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Signs of life - Michelle Lovric

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People often ask me how the diminishing population of native Venetians feels about the tourist hordes that dominate her more obvious streets. (Real Venetians go ‘through the linings’, as their saying goes, knowing routes the crowds never find).

Salvatore Settis has written of the danger of Venice becoming a ‘servile monoculture’ of tourism. ‘Servile’ is an insult no Venetian would easily accept. So when I see irascible or emotional signs put up by Venetians, I take them as a proof of life. They demonstrate that Venetians have not given up on their city, care about one another and will vigorously defend her against the ‘maleducati’ – the vulgar masses, who dump their rubbish on Venetian doorsteps or use her quiet corners as urinals and worse. Years ago, I translated a set of Venetian proverbs that had never before been rendered in English. One that applies here seems to be: Dio ha mandà l’om per castigar l’om. God created man to shame man. And Venetians create signs to shame those who shame their city with unsanitary and inconsiderate behaviour. They also create signs about things close to their hearts.

Those of delicate dispositions are advised to leave off reading here, as I’m afraid there is scatology to come. Honest, angry scatology, that there’s no prettying up.

 This Venetian sign is probably my favourite, because of the language. It translates as ‘This place is the depository for rubbish and other materials – only for the vulgar, the uncivil, the ignorant, the cuckolds, the yokels, the bumpkins, the dirty, the ugly, those who stink, whose relatives are dead dogs.’ One of the things I loved about this one is that it shows Venice’s quintessential maritime-metropolitan disdain for those who come from terrafirma. Or, as the proverbs say,

Sete ciape tre cui e mezo.
Seven buttocks, three arseholes and a half: Venetian description of a typical land-dweller.


This one at right, with its porcupinery of exclamation marks, recently appeared in my own little campo. It says, ‘From the telecameras I have seen who you are!!! Don’t come to this door or this corner to defecate or urinate!! Videos of you are in police hands!!! Every urination and defecation will be recorded!!!!!

Which recalls this old Venetian proverb …
L'ànema a Dio, el corpo a la tera,
e 'l bus del cul al diavolo per tabachiera

The soul goes to God, the body to the Earth
and the arsehole to the devil, for his snuffbox.

Or this one:
El tempo, el culo e i siori
i fa quel i vol lori

Time, arses, and lords
do whatever they want

 In a ‘lively’ way, the one below invites ‘I Signori Passanti’– the Gentle Misters Passers-By – not to leave their rubbish here. In fact, it also asks other residents to desist from the practice. This place, it concludes, is not a rubbish bin (with a drawing of the same).



As the proverb goes,
 El mondo no te dise vaca,
co no ghe xe qualche taca

The world doesn't point a finger at you,
if you haven't done something wrong.

At right, ‘Mr Citizen out on a walk’ is asked not to let his dog perform its ‘little needs’ in the entrance of the restaurant. Thanks to Rosato Frassanito for this sign.

The one below is sadder. A lost dog is always sad. When he is 15 years old, and obviously very much loved, it is even sadder. His owner thanks ‘from his heart’ and offers a reward of 200 euros to anyone who can help him find Zizzul, a medium-sized German shepherd type.


This sweet-faced dog was last seen on March 3 near the Stazione Marittima. I so hope he’s found.
In honour of Zizzul:

Loda el mar e tiente a la tera,
loda el monte e tiente al pian,
loda el gato, e tiente al can.

Praise the sea but stay on the land,
Praise the mountains but stay in the valley,
Praise the cat but stroke the dog.


This last one clearly contained an imprecation against dog owners that so angry-making as to make one canine-proprietor to clutch a handful of the paper and rake it off the wall.

As the proverb goes,
La lingua no ga osso ma la rompe i ossi.
The tongue doesn't have bones, but it breaks bones.


Michelle Lovric's website











Annora of Iffley

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The Grade I listed Church of St Mary the Virgin, Iffley, near Oxford, is one of the jewels of Oxfordshire. It is a magnificent example of Norman architecture and style, largely unaltered by later generations and is well worth a visit.

 Most people go to Iffley church to see the magnificent carvings around the south and west doorways. The double beakhead carvings over the west door are supposedly unique.












But the carvers' imagination really went wild in the south doorway, with centaurs, kings, mermen, green men and all sorts of wonderful things.

St Mary the Virgin is possibly the last Romanesque church to be built in England and was finished around 1160.

The church was built by the Norman St Remy family, with help from the de Clintons of Kenilwoth Castle. The building is remarkably untouched, although the east end was extended in around 1230.

This is when a cell was constructed on the south-side for the anchoress, Annora., who lived for nine years enclosed in a cell beside the church. She died in the cell and is probably buried there.

What is an anchoress?


An anchoress (male, anchorite) is a recluse – someone who lives apart from other people. She is someone who withdraws from secular society so as to be able to lead a life of intense prayer. Unlike hermits, anchorites and anchoresses they were required to take a vow to remain permanently enclosed in a cell, often attached to a church.

A woman who wanted to be an anchoress applied to the bishop, who had to assure himself that the applicant had sufficient financial means to support herself, and that she was suited for the commitment required.

The anchoress then underwent to a religious rite of consecration that closely resembled the funeral rite, because after this she would be considered dead to the world, a sort of living saint. She had a certain autonomy, though, as she did not answer to any ecclesiastical authority other than the bishop.


Anchorite cells might be of wood or stone, and most were physically attached to a church. Within the simple cell would be an altar for prayer, and, often, a stone grave slab in the floor to remind the anchorite of their mortal nature. The anchorite would never leave the cell and was expected to live a life devoted to contemplation and prayer, but she might read books of a spiritual nature, and have access to writing material.

It was a great honour for a village to have an anchorite or anchoress at their village church, and as there was no vow of silence, villagers would drop by to chat or seek her advice. She had a window open to the world on one side (with a curtain to allow her privacy), and a window opening into the church on the other, to enable her to see the high altar and view the church services. She also had a servant, who lived in a small ch

amber attached to the cell. One of the requirements was that an anchoress be wealthy enough for a servant, who would prepare meals, fetch water, gather firewood, remove waste and such things for the woman who could never leave her cell.

In the twelfth to the thirteenth century there were 92 anchoresses in England (and only 20 anchorites). Iffley had one of these.

Annora, the anchoress of Iffley



Annora, Anchoress of Iffley was born in 1179, one of the surviving six children who survived out of sixteen born to William de Braose, a powerful baron with large estates n the borders between England and Wales. Her mother, Mathilda, was a fiery tempered Norman lady who brought with her to the marriage lands in Gloucestershire, near Tetbury.

One of Annora's brothers, Giles, became Bishop of Hereford, and her sister, Loretta, became Countess of Leicester.

Annora married Roger Mortimer, another powerful Norman baron. She brought as her marriage portion the lands near Tetbury that had belonged to her mother. They had no children.

Her story is a sad one. Although her father, William de Braose, had been a strong supporter of King John early in the reign, in 1207 he quarrelled with the king and was outlawed. When william fled to France John was so enraged that he behaved viciously to the whole de Braose family. Mathilda and her eldest son were put in Windsor Castle and left to starve to death. Loretta’s lands were seized, and she and Giles fled to France. Annora herself was imprisoned in Bristol Castle with four of her young nephews and was only freed in 1214.

We know little of her life after her release, but her husband died in 1227.

Her sister, Loretta, became an anchoress in a cell near Canterbury. It seems that Annora decided to follow her lead, and applied to become an anchoress at Iffley in 1232. Perhaps she sought a life of untroubled contemplation after her turbulent earlier life.

Annora was allowed to retain her marriage portion, which amounted to l00s a year. Other gifts would have come, including from the people of Iffley. Court records show that Henry III himself gave instructions almost every year that oaks from the forest Shotover should be sent to “Annora the recluse of Iftele” for firewood “as a gift from the King”. One occasion he also sent a sack of grain, on another a robe, and on another timbers for building.

Annora seems to have taken to the role of anchoress well, and it is thought that her money may have paid for the new chancel, extending the church eastward from its original format. Her cell would have been built out of timber or stone, more like a small house really. But on the floor of her cell there will have been a stone coffin lid to remind her of her death. This is the coffin:

There is the ghost of an arch against the church wall, which is believed to be a blocked-up window marking the site of Annora’s cell. The window would have given her a view of the altar, making it possible for her to participate in the services held in the church without leaving her cell.

It seems that Annora's life as an anchoress lasted nine years, because around 1241 records of gifts from Henry ceased, and nothing more is heard of her. Annora probably died and probably was laid to rest beneath the grave slab that was set in the floor of her cell. It is highly likely that the 13th-century grave set between the chancel wall and the old yew tree in the churchyard is Annora's grave.
As Ruth Nineham says in her booklet: "Annora may have become an anchoress partly because, as a widow, she needed a safe haven in a turbulent world; but such a way of life could only have been chosen by someone who was highly motivated towards contemplation. Day after day she will have gazed on the altar in her cell and meditated on the psalms, on the lives of the saints and particularly the Virgin Mary — arid said monastic offices. The inner world will have been her reality."
Thanks to:

Ross, David. "Iffley Church". Britain Express.
Ruth Nineham
Living Stones, Iffley

Flawed heroes of the RAF. A tribute to Derek Robinson

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On Tuesday, I took my children to St James' Park to see the RAF's 100 anniversary fly-past. It was extraordinary. History flew above our heads - Spitfires and Hurricanes. Early jet planes. The deep roar of the modern fighters. And the Red Arrows, of course, streaming their colours against the blue sky.


Children and adult alike were entranced. The power of it! The glory of it! What must it feel like, I wondered, to fly such a machine?

I will never know. But I can come close, through the transporting magic of fiction. More specifically, in the wonderful, underrated, utterly brilliant books of Derek Robinson. Robinson has written a series of books about the air force, with settings ranging from World War 1 to the Cold War.

When I got home, I turned to A Piece of Cake, his 1983 novel about a squadron of Hurricanes in the Second World War. Here, early on, is a description of a Hurricane taking off:

"As soon as he released the brakes and let it roll for take-off, Mother Cox began to sense the wash of air over and under the wings, the hint of lift in the tailplane, the hurrying stutter of the wheels, and then that vast invisible rush that rewarded the whole machine with the gift of flight."

Derek Robinson came close to winning the Booker prize in 1971 with his debut novel, Goshawk Squadron. The prize that year went to VS Naipaul, but Saul Bellow was one of the judges and fought for Goshawk to win. It is a superb book, about a squadron in the Royal Flying Corps. Stanley Woolley, the Squadron Leader, is the anti-Biggles. Cold, cynical and violent, Woolley unravels before our eyes. The humour is sharp and bleak; the death toll in the Squadron is high and miserable. Robinson has a trick of sketching a character closely, making him human and recognisable, and then killing him off with a laconic flick.

Robinson has been compared to Joseph Heller, but I think he is better. All Heller's bleak anti-war comedy comes from authorial trickery. Robinson's humour is darker and more truthful, coming as it does from the dialogue between young men who are brutal and brutalised by the horrors of war.

Woolley batters his men into forgetting notions of chivalry. He teaches them to shoot the Germans in the back. "The amateurs played at fighting, they kept their scores and rejoiced in their adventures and they were brave, good-humoured warriors. But Woolley took it seriously. He had asked the ultimate question - what's it for? - and got the obvious, only answer. You flew to destroy the enemy. You did not fly to fight, but to kill. It was neither fun, nor adventure, nor sport. It was business."

There is a poetry, too, in his sharp prose: these casual, unsentimental young men recognise that lonely impulse of delight experienced by Yeats' Irish airman. They would take the piss out of him, though, for expressing it. "It was part of Fighter Command's undergraduate quality: an implacably bright, slangy, superficial attitude, the kind of outlook that took nothing seriously except the supreme importance of being in Fighter Command, and that went without saying."

In a Piece of Cake, Fanny Barton thinks he has shot his first German bomber: ".. the bombers slid into view, ahead and above, perfectly silhouetted.; three Junkers 88s. They appeared so beautifully, so cleanly, that his lungs expanded for sheer joy. "Attack, Attack!" he called. He hauled back on the stick and tasted jubilation as the leader swam steadily bigger and blacker in his sights. Every muscle was tensed to hold the hurricane steady when he pressed the button, but even so the blaze of fire that raced from his wings made him flinch. His eight guns shaped a long cone of golden destruction."

Robinson served in the RAF as ground-crew. Every one of his books resonates with that clear, deep authenticity that we all, as writers of historical fiction, hope to achieve. Yes, you say to yourself as you put down Robinson novel - exhausted, and sad and a little fretful. Yes, that is how it was.




Sleeping Your Way to the Top - The 17th Century Theatre

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by Deborah Swift


In the wake of accusations of sexual misconduct at the Old Vic, and the scandal around various Hollywood directors, I thought it would be interesting to investigate the 17th century and how female actors at the onset of the profession were regarded, and look at how the seeds of this type of culture originated.

Up until the 17th Century, women had no reflections of themselves in entertainment; they were played by boys. Being an actress was a way of both gaining and losing power – because a woman was able to behave on stage in a powerful way, (eg Kate in  The Taming of the Shrew) but also women were still seen as commodities; an attraction or novelty to please those that mattered (ie men).

In the 17th century, status was always conferred on a woman by the man. Thus Pepys refers to his wife Elisabeth always as ‘my wife’. Although this seems in our ears to diminish her, in fact this is not an insult; it was designed to confer on her a status not accorded to his servants who were referred to as Dolly, or Deb, or Jane. The theatre was the one place where this did not hold sway – female actors were always called ‘Mrs’ as a mark of respect. 

