memorable administration that a scientific system
of rating was re-established and the fleet at last assumed the logical
constitution which it retained up to our own time. In the first two rates
appear the fleet flagship class, three-deckers of 100 and 90 guns
respectively. All smaller three-deckers are eliminated. In the next two
rates we have the rank and file of the battle-line, two-deckers of
increased size-namely, seventy-fours in the third rate, and sixty-fours in
the fourth. Here, however, is a slight break in the perfection of the
system, for the fourth rate also included 50-gun ships of two decks, which,
during the progress of the Seven Years' War, ceased to be regarded as
ships-of-the-line. War experience was eliminating small battleships, and
therewith it called for a type intermediate between battleships and
cruisers, with whose functions we shall have to deal directly. In practice
these units soon formed a rate by themselves, into which, by the same
tendency, 60-gun ships were destined to sink half a century later.

But most pregnant of all Anson's reforms was the introduction of the true
cruiser, no longer a small battleship, but a vessel specialised for its
logical functions, and distinct in design both from the battle rates and
the flotilla. Both 40-gun and 20-gun types were abolished, and in their
place appear two cruiser rates, and the fifth consisting of 32-gun true
frigates, and the sixth of 28-gun frigates, both completely divorced from
any battle function. Finally, after a very distinct gap, came the unrated
sloops and smaller craft, which formed the flotilla for coastwise and
inshore work, despatch service, and kindred duties.

The reforms of the great First Lord amounted in fact to a clearly
apprehended threefold constitution, in which the various groups were
frankly specialised in accordance with the functions each was expected to
perform. Specialisation, it will be observed, is the note of the process of
development. We have no longer an endeavour to adapt the fleet to its
multifarious duties by multiplying a comparatively weak nature of
fighting-ship, which could act in the line and yet be had in sufficient
numbers to protect commerce, but which was not well fitted for either
service. Instead we note a definite recognition of the principle that
battleships should be as powerful as possible, and that in order to permit
of their due development they must be relieved of their cruising functions
by a class of vessel specially adapted for the purpose. The question we
have to consider is, was this specialisation, which has asserted itself
down to our own times, in the true line of development? Was it, in fact, a
right expression of the needs which are indicated by the theory of naval
war?

By the theory of naval war it must be reiterated we mean nothing but an
enunciation of the fundamental principles which underlie all naval war.
Those principles, if we have determined them correctly, should be found
giving shape not only to strategy and tactics, but also to material,
whatever method and means of naval warfare may be in use at any given time.
Conversely, if we find strategy, tactics, or organisation exhibiting a
tendency to reproduce the same forms under widely differing conditions of
method and material, we should be able to show that those forms bear a
constant and definite relation to the principles which our theory
endeavours to express.

In the case of Anson's threefold organisation, the relation is not far to
seek, though it has become obscured by two maxims. The one is, that "the
command of the sea depends upon battleships," and the other, that "cruisers
are the eyes of the fleet." It is the inherent evil of maxims that they
tend to get stretched beyond their original meaning. Both of these express
a truth, but neither expresses the whole truth. On no theory of naval
warfare can we expect to command the sea with battleships, nor, on the
communication theory, can we regard the primary function of cruisers as
being to scout for a battle-fleet. It is perfectly true that the control
depends ultimately on the battle-fleet if control is disputed by a hostile
battle-fleet, as it usually is. It is also true that, so far as is
necessary to enable the battle-fleet to secure the control, we have to
furnish it with eyes from our cruiser force. But it does not follow that
this is the primary function of cruisers. The truth is, we have to withdraw
them from their primary function in order to do work for the battle-fleet
which it cannot do for itself.

Well established as is the "Eyes of the fleet" maxim, it would be very
difficult to show that scouting was ever regarded as the primary function
of cruisers by the highest authorities. In Nelson's practice at least their
paramount function was to exercise the control which he was securing with
his battle-squadron. Nothing is more familiar in naval history than his
incessant cry from the Mediterranean for more cruisers, but the
significance of that cry has become obscured. It was not that his cruisers
were not numerous in proportion to his battleships--they were usually
nearly double in number--but it was rather that he was so deeply convinced
of their true function, that he used them to exercise control to an extent
which sometimes reduced his fleet cruisers below the limit of bare
necessity. The result on a memorable occasion was the escape of the enemy's
battle-fleet, but the further result is equally important. It was that the
escape of that fleet did not deprive him of the control which he was
charged to maintain. His judgment may have been at fault, but the
strategical distribution of his force was consistent throughout the whole
period of his Mediterranean command. Judged by his record, no man ever
grasped more clearly than Nelson that the object of naval warfare was to
control communications, and if he found that he had not a sufficient number
of cruisers to exercise that control and to furnish eyes for his
battle-fleet as well, it was the battle-fleet that was made to suffer, and
surely this is at least the logical view. Had the French been ready to risk
settling the question of the control in a fleet action, it would have been
different. He would then have been right to sacrifice the exercise of
control for the time in order to make sure that the action should take
place and end decisively in his favour. But he knew they were not ready to
take such a risk, and he refused to permit a purely defensive attitude on
the part of the enemy to delude him from the special function with which he
had been charged.

