Destroying historical wills is foolhardy and short-sighted

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Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.

The writer is director of the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, and author of ‘Burning the Books: A History of Knowledge under Attack’

For anyone with access to the internet, digitisation has transformed historical research in recent years, enabling greater access to all kinds of information, from the earliest printed versions of Shakespeare’s plays to the national census. Why then has this week’s news of a Ministry of Justice consultation on digitising about 100mn historic wills got so under the skin of genealogists, historians and archivists?

You used to have to travel to do your research, but for the past 20 years or so, libraries and archives have worked hard to get their primary sources to you via the internet. The process is, however, costly. Funding from public sources or private philanthropy made it possible to get some of the vast bodies of knowledge held in public collections digitised and often free to the end user. The largest projects have required funding at a commensurate level, with some (such as the census) requiring commercial partnerships in order to finance the enormous costs of scanning and the creation of metadata necessary for search.

The current furore isn’t about the digitisation of the wills — that step is broadly welcomed — but rather because the MoJ proposals ignore four important points in their plan to destroy the originals after they have been scanned. First, many of the mass digitisation projects undertaken so far have retained access to the originals, as the quality has either been imperfect (such as the hands that inadvertently appear in some Google Books scans) or subsequent technological improvements have necessitated re-scanning. Without the originals, this would be impossible.

Second, the originals do not just contain information in the printed or written word. Huge amounts can also be gleaned from the paper (or parchment) and inks used, or from seals, stamps and other additional interventions. Even the way a sheet of paper is folded is revealing: the LetterLocking Project at MIT focuses on the material culture of information, and not just the information itself. Destroying the originals would lose access to more than just the text.

Such destruction after scanning (sometimes euphemistically called “reformatting”) assumes that the digital versions will be permanently and inviolably accessible. The MoJ’s accompanying video claims: “Once they are digitised you preserve the files forever, and they remain available for centuries.” To anyone involved in digital preservation, these are laughably bold claims. We have only four decades or so of experience of this kind of preservation, and there are numerous examples of catastrophic failures over that period.

The BBC’s ill-fated “Domesday Project”, which ran from 1984-86 with the aim of documenting Britain, was inspired by the 900th anniversary of the Domesday Book. The irony is that while the text on that great parchment remains perfectly legible, the project’s digital files are beset with problems. More recently, October’s cyber attack on the British Library has left the institution having to rebuild many of its digital services from scratch, with the public, scholars and students still unable to access most of its collections (which were not themselves harmed).

The MoJ has offered a sop to those who value the artefact: “Digitalisation allows us to move with the times and save the taxpayer valuable money, while preserving paper copies of noteworthy wills which hold historical importance.” But deciding who should be commemorated through the physical preservation of their dying wishes is a foolhardy enterprise. History continually uncovers not only individuals but whole classes of citizens who are unrecognised for their contribution to civilisation until long after their deaths. No single period can achieve the wisdom to make such a judgment.

The whole sorry episode has its upside. It is a reminder that while government departments like the MoJ have public records in their care, they are not the best organisations to look after them. A post on X from the National Archives suggests that “as the official government archive and sector leadership body, [the TNA] is engaging with the Ministry of Justice on this”. It suggests they were not fully consulted. Establishing proper dialogue would be a positive step.

The furore has also revealed a strong public interest in the preservation of public knowledge. These sources, and the institutions that are best able to look after them, are part of democracy’s infrastructure. As libraries and archives around the world are targeted for destruction by those hostile to the democratic process, we should cherish the free access to information that we are blessed with — and resource it properly.