Nell Gwyn
Beauty was a woman’s currency in the early theatre, and in life in general. A frank and unflattering assessment of women’s looks was commonplace, their ‘assets’ as if it was a calculation – a checklist of features: how straight the nose, how even the teeth, how pale the complexion. In the theatre a good pair of legs was essential as in many roles the women played boys to show their legs. For a woman to reveal her legs, usually hidden beneath skirts, was considered extremely daring, and this is why so many 'cross-dressng' roles were written in this period. These were called ‘breeches’ roles. Voyeuristic? Certainly, but it was a way for a woman to counter invisibility, and to have a public voice. And a degree of freedom must have been felt by these women as they played assertive men’s roles – the reverse of what had been the status quo before. 
Elizabeth Barry
The idea of sleeping your way to the top in the entertainment industry was commonplace in the 17th Century Theatre. An example is Mrs Barry, who was ‘procured’ by the rake Rochester at 15 years of age and then moulded (like Eliza Dolittle in My Fair Lady) to be an actress. At the onset of acting as a career for women, beauty was a necessity, it was supposed (by men) that acting skills could be taught. Rochester’s letters give confessions of the progress of their affair. Ironically, Mrs Barry was then most famous for her tragic parts depicting an innocent maiden. 
John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
The Casting Couch

 A popular idea in the early theatre was that of the “couch scene”. This was a scene where an attractive woman was placed centre stage on a bed or couch, with the scene calling for her to be asleep and therefore in a state of undress.

Why would any woman want to go along with this idea? Well, in this period the theatre & entertainment was one way for women to transcend social boundaries. In researches into Pepys’ diaries we can witness Nell Gwyn, who sleeps her way to the top from bawd’s daughter to mistress of a King. Was this a bad thing? Evidence shows Mrs Gwyn certainly had a mind of her own and of course now she has achieved some sort of national status. In Pepys' Diary, the actress Mary Knep is invited to musical soirees with Pepys and his civil servant friends. Being in the theatre conferred a ‘celebrity’ status not available to other women. 
Pepys Diary
A woman’s fortunes in the 17th century could change dramatically. In Pepys’s Diary, Abigail Williams, known as ‘Madam’ Williams, began life as the daughter of a baronet, was married off for her lands at age 12 (and had a daughter at that age). After her husband died, she returned to England from Holland and became an actress. There is some suggestion she was a spy (like Aphra Behn), but she re-emerged in high society as the mistress of Lord Brouncker, a well-respected mathematician and founder and president of the Royal Society. Her fortunes rose and fell, and rose again. It is tempting to think beauty alone did this – but it takes a skilled mind to manipulate and use what used to be called ‘assets’ to best advantage.

The theatre, even then, was a reflection of society. Scenes on stage echoed or parodied scenes at Court. And Charles II was a rake of a King. Only recently has the convention of the fourth wall arisen. At the beginning of women’s life in the theatre, there was constant badinage across the divide between stage and audience. There was an emphasis on wit and banter on both sides of the stage. Pepys went to the theatre to be seen. 

In Pepys' Diary there’s a notable argument at the theatre between Pepys and his wife. Pepys insists the maid sit beside him, and Mrs Pepys, scandalised by this flouting of the proprieties, refuses. Maidservants were supposed to sit behind their mistresses. The women in the plays by Sheridan, Etheredge and Wycherly (for example, Lady Gimcrack and Mrs Figgup) were imitations of the rich women attending the play. Actresses of the time trod the line of impersonating women who were almost always of a higher class to themselves, but in doing so, acquired the gloss of the characters they portrayed.
Through my trilogy of novels based around Pepys' Diary, I'm investigating the women Pepys knows, and re-imagining their lives. My first novel Pleasing Mr Pepys features actress ‘Madam Williams’ alongside Mrs Pepys and her maid Deb Willet. The second, A Plague on Mr Pepys features Pepys most long-cherished mistress, Bess Bagwell, and Entertaining Mr Pepys (in progress) is about his friend, Mary Knep the actress.

More on Hollywood and the Casting Couch 
Images from wikipedia.
Sources:
The Play of Personality in the Restoration Theatre - Masters
Nell Gwyn - Beauclerk
Every One A Witness : The Stuart Age - Scott
Pepys' Diary

Find Deborah at www.deborahswift.com or on Twitter @swiftstory

Things that go bump in the night - by Lesley Downer

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Assorted strange creatures by Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849)
In the 19th century, a time of particular upheaval and uncertainty in Japan, people would spend a summer evening sitting around telling ghost stories, lit by candles and lanterns (a hundred was the canonical number). At the end of each story they’d extinguish one until at the end of the last (and most frightening) story the last candle would go out, plunging the room into utter darkness - at which moment everyone would hold their breath, hoping a real ghost might materialise.

This year, as you will all know, there have been terrible and unprecedented floods in the south west. But usually the dog days of summer are even hotter and more stifling in Japan than we have had this year in Britain. In the old days Japanese would take all the sliding wooden and paper doors out of their houses so that the house became a breezy pavilion. Those that live in traditional houses still do. People made a point of eating oily foods like grilled aubergine and grilled eel and drinking iced barley tea. Essential accessories included a fan and a parasol. Another essential was ghost stories to send shivers down your spine. To this day the kabuki theatre always shows ghost stories.

Maruyama Okyo paints a ghost by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (1839-1892)

Tsukioka Yoshitoshi, a great master of the bizarre, made a woodblock print depicting a famous Kyoto artist called Maruyama Okyo. It was said that Okyo’s paintings were so true to life that bees tried to pollinate the flowers he painted. He once made the mistake of painting a ghost. To his horror it came to life, looming up from the block. 

Japanese ghosts are the spirits of people whose lives have been cut short while they still have unfinished business - people who’ve died violently, haven’t received proper funerary rites, or died while consumed by a desire for vengeance. Such spirits can’t pass on peacefully to join their ancestors in the afterlife. According to Buddhist teaching, the journey from the world of the living to the world of the dead takes 49 days, and while they are in this limbo they can revisit the land of the living to sort out unfinished issues. A lot of these are the ghosts of women who have been spurned or killed by their lovers or husbands. They are yurei, which means something like 'faint or dim spirit'. 

Lantern Ghost by Hokusai
At the kabuki theatre I once saw the great male performer of female roles, Tamasaburo Bando, playing the ghost of a woman who had been killed by her husband. Her skin was white, her eyes sunken and ghastly. She was wearing a long white gown and floating high up the wall and her floor length hair was dishevelled and tangled in great knots. Wailing, she started tearing it out by the handful as clumps piled up in a heap on the floor. It was one of the most frightening things I’ve ever seen.

Katsushika Hokusai, the great woodblock print artist, loved depicting Japanese ghosts. The most famous and frightening ghost story of all is Yotsuya Kaidan, the story of the beautiful innocent Oiwa, who is poisoned and horribly disfigured by a rival who wants to marry Oiwa’s lover, Iemon. Oiwa ends up killing herself and the lover goes off with the rival. But Oiwa returns to haunt her faithless lover, emerging from a lantern hairless and jawless and with one eye hanging out of her head, until Iemon finally goes mad.

But yurei are not always women. There are also men, like Kohada Koheiji, a kabuki actor who specialised in yurei roles and whose wife had an affair with one of his rivals. The rival took him out for a boat ride, pushed him into the water and drowned him. But Kohada rose from his watery grave and haunted his wife and her lover for the rest of their lives, suddenly appearing leaning over the top of their mosquito net and grinning down horribly at them at the most unexpected moments. Both these stories, by the way, are based on true events.
Kohada Koheiji by Hokusai

And if these haven’t cooled you down enough, I have a ghost story of my own to scare you with.

I spent 3 years living in the small city of Kamakura, exactly an hour from Tokyo by train. It’s a beautiful place, full of mossy old temples and vermilion painted shrines with a huge famous stone Buddha.

My western friends and I rented a haunted house there. Japanese refused to live in it, which made the rent very cheap. Japanese ghosts are localised; they torment their own family members or whoever’s done them harm but they don’t trouble people at random and they don’t bother foreigners. In fact foreigners are so radically different that even the most ferocious of Japanese ghosts would probably steer well clear.

My friends and I lived happily in this large, rambling, rather shabby old house. It was beautiful. It had a tea ceremony hut and a carp pond and a very overgrown garden.

Everything was fine until the third summer. That year my western friends by chance all went away at the same time leaving me alone in the house. I had Japanese friends over to stay.
The Great Buddha in Kamakura

‘Lucky you,’ I told them. ‘You can have a room each!’

‘No, thank you,’ they replied. ‘That would be too frightening.’

I’d almost forgotten that the house was supposed to be haunted. Instead they all slept together in one room with their futon mattresses side by side down the middle.

The night after they left was my first on my own in the house. I was lying in my futons on the tatami mats of my room when I heard a distinct banging coming from the other end of the house, at the far end of a long dark corridor.

I listened hard. It sounded like boxes being thrown around. There was no one else in the house. I was definitely all alone. It couldn’t be a human being making all that noise. It could only be an obake - a one-legged umbrella ghost - but I certainly wasn’t going to go and investigate. I pulled my covers over my head, screwed my eyes tight shut and hoped for the best.

Thereafter I stayed well clear of the end of the corridor.
[Scroll on down to see the obake!]


Lesley Downer’s latest novel, The Shogun’s Queen, is an epic tale with plenty of ghosts, set in nineteenth century Japan, and is out now in paperback. For more see www.lesleydowner.com.

Woodblock print images courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Photo of the Great Buddha by me.

Obake (on the right). The critters on the left are kappa.

The Big Lie

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by Marie-Louise Jensen

Hitler first mentioned die große Lüge  - the big lie - in his work Mein Kampf. The principle behind it was that people tell small lies themselves all the time in their everyday lives, and thus they are good at spotting small lies told by others.

Big lies on the other hand, seem shameful, most people don't like to tell them, so when someone does, they seem too outrageous to be made up - the listener is inclined to believe there must be a grain of truth in there somewhere.

Hitler, of course, claimed this was a technique used by Jews to get people to believe their propaganda.

Sixteen years later, Goebbels also mentioned the big lie. He claimed English leaders 'lie big' and stick to their lies. And that they keep up their lies, even at the risk of looking stupid.

When the Americans profiled Hitler, they drew the conclusion that this was exactly the technique Hitler himself used; he lied, he lied big and he stuck to it, never admitting a fault. Thus proving how much of demagoguery is projection. Corrupt leaders accuse others of doing what they themselves practise.

It is hard to refute a huge lie. We all know of one, for example, on a bus in our more recent past. So obviously a lie and all the harder to call out for its breathtaking brazenness. Surey no one would paint a whole bus with a lie? A simple, catchy lie is especially hard to contradict.

It's also hard to call out projection. Many of us will know that from interpersonal relationships. If someone accuses you of something they do themselves, you quickly sound ridiculous and weak claiming 'No, that's what YOU do.' And it's no different in politics.

When unscrupulous politicians of all nationalities use these techniques, they are not doing it by accident. It is calculated, in the way any abuser calculates their behaviour, intending it to undermine, confuse and confound their opponents.

It has recently come to be called gaslighting, after the 1938 stage play Gas Light. But originally, it was the big lie, and it is as effective and difficult to combat in the present as it was in the past.
We know we should learn from history, and yet it seems at times we are doomed to helplessly repeat the very worst aspects of it.

James Cook: The Voyages: at the British Library - by Sue Purkiss

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This August, it will be 250 years since James Cook's first voyage to the southern seas. As the introduction to this exhibition states: 'In 1768 the coasts and islands of the pacific, although inhabited for thousands of years, were largely unknown to Europeans. Cook made three voyages and when the third returned to Britain in 1780 most of the blank spaces on European maps had been filled in. Cook's voyages have been celebrated, but also sometimes condemned, ever since.'

Cook's chart of Botany Bay

This points to a difficulty. If you'd looked Cook up in an encyclopaedia when I was a child, it would have told you that he was a hero, a great explorer, who discovered hitherto unknown lands. (A couple of years ago, in a fit of manic decluttering, I got rid of just such a set of encylclopaedias. If I hadn't, I'd be able to quote the appropriate entry to you. There's a lesson there...)

Now, it doesn't look quite that simple.

Cook's first voyage, with the Endeavour, was purportedly to observe the Transit of Venus (now there's a title for a book!) across the face of the sun at Tahiti (or Otaheite, as he knew it), in June 1769. But he also had secret Admiralty orders to search for land in the south Pacific, including the Great Southern Continent, if it indeed existed. If he found land, he was 'to cultivate a Friendship and Alliance' with its inhabitants, to chart its coastline and to investigate its potential in terms of trade. Further, he was 'to take possession of Convenient Situations in the Country in the name of the King of Great Britain' - albeit with the consent of the inhabitants.

Cook and his ship

On that first voyage, he took with him as a naturalist the young Joseph Banks. I've written about Banks in various History Girl posts, and he features in my recent book for children about plant hunting, Jack Fortune and the Search for the Hidden Valley - he was a fascinating and very influential character. He was also tall, handsome, genial, and one of those charismatic people who gets on very well with everybody - whereas Cook was more dour and introverted: they made a good team. So when it came to getting the 'consent of the inhabitants', Banks was a great help. Certainly in Otaheite he threw himself into socialising with the (mostly) welcoming inhabitants with great gusto. He became good friends with Tupaia, the chief priest of the island - so much so that Tupaia asked to accompany the Endeavour when it was time for the visitors to continue their voyage, and did so as a translator and interpreter. Tupaia also drew and painted scenes from their travels, some of which are displayed at the exhibition, alonside many other contemporary images, artefacts, letters and journals. Sadly, both Tupaia and his young son, Tayeto, died when, on the way back to England, after various adventures in Australia and New Zealand, the ship docked at Batavia for repairs: unfortunately Batavia was rife with fever, and almost half of the company, including the two Tahitians, succumbed.

And the exhibition doesn't shy away from revealing that, although Cook was indeed a great explorer who achieved an enormous amount for his country, there was another side to what he did. The lives of the people he 'discovered' were not just touched by his arrival on their shores: they were to be changed forever, even when the intentions of the explorers were good. Tupaia and his son were one example. Another concerns a later voyage, when Cook, meaning to be helpful, presented the Maoris in New Zealand with domesticated animals - sheep, pigs etc. He thought it would make life easier for them if they didn't have to hunt for their food. But the animals had a huge effect on the indigenous flora and fauna, leading to the extinction of a number of native species.

And it was Banks who suggested that Australia would be a good place for a penal colony - which on the one hand led to the creation of modern Australia, but on the other to the near-destruction of the indigenous Aborigine culture.

Tupaia's drawing of Sir Joseph Banks trading with a Maori - a piece of cloth in exchange for a lobster.
It's such a difficult subject; it's so easy to look at events at that time through 21st century eyes. (I dread to think what inhabitants of the earth in the 24th century might think of some of the things that are going on around the world at the moment.) But I think that the British Library exhibition succeeds brilliantly at celebrating Cook's achievements, while at the same time re-evaluating them to take into account the effect of his 'discoveries' on the lives of those he 'discovered'. The objects on display are interspersed with video interviews with modern descendants of those peoples, and they make sobering listening. Yet the message in the end was, I felt, a nuanced one: that, to paraphrase, we are where we are: but we must take account of how we got there, and not pretend that exploitation didn't take place: we must respect not only the 'discoverers', but also the 'discovered'. The exhibition helps towards that - not least by giving us an insight into the lives and cultures of the peoples of the southern and other seas at the time that Cook first encountered them.

You can find out more about the exhibition on the British Library website, here.

MRS WOOLF AND THE SERVANTS by Alison Light. A reflection by Penny Dolan.

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While visiting Helmsley Walled Garden, within the grounds of the castle, I was lucky enough to find MRS WOOLF AND THE SERVANTS by Alison Light, published in 2007, on the second-hand book shelves.
 
A single scan of the book’s main headings drew me in: The Family Treasure; Housemaid’s Souls; The Question of Nelly and The Lavatory Attendant. Each is followed by a pair of names, one the famous writer and the other a domestic servant. Light’s Bloomsbury servants get almost equal billing with the famous social set.

Light begins by pointing out that in the great Bloomsbury archives, there is little evidence of the other women who were part of  households, the ones who “lived-in”, though far less comfortably, the same walls. Yet the free, independent and creative lives of Virginia the writer and Vanessa Bell the artist depended on the servants who worked for them: in other words, on other women not being free.

Despite the silent archive, Alison Light noticed how frequently Virginia, Leonard and their circle wrote about their servants in their letters and diaries, and so she set out to discover these missing women. Light writes about three servants in particular: Sophie Farrell, who had first worked for Virginia’s beloved mother, charity-case Lottie Hope and the cook Nellie Boxall. She shows a pattern where servants often stayed for many years, although they were passed between members of the wider family as need or as tempers suggested, and poaching of prized servants was often attempted.

The book is a pleasingly thorough inquiry, sharpened by having the viewpoint of someone whose own mother was in service. Light readunpublished letters and documents, visited houses and places where the servants had worked and interviewed descendants and local historians. She looked into their childhood homes, their education, the changing patterns of their employment and at the practical and emotional relationships that existed between a mistress and servant sharing the same roof year after year.

I did enjoy the variety within  this book. Thoughtfully written, each section opens with a long passage of Woolfian lyrical  prose which contrasts well with Light’s brisker accounts of a world where long hours, the collecting of chamber-pots, the carrying of coal-buckets, the lack of hot water taps, the management of unreliable ovens, and days spent in dank basements or cold bedrooms were a constant part of the servants life. Incidentally, she makes it clear that the wealthy rarely saw any need for new labour-saving devices or domestic improvements: they already had household servants saving them labour.

As the new century progressed, the distant mistress and servant relationship was harder to maintain. Back in 1892, Vanessa and Virginia’s childhood home, 22 Hyde Park Gate in Kensington, had been an elegant five-storied mansion where the servants slept in the spaces under the eaves or lived down in the basement. 

Almost two decades later, when Virginia and Leonard Woolf were running their small printing press at Hogarth House and Vanessa and Duncan Grant lived a paint-spattered bohemian existence at Charleston farmhouse in Sussex, there was only a wall marking the distance between the rooms of mistress and servant .

Through several different lives, including glimpses of the Bloomsbury "stars", Alison Light brings in topics as diverse as the popular habit of “poor-visiting”, agricultural changes, the development of the kitchen and celebrity cooking for Charles Laughton. She looks at Virginia’s troubled life both as a feminist writer trying to develop a new style of writing and as an independent woman whose mental health forces her into dependence on her servants. Her own worst instincts often flare out against the servants but they seem to have a way of responding: an uneasy relationship that cannot have been calm.

Furthermore, national events, such as the outbreak of war in 1914, epidemics, the growth of factory work for women, female education and emancipation, new taxes and economic depression brought on more social change. The ideal of “service” no longer fitted the modern world with its increasing demand for equality for all, and the Woolfs – and their servants – had to change along with it. Even so, I wonder how easily discussions went at the Labour party meetings at Rodmell House, which included the Woolf’s servants and employees among its members. 
 
MRS WOOLF AND THE SERVANTS by Alison Light was a useful if sometimes uncomfortable book to read. I enjoyed it because, from a writing point of view, one has to consider the role of any servants “attending” to a story set in the past, as appropriate to the time and place. 

Are the servants to be included or not, named or not?  Are the servants who live closely with the family, like the Sterkarms in Susan Price’s historical sci-fi novels? Or are they hired servants and bearers, as in Sue Purkiss’s Jack Fortune and the Hidden Valley adventure?

Or are they invisible, with the place run, like Nampara on screen in Poldark, with barely a servant evident? Or would they be no more worth mentioning than a washing machine in a modern house? I suppose it all depends on when: different times have brought different relationships, and that is maybe what I need to think about for the work in progress.

Moreover, reading MRS WOOLF AND THE SERVANTS rather makes one think about  celebrity and other households and the kinds of domestic help and helpers that are needed today.

Penny Dolan

RESERVE POST Following in the Footsteps of Dirk Hartog by Rosemary Hayes RESERVE POST

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In October 2016 I went on a month long trip promoting my shipwreck books in Western Australia and taking part in the celebrations to mark the 400th anniversary of the landing of the Dutch mariner, Dirk Hartog, in Shark Bay, 500 miles north of Perth.

My fascination with the 17th and 18th century Dutch voyages began eight years ago when I visited the Shipwreck Galleries in Fremantle for the first time.

I was aware of the powerful Dutch East India Company (the VOC), its establishment of headquarters throughout Asian countries and, in particular, its hugely profitable trade in spices: during the Dutch ‘Golden Age’ a handful of nutmegs was so valuable that it was worth more than the price of a house and just a single nutmeg would buy you a horse! But what I didn’t know was that, by 1617, all the great VOC trading ships were required to adopt the new Brouwer route, sailing South from the Cape in South Africa before turning West to pick up the ‘Roaring Forties’ winds and then North towards the East Indies, parallel with the coast of Western Australia or, as it was called at the time, ‘The Unknown Southland’.

The Shipwreck Galleries were a revelation and as soon as I entered I was hooked. As I stared at the salvaged hull of the doomed ship Batavia, at the stone blocks destined for the castle gate in Java and all the rescued artifacts and then read about the mutiny, the shipwreck, the massacre on the Abrolhos Islands, the eventual retribution and the marooning of two young mutineers in 1629, I knew that this was a story which would haunt me and that some day I’d have to write about it.






Why had I never heard of this appalling event in Australia’s history? What if those two young men, Jan Pelgrom, a cabin boy of 18 and Wouter Loos, a soldier of 24, had survived and integrated with the coastal aborigines? If they had, then they would have been the very first European settlers in Australia, nearly 150 years before Cook sailed into Botany Bay!





Since then, I’ve been on quite a journey. I have written two books about the early Dutch shipwrecks off the West Australian coast, ‘The Blue Eyed Aborigine’ (about the notorious Batavia’ shipwreck) and  ‘Forgotten Footprints’ (about the wreck of the Zuytdorp which disappeared in 1712, dashed against remote cliffs, but with evidence of survivors) have visited the Abrolhos Islands where all the Batavia horrors occurred, toured schools in the Eastern States, flown over the Zuytdorp cliffs, travelled by boat parallel with Red Bluff, South of Kalbarri, from which so many early Dutch mariners took their bearings, given the Batavia lecture at the Maritime Museum in Fremantle and, most recently, had an unforgettable trip from Yallingup in the South of the State up to Shark Bay, speaking to schools and other groups about my books and about the rich maritime history of Western Australia and shadowing the voyage of the Duyfken, a replica of the smallest ship of the first fleet to set sail from Amsterdam in 1595.



The replica Duyfken took nearly three months to sail from Bunbury in the south of WA, calling in at ports as she made her way north, with a fantastic exhibition about the Dutch traders and welcoming thousands of school children and others on board, finally arriving in Shark Bay in time to mark the 400th anniversary of the landing of Dirk Hartog at Cape Inscription.







I felt very privileged to be part of the celebrations, to attend the moving opening ceremony, watch the procession of cardboard boats made by local children, admire the costumes for the 17th century ball, crawl over the Duyfken and travel across to Dirk Hartog Island and see the new commemorative plaques and the cleft in the rock into which Dirk Hartog had rammed his original post, with a flattened pewter plate attached. On the plate he had scratched a record of his visit to the island. Its inscription (translated from the original Dutch) reads:

1616 On 25 October arrived the ship Eendracht, of Amsterdam: Supercargo Gilles Miebais of Liege, skipper Dirch Hatichs of Amsterdam. on 27 d[itt]o. she set sail again for Bantam. Deputy supercargo Jan Stins, upper steersman Pieter Doores of Bil. In the year 1616.








The day I left WA to return to the UK, I was able to fit in a visit to the newly opened exhibition at the Maritime Museum in Fremantle – ‘Travellers and Traders in the Indian Ocean’ and see the original of the Dirk Hartog plate (on loan from Holland and having just been brought over by the Dutch King and Queen) and to learn that the very latest research will soon be available into whether Western European DNA found in some Aboriginal coastal tribes can be traced to pre-settlement days.
And yet, whenever I go into Australian schools and ask the question: ‘Who was the first recorded European to set foot on Australian soil?’ nine times out of ten the answer is still ‘Captain Cook.’





Our thanks to Rosemary Hayes for posting this while Celia Rees is delayed in Italy by Ryanair

The Men Named Epaphroditus by L.J. Trafford

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Large stone inscription found on the Esquiline Hill. The name Epaphroditus is visible


Roman names are annoying. All those Gaiuses, Luciuses and Marcuses. Gaius Octavius calling his son Gaius Octavius. Mark Antony calling his two daughters Antonia and err Antonia. Every second female in Augustus’ massive clan being a Julia.
It can make it difficult to ascertain whether you have the right Gaius or Julia.

With slaves this is even harder. They have only one name and then on freedom add to it the name (s) of their master or mistress. Their lives are not as well documented as the Roman elite . And they too have popular names that crop up again and again. The most popular name for slaves is Felix, meaning happy (an ironic use given their slave status? Or wishful thinking?) Second to this is Epaphroditus, meaning charming.

I want to take this second name, Epaphroditus, and have a look at a few notable Epaphrodituses who all lived in the same period, the first century AD, querying whether they were in actuality the same man.


The Emperor’s Secretary

Nero, Epaphroditus' master
Our first Epaphroditus is fully known as Tiberius Claudius Epaphroditus and he was an Imperial freedman, that is an ex slave of the Emperor. In this case he was freed by Nero.
TC Epaphroditus appears at three precise moments in the historical record. Firstly in 65AD when a man named Milchus brings him word of a huge conspiracy against Nero. This was the Piso conspiracy that brought down a praetorian prefect, the poet Lucan, Nero’s party planner Petronius and his own tutor Seneca.

That Epaphroditus is the man who Milchus approaches and is able to put the matter before Nero shows that TC Epaphroditus enjoyed a good position in the Imperial bureaucracy. It was about to get better. Nero rewarded him heavily for his role in uncovering the Piso conspiracy. He was advanced into the equestrian rank and bestowed with titles. We even know what these titles were for a whopping big stone was uncovered on the Esquiline Hill in Rome (seen at the top of this post). That Epaphroditus commissioned such a monument to himself shows, I would say, a certain pride in his accomplishments.

The next mention of TC Epaphroditus is in 68AD. A rebellion was threatening Nero. Another emperor, Galba had been declared by the legions. Deserted by his own Guard Nero fled Rome. He took with him three men: the eunuch Sporus (the subject of a previous History Girls post of mine), a freedman named Phaon and Epaphroditus.

That Epaphroditus accompanied Nero on this final journey demonstrates how close and how trusted he was by the Emperor.

It was Epaphroditus who performed the greatest of favours for his master.“Then with the help of his secretary Epaphroditus he stabbed himself in the throat.” Suetonius

However this assistance to Nero would come back to haunt him. The reign of Domitian (81-96AD ) slowly descended into paranoia. Fearful of plots against him from within his own household, Domitian set to make an example. “To remind his staff that even the best of intentions could never justify a freedman’s complicity in his master’s murder, he executed his secretary Epaphroditus who had reputedly helped Nero to commit suicide.” Suetonius


This probably occurred in 95AD. A year or so after he was initially exiled. He was most likely over 70 by this point.


The Philosopher’s Master.
Our second Epaphroditus is linked to the Stoic philosopher Epictetus. Epictetus ran a thriving philosophy school in the Greek city of Nicopolis in the early 2nd century. He was born around 55AD into slavery and brought to Rome. He himself tells us the name of his master, Epaphroditus - Nero’s freedman.
For a long time this was thought to be the same Epaphroditus who helped Nero commit suicide. My own copy of Epictetus states this as fact. However a paper by PRC Weaver comprehensively unpicks this and casts doubt that they are the same man.

The key passage that Weaver quotes is this tale:

“Epaphroditus once owned a slave, a shoemaker, who he sold because he was no good. As chance would have it he was brought by one of the Imperial household and became shoemaker to Caesar. You should have seen Epaphroditus flatter him then! 

“And how is my friend Felicio today?” Whenever one of us asked. “Where is the master?” he would be told, “He is in conference with Felicio.” 

This doesn’t not sound like a freedman who was in such high standing he was one of only three people Nero took with him during his desperate flight from Rome. The man who gained so many titles after uncovering the Piso conspiracy surely had no need to flatter a cobbler to gain Imperial favour.

Epictetus’ Epaphroditus sounds more like a petty courtier rather than a trusted Imperial favourite.


The Literary Patron.
Bust of Josephus

Our third Epaphoditus is connected to the Jewish Historian Titus Flavius Josephus.  Captured in Judaea in 67AD Josephus defected to the Romans, acting as an advisor/translator to the future emperor Titus. He was later taken to Rome where he wrote several important works including one on the Jewish War.
This work was dedicated to an Epaphroditus. Of whom he says:


“Epaphroditus, a man who is a lover of all kind of learning; but is principally delighted with the knowledge of history; and this on account of his having been himself concerned in great affairs, and many turns of fortune; and having shewn a wonderful vigor of an excellent nature, and an immoveable virtuous resolution in them all. I yielded to this man’s persuasions; who always excites such as have abilities in what is useful and acceptable, to join their endeavours with his.” 


Josephus also dedicates his autobiography to him

“But to thee, O Epaphroditus, thou most excellent of men, do I dedicate all this treatise of our Antiquities” 

His work Against the Greeks is similarly dedicated to Epaphroditus.
This would suggest that Epaphroditus is a patron to Josephus’ works. It would make sense that Josephus’ patron was someone within the Imperial palace. It was standard for the literary inclined to seek influence with the emperor via the imperial freedmen. Martial writes several poems mentioning emperor Domitian’s chamberlain Parthienus and the gifts exchanged between them.
The timing is right too to connect with our first Epaphroditus. Josephus was in Rome from the 70s AD as was our secretary Epaphroditus.
However there is an issue with the publication dates of Josephus’ works, they coincide with the exile and later execution of TC Epaphroditus. It seems unlikely that Josephus would dedicate his works to a man banished from the city by the emperor. Or address a book in the present tense to a man who had been executed. 


The Christian

St Paul, early Christian and epic traveller, was facing some troubles.

“Now I want you to know, brothers and sisters,that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel. As a result, it has become clear throughout the whole palace guard[ and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ.  And because of my chains, most of the brothers and sisters have become confident in the Lord and dare all the more to proclaim the gospel without fear. "
Philippians


He’d been arrested after preaching in Jersaleum and upsetting the locals. He’d been dragged from a temple by a mob and only escaped a messy death by handing himself over to some Roman centurions.

He was transported to Rome in the 60s AD to live under house arrest whist he awaited a trial. From here he wrote letters to Christian communities he had visited. Including that of the Greek city of Philippi. The community had sent an emissary to Paul to assist him in any way during these troubles. His name was Epaphroditus and he had brought gifts from the Christians at Philippi. 

“But I have all, and abound: I am full, having received of Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you, an odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, wellpleasing to God” 

Epaphroditus took his role representing the Philippian church and assisting Paul extremely seriously. So seriously that it made him ill.

“ But I think it is necessary to send back to you Epaphroditus, my brother, co-worker and fellow soldier, who is also your messenger, whom you sent to take care of my needs. For he longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill. Indeed he was ill, and almost died. But God had mercy on him, and not on him only but also on me, to spare me sorrow upon sorrow. Therefore I am all the more eager to send him, so that when you see him again you may be glad and I may have less anxiety. So then, welcome him in the Lord with great joy, and honor people like him, because he almost died for the work of Christ. He risked his life to make up for the help you yourselves could not give me.” 


Presumably Epaphroditus returned to Philippi to recover. This is the last we hear of him in the new testament. St Paul was sadly killed during Nero’s persecution of the Christians after the Great Fire of Rome in 64AD


The Waiter
I have one final Epaphroditus to offer up as an example of the depth and variety of Epaphrodituses hanging about in the first century AD. It’s from Herculaneum and so we can date it to the 80s AD or the very late 70s if the city cleaners were lax with their wall cleaning.
It’s a piece of graffiti from outside a bar.

Two friends were here.  While they were, they had bad service in every way from a guy named Epaphroditus.  They threw him out and spent 105 and half sestertii most agreeably on whores. 



The Man Named Epaphroditus
OK I think it’s clear these are all different men who happened to live during the same time period in the same part of the world.
But isn’t it more fun to imagine it’s the same man.
The Imperial freedman subject to the whim of an emperor, so that one day he is his most trusted companion and the next day so far from favour as to be jealous of a cobbler.
A ‘charming’ man who was a friend to both a Jewish Historian and a Christian Preacher.
And who keeping it real and down with the folk, supplemented his secretary’s salary with a bit of part time bar work in Herculaneum.


What a guy!


L.J. Trafford is the author of a series of books that feature Nero's secretary Epaphroditus as a character.


Little discs of beaten silver by Carolyn Hughes

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All of my posts so far for The History Girls have been about some aspect of the history of the Meon Valley in Hampshire, the setting for my series of historical novels. I undoubtedly have more to share about the Meon Valley, but I thought that, today, I would offer something a little different.

At home, I have a small collection of mediaeval coins – fourteenth century coins, to be precise, the time period of my novels. Although I have had them for a while, I have never really taken the time to examine them, to understand their markings or even to discover much about fourteenth century coinage. So, I thought I would take that time, and then share what I discovered.

I have just nine coins, although I hope to increase my collection in time. What I have is:

- Edward I: a penny and a farthing (a quarter of a penny)
- Edward II: a penny and a halfpenny
- Edward III: a penny, a halfpenny, a half groat (= two pennies) and a groat (= four pennies)
- Richard II: a halfpenny

All the coins are “hammered”, that is, struck by hand between two dies. “Milled” coins, where the coins were struck by dies in a coining press, were only fully introduced at the start of the reign of Charles II. 

First a bit of background…

Coins have an “obverse”, the side with the ruler’s image and name, and a “reverse”, which usually identifies the mint that produced the coin.

On most coins of this period the obverse wording starts at 12 o’clock after an initial mark, typically a cross, and has the ruler’s name and their titles, for example:

+EDW R ANGL DNS hYB | Edward Rex Anglorum DominusHyberniae | Edward King of England Lord of Ireland

Before Edward I (1272-1307), the only coin was the penny, which, on its reverse, showed the name of both the mint and the “moneyer”, the person in charge of producing coins at that mint. So, IOHN ON LUND would translate to JOHN OF LONDON. Identifying the moneyer was a way for the king to obtain accountability for the quality of his coinage. However, in 1279, Edward issued new coinage and at the same time stopped using the moneyers’ names and just identified the name of the mint, for example, CIVITAS LONDON is the City of London and VILL SCI EDMUNDI is the Town of Bury St Edmunds. (If you are actually interested in reading coin inscriptions, a full list of legends and their meanings on medieval coins can be found at http://www.psdetecting.com/Inscriptions.html.)

Edward III penny. In this case, the legend on the obverse reads
+EDWARDUS REX ANGLIE, Edward King of England and,
on the reverse, it is CIVI | TAS | EBO | RACI, the City of York. (c) Author



Of my coins, six were made in the City of London mint, one was made in York mint, and the last in the mint of Bury St Edmunds.

It seems that, after the Romans left, no coins were minted in Britain until about 650AD. But, after the consolidation of the English Kingdoms, a London mint was in operation again from soon after 650. At first its existence was somewhat precarious but, from about the time of Alfred the Great (871-899), its operation became continuous and increasingly important. However, at that time, London was only one of many mints, perhaps about 30 at that time and, by the reign of Ethelred II (978-1016), more than 70. These were mostly in the southern half of the country and there can have been few market towns of any consequence where coins were not struck. Although the number had declined by the Norman Conquest and, from the early 13th century, most minting was done in either London or Canterbury, it was not until 1279, and Edward’s reforms, that the country’s mints were finally unified. Control of coin production was centralised to the mint within the Tower of London and only a few mints outside London continued to operate.

The standard unit was the penny and the only denomination produced between 1066 and 1279. To create a halfpenny or farthing prior to 1279, the penny was cut in half or quartered. There is some debate as to whether this process was carried out at the mint or as and when it was needed.

Prior to the reign of Henry II, the quality of coin production was pretty poor and, in 1180, Henry introduced the “short-cross” penny, a style that remained more or less unchanged until 1247.

Short cross silver penny of King John, 1205-1207.
The Portable Antiquities Scheme/ The Trustees of the British Museum
[CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

However, during Henry III’s reign (1216–1272), it became clear that many coins in circulation were underweight, caused by the illegal practice of clipping silver off the edge of the coin, in theory made easier by the cross on the reverse not extending to the rim, so people had no clear indication of exactly how big the coin was supposed to be. I find this slightly curious, as the wording around the rim of the coin surely gave an idea of the coin’s extent? Nonetheless, in 1247, a new “long-cross” penny was introduced, which made it more obvious when a coin had been clipped. The long cross also made it easier to cut the coin into halves or quarters.

Edward I succeeded his father while away on Crusade in the Holy Land. Coin production had to continue while the new king made his long journey home, and long-cross pennies – still inscribed with his father’s name – continued to be produced. But Edward began to realise that English coinage needed to be improved to assure public confidence, and he also needed larger and smaller denominations.

A completely new coinage was struck in 1279 with a different design that made clipping much easier to detect. The strong, good-quality coins strengthened the economy and helped bring prosperity to the country.

Edward’s 1279 penny had a slightly different style from earlier pennies. On the reverse, the “voided” long cross (a cross with a channel along its arms) was replaced by a solid cross, a design that continued until the Tudor period.

Voided long cross penny of Henry III (1216-1272)
By Numisantica (http://www.numisantica.com/)
[CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons]

Edward I penny, reverse, showing the new solid cross. (c) Author
In 1279, Edward also introduced a farthing and, in 1280, a halfpenny, which were successful and continued to be minted. He tried also to introduce groats (four pence) and half groats (two pence) at the same time, but they were not a success and production stopped in the early 1280s, meaning that Edward I groats are extremely rare. (I wonder if I will ever find one?)

However, in 1351, Edward III (1327-1377) again introduced the groat and half groat and, this time, they were successful. They became very popular and eventually superseded the penny in importance.

Edward III groat, obverse and reverse (c) Author
The groats (and half groats) have a couple of significant differences in design from the penny. On the obverse, for example, the portrait is surrounded by arches known as a “tressure”. Some have trefoils on the cusps of the arches (as below), some have fleur de lys, and some are blank. On the reverse, there are two legends rather than one. The inner one is the mint signature, and the outer one is an oath. This style and wording was used right up to the end of the Tudor period.

Edward III half groat (c) Author
These annotated images of the author’s Edward III half groat show the “tressure” arches on the obverse, and the trefoils, and the wording on both sides. The obverse wording is slightly obscured but presumably reads:

+EDWARD[US] REX ANGL DNS hYB | Edwardus RexAnglorum DominusHyberniae | Edward King of England, Lord of Ireland

The wording on the reverse is:
CIVI | TAS | LON | DON | 
+POSV | I DEVM | ADIVTO | RE MEV(M), which means “I have made God my helper”

The lettering on the obverse of Edward III coins varies slightly. In the early coinage of Edward III, Ns are shown as “n” rather than “N” – as in AnGL and DnS above, though on the reverse it is still “N”, as in LONDON. The king’s name too varies, from EDW and EDWA, right through to EDWARD or even EDWARDUS, depending on how much other text is required on the coin.

Edward III had four coinages during his reign, the first three relatively insignificant, but the fourth (1351-1377) was by far the largest and the politics of the period affected the wording on many of the coins minted. This fourth coinage is divided into three periods based around the Treaty of Brétigny, which was signed between England and France in 1361: pre-treaty (1351-61), treaty (1361-9) and post-treaty (1369-77). They are differentiated mostly by the wording of the obverse legend.

Edward claimed the throne of France so, in “pre-treaty” coinage, the wording includes his title as King of France. 

Edward III groat (c) Author
My groat, illustrated here, is a bit worn, so it is hard to make out all the lettering, but it is possibly as follows:

+E[D]WAR[D D? G?] REX ANGL [Z] F[RA]NC D hYB | Edward Dei Gratia Rex Anglorum Et Francia Dominus Hyberniae | Edward by the Grace of God King of England and France, Lord of Ireland

(Z stands for the French “et” (and).)

In 1360, the Brétigny treaty granted Edward land in France, so a “treaty period” groat does not have the French title, but includes Edward’s overlordship of Aquitaine (though only on larger denomination coins, not pennies or lower).

After the treaty was renounced by the French in 1369, Edward’s claim to France was reinstated so, on “post-treaty” coins, FRANC appears again in the wording on the coins.

When Edward’s eleven-year-old grandson Richard II (1377–1399) succeeded him (the Black Prince having died from dysentery in 1376), England was still claiming the throne of France. The wording on Richard’s pennies sometimes includes reference to France and sometimes not.


I have discovered in this brief review of the details of my coins that, in fact, there is a lot more I could learn about the differences between types and periods of coins, but it is rather arcane stuff about lettering and marks, which can help to pin down more precisely when the coin was minted. But I think I have enough here to satisfy my needs.

And, in truth, why have I got the coins at all? They are attractive to look at and usually I keep them in a display case. But what I really enjoy doing is to take them out of the case (though not out of their little protective wallets), and hold them in my hand. Some of them are in excellent condition, and so maybe weren’t all that much used, but others are quite worn and I like to imagine one of my halfpennies being passed across a market stall in return for a dozen eggs, or a penny handed to the alewife as the price of a gallon of ale, or a groat placed in the sweaty palm of a carpenter in payment for a day’s labour. That is where the pleasure lies in owning these little discs of beaten silver.

The Gentle Author's East End Vernacular by Imogen Robertson

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I'm sure that most if not all of the History Girls and our readers know of the brilliant blog http://spitalfieldslife.com/  If you're not a regular visitor, then do go and spend some time there and you'll discover lovingly written and richly illustrated stories of life in London, particularly the East End. There's a grim but fascinating post on The Hackney Whipping Post, once thought a suitable subject for postcards, now rotting away in a backlot, as just one example from May.

While you're there, I'd also recommend you buy this book, edited by the writer of the blog, The Gentle Author:

Buy Now


I got my copy from the marvellously eccentric bag and packaging emporium Gardeners on Commercial Street, but you can buy copies direct from the blog. Anyone with an interest in art or the East End should get one immediately. And another for a friend.

It's a very handsome, beautifully produced volume which chronicles the artists who have caught the East End on canvas over the last hundred years or so and is a rich sampling of a huge range of work. The Gentle Author takes pains to gather the testimony of the artists themselves which makes for a fascinating, intimate read and an inspiring glimpse into their lives. The images are reproduced with enormous care and if they share anything other than geography it's a sort of intimacy and particularity which makes them, I think, universal in their appeal.



Taken as a whole the book offers a fascinating way to look at the range of styles of art created in paint and pencil in the 20th century as well as a portrait of a shifting urban landscape. I found something particularly fascinating about some of the later images such as those of James MacKinnon and Marc Gooderham who incorporate the street art of the area into their work in the same way earlier artist such as James Boswell used signage and advertising. 

James Mackinnon - Broadway Market (featuring the street art of Eine)
via Spitalfields Life

The book celebrates the work of a healthy number of women artists too, such as Rose Henriques, Grace Oscroft and Pearl Binder and reflects on the particular challenges they faced in their work with clear-eyed empathy.

Grace Oscroft - Bryant and May, Bow. via Spitalfields Life
But please, don't just read the extracts linked to above - get the book. It's delicious and inspiring brainfood and that's always worth paying for.

www.imogenrobertson.com

Walking the Krakow Ghetto by Catherine Hokin

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Some places, for example Bruges, immerse the visitor in history as if you were walking through a film set. Others, as I discovered in the area which once housed the Krakow ghetto, take you down ordinary streets and trip you up with the weight of what they once held.

 Entrance to the Krakow Ghetto 1941
The ghetto in Krakow was one of 5 major metropolitan Jewish ghettos created by the Nazis during the occupation of Poland in World War Two. It was liquidated between June 1942 and March 1943 with most of the inhabitants being sent to the nearby forced labour camp at Plaszow, or the extermination camps at Belzec and Auschwitz. It was set up in the suburb of Podgorze rather than the traditional (and still very vibrant) Jewish district of Kazimierz because its architect Hans Frank (Hitler's personal lawyer) felt Kazimierz was more significant to Krakow's history. That Kazimierz is far more central to the city and thus harder to hide away must have played a significant part in that decision. The Krakow ghetto was a closed ghetto: it was physically cut off from the surrounding area and access was restricted; the suburb of Podgorze is across the river from the main city and can only be reached by bridge or boat.When first formed, 15000 Jews were crammed into an area meant for 3000 people; the size of the ghetto was reduced once deportations began.

 Ghetto Memorial Krakow
Like the majority of people with an interest in  history, we usually research our trips before we go. The Krakow trip, however, was a last minute short break and, beyond the salt mines (which I can't recommend highly enough), the Schindler Factory and Auschwitz, we hadn't looked at much in advance. Consequently we stumbled into the ghetto en route to the Factory without realising where we were. It was an eerie experience. The square we came into was quiet and empty, which is not the norm for Krakow squares. It was only when we stopped and looked closer that we realised we were looking at rows of deliberately empty, some small and some over-large, identical chairs. It's not easy to find, but there is a plaque on the kiosk at the square's edge - this is Heroes Square, the central point of the ghetto, and the 33 large chairs and 37 small ones made from iron and bronze are a memorial to its Jewish victims. It's a very poignant place and hit us all hard with its simplicity. The plaque contained a map and little else (there is no background explanation to the memorial) but it did direct us to the far corner and one of the best museums I think I've ever visited.

 The Under the Eagle Pharmacy
The Apteka Pod Orlem, or Under the Eagle Pharmacy, was run by Tadeusz Pankiewicz, a Roman Catholic Polish pharmacist and was the only pharmacy which continued to operate during the period of the ghetto. Pankiewicz chose to decline the Nazi (or Hitlerist as they are often referred to in Krakow) offer to relocate his premises and continued to supply medications throughout the ghetto's operation. More than this (which was brave enough), he and his staff helped smuggle food and information into the ghetto and helped hide many of those facing deportation. Pankiewicz's memoir (which is on sale in the tiny ticket office three doors down) talks about supplying hair dyes for changing identity and tranquilizers to keep children quiet during Gestapo raids. Because of his work, he was given the title of Righteous Among the Nations in 1983. The pharmacy has been completely refurbished and makes use of videos and testimony to tell its often heartbreaking stories. As many people will be aware, in February of this year the Polish government passed a law that outlaws blaming Poland for any crimes committed during the Holocaust. This museum puts the blame squarely where it should go but makes no attempt to wipe away the locals who participated - their, named, stories are presented along with those of the victims and survivors. It is an intelligent, even-handed account of a terrible period and deserves visiting.

 Ghetto Wall Krakow
We now had our bearings so decided to make the half-hour walk to the Plaszow concentration camp. It's a roadside, not very scenic walk and there is a tram that takes you there (we used it on the way back) as well as the innumerable little tourist road trains but walk, for two reasons. Firstly, if you don't you will miss the unbearably moving stretch of the old ghetto wall, now sitting very incongruously beside a children's playground at the back of a primary school. Again the plaque is tiny and it isn't marked on any map we had. This section is one of only two that survive and stretches up into the old quarries and the cemetery. The original encircling walls were 3m high and there were only 4 gates in. One of the most disturbing features is its shape: the wall is deliberately built in the shape of the tombstones that you will find in the sixteenth century Jewish graveyard in Kazimierz. The Jewish men forced to build it can have been left with no illusions.

 Plaszow 1941
The second reason for walking the route is to experience how (like Sachsenhausen in Berlin) short the distance is between slave camp and city. In another very deliberate gesture, Plaszow was built on the site of two Jewish cemetaries which were destroyed for the purpose - the shattered tombstones were used to cobble the roads. The camp was a forced-labour camp providing labour for the quarries and a number of armaments factories. By its height in 1944 it is estimated the camp held 25000 prisoners on the 200 acre site. Conditions were abysmal with deaths from typhus and starvation rampant. There is no museum at Plaszow and no guides. Since November of last year large information boards have been put in place describing the site and what happened there and these provide a kind of route through. The site is very beautiful - it is a wildflower filled nature-reserve - and that alone makes the whole experience of walking its paths a hard one. If you follow the numbered boards, you end at the Hujowa Gorka - this roughly translates as Dick Hill and is a play on the name of Unterscharfuhrer Albert Hujar, the man who turned this beautiful hill into a killing field. Some 8-10,000 prisoners were marched to a trench in this hillside, stripped and shot. In 1944, all the bodies were exhumed and burnt on a giant bonfire to hide the evidence. Witnesses have testified to seeing 17 lorry loads of human ash.

 The Memorial of Torn Out Hearts
The hill is dominated by a memorial which finally broke us all - me, the Jewish American OH and the 23 year old Berlin-living son. We'd all taken time out here and there, and there is something about Holocaust places that requires everyone to move in their own space, but this brought us all to tears and silence. This is the Memorial of Torn Out Hearts - you won't see the name (or any explanation) at the site but you'll have named it something similar already. This massive stone was designed by Witold Cęckiewicz and unveiled in 1964. It depicts five figures (representing the five countries of Płaszów's victims) with their heads bent under the weight of the massive stone block from which they're carved and a horizontal crack across their chests, symbolising their abruptly ended lives. Each face is different, each hand is different. I've never seen anything as moving. It dominates the skyline and, what you can't see from my photograph, is that the sky shows through the crack so the rip feels almost living. There are discussions currently being held about a permanent museum being built here, it doesn't need it - the monument and the boards and the beauty of the place tell all the stories that you need.

We didn't get to the Schindler Factory - the website to be honest is crackers, we couldn't book in advance and the daily allocation was done before we got there. It didn't matter, we had discovered our own history which then led us into Kazimierz and its wonderful synagogues. It was a short stay and we are leaving Auschwitz for another trip: our walk through the ghetto reminded us that these sites, which are so woven into the places that still bear their scars, take recovery and reflection time. The quietly demonstrative Krakow Ghetto made us remember and remember vividly; it did its job.

The Reading Whirlwind and the fate of Henry West, by Leslie Wilson

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They were building the new Reading Railway Station, which was to carry businessmen to London, to transact their business in a day and get home in time for dinner, connect Reading to the West Country, so that its citizens could go on holiday, and so on, when what the Reading Mercury called 'an unfortunate accident' took place. A shed about 200 feet long had been put up at the back of the Station-House, for 'the reception of the trains and the convenience of passengers.'

 This shed featured a lantern to allow light in, and at about half past three on Tuesday, March the 24th, a young man called Henry West (the paper, however, couldn't be bothered to get his name right, and called him William, was working up on this lantern, as yet unglazed, when a loud noise, like thunder, shocked the people in the area around the station.

There had been a high wind, which had turned into a whirlwind and blown poor Henry right off the roof; his body was discovered about 200 feet away. Several other men were 'more or less injured' including Mr Grissel,  belonging to the 'extensive' firm of Grissel and Peto, contractors for the building of this section of the line, was wounded on the head by bricks falling from the chimney. He was taken to the George Inn and attended to, and the newspaper was glad to report that he was out of danger.

They picked the remains of Henry West up and took him to the Boar's Head pub in Friar Street (presumably choosing a different pub to protect the injured from the sight of a corpse? Later, an inquest was held, and a respectable jury gave a verdict of accidental death.

Henry was a single man of about 25 years old, a journeyman carpenter, born in Wilton, in Wiltshire.
I haven't been able to find out anything else about him. There used to be a rail in his memory at the far end of Platform 4, which was the busiest platform in the old station (now Platform 7), but when they revamped Reading Station they took the rail away. Perhaps they didn't want passengers to be unnerved by the realisation that they were standing in an area subject to miniature tornadoes?

The monument pictured stands in the churchyard of St Lawrence in Reading, on land that once was part of Reading Abbey, close to the old hospitium, or guesthouse of the Abbey, which was to become the first premises of University College Reading. It's a peaceful spot for a memorial to one whose life ended in such sudden violence.

The wooden board reads:
Sudden the change, in a moment fell, and had not time to bid my friends farewell,
Yet hushed be all complaint, 'tis sweet, 'tis best, to change life's story scenes for Endless rest
Dear friends, prepare, take warning by my fall, so shall you hear with joy your Saviour's call.

The board was put up by his fellow workmen, about 40 of whom attended his funeral at St Laurence's. It was renewed by his brother George in 1862, and by his niece F G Rixon in 1924. Reading Corporation renewed it in 1921.

I'm sorry that the rail was taken away from Reading station, but glad the monument is still there in the churchyard. It stands, in a way, for all the  men and women whose lives have for the most part been completely forgotten, yet whose labour was crucial in constructing our railways, our public buildings, our canals, our roads, and the many old houses which we still value.

MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERS: The Identity of the Fontevraud effigies of Henry II and Richard I and Henry I. Is anybody in? by Elizabeth Chadwick.

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I've had a couple of food for thought moments this week that I thought I'd share with you.  Putting together historical facts is like doing a jigsaw puzzle with some pieces missing and some that have more than one piece for the same slot, and thus the ability to change the picture

Moment Number 1.
Checking my twitter feed a couple of days ago I came across a comment by Historian Marc Morris, quoting fellow historian John Gillingham concerning the effigies of King Henry II and King Richard the Lionheart at Fontevraud Abbey in France.  Gillingham said: "I do not know on what evidence if any (apart from later tradition) one effigy is identified as Henry II's and one as Richard's."

I have always believed - because it's what I've always read - that this effigy, clean shaven is identified as King Henry II
Wikipedia

And this one, bearded, is Richard the Lionheart.
Wikipedia

I have often pondered about the effigies of these two Angevin kings.  In an era when beards were a powerful symbol of masculinity and authority, how come Henry II's effigy doesn't have one?  The more so because we know he was bearded in life.  Chronicler Gerald of Wales drew an impression of him. Gerald was well acquainted with his appearance. Of course, that doesn't stop him from shaving off his beard on another occasion.
Impression of Henry II by Gerald of Wales

It is highly likely that the effigies of Henry II and Richard were commissioned by Eleanor of Aquitaine, who spent her later years at Fontevraud in semi retirement.  I often wondered if she chose to emasculate Henry by depicting him without a beard, and giving Richard one in order to subtly (or not so subtly) hint at who was the greater man.  But now it seems that there are no solid markers beyond tradition to nail down who is actually who.

The effigies themselves have suffered from the vagaries of time and politics.  Originally they (including an effigy of Eleanor of Aquitaine by a different sculptor) stood in the choir. but the extent of the choir at that time and the effigies' exact location is not known. The effigies are made from tuffeau limestone that comes from the Loire valley.  Historian Kathleen Nolan in her article on the tombs 'The Queen's Choice'  in Eleanor of Aquitaine Lord and Lady edited by John Parsons and Bonnie Wheeler, (A tremendous book of essays on Eleanor of Aquitaine and well worth the read) suggests that Henry and Richard are dressed as kings lying in funereal state and in their coronation robes.  The bearded effigy, usually presumed to be Richard has dark hair, but we know that both he and his father were red-heads.  I am assuming that later restorations are responsible for that one.


Richard has a second tomb in Rouen Cathedral where his heart is buried, but that effigy too is a matter of more questions than answers.  The current effigy has a 19th century look about it, but is thought to be a representation of the earlier medieval one as drawn in 1730 by Bernard de Montfaucon, sometimes called the father of modern archaeology.
Here is the current clean-shaven depiction of Richard in Rouen Cathedral and below it, de Montfaucon's 1730 sketches of the effigy he says is Richard at Fontevraud, and the clean shaven one from Rouen.  This tells us that the identification of who was believed to be who (rightly or wrongly) dates at least back to 1730.  I do not know at this stage if anyone can date the tradition earlier than that.   Montfaucon's work is titled 'Les Monumens de la Monarchie Francoise qui Comprennent L'Histoire de France ave les Figures de Chaque Regns.' Vol 2.
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Richard I's current effigy at Rouen Cathedral, very possibly dating to the 19th century
Bernard de Montfaucon's  illustrations of Fontevraud Richard (Left with the beard) and to the top right, the Rouen
 clean shaven version of Richard as observed in 1730.  Montfaucon  in 1730believed  the bearded Fontevraud effigy
to be Richard and not Henry.   There is further confusion because the current Richard effigy in the black
and white photograph  above this drawing is actually posed as Montfaucon's sketch of the Young King, not Richard.
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Above: Montfaucon's sketch of the effigy of King Henry II's eldest son Henry the Young King, which has been taken as the model for the current tomb sculpture of Richard the Lionheart, (black and white photo). It's the top right effigy on the sculpture sketch above this one with a different hand position that Montfaucon identifies as Richard in his book. (which all adds to the confusion!).


It's also interesting to note that a manuscript illustration showing Richard being captured on his return from crusade shows him as clean shaven on his travels. Whether or not this is an indicator for the Fontevraud depiction is another matter.   If one switches one's notion of who is who on the Fontevraud effigies and ascribes Henry II the beard, then all the ducks line up in the known illustrations and Richard then appears clean shaven at Fontevraud, at Rouen and in the pilgrim manuscript.  However, from this point so far away in time we're never going to know.  You pay your money and you choose what you want to believe. 
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A clean shaven Richard I  about to be captured on his way home from crusade.
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HENRY I AND READING ABBEY: 
Now onto my next food for thought item this week.
 Not so long ago, the search was on for the tomb of Henry I at Reading Abbey with archaeological explorations of the vicinity being much in the news. For example The Guardian on the Reading Abbey remains of Henry I
I was reading through a History Girls blog I'd written some time ago about the death of Henry I A Surfeit of Lampreys and reading down to the end of the comments came to one by Dunkit42 who remarked on a letter in The Times of London in December of 1785 commenting on the discovery and subsequent destruction of Henry I's tomb.  While we don't know it for certain, again because of the passage of time and lack of recording, it seems a decent possibility.  Strange that there's been no mention in the modern press, not a even a qualifier or disclaimer.   I looked up the article.

From The Times.  Thursday 8th of December 1785.

"It lately happened that the workmen employed in digging a foundation for the erection of a house of correction at Reading in Berkshire on the spot where the old abbey stood, that diverse bones were thrown up.  This being the burial place of Henry I, each bone was seized as a kind of treasure, contemplating it as one of the King's, till at length a vault was discovered, the only one there, and which was of curious workmanship.  In the vault was a lead coffin almost devoured by time.  A perfect skeleton was contained therein, and which undoubtedly was the King's, who died at the castle of Lyons in Rouen on the 2nd September 1133 (they have the wrong date, it was November, but that's newspapers for you!), was then embalmed, and sent from thence according to is own desire to be interred in the Abbey of Reading.  Antiquaries have frequently inquired where this monarch's remains might be found but time has effaced every possible mark, though it must be presumed heretofore, the spot had been royally and peculiarly distinguished.  After a series of 650 years, and upwards, it was hardly probable anything but dust could remain; but the distinguished appearance of the coffin and the vault in which it was interred, put it out of doubt.  The account given us in Rapin of the King's death, and embalming the body, further justifies the presumption that this coffin was the King's, especially  as he says, his body was cut in pieces, after the rude manner of those days, and embalmed. And Gervase of Canterbury, confirms this account by saying they cut great gashes in his body with knives, and then powdering it well with salt, they wrapped it up in tanned ox hides, to avoid the stench, which was so great and infectious that a man who was hired to open the head, died presently after.  The gentleman to whom I am obliged for this account adds, that fragments of rotten leather were found in the coffin.  His curiosity was great, and so was that of the persons assembled insomuch that the bones were divided among the spectators, but the coffin was sold to a plumber.  The under jaw bone has been sent to me, and a small piece of the leaden coffin.  The jaw contains sixteen teeth, perfect and sound; even the enamel of them is preserved."

Yes or no?  I remain on the fence, ruminating the information and thinking very possible, but again no absolute proof. 
 I do love a good delve into the past. We think we know things but we don't!
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Elizabeth Chadwick is a best selling author of 24 historical novels.  Her latest book, Templar Silks, looks at what the great William Marshal might have done with his time in the Holy Land. She will be lecturing on that subject at Bosworth Battlefield Heritage Centre  on the 18th of August from 2:45 pm - 3:15 pm



The Venetian Secret by Miranda Miller

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   In the eighteenth century Italy was the centre of the art world. Young artists flocked to Rome, Venice and Florence and were dazzled by the achievements of past generations. It was widely believed that the great artists of the Renaissance knew a ‘secret’ that had been lost. How did Titian achieve his “divine” colours? Nobody knew but many artists became obsessed with the idea that if they could only discover this secret, which Titian supposedly got from the Greeks, they would outshine their rivals. Paintings by Giorgione and Titian like the one illustrated above, Titian’s Bacchus and Ariadne (1523), had a luminosity and richness of colour that eluded living artists who continued to search for the ‘secret’, rather like medieval alchemists pursuing the formula for gold.

   Joshua Reynolds used to buy up old masters (some of which were probably forgeries) in auctions and literally take them apart to see how they did it. Reynolds hid himself away from his pupils so that they would not discover his manner of working and his many experiments with colours and varnishes. He allegedly bought a painting by Titian in order to strip it slowly, layer by layer and analyse its makeup. But, later, Reynolds’ canvases famously faded and ‘the colours fled.’

   Benjamin West , seen here as a young man, was an American who claimed to have been instructed in the preparation of pigments by native Indians. After his Death of General Wolfe caused a sensation in 1770 he was appointed Historical Painter to King George 111 and later succeeded Reynolds as President of the Royal Academy. Ever since his trip to Venice when he was  young  West had longed to discover the ‘secret’ of Titian’s magnificent paintings. Thirty years later, this made him vulnerable to a hoax.

   Ann Jemima Provis was a young miniaturist whose work was exhibited at theRoyal Academy and her father, Thomas Provis, was a "sweeper of the court" at the Chapel Royal at St. James's Palace. The Provises approached West and told him they had found an ancient Italian manuscript which revealed the Venetian Secret. The original manuscript, they told West, had been destroyed in a fire but fortunately Provis had cannily made a copy. Initially the ‘secret’ was only to be divulged to seven artists and West and six other painters gladly paid 10 guineas each to be initiated. Provis then became even more greedy and suggested that all the artists who were interested in sharing his secret manuscript should form a syndicate of 53 artists. Each member would contribute 10 guineas, which would have earned Provis a total of more than 600 guineas, then a fabulous sum.

   In addition to allowing paid up members of the syndicate to read the manuscript, Ann Jemima offered to give the artists lessons demonstrating the Venetian technique which, she said, included the application of a dark red ground, or foundation layer, to the canvas. She also taught them to use thin linseed oil as a medium to bind the paint’s pigments. It was also essential, she said, to use the “Titian shade,” a mix of ivory black and Prussian blue that was used under glazes of bright colors. Prussian blue was actually invented more than 100 years after Titian’s death. In his own paintings, Titian used lapis lazuli .

   West experimented with these techniques and, with great excitement, used them in his history painting, Cicero Discovering the Tomb of Archimedes , exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1797. Critics were not impressed. The review in The Observer said that “ Instead of possessing Titian’s warmth divine" his new painting had  "nothing but the chalky and cold tints of Fresco, and that gaudy glare and flimsy nothingness of fan painting.’’

   When the scandal about the hoax broke West was the main victim because It was through his influential position as President of the Royal Academy that the Provises were able to meet so many other artists. A popular bawdy song, Paul Sandby’s Song for 1797, hinted that Ann Jemima's secret art lessons also had a sexual dimension. The brilliant satirist James Gillray enjoyed West’s embarrassment in this wonderful engraving:


  Titianus Redivivus; or the Seven Wise Men Consulting the Venetian Oracle – a Scene in the Academic Grove. Seated in a row are some of the artists in the syndicate, including Farington, Westall, Stothard, Smirke, Opie, and Hoppner. Other artists, whose names appear on the far left, had not been taken in by the scam. These include Bartolozzi, Fuseli, and the 22-year-old Turner, whose own later experiments with colour still astonish us. Ann Jemima Provis appears on a rainbow, painting a “portrait” of Titian, her train supported by the Graces. On the far right, in the foreground, Benjamin West sneaks away. The ghost of Sir Joshua Reynolds rises up from the stone floor. In the background, the brand new Somerset House façade of the Royal Academy is cracking, presumably as a result of the scandal.

   There is no record that the Provises were ever prosecuted. Seven years later West painted an almost identical version of Cicero Discovering the Tomb of Archimedes, using more traditional techniques. The colours in this painting have survived and it is now in the collection of the Yale University Art Gallery. West’s career recovered from this embarrassing scandal and he produced many more distinguished paintings. When he died in 1820 he was buried in St Pauls Cathedral.


The Panthéon welcomes a woman, Simone Weil, by Carol Drinkwater

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Every now and again I feel fortunate to stand face to face with a remarkable piece of history. Last week, while I was in Paris, I swung off Boulevard Saint-Michel and strode to the Panthéon where hangs a huge photographed image of Simone and Antoine Veil. They are backdropped by the European flag. 
I stood alone. There were no tourists, no fellow citizens near me, aside from those passing by. I was able to steal that private moment to reflect upon the life of a truly remarkable women whose sorrows and battles seeded a vision and an energy that changed the fortunes of millions, most especially French women.

The week previous I had sat in front of the television for two hours on a Sunday morning, 1st July, with my husband watching the entire ceremony, the panthéonisation, of Simone and her "beloved Antoine". The coffins containing the remains of the pair were being brought for burial to the Panthéon. It was a very hot morning and I applauded the members of the French royal guard who carried the two coffins for approximately an hour during which time there was music, readings and dance.




Camille Froidevaux-Metterie, a professor of political science at the University of Reims and author of a number of books on feminism and women in politics, commented that "It is Simone Veil's achievements that are being recognised and it is her husband who joins her in their final resting place, at the request of the family."
Many members of their family were present at the Sunday morning ceremony. Afterwards they, along with Emmanuel and Brigitte Macron, followed the coffins into the interior of the city's famous mausoleum.

Simone Veil, born Simone Annie Jacob in Nice on 13th July 1927 died 13th June 2017, is only the fifth woman to be laid to rest within the great domed building that dominates that corner of the Latin Quarter. The Panthéon, built originally as a church  to honour St Genevieve, later became a secular mausoleum to house the remains of the distinguished citizens of France. Men. The first to be buried there was in 1791, the comte of Mirabeau, who was later  disinterred and buried in an anonymous grave. 
All who rest within the mausoleum, including Voltaire (also 1791), Victor Hugo (1885)  were men. It took till 1907 for a woman to enter that sacred space, when a 'great man', scientist Marcellin Berthelot requested that his wife be buried with him. In 1907, Sophie Berthelot became the first woman to rest within these magnificent walls. In 1995, Marie Sklodowska-Curie, twice Nobel Prize Winner, was buried along with her husband Pierre Curie, also a Nobel Prize Winner. Thus Curie became the second woman entombed at the Panthéon, but the first to be placed there in recognition of her own professional merits. Although Marie Curie died in 1934, it took sixty years for her to be given the honour of the Panthéon. And, I have recently learnt, it was Simone Veil who helped persuade French President François Mitterrand to transfer Curie's ashes as an acknowledgement of her contribution to science and medicine.
The gender imbalance was, is, embarrassing.
In 2015, two more women were laid to rest. Ethnologist and member of the French Resistance, Germaine Tillion's was a symbolic internment with soil from her graveside because her family did not want her body to be moved from where it had originally been laid.  The same is true of Genevieve de Gaulle-Anthoniez (niece of Charles de Gaulle and member of the French Resistance), hers was also a symbolic internment for the same reason.

Simone and Antoine Veil had been buried alongside one another at Montparnasse Cemetery before President Macron's decision to move them to the Panthéon, exactly one year after Simone's death. This time, it is the woman who was being panthéonisée for her merit not because she is the wife of a remarkable man, even though Antoine has been  recognised for his contribution to society as a civil servant at the highest level.


Interior of the Panthéon.


On the Pediment of the Panthéon is written: "Aux grands hommes, la patrie reconnaissante.""To the great men, the grateful homeland."



Honour guards stand next to the coffins of Simone and Antoine at the Shoah Memorial in Paris on June 29th, 2018. Two days before their last journey. As one of more than 76,000 Jews deported from France during World War II, Veil appears on the Wall of Names at the Shoah Memorial in Paris, under the name Simone Jacob. Her father, mother, sister and brother are also listed. Only Simone and her sister, Madeleine, survived their torturous ordeal. Tragically, Madeleine was killed in a car crash seven years after the war ended, leaving Simone without family.

Simone Veil has been a heroine of mine for many years, one of the most remarkable of modern women. A survivor of the camps of Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, she returned to France at the age of seventeen emaciated and traumatised. She threw herself into her studies, gained her masters in law and swiftly rose within the ranks of public life. She played an important part in raising awareness of the Holocaust and also of speaking out about France's role in the deportation of French Jews.  A subject that many in France have been reluctant to own up to. The collaborationists were not called out as vocally as perhaps they should have been. Veil played her part in making sure that France did not forget its past. This experience also fired within her a lifelong dedication to the ideal of Europe, European integration and Franco-German reconciliation.  She was elected the first President of the European Parliament, a role she held until 1982. She never lost that fire, that passion for Europe. She said, "When I look back on the last 60 years, it is still our greatest achievement."

She never called herself a feminist and yet as Minister for Health (1974 -1979), she fought for women's rights. She facilitated access to contraception, pushing through a bill that legalised the sale of contraception and contraceptive pills. Perhaps her greatest achievement for women was the determination with which she fought for the legalisation of abortion in France. This was no easy battle. France is, or was back then, a country rooted in Catholicism. It was a very hard fight and many raised their voices against her - Simone and her family were publicly reviled - but she did not give up and in January 1975, abortion was legalised n France.

Throughout her career she played an important role in human rights issues, the environment, public health, food and safety, Aids care. She worked with young mothers, single mothers, disabled children and HIV-positive patients.

She entered the Académie française in 2008, only the sixth woman to take a seat there. On her sword - every member of the Academy is given one - is engraved the motto of the French Republic (liberté, egalité, fraternité), the motto of the European Union, (Unis dans la diversité.) and her Auschwitz number: 78651.
Emmanuel Macron, in his speech on 1st July, spoke out this number, Simone's tag and it was followed by a minute's silence which was heartbreakingly moving.
I asked myself again about the girl who bore that series of figures.
That pretty adolescent, dark-haired girl in the camp stamped with the number 78651, can you imagine her heartache, and her strength? Losing her family, perhaps too scared, too depressed and alone to believe that the horrors would ever be over. Yet, in spite of all that she endured, suffered, the profound losses she faced, a seed was born. The seed of humanity, the courage to fight for all that is good and peaceful. I think this is why she was and remains a heroine, a role model, for me. She could have come home from those horrors angry and broken. Instead, she grew up to fight for the plights of those who were not in a position to fight for themselves. She pushed with enormous determination and vision for the vision of a United Europe, a Europe within which the member countries are working together, respecting their differences, but working towards an integrated and peaceful future. A dream I hope we can continue to fight for.

78651, Simone Jacob, Simone Veil, I pray you rest now in peace and in honour beyond a life richly and generously lived. You remain an inspiration.

www.caroldrinkwater.com


History of the Naked Ape by Susan Price

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Warning: This blog is much longer than usual, but it reviews a fascinating book.


          Why does the human race - supposedly intelligent - keep fighting wars, despite all that can be said against the habit?
          Why do empires, such as the Roman and the British, periodically rise and then fall or fade away?
           Why do leaders such as Alexander, Napoleon and Hitler periodically arise to lead their people into war -- and why do the people willingly, even eagerly, follow them?
          Why has Europe been, for centuries, a 'cockpit of war'? And revolution. 
          Can the EU prevent such 'Wars of Civilisation' in the future?
          Why are so many vicious, murderous political gangs -- I could say 'IRA' or  'Baader Meinhof' or 'Daesh' -- drawn from the nicely brought up and spoken boys and girls of the middle-classes? Who, on the face of it, have comfortable lives and little need to fight for 'freedom.'
          And why, in every part of the world and at all times, have the poor always had many more children than the rich, despite being less able to afford them? Why does contraception and education make little difference to this trend?

          All these many questions, and more, can be answered very simply, according to Paul Colinvaux in his'The Fates of Nations.'The answer is: Niche-Space and Breeding Strategy.

          Colinvaux was an ecologist, and The Fates of Nations answers all these questions by applying the rules of ecology, not to salmon or brown bears or wildebeeste, but to that other animal, the Naked Ape.

          Colinvaux defines 'niche-space' as 'a specific set of capabilities for extracting resources, for surviving hazards and for competing; coupled with a corresponding set of needs.' It describes not only the amount of physical space an animal requires to live naturally and healthily, but also the animals' requirements in terms of climate, type and amount of food, type and size of home or lair and so on. Each species has evolved to dove-tail into its niche-space. For instance, camels live in places short of water, and have evolved an ability to store water in their bodies and live without access to water for longer than most other species.

         Some niche-spaces are larger than others. An acre of land can support many hundreds of deer, if there is enough water and vegetation. It gives them all they need.
          However, that same lush, well-watered acre would not support a single tiger. As a dedicated carnivore, a tiger needs access to many, many deer to feed itself. Deer run away from tigers and many are too fast to be caught. Also, all deer become skittish when there's a predator about. So a tiger needs to be able to shift ground frequently, to find more unsuspecting prey. Every single tiger needs a large territory, which it will defend from others.
          This is, as Colinvaux put in in the memorable title of another of his books, Why Big Fierce Animals Are Rare. Long before humans became a plague on the earth, before tigers' habitat was remotely threatened, long before they could be efficiently slaughtered for the supposed medicinal value of their bones, even then, tigers were still rare compared to deer or mice or strawberry plants. They were rare because they had a comparatively wide niche-space. Making a living as a tiger demands a lot of resources in terms of space and prey animals.
          Colinvaux calculates that when humans were living their natural, Ice-Age life, as hunter-gatherers, they were about as common as bears. That is, more common than tigers, because bears and humans are omnivorous and will stoop to eating fruit, vegetables and grubs, but a lot rarer than deer or mice.

That's Niche-Space. Then there's Breeding Strategy.
          Every species that has ever lived has always had the same breeding strategy: to have as many off-spring as it's possible to raise to adulthood.
          For most animals, this is more or less fixed, so much so that naturalists can write of the 'typical' litter or clutch size for a particular species. This is because an animal's niche-space is usually fixed. As Colinvaux puts it, a squirrel, or any other kind of animal, is 'highly tuned to a very specialized profession.' A squirrel cannot decide that, hey, it would rather be a tiger -- any more than a tiger can decide that it would like to try out life as a dolphin.
          Evolution has therefore roughly fixed the optimum number of off-spring an animal can have. A very good year may result in birds producing a second clutch of eggs or other animals having a second litter, but that's an exception. In a bad year, when the land can't support the numbers, the animals starve and the population falls. The population of predators is linked to that of their prey. A good year for mice and deer means a good year for wolves and foxes -- and vice versa.

Evolution has also fixed the approach most species take to child-rearing: low-investment or high-investment. Low investment species, such as salmon, spawn and fertilise hundreds of eggs at a time. Almost all of them will be eaten, either as eggs or fry. One or two might survive and that's all that matters. The salmon might have made an almighty effort to reach its spawning place but once the eggs are laid, it troubles itself no further about its off-spring.
          High-investment species, such as bears, cats and naked apes have one or two off-spring at a time, and they invest a lot of time and effort in feeding and training them. It's a high-risk strategy because, in a bad year, the off-spring might die or be killed to ensure the survival of older off-spring or the parents. Some animals are known to kill and eat their young if faced with a threat to their own survival. Colinvaux argues that early humans almost certainly regulated their population not only by leaving granny on the ice-flow, but by leaving junior with her. Historically, we know that people frequently abandoned children they did not think they could afford to raise.

Changing Niche Space

Animals can't change their niche-space - not by themselves, anyway. Some have become domesticated, some have learned to live alongside humans, but that came about as a result of human actions
          The Naked Ape, however, learned to change its niche-space, and has done so repeatedly.

The Naked Ape, by Desmond Morris
          First, they were nomadic hunter-gatherers, as common as bears. But they learned to hunt and gather in almost every part of the world -- in the Europe of the Ice Ages, in the rain forest and deserts of Australia, in Africa, on Siberian tundra, in the far North of Alaska. In doing so, they increased the niche-space of their species. Probably no other species occupies as many different habitats as humans do.
          But this population was still limited by the resources available to hunter-gatherers. They followed the high-investment breeding strategy of having one or two children at a time, and spending much time rearing them. As with all other animal species, their population increased during good times, when more children were born and survived but crashed during bad times when fewer mothers were in condition to give birth and more children died. So the population remained relatively stable.

But then, astonishingly, these animals learned to stop hunting and to herd the animals they needed, whether reindeer, or goats or cattle. They maintained the population of their prey-animals by protecting them from other predators and helping them to find food. This meant that the naked apes themselves could confidently expect to raise more children to adulthood because there was a more certain food supply. Their population increased -- and increased, because it was much less effected by bad years.
          Moving from hunter-gatherers to herders meant an increase in niche-space: more resources were available. But, as ever, the increase in resources was soon absorbed by the increased population.

Not to worry, though, because herding led on to settled farming, another huge increase in niche-space. Now, not only were the prey animals kept in one place, protected and provided with food, but the neccessary plant foods were too. Food could be produced more efficiently, and also stored more efficiently when it didn't have to be carried with a nomadic group, or hidden in caches.
          These were huge changes in life-style for the naked ape but the breeding strategy remained the same. A great many more naked apes were created to take advantage of the increased niche-space, but not to worry. The creation of settled communities and city-states also created lots of little nooks and crannies in the niche-space.
          Greater food security meant more time to develop new technologies -- the smelting of metals, stone-masonry, ship-building. Mastery of these technologies meant status and a livelihood. They created a new 'niche-space' which absorbed many among the growing population who had not inherited land from which to produce food.
          New governing classes, priest and warrior castes were more niche-spaces, all provided livings.

City State - wiki

Niche Space Runs Out

But eventually, as the population grows, there comes pressure on resources. So long as there's enough space in the world to enable more land to be cleared or mined, this isn't a problem -- but if there's another city-state over there -- and another one over there -- then the solution is more difficult.
          One way of avoiding the problem of shrinking niche-space is to impose a very strict caste or class system. Most societies of Naked Ape have tried this, in some form, at many different times over the centuries. For instance, only males are allowed to do certain jobs, usually high-status jobs, while females have to find a male to support them.
          Or restrictions may be applied to certain ethnic or religious groups, or simply to 'a lower class' who are deemed 'serfs.' This tactic buys time, for a while, but the breeding strategy ensures that the population continues to grow -- and, ironically, it's usually among the higher classes where the squeeze of narrowing niche-space is felt first and most painfully, by those children born to affluence who suddenly realise that, for instance, the city already has far more priests and acolytes than it needs and is unwilling to find places for more -- or that the army is over-staffed with officers. The affluent youngsters are shocked to find there is no space left for them in the wider, freer niche-space their parents enjoyed and they will have to do plebeian work.

Another way out of the problem is to trade. You go to those states who are crowding your own, and you offer to exchange surplus goods with them. You can even build ships and cross the seas to trade with foreigners. This, for a while, solves the problem, creating livelihoods in the merchant class and in ship-building.
     But every increase in niche-space means an increase in population -- because the breeding strategy rolls on unaltered. Every single person in these growing cities produces as many off-spring as they think they can raise. Up and up goes the population, particuarly among the poorest.

Why do the poor have more children, even where their more prosperous countrymen crush them into a smaller and smaller niche-space?
'Slum Tourism' - wikipedia
       Because if you live, say, on a sheet of cloth spread on a pavement, and your biggest aspiration for your children is that they eat once a day, then children are cheap. They won't cost you much -- indeed, it will possibly cost you more to prevent their birth. They'll also start earning for you while still in infancy, so where is the incentive to limit their number?
       If, however, you are rather better off -- if your plans for your children include a nursery, a crib, a nanny, a bed, rooms of their own in a comfortable house, good clothes and shoes, three or more meals a day, a good education, toys, books, music-lessons, dance-classes, training in a trade, a car (or horse) on their 18th, a good marriage (with a dowry or big wedding) a house of their own, prosperity and children of their own -- well, then each child is going to cost you thousands. One way or another, you make sure you have fewer. It's the well-off who sit down with pencil and paper (or Excel) and work out if they can afford a child. The poor, in this as in almost every other life-situation, just get on with it.
     It's, again, about niche-space. The niche inhabited by the poor is narrow. They have few choices and, as a result, few aspirations. But this narrow niche is cheap. It requires few resources. The people crammed into it are satisfied with little. My aunt, who grew up in a slum during the 1930s, has often told me that, until she won a scholarship to grammar-school, where she met girls whose families, astonishingly, owned cars, fridges and telephones, she'd had no idea her family were poor. She'd had nothing to compare their way of life with.
      The niche-space occupied by the better-off is wider (that is, it holds far more opportunities and possibilities), and increases with wealth. Indeed, Colinvaux remarks that the richer a naked ape is, the more their life includes aspects of the ancient hunter-gatherer life: -- acres of beautiful countryside as their 'territory', hunting as a pastime, closeness to dogs and horses. But although this niche is broad, offering many choices and freedoms, it is very expensive in terms of resources. It can, therefore, be occupied by far fewer than the narrow niches of the poor. The poor are like deer -- hundreds to the acre. The rich become rarer and more tigerish as they grow richer.

Herein also lies the answer to the question: Why are revolutions always led, not by the oppressed, but by the middle-classes? and Why are so many vicious, murderous political gangs drawn from the nicely brought up and spoken boys and girls of the middle-classes?

Delacroix - wikipedia
      The aspiring and prosperous -- from the middle to the upper classes -- have always had fewer children than the poor and higher aspirations for the few they have. So when the pressure on resources mounts -- when there aren't enough houses or enough food or enough 'good' jobs to earn enough money to buy, say, a house -- who feels the pinch first and the most keenly? Answer: the better-off 'middle-classes.'
      The very wealthy, the oligarchs or aristocracy are insulated by their extreme wealth. The poor are used to hardship and never expected much anyway. They're grateful to 'have a roof over their head and a loaf on the table.'
      But those caught in the middle, those who grew up expecting that their life would include a comfortable house with a big garden, an interesting, rewarding job, the wherewithal to travel and follow interests, whether it be rock-climbing or pottery -- what happens when they find that they are going to have to settle for much less than their parents had? That they can't find a job, can't afford a house, or a car or a holiday -- or a child?
       It understandably comes as a humiliating, painful shock. And why shouldn't it? After all, nothing about the situation is their fault. They didn't choose the time they were born in, or the way they were raised. They'd never even heard of niche-space and breeding strategy and, even if they had, couldn't do anything about it.

When Trade Is Not Enough

 Colinvaux argues that niche-space can be created or increased by trade and technological advance -- because a new technology, whether it's ship-building, smelting metal, or programming computers, creates jobs.
          But, in some periods there comes a point when no new technology is coming to the rescue and trade is no longer supplying enough resources or enough profit to support the growing population. What then?
          Then it inevitably occurs to the naked ape that if, instead of trading with a particular country, if they just tookover the country instead, that would be more profitable.
          At any given time, there are always several ambitious Apes seeking power. If one of these ambitious Apes happens to coincide with a squeeze on niche-space -- well, then you have an Alexander, an Augustus, a Clive of India, a Napolean, a Hitler, all of them whole-heartedly supported by their tightly-squeezed countrymen, longing for more niche-space -- which answers all those questions about war. Hitler even spoke about 'living-room.'
          These 'wars of civilisation,' Colinvaux points out, are always a stronger, more technologically advanced state grabbing a weaker (if not geographically smaller), less advanced, less organised country. Whatever high-flown reason is given, whatever excuse is put forward, it is always a straight-forward bullying snatch of land and resources by the stronger state. There has never been an example of, say, a small tribe of acquisitive Bushmen attacking France or Britain. Barbarians took down Rome, yes -- but they were, in fact, highly organised and well-equipped barbarians, quite wealthy in their own opinion -- just as Genghis Khan's 'barbarians' were at a later period. In each case the 'barbarians' faced large states exhausted by their efforts to find new niche-space for their cramped and fractious people; states that had run out of options.

War and colonisation creates niche-space not only by gaining access to resources such as food and materials at less cost -- it also creates interesting and generally well-rewarded jobs for the young of the better-off. They become viceroys and governors of the colonies, merchant-traders, spice-growers, tea-planters. The armies needed to enforce colonisation also provide niche-space for 'the sweepings of the gutter.'
          But breeding strategy continues to do its stuff and the new niche-space gained at the cost of war is filled up by the increasing population.
         Sometimes, it takes a while. The colonisation of Australia and the Americas (and the destruction of the native civilisation,) siphoned off surplus population and relieved pressure for several centuries.'Go West, young man.' There will never, Colinvaux remarks, be access to such a pressure-release valve again.

Why was Europe the 'cockpit of war?' Colinvaux argues that there were too many nations crammed into one land mass, their populations increasing and aspiring. Every time the pressure of falling resources was felt, another revolution or war was triggered as the prosperous classes felt the pinch and grew angry.

          To win big, final victories and establish an Empire to last for hundreds of years, as the Romans did, you have to go against less well-armed and organised opponents with a tactic they cannot withstand. Alexander won his victories with the phalanx. The Romans had the legion and the tortoise.
Wikipedia: printing press
          But in Europe was developed a piece of technology than not only created a lot of niche-space, it meant that no war-like state was going to be able to win crushing, final victories ever again:-- the printing-press. Once the printing-press was invented, any new tactic you invented was, within a few years, available to everyone else. Hence the endless round of revolutions and wars in Europe, which had no direction, not north, west, south or east, to send its restless and disappointed young and no way of winning new niche-space by winning a lasting victory over another European state.
         This is still true and will probably ensure that Europe will be riven with war again.

Oh, but the European Common Market was created, in part, to prevent war in Europe ever happening again. But all over Europe are nations seething with people whose niche-space has just crashed in on them, thanks to machinations of the wealthy in the bankers' niche. These people, many of whom qualified as lecturers, lawyers or doctors are crushed into a place where they don't want to be. If Colinvaux is right, revolution and war will follow.

          In the last year, the IRA have started attacks again (albeit fitfully.) Daesh commit atrocities. Journalists confess themselves puzzled that the boys and girls who run away to join Daesh are not only 'middle-class' but often appear to know little about Islam. Nor, often, it seems, do the people who recruit them.
          Colinvaux argues that this is because it's not, at bottom, about religion or politics. It never was. It is, and always was, about niche-space. And breeding strategy.

          Left-wingers in the UK at the moment are puzzled and despairing at the political swing to the right -- by the fact that the 'Nasty Party' keeps being re-elected, despite their proving, again and again, just how nasty they are. Good-hearted people are dismayed by the increasing xenophobia, the increasing tendency to stigmatise, punish and isolate the poor. They are distressed by the push to turn schools into academies which can refuse admission to pupils who, to be blunt, they consider not good enough and by the push to privatise the NHS, which would take us back to my great-grandparents' age, when one of their children died because sending for a doctor would have cost twelve and a half pence, which they didn't have.
          If Colinvaux is right, this isn't puzzling at all. The shift to the right, the hardening of class-barriers, is shrinking niche-space in action. As niche-space shrinks people move to protect the space they have. They harden their attitude, become more callous, more prejudiced and xenophobic, less open to argument or new ideas. This is shown in the way they vote. Wealthier people, of course, have more ability to protect their niche-space: and they do so, aggressively. And as the niche-space of others contracts, that of the very wealthy becomes ever wider and more comfortable since the cost of labour falls, making them more profit.
          Our present Tories are eager to rid themselves of 'red tape' which protects workers' rights and the environment. They want back those good old Victorian Values so beloved of the Tories -- when servants were plentiful and cheap, the lower-classes knew their place and weren't there workhouses?


Humans, in common with all other life on earth, have never changed their breeding strategy. They have as many children as they think they can raise to adulthood within the niche-space they occupy at the time. It's natural, it's Nature -- and with all other species, it works pretty well.

But human beings, uniquely, learned to expand their niche-space beyond all other species. We long ago left behind the basics of food, water and a lair. Now we not only live in every region except the poles but we include a home of our own, fashionable clothing and electronic gadgets among our needs -- if not as necessities, then as aspirations.

We now not only have as many children as we think we can afford in our niche-space, massively increasing demand on resources year on year on year -- but we are now occupied in trying to escape death for longer and longer, in trying to ensure that infertile couples can have children too, and in preserving the lives of those who would have naturally died young. It is ruinous to our societies and the planet.

I first read Colinvaux's 'Fate of Nations' over 20 years ago. It lit up my head then, and it does now.
The book is fascinating. Not cheerful -- in fact, rather depressing -- but clarifying. Clarity often is depressing.

'Fate of Nations' is particuarly uncheering for a left-winger like me; but it's hard to deny the truth behind it. The theory doesn't aim to justify war, cruelty, infanticide and so forth. It isn't trying to make people who have children or want to live longer feel guilty -- after all, these perfectly natural desires are so much a part of us, how could we avoid them?

The book simply makes clear the pattern that underlies it all.

In short, a great book if you want to think. But not if you want to sleep easy.

And I'd be interested to know what other History Girls think of the theory. Do you find it convincing, over-ambitious, old hat -- or 'other'?

This is a post from one of our Reserve History Girls and we are very grateful to Susan Price for it. Janie Hampton will be back next month.

Susan Price won

The Massacre of Glencoe by Lynne Benton

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This summer we travelled around Scotland with American friends, touring through the Highlands via the Pass of Glencoe, where our tour guide told us all about the famous massacre.  I’d known about it before, but somehow travelling through that bleak, beautiful countryside whilst hearing what had happened in 1692 brought home the stark horror of the event.

The Pass of Glencoe

A 19th century depiction of the site of the massacre.

As ever, it was religion that caused the problem.  In England William and Mary, staunch Protestants, were on the throne.

William and Mary
They had heard that many of the Highland clans were equally staunch Catholics who called themselves Jacobites because they were still hoping for the return of the Catholic King James VII who was still living in exile in France. 

James VII
Fear of a French invasion in support of the deposed king led the Government to make payments to the Highland clan chiefs in return for their allegiance to William and Mary.  In order to claim their payments the clan chiefs must sign a declaration of allegiance before 1 January 1692.  The Under Secretary of State for Scotland, Sir John Dalrymple, was in charge of the operation, though he was far from impartial in his fulfilment of his role, having already a long-standing feud with the Macdonald clan.

From a 19th century picture of Macdonald of Glencoe
On hearing of this ultimatum, Alexander Macdonald of Glencoe made it a point of honour to delay his signing of the document until the last moment.  Eventually, however, on 31 December, he made his way to Fort William to sign it.  When he arrived there he was informed that he couldn't sign it there at Fort William, but must go to Inverness - a distance of some 65 miles even today, on good roads with good transport, so even more in those days, especially in the dead of winter.  By the time he made it to Inverness he had missed the deadline by several days, but officials there told him it would be all right because he had done his best to sign on time.  He returned home to Glencoe satisfied that he would get his payment and all would be well.

It is now thought that he may have been deliberately misled, as Sir John Dalrymple then decided to make an example of Macdonald and his clan in order to deter others.  Accordingly troops under the leadership of Campbell of Glenlyon were sent to the village of Glencoe with orders to befriend the villagers.  The Highlanders were famous for their hospitality to strangers, so when the troops arrived they were greeted with friendship and offers of food and beds during their stay.  And there they stayed for almost two weeks, on good terms with the Macdonald clan.
                                                                                                                                                                  However, on 12 February Campbell received his orders from Sir John:

The order to kill the Macdonalds

That night the Campbells turned on their hosts and murdered 40 of them.  They then burnt down their houses and destroyed the village of Glencoe.  Several of the Macdonalds managed to escape, but due to the weather and the bleak terrain, and the fact that most of them were in their nightwear, many died of exposure.  

The atrocity aroused widespread condemnation, not least because the Campbells had enjoyed the hospitality of the Macdonalds before killing them, but an enquiry into the incident didn’t take place until 1695.  This resulted in Sir John Dalrymple’s dismissal, but William’s failure to deal swiftly with the matter intensified anti-English feeling in Scotland.  For many years afterwards the feud between the Macdonalds and the Campbells continued, and is reputed to still rankle in some areas.  In the episode “Time and Life” from the TV series Mad Men there is a reference to the massacre when headmaster Bruce MacDonald in the year 1970 still holds a grudge against Pete Campbell.                                                    

Glencoe was a popular topic with 19th century poets, the best known work being Sir Walter Scott’s "Massacre of Glencoe".   And in 1998, the so-called Henderson Stone was set up at Glencoe which purports to mark the location used by associates of the MacDonalds to warn of impending raids. 
The Henderson Stone at Glencoe
The inscription reads as follows:



See my website: www.lynnebenton.com

The Importance of Libraries by L. J. MacWhirter

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Author photo by Kate Gren

L.J. MacWhirter was born just outside London, grew up in the North of England and today lives in Edinburgh with her husband and family. After studying English Literature, Liz went on to become an award-winning copywriter. Black Snow Falling is her début novel for young adults and up. It draws on her fascination with the inner workings of minds and mechanical machines, and how people can be controlled by cultural dynamics. Black Snow Falling launches on 1 August 2018 and is nominated for the First Book Award at the Edinburgh International Book Festival.

www.ljmacwhirter.com

Facebook @LJMacWhirter

Twitter and Instagram @LizMacWhirter


Without libraries, I doubt I’d have written my début novel for young adults, Black Snow Falling. I doubt I’d even be a writer. I spent my childhood with my nose in books, many from our local library in Bramhall. When I had the idea for this novel, I burrowed into the National Library of Scotland in Edinburgh. Yellow request slips piled up as high as my thumb. Numerous notes became compost. I discovered that the 16th century was the perfect time to locate this story about hopes and dreams snatched away. The book research also revealed key facts that shaped the story.


 “The Rainbow Portrait” of Elizabeth I, which is featured in Black Snow Falling. Photo: Hatfield House

A number of books also feature strongly in the story of Black Snow Falling. Ruth smuggles a book to Silas, her secret love, when they meet in their hiding place in Crowbury woods. Silas is a stable hand who longs for more in life; his hunger is fed by her books. “The words show me other worlds, Ruth,” he says, and it’s driving him to leave Crowbury.

Ruth’s wealthy family possess a whole library, together with a Cabinet of Curiosities from the New World and an Armillary Sphere from Italy.


The Armillary Sphere in Black Snow Falling, representing the geocentric understanding of the heavens.

I decided to make Ruth one of the very few privileged educated young women because this unmasks the sexism of the age. Not only is she to be forced into marriage at the age of 15, but she is to be denied her books, too. My library research had revealed that, at the time, it was actually believed that reading made women infertile – as if using their minds would ruin their wombs. Talk about patriarchal control. A thinking woman was a threat. Dress all the young women in red and you’d be one step away from Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale.

Linking reading with fertility is, of course, as nonsensical as the geocentric belief that the earth was at the centre of the universe, which was upheld across the Western world until hundreds of years later.

The 1593 geocentric Armillary Sphere at the Museo Galileo, Florence, which helped to inspire Black Snow Falling

This brings me to another plot-changing fact I found. Everyone has heard of Copernicus and Galileo who proposed that the earth was turning around the sun – the heretical theory of heliocentricity. But I, for one, had never heard of Thomas Digges, who also quietly published a book in 1576 proposing the same. I found this modern copy of his book, The Prognostication Everlasting of Right Good Effect in the National Library of Scotland. I’d only ordered it up from the stacks because I liked the title.

The Prognostication Everlasting of Right Good Effect by Leonard Digges and Thomas Digges 1576, The National Library of Scotland

Perhaps it’s no surprise that Thomas Digges was the ward of John Dee, who owned the second biggest library in the country. Dee’s library numbered over 4,000 books when both Cambridge and Oxford Universities had fewer than 900 between them.

Connecting this to Black Snow Falling, Dee and Digges would have lived at the same time as Ruth and they could have known her adventurous father, the merchant-turned-noble, Earl of Crowbury. So I put Dee and Digges in Black Snow Falling, as one of Ruth’s flashbacks. It was a significant meeting for her because she knew that Copernicus and Digges were both so radical and heretical, her father had to keep their books secret. Their ideas – printed and disseminated – were seen as a threat to the establishment.

Mid the umpteenth draft of the novel, I went with some visiting friends to an Open Day at the Royal Observatory of Edinburgh, just a mile from where I live. Incredibly, there I saw Copernicus’s original book from 1543, De Revolutionibus (On the Revolution of the Heavenly Orbs) in a private library called the Crawford Collection. It is one of only 276 surviving copies. This book shook the world.

 On the Revolution of the Heavenly Orbs by Nicolas Copernicus, 1543, The Crawford Collection, Royal Observatory of Edinburgh

“Books did have a habit of turning things on their head,” as Ruth says in Black Snow Falling.

Copernicus’ heliocentric theory, placing the sun at the centre of the heavens. The Crawford Collection, Royal Observatory of Edinburgh.

Because she is educated through her love of books, my character Ruth is even more terrified by the prospect of her world snapping shut. The novel is about her struggle to somehow find agency.

At the risk of stating the obvious, the freedom to follow the question, to think, is vital for us individually and for the health of society as a whole. To do this, we all need broad access to books and content to help us see beyond our own horizons. At this time when libraries are closing all over the country, it’s more than doors that are being shut. It will almost certainly close minds, as well.


Black Snow Falling
will be published in hardback by Scotland Street Press on 1 August 2018.






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