Copyright (c) 2007. bestextbooks.com. All rights reserved.

Sutton E. Griggs - "Imperium in Imperio: A Study Of The Negro Race Problem"

Charles Frederic Goss - "The Redemption of David Corson"

Stella Benson - "Living Alone"

Charlton Miner Lewis - "Gawayne And The Green Knight"

President Obama teams up with one of Marvel's greatest heroes, reports Alison Flood
Articles published by guardian.co.uk Books

Murder One closing so did we commit this crime?

Barack Obama is teaming up with Spider-Man in a new comic from Marvel, which will see the future president exchanging a fist-bump with Peter Parker's alter ego.

The five-page story takes place in Washington DC on inauguration day, when one of Spidey's oldest enemies, the Chameleon, attempts to stop Obama's swearing-in ceremony. Fortunately, Peter Parker is covering the event as a photographer, and jumps in to save the day.

"Ya hear that, Chameleon? The president-elect here just appointed me ... secretary of shuttin' you up," Spider-Man says as he thwacks the Chameleon in the face. "I hope this doesn't ruin the inauguration for you," he tells Obama, as the Chameleon is led away by security officials. "Honestly, I'm more upset by the Chameleon's shockingly deficient understanding of the electoral process," Obama replies.

Spidey then cedes the limelight to Obama. "This is your day, after all, and I know it wouldn't look good to be seen palling around with me," he says, in a nod to Sarah Palin's comment that the then presidential candidate had been "palling around with terrorists".

The story, written by Zeb Wells and illustrated by Todd Nauck and Frank D'Armata, will appear as a bonus feature in Amazing Spider-Man 583, which goes on sale on 14 January.

"When we heard that president-elect Obama is a collector of Spider-Man comics, we knew that these two historic figures had to meet in our comics' Marvel Universe," said Marvel's editor-in-chief Joe Quesada. "A Spider-Man fan moving into the Oval Office is an event that must be commemorated in the pages of Amazing Spider-Man."

In October, graphic novel biographies of Obama and his then rival John McCain were published by IDW. April will see Michelle Obama appearing in the Female Force comic book series.

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Poetry Workshop creature features

For many years my local corner shop displayed a large sign in its window telling local residents to "use us or lose us!" It always looked a rather toothless threat to me. After all, if I didn't use them, what difference would it make to me if they weren't there? And surely a corner shop, one that had been there for years, would have enough customers to survive without recourse to such apocalyptic warning? But it didn't and was soon converted into flats.

This community shop was destroyed not so much by the pressures of the supermarkets or people's commuting patterns, but simply by customer apathy. It's something to think about as crime writers and readers across the world mourn the imminent passing of Maxim Jakubowski's celebrated Charing Cross Road bookshop in London, Murder One.

Apathy is a strange word to connect to a bookstore that thrives on passion. It's noticeable when you walk through the door, when you speak to the friendly, knowledgeable staff, when you look at the shelves and see the vast range of titles on offer. This isn't your regular kind of bookstore: the first time I visited spent a whole lunch break looking up and down, from floor to ceiling from table to table; it was an hour that changed my perception of both crime writing and of bookselling.

Murder One was – and for a few weeks will remain – a shop that took crime seriously. Not in the sense that it intellectualised it, or made unsubstantiated claims for its importance, but in the way that it treated crime writing with the respect it was due. With a genre that has so many off-shoots, branches and sub-genres, it took a shop of Murder One's calibre to show just how diverse, interesting and mentally stimulating crime could be – far more than the guilty pleasure I had, until then, considered it.

Thanks to judicious recommendations, enticing table displays and hours of foraging among the stacks, I discovered writers that I would never have picked up, let alone read. You could always get the latest blockbuster, but delve a little deeper and you'd find books that were not stocked anywhere else, novels that, like the perfect crime, were hidden from public view. The Martin Beck novels by Sjöwall & Wahlöö – probably my favourite sequence of novels in any genre – were introduced to me via Murder One, as were Kem Nunn, Sue Grafton, and Henning Mankell. It's also the staff of Murder One who piqued my interest in the inimitable Fred Vargas, and I can't thank them enough for the introduction.

Inclusive and without snobbery, Murder One amply demonstrated that the best bookshops are places not just of commerce, but of community; places that make feel you belong. It's the kind of store that bibliophiles dream about: well-stocked, well-staffed and shabby enough to lose days browsing within. It's just unfortunate that such shops don't have enough paying customers to keep them afloat, or that these customers visit all too infrequently – something of which I'm certainly guilty.

These kinds of shops are facing a long, bloody battle – and one which, without significant reinforcements, they are likely to lose. As we hear of the travesty of another brilliant independent going down, we'll mourn the loss, wring our hands and damn Amazon and the supermarkets and Waterstone's. Yet perhaps the most important detail we'll probably keep under wraps: the last time we actually spent any money there.

Murder One closing its doors for the final time is undoubtedly a .38 shell for independent bookshops, but whether it's body blow or a warning shot all depends upon us, the consumers. No one, no matter how iconic or established, can exist on fond memories alone: just ask Woolworths. Use these shops now, because it doesn't take a master sleuth to deduce what will happen if we don't.

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds