I am excited to say that I'll be crossing the water to visit Washington and New York in just a few weeks now. It's always interested me that our transatlantic cousins refer to
their country more often as "The United States", whereas we British
generally call it "America".
There is a difference, of course. The United States is a political entity which occupies the land of America.
Thus, at the time of the revolution, you
could visit visit America without actually being in the United
States. Only later did the States multiply to fill all the land.
The distinction is most obvious if you visit Hawaii when of course you're not in America at all, but Polynesia - however you are
in the United States. We are short of an adjective in this respect, however the Spanish have cracked this problem. They have one word "americano" for someone from the New World, and the alternative
"estadounidense" meaning "United States Person."
The
point is that there is a relevant difference - and we should
probably be more thoughtful in our choice of noun, especially given the delight
that some denizens of the United Kingdom take in berrating a "
United States Person" who is careless enough to use the word "British" instead of "English", "Scottish" or "Welsh".
"Ohh I love the British accent!" says an American, trying to be complimentary.
"A British accent!" comes the derisory exclamation. "There's no such thing as a British accent! I'm English!"
Such
an argument is patently nonsense, since there's no such thing as an "English accent" either. You might be Scouse, Geordie, Brummie or Cockney,
for example. Conversely, a Briton might identify a transatlantic tourist's "American
accent" when the New York accent is as distinctive as the South
Carolinan. And typically the tourist will turn out to be Canadian anyway.
But
is it any wonder that folks from abroad struggle to understand the mess
of geographical terminology which is used in our neck of the woods when most Britons don't use it correctly?
Most people here avoid the full term "Great Britain" but it is painfully
present during the Olympics where it wrongly applies to a team which can
include competitors from outside Great Britain - e.g. Northern Ireland!
The
shortened version "Britain" is the most common parlance when discussing
our country - despite it too being wrongly used on
almost every occasion. Not only does the term "Britain" exclude over a
thousand islands which make up our nation, but it is politically
meaningless. "Britain" only refers to the main landmass, and it doesn't
describe either the entire country of the United Kingdom, nor even all
the constituent parts which make up the United Kingdom - each of which are also called countries!
It is the "United Kingdom" which is recognised by Europe
as a country, and yet folks from their respective corners will fiercely
state that England, Scotland and Wales are all countries in their own
right. It gets even more confusing when you try to explain to someone that
the "British Isles" includes the Republic of Ireland, which is not part
of the United Kingdom.
So, as I journey to America to enjoy the United States, I will keep in mind the difference, and be good-humoured towards anyone who manages to at least correctly identify that I'm from Britain. Bonus points for identifying me as English. Although I am a bit Scottish too.
Friday, 23 September 2011
Monday, 12 September 2011
Immortal Buildings and Distant Cries of the Civil War
When watching archaeology programmes, it is fascinating to see someone carefully extract an artefact from the ground which has been locked away in the soil for hundreds or thousands of years. When a Roman brooch is teased into the 21st century air, is it amazing to think that the last person whose fingers touched that artefact breathed their last breath at least 1700 years ago.
What is sometimes tricky to appreciate is that the same isn't true of extant structures. Period buildings have not been hidden from sight since their own time, but they have remained an every day landmark for scores of generations. I find it slightly bemusing to see the Colosseum in paintings from the 18th century (for example the one below by Antonio Joli) because the people in Georgian costumes look strangely anachronistic next to it. Part of my brain struggles to believe it survived second-by-second for two millennia.
It's amusing to think that anyone you can name from history could have stood within the famous Roman amphitheatre - William the Conqueror, Geoffrey Chaucer, Dick Turpin or Florence Nightingale. They could all have stood and pondered how strange life was in the olden days.
I keep this in mind when I tour towns and villages looking for my ancestors. I love to find Tudor buildings because I know that even if I can't find my ancestors' own homes, at least I've gazed upon a building that was a regular sight to them in their daily lives. A recent expedition to Stonehouse near Stroud in search of the Grimes family turned up the tastefully preserved "Tudor Tandori" - although it seems unlikely to have been a Tandori since Tudor times.
The oldest building in my village is probably one of the sandstone cottages of uncertain architectural origin, possibly late 16th century. I find these buildings fantastic keystones for the daydreamer and it's astonishing to think that the foundations of that building were laid by the hands of workmen when Elizabeth I was the popular icon of the day. It is pleasing to contemplate the long-ago sunsets that were watched through those windows, and touch the walls which have been washed by a hundred-thousand rain storms.
I find it a very sobering prospect to stand next to any structure which pre-dates the civil war in particular. There can be few events that gripped the country in a manner so tumultuous that it could have divided any street, house or family. The war was a crisis from which it would have been impossible to hide, and our peninsula was still held by the King in 1643, but 1644 saw Prince Rupert lead a Royalist army to recapture Liverpool, just ten miles from here. When Parliamentarian troops left Liverpool to its own devices, many of the 500 citizens were killed when the Royalists sacked the town.
Although the English Civil War officially ended in 1651, there were still outbreaks of violence. The oldest dated building here is the Manor House (shown above), with a stone showing 1655 and it was in that year that Royalist insurgents in the south-west attempted to rise up against Cromwell's parliament. They were defeated and the matter came to a savage end with the beheading of the ring-leaders.
When the Manor House was four years old our peninsula had another brush with the troubles of the age when Chester became home to rebellion, just 17 miles down the road. On 2nd August 1659 Sir John Booth marched on Chester with a force of insurgents, where sympathisers opened the gates for him. But after three weeks, Chester surrendered back to Parliamentarian forces without resistance and Booth himself was arrested dressed as a woman after he tried to disguise himself and flee to the continent.
That unassuming white building stood impassive as the monarchy was restored, plague struck, America declared independence, the steam engine was invented, the railway came to the town, two world wars passed by, the television era began, and then the internet was invented. And now you're reading about that house which pre-dated the first newspaper, via a device which would seem like witchcraft to those who built it.
If that house lives to be double its present age, it will stand until the year 2367. If the Colosseum lives to double its present age, then historians will still be admiring it in the year 3942. The turn of the 40th century is as unimaginable to us now as the 21st century would be to a Roman, and yet their immortal structures live on.
What is sometimes tricky to appreciate is that the same isn't true of extant structures. Period buildings have not been hidden from sight since their own time, but they have remained an every day landmark for scores of generations. I find it slightly bemusing to see the Colosseum in paintings from the 18th century (for example the one below by Antonio Joli) because the people in Georgian costumes look strangely anachronistic next to it. Part of my brain struggles to believe it survived second-by-second for two millennia.
I keep this in mind when I tour towns and villages looking for my ancestors. I love to find Tudor buildings because I know that even if I can't find my ancestors' own homes, at least I've gazed upon a building that was a regular sight to them in their daily lives. A recent expedition to Stonehouse near Stroud in search of the Grimes family turned up the tastefully preserved "Tudor Tandori" - although it seems unlikely to have been a Tandori since Tudor times.
The oldest building in my village is probably one of the sandstone cottages of uncertain architectural origin, possibly late 16th century. I find these buildings fantastic keystones for the daydreamer and it's astonishing to think that the foundations of that building were laid by the hands of workmen when Elizabeth I was the popular icon of the day. It is pleasing to contemplate the long-ago sunsets that were watched through those windows, and touch the walls which have been washed by a hundred-thousand rain storms.
Although the English Civil War officially ended in 1651, there were still outbreaks of violence. The oldest dated building here is the Manor House (shown above), with a stone showing 1655 and it was in that year that Royalist insurgents in the south-west attempted to rise up against Cromwell's parliament. They were defeated and the matter came to a savage end with the beheading of the ring-leaders.
When the Manor House was four years old our peninsula had another brush with the troubles of the age when Chester became home to rebellion, just 17 miles down the road. On 2nd August 1659 Sir John Booth marched on Chester with a force of insurgents, where sympathisers opened the gates for him. But after three weeks, Chester surrendered back to Parliamentarian forces without resistance and Booth himself was arrested dressed as a woman after he tried to disguise himself and flee to the continent.
That unassuming white building stood impassive as the monarchy was restored, plague struck, America declared independence, the steam engine was invented, the railway came to the town, two world wars passed by, the television era began, and then the internet was invented. And now you're reading about that house which pre-dated the first newspaper, via a device which would seem like witchcraft to those who built it.
If that house lives to be double its present age, it will stand until the year 2367. If the Colosseum lives to double its present age, then historians will still be admiring it in the year 3942. The turn of the 40th century is as unimaginable to us now as the 21st century would be to a Roman, and yet their immortal structures live on.
Saturday, 10 September 2011
Call That Rioting? An 18th Century Lesson in Chaos
Thankfully, after a few days it passed and we breathed a collective sigh of relief. But looking to the past we see the truth of the matter - it has never ended. The gaps between moments of violent unrest from the populous may shrink or grow depending on the political and economic climate, but our leaders should never be shocked at bouts of frustrated destruction.
Spare a thought for the average citizens of Britain in the latter half of the 18th century. Starting with pockets of trouble from the restless poor, protests became intermingled with political agendas until they built into periods which made August 2011 seem relatively safe.
Scattered incidents had occurred starting in 1757 when William Pitt's attempt to strengthen our army prompted a public outcry and rioting. A year later in 1758, the enclosure movement was resulting in poor peasants being denied access to public wasteland and riots broke out in rural areas.
January 1766 saw widespread disorder in London after the
government attempted to impose a Stamp Act to raise taxes in the
American colonies. Just five months later, as food prices soared, the
south saw huge numbers of the poor gathered to wreak havoc and protest
in the hope that farmers would lower their prices.On the 10th May 1768 an MP called John Wilkes who was hugely popular with the public fell foul of the government and King. He had won four elections but was expelled from parliament and after being found guilty of libel, his supporters caused chaos. Troops had to be used to quell disturbances in Southark as mobs roamed the streets with weapons. Road travel was not safe as people were attacked in their vehicles and the windows of houses were smashed. Police were assaulted trying to arrest people and troops fired shots into the crowd, killing six rioters and wounding 15.
At the same time in the north, resentment had built to dangerous levels following the introduction of new machinery in the textiles industry which threatened the jobs of weavers. Fearing for their livelihoods, men started grouping together and mounting large scale assaults on property and equipment. James Hargreaves, inventor of the Spinning Jenny, had rioters break into his home and smash all his machines.
Some peace was restored to the nation, but there was always an undercurrent of unease, and much anger was directed towards the King and Parliament. On 13th Febuary 1772 for example, rioting marred the funeral of the King's mother as her funeral procession was mobbed. Just a year later in Cornwall, local tin-miners were being affected by high grain prices and their frustration at their low income turned into violence. The tinners went on the rampage and seized stocks of grain. Troops had to be sent in once again to deal with it.
At this point in history, anarchy was erupting across the Atlantic too as attacks spread in the American colonies. Demonstrations and confrontations were commonplace but by 1774 this was rapidly descending towards war, and the first shots rang out at Lexington in 1775.
All was not well in Britain either in the years that followed. Exploiting the conflict with the colonies, France chose this time to declare war. In the hope of recruiting more men from all faiths into the army, parliament pushed through legislation called the Catholic Relief Act. This addressed a lot of inequality for Catholics, especially in terms of land-ownership, but the move was so unpopular in Scotland that mobs took to the street in January 1779 and an orgy of destruction followed.
Other domestic problems were still rife as new technology was still seen as a threat to employment. Framework Knitters in the Nottingham area had tried and failed to use political means to address their grievances, but their campaign for better wages was defeated in parliament and the desperate people turned to rioting. Then, on 9th October, a mob smashed Richard Arkwright's revolutionary water-powered spinning factory which had come to be a hated symbol of bad working conditions.
Tensions simmered up and down the country over a number of contentious social changes, until disturbance erupted once again on 2nd June 1780. This time it was over proposed extensions to the aforementioned Catholic Relief Act which prompted outrage across England. When Lord George Gordon travelled to the House of Commons to attempt to get the controversial legislation repealed, he was accompanied by a force of some 60,000 ill-tempered supporters. The atmosphere in the densely-packed crowd was tense and when Gordon berated his own massed followers, the mood turned ugly and the destruction began on an epic scale.
The following day the rioting continued with no sign of abating. There was a third day, then a fourth and a fifth of unrivalled chaos, but worse was to come.
On 6th June Newgate prison was stormed by the mob and all
the inmates were released. The level of violence was unparalleled as
the liberated criminals joined the carnage. Houses were burnt down and
attacked, chapels were indiscriminately sacked, and the distilleries at
Holborn were blown up. But city authorities still resisted the use of
the military to quell the situation.The next day the madness continued, and then the day after that. The capital was in turmoil and the destruction was extensive. Finally troops were called in, with large parts of London having been reduced to rubble. Initially 235 people were reported killed with 173 wounded. Only 139 arrests were made, including Lord George Gordon, the man originally responsible for the disorder. 25 men were accused of being ring-leaders in the trouble and all were found guilty and sentenced to be hanged.
Revolutionary groups sprang up around Britain, spurred on by the events in France and, two years later on 15th July 1791, rioting erupted again, this time in Birmingham. When a banquet was held to celebrate the French Revolution, it was stormed by a thirty-strong "church and king" mob who then went on the rampage in Britain's largest industrial centre. Drunken looters roamed the streets, burning buildings and even sacking the home of well-known scientist and political dissenter Joseph Priestly. His library and laboratory were destroyed and in a move reminiscent of the Bastille storming, they opened the town prison, leading to more criminals on the streets.
The following year saw mob riots in Glasgow and Edinburgh as discontent grew with the political system. Dundee saw some of the worst of it, with two whole weeks of sustained destruction, culminating in troops being brought in. Outbreaks of trouble were never far away in England as the unruly public suffered poor harvests and then war with France. In October 1795 King George III's coach was fired at as he rode to the state opening of parliament and an angry crowd later hurled missiles. Even Downing Street came under attack and the windows of the Prime Minister's house was smashed.
The Militia Act which had been introduced to bolster the army remained extremely unpopular and as the war effort continued, riots erupted in Scotland. Incidents worsened until in August 1797 cavalry charged a group of protesters leaving 11 dead, including two local boys.
That same year, the Manchester food riots saw hundreds of people looting. The ring-leader Hannah Smith was given the death sentence - considered at the time an unexpectedly harsh punishment for theft of food, but in the wider context of inciting large-scale disturbance it was deemed right. These were the last major troubles of the 18th century but the following decades weren't without their own share of incidents, most notably of which were the food riots caused by the struggling economy.
The repeated social uprising of the latter half of the 18th century is shocking because it is so obviously the same society we live in today. We might want to believe that rampaging London mobs belong in medieval times but the stories above feature streets, jails and a political system that we would all recognise - and these tales are far more harrowing than what we lived through last month.
We now live in a country with six times more people than there were in 1800, and yet we are more civil, living in less fear and with far greater luxury than ever before. So, despite what we might be lead to believe about our society being broken and filled with barbaric and disrespectful people, it is perhaps comforting to reflect on the fact there has never been a Britain which is more restrained and more peaceful than the one we live in today.
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Wales (The Britons) v England (The Foreigners)
In light of the international football game tonight in which England struggled to beat Wales 1-0, I thought it would be appropriate to shine a light into the darkness of the past to reveal the confusing nature of these countries' names.
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles (from circa A.D. 890 to the 12th century) say that the Island Britain consists of five nations:
The fifth item on the list is the most mysterious - but that's for another day. So, let's begin by travelling back a thousand years before the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles were started to examine the second item: The Welsh, who are also intriguingly listed as "the British".
In a historic sense, "a Briton" can be assumed to be roughly synonymous with what might be better understood as "a Celt". This is the culture generally (but not necessarily correctly) thought of as the first inhabitants of our island - thus they are awarded the badge of "the original Britons". Theirs was the Iron Age civilization who fought bravely against the invading Romans in the 1st century BC and who later counted Boudica amongst their most famous leaders.
Four hundred years later, after the Romans abandoned the conquered Britain, their political infrastructure broke down and military support evaporated. The top echelons in the country had been Romans, but millions of ordinary folk would have retained a lot of their Celtic heritage from before the invasion, despite the revolutionary ideas and technology of their occupiers. So, when the Romans and their language left, the "Celtic" identity re-emerged, and the post-Roman British were able to re-assert themselves.
One British King was called Vortigern, and he struggled to maintain his grip on his lands in the wake of the Roman military departure. He was a leading ruler among Britons and when the Scottish and Pictish tribes to the north of Hadrian's Wall (nations 3 and 4 on the list) threatened his territory he invited the Saxons from mainland Europe to settle as mercenaries to aid his cause. Unfortunately these continental warriors rebelled, expanded their territory and brought new waves of immigrants in their wake, including the Danish tribe of Angles.
In 400 AD, all of the British mainland had been Romano-British. By 500 AD, the marauding Saxons and Angles had encroached from the eastern and south-eastern coast, with the latter tribe particularly spreading far inland to the midlands. By 600 AD, the Anglo-Saxons had swarmed over two-thirds of the country, pushing the Native Britons back to the far western areas. These Celtic/Romano-British became isolated in the places we now call Devon, Cornwall, Lancashire, Cumbria and Wales. By 700 AD, their last refuges were Cornwall and Wales only.
So, the invading Angles had taken lands from the native Celtic Britons who were forced back into their stronghold of Wales - and that's how the Chronicles arrived at their naming of "the Welsh" as "British", whereas the term "English" came from the incoming "Anglecynn" meaning "the kin of the Angles".
These invading Angles took their name from part of their ancestral home in Jutland, where they originated from a peninsula called Angeln. This peninsula in turn is named after its outline which is hook-shaped. From this same root we have the word "angle" as in the geometric figure, and similarly "angling" as in "to fish with a hook".
Thus, the Welsh are the British and the English are the foreigners.
1300 years later it might seem pedantic to highlight the oddity of a football score based on these ancient names of nations, but it is surprising how much pride and gentle racism there is between the countries which make up Great Britain.
The feelings of the Celts towards the continental invaders are still present in our modern language. For example, we are familiar with the Scottish insult "sasannach" which is used to unkindly refer to an English person. This originates from the Gaelic form of "Saxons"- a direct and derogatory reference to the invasive heritage of the English.
On the opposing side, the Saxon disdain of the natives is evident in the very name of the Celtic nation of Wales. The word "Wealas" is actually a Saxon term meaning "foreigners" and it stuck not only to Wales but also that other enclave into which the Native Britons retreated. Their refuge peninsula became known as "West Wealas" and also at one time "Corn-wealas" after the Celtic Cornovii tribe - but ultimately in the present day we call it "Cornwall", still carrying its -wall suffix branding them "Celtic Foreigners".
This pattern is repeated across the country, wherever Saxons observed and derided the Celtic tribes. Not far from where I live, the town of Wallasey bares the same root from "Wealas". Then there's the town of Walsden, and the old name of the Avebury stone circle was Waledich.
Casting the net wider and the word appears across Europe, wherever Saxons saw Celts or Romans. The Polish call Italy "Włochy", the Hungarians call Romanians "Vlachok" and there is even a wine called "welschriesling" from Slovenia.
The word "Wealas" mutated even further into "Galwalas" which was the Old English name for Gaul - and that bridges the gap to reveal that the word Gaul itself is derived from a corruption of "Walha". This complicated linguistic circle closes beautifully if you then recall that the modern-day French name for Wales is "le pays de Galles". What this means is that the Britons named the French nation "foreigners" and they returned the favour by calling the Britons "foreigners".
It's a reminder from history that we are all outsiders from someone's perspective - but also it's worth remembering that Celtic Britons were prehistoric migrants from mainland Europe too. So all this illustrates that the enduring rivalries can now be quashed by enlightened understanding of our shared heritage, and consequently all international sporting events in future become null and void.
But next time England play Wales, be sure to use this information to construct a pithy anecdote about the Welsh being the true Britons and I'm sure the nearest burly, tattooed English gentleman in the pub will be delighted and amused to hear it.
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles (from circa A.D. 890 to the 12th century) say that the Island Britain consists of five nations:
- English
- Welsh / British
- Scottish
- Pictish
- Latin
The fifth item on the list is the most mysterious - but that's for another day. So, let's begin by travelling back a thousand years before the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles were started to examine the second item: The Welsh, who are also intriguingly listed as "the British".
In a historic sense, "a Briton" can be assumed to be roughly synonymous with what might be better understood as "a Celt". This is the culture generally (but not necessarily correctly) thought of as the first inhabitants of our island - thus they are awarded the badge of "the original Britons". Theirs was the Iron Age civilization who fought bravely against the invading Romans in the 1st century BC and who later counted Boudica amongst their most famous leaders.
Four hundred years later, after the Romans abandoned the conquered Britain, their political infrastructure broke down and military support evaporated. The top echelons in the country had been Romans, but millions of ordinary folk would have retained a lot of their Celtic heritage from before the invasion, despite the revolutionary ideas and technology of their occupiers. So, when the Romans and their language left, the "Celtic" identity re-emerged, and the post-Roman British were able to re-assert themselves.
One British King was called Vortigern, and he struggled to maintain his grip on his lands in the wake of the Roman military departure. He was a leading ruler among Britons and when the Scottish and Pictish tribes to the north of Hadrian's Wall (nations 3 and 4 on the list) threatened his territory he invited the Saxons from mainland Europe to settle as mercenaries to aid his cause. Unfortunately these continental warriors rebelled, expanded their territory and brought new waves of immigrants in their wake, including the Danish tribe of Angles.
In 400 AD, all of the British mainland had been Romano-British. By 500 AD, the marauding Saxons and Angles had encroached from the eastern and south-eastern coast, with the latter tribe particularly spreading far inland to the midlands. By 600 AD, the Anglo-Saxons had swarmed over two-thirds of the country, pushing the Native Britons back to the far western areas. These Celtic/Romano-British became isolated in the places we now call Devon, Cornwall, Lancashire, Cumbria and Wales. By 700 AD, their last refuges were Cornwall and Wales only.
So, the invading Angles had taken lands from the native Celtic Britons who were forced back into their stronghold of Wales - and that's how the Chronicles arrived at their naming of "the Welsh" as "British", whereas the term "English" came from the incoming "Anglecynn" meaning "the kin of the Angles".
These invading Angles took their name from part of their ancestral home in Jutland, where they originated from a peninsula called Angeln. This peninsula in turn is named after its outline which is hook-shaped. From this same root we have the word "angle" as in the geometric figure, and similarly "angling" as in "to fish with a hook".
Thus, the Welsh are the British and the English are the foreigners.
1300 years later it might seem pedantic to highlight the oddity of a football score based on these ancient names of nations, but it is surprising how much pride and gentle racism there is between the countries which make up Great Britain.
The feelings of the Celts towards the continental invaders are still present in our modern language. For example, we are familiar with the Scottish insult "sasannach" which is used to unkindly refer to an English person. This originates from the Gaelic form of "Saxons"- a direct and derogatory reference to the invasive heritage of the English.
On the opposing side, the Saxon disdain of the natives is evident in the very name of the Celtic nation of Wales. The word "Wealas" is actually a Saxon term meaning "foreigners" and it stuck not only to Wales but also that other enclave into which the Native Britons retreated. Their refuge peninsula became known as "West Wealas" and also at one time "Corn-wealas" after the Celtic Cornovii tribe - but ultimately in the present day we call it "Cornwall", still carrying its -wall suffix branding them "Celtic Foreigners".
This pattern is repeated across the country, wherever Saxons observed and derided the Celtic tribes. Not far from where I live, the town of Wallasey bares the same root from "Wealas". Then there's the town of Walsden, and the old name of the Avebury stone circle was Waledich.
Casting the net wider and the word appears across Europe, wherever Saxons saw Celts or Romans. The Polish call Italy "Włochy", the Hungarians call Romanians "Vlachok" and there is even a wine called "welschriesling" from Slovenia.
The word "Wealas" mutated even further into "Galwalas" which was the Old English name for Gaul - and that bridges the gap to reveal that the word Gaul itself is derived from a corruption of "Walha". This complicated linguistic circle closes beautifully if you then recall that the modern-day French name for Wales is "le pays de Galles". What this means is that the Britons named the French nation "foreigners" and they returned the favour by calling the Britons "foreigners".
It's a reminder from history that we are all outsiders from someone's perspective - but also it's worth remembering that Celtic Britons were prehistoric migrants from mainland Europe too. So all this illustrates that the enduring rivalries can now be quashed by enlightened understanding of our shared heritage, and consequently all international sporting events in future become null and void.
But next time England play Wales, be sure to use this information to construct a pithy anecdote about the Welsh being the true Britons and I'm sure the nearest burly, tattooed English gentleman in the pub will be delighted and amused to hear it.
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
The Parallel World of Football in History
One hundred years from now I wonder whether it will be very well known that one by-product of the UK Riots of August 2011 was disruption to the football fixtures on the first day of the season. Many - I suspect particularly those in academia - might comment that the postponement of some trivial sport doesn't deserve to be observed in the same breath as the violence, damage and death which was caused in that insane week.
However, for some, the loss of their favourite passtime might be the only way in which they directly perceive any effect of the disorder. If their businesses weren't burning, and they wouldn't otherwise visit North London, then they might never have had any personal inconvenience until they found they couldn't watch Tottenham versus Everton at White Hart Lane.
But more importantly than examining the link between the events, I think it's interesting to dwell on the fact that even when terrible things happen, life does go on. People crave entertainment and distraction from the more distressing elements of life. In school we learn about Roman life and their obsession with the spectacles of the amphitheatre, so equally we should stop to remember that football has been enjoyed alongside the headline-grabbing cataclysms of the day for quite a long time.
At 6am on Saturday 8th September 1888, a market porter called John Davis discovered the body of a woman in a yard in Hanbury Street, Whitechapel. The victim was Annie Chapman, a 48-year-old mother of two who had been living in a common lodging house in the area. She had been stabbed and horribly mutilated, with her throat cut from side to side and her abdomen disembowelled.
That morning, the incident was quickly linked to a similar murder which had happened just a week earlier and Chief Inspector Donald Swanson of Scotland Yard began immediate searches of houses in the area to enquire about suspicious activity. A few hours later, her corpse was taken to Whitechapel Mortuary for further examination. That afternoon West Brom went top of the league after beating Stoke 2-0.
The clichéd swirling mists of Victorian London don't seem to belong to the same world as a stunning twenty-five yard free kick - yet there they are. Jack the Ripper butchered that poor woman on the very same day that Aston Villa defender Gershom Cox scored an unfortunate own goal, resulting in a 1-1 draw with Wolves.
In my mind, Jack the Ripper belongs alongside Sherlock Holmes in a world of opium dens, limehouses and other unfamiliar settings. It's almost inconceivable that actually the infamous and unknown serial killer might also have watched a football match and cheered a superb goal.
The Ripper was killing at the very dawn of the Football League which is still played today, but the game was far from new at the time. Over a decade earlier, in March 1876, a crowd of 17,000 fans watched Scotland beat Wales 4-0.
The opening goal for the home side had come somewhat controversially in the 40th minute when John Ferguson stabbed the ball into the net after it was knocked out of the hands of the Welsh goalkeeper David Thompson. The Scots dominated the game overall, and after two further goals from Lang and MacKinnon, it was put beyond all doubt when Henry McNeil drove the ball into the back of the next after some excellent link-up play between Ferguson and Highet.
Two months after this international game, across the Atlantic, General Custer made his last stand at the Battle of the Little Bighorn.
As well as internationals, other familiar footballing contests had been around for some time, played in an era very much defined by the monarch. In February of 1872 a young Irishman attempted to assassinate Queen Victoria in London. A couple of weeks later the FA Cup final was settled by a single goal.
Further back still in October 1868, a year before Charles Dickens sat down to start writing The Mystery of Edwin Drood, it was the Stoke captain Henry Arnold who scored his side's only goal in a 1-1 draw at home.
This sporting vernacular which I know so well seems odd in unfamiliar Victorian surroundings. Admittedly, the further back you go the stranger the game would have looked, and the smaller the attendance, but the rules laid down in 1863 meant that the game has been played essentially unchanged for nearly 150 years.
However, for some, the loss of their favourite passtime might be the only way in which they directly perceive any effect of the disorder. If their businesses weren't burning, and they wouldn't otherwise visit North London, then they might never have had any personal inconvenience until they found they couldn't watch Tottenham versus Everton at White Hart Lane.
But more importantly than examining the link between the events, I think it's interesting to dwell on the fact that even when terrible things happen, life does go on. People crave entertainment and distraction from the more distressing elements of life. In school we learn about Roman life and their obsession with the spectacles of the amphitheatre, so equally we should stop to remember that football has been enjoyed alongside the headline-grabbing cataclysms of the day for quite a long time.
At 6am on Saturday 8th September 1888, a market porter called John Davis discovered the body of a woman in a yard in Hanbury Street, Whitechapel. The victim was Annie Chapman, a 48-year-old mother of two who had been living in a common lodging house in the area. She had been stabbed and horribly mutilated, with her throat cut from side to side and her abdomen disembowelled.
That morning, the incident was quickly linked to a similar murder which had happened just a week earlier and Chief Inspector Donald Swanson of Scotland Yard began immediate searches of houses in the area to enquire about suspicious activity. A few hours later, her corpse was taken to Whitechapel Mortuary for further examination. That afternoon West Brom went top of the league after beating Stoke 2-0.
The clichéd swirling mists of Victorian London don't seem to belong to the same world as a stunning twenty-five yard free kick - yet there they are. Jack the Ripper butchered that poor woman on the very same day that Aston Villa defender Gershom Cox scored an unfortunate own goal, resulting in a 1-1 draw with Wolves.
In my mind, Jack the Ripper belongs alongside Sherlock Holmes in a world of opium dens, limehouses and other unfamiliar settings. It's almost inconceivable that actually the infamous and unknown serial killer might also have watched a football match and cheered a superb goal.
The Ripper was killing at the very dawn of the Football League which is still played today, but the game was far from new at the time. Over a decade earlier, in March 1876, a crowd of 17,000 fans watched Scotland beat Wales 4-0.
The opening goal for the home side had come somewhat controversially in the 40th minute when John Ferguson stabbed the ball into the net after it was knocked out of the hands of the Welsh goalkeeper David Thompson. The Scots dominated the game overall, and after two further goals from Lang and MacKinnon, it was put beyond all doubt when Henry McNeil drove the ball into the back of the next after some excellent link-up play between Ferguson and Highet.
Two months after this international game, across the Atlantic, General Custer made his last stand at the Battle of the Little Bighorn.
As well as internationals, other familiar footballing contests had been around for some time, played in an era very much defined by the monarch. In February of 1872 a young Irishman attempted to assassinate Queen Victoria in London. A couple of weeks later the FA Cup final was settled by a single goal.
Further back still in October 1868, a year before Charles Dickens sat down to start writing The Mystery of Edwin Drood, it was the Stoke captain Henry Arnold who scored his side's only goal in a 1-1 draw at home.
This sporting vernacular which I know so well seems odd in unfamiliar Victorian surroundings. Admittedly, the further back you go the stranger the game would have looked, and the smaller the attendance, but the rules laid down in 1863 meant that the game has been played essentially unchanged for nearly 150 years.
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Immigration - Who Are The Foreigners?
A lot is made in Britain of the influx of the Polish into the UK. It is interesting to note however that the number of Britons who are immigrants into Spain far outnumber the Poles who are immigrants into the UK, and it is always worth keeping in mind that we are just foreigners to everyone else.
Of course we are not alone in moments of thoughtless hypocracy but it is striking that so many Britons take such a strong view on the idea of continential Europeans and others coming into our island, given our history. The idea of "a Briton" or "the English" is so complex that many comments on modern immigration are slightly ridiculous, since we are born from wave after wave of immigration reaching back three thousand years.
For a start, the word "English" originates from Germany. My town has a Viking name. My surname is of Swedish origin. My best friend at school's surname was of Dutch origin. My girlfriend's surname is Irish. And locally, it was the Irish who made the biggest recent impact.
My nearest big city is Liverpool, a key location in the creation of the British Empire. At the time this city was pouring money into the Industrial Revolution, a massive percentage of the population wasn't English. By 1850, a quarter of Liverpudlians were Irish - something which is heavily underlined by the fact that until that period the Scouse accent did not exist. The distinctive slurring consonants of the maritime city were born out of the influx of the famine-struck immigrants and the blending of dialects from further afield. Until the 19th century, a Liverpool accent was the same as many other Lancashire brogues - until immigration created the Liverpool we know today.
Probably the most shocking example of social remodelling in our island's history came at the hands of France - not only in the hundreds of years of nobility and cultural influence we absorbed when we became a French nation, but in one awful act which came three years after conquest. William, Duke of Normandy ensured that the English could never raise an army against him by annihilating villages, crops and animals across hundreds of miles of the country. Directly and indirectly, an estimated 100,000 Britons were killed in the north of England.
The void left in authority was filled by the Norman administration, whose DNA permeates the English aristocracy to this day. The settlers which were brought in to fill the towns were from far and wide and the linguistic impact of this continental influx can be registered in the fact that a third of the words used in English today are of French origin.
The endless invasion of Britain down the centuries makes it impossible for most individuals to know who were the Goodies and who were the Baddies in any battle in our history. As a Englishman, I've always had the notion that William was the Bad Guy when it came to Hastings, but the reality is that the society we now live in was forged by three hundred years of Norman rule.
So when you meet someone from abroad, are you really a Briton observing a foreigner? Or are you in fact the fruits of the invader, standing in the land conquered by your unwelcomed ancestors?
Just prior to his infamous defeat at Hastings, King Harold of England had repelled some other foreign invaders. At Stamford Bridge the King of Norway, his Icelandic allies and others came to challenge the English King but were ultimately defeated.
Another great victory for the English, right? It doesn't seem quite so straight forward when you realise that one of the defeated foreigners was King Harold's own brother, Tostig, and our great English Harold was actually of Germanic stock, and his father was a powerful lord under the Danish King Cnut.
In the late 9th Century, the vast easterly swathe of Britain was a Viking nation - known as the Danelaw. Since the year 800, attacks from Scandanavia had befallen the coastlines of Britain but a longer-lasting impact was made by the succession of peaceful Danish settlers. Through means of war and political manoeuvring as much as their number, roughly half of modern England fell under control of Denmark and Cnut the Great.
This Viking state clashed repeatedly with the kingdom which lay to the south and west: Wessex. Wessex was a Saxon Kingdom which with which a modern Englishman is likely to side when discussing Saxons versus Vikings. But the idea that the Vikings were "kicked out" by our heroic Saxon ancesors doesn't seem quite so relevant if you live in the north.
The modern Geordie accent's sing-song intonation mimics the Scandanavian language which spawned it, and anyone living in town or village ending -by, -thorpe, -toft, -holme, -kirk or -thwaite is writing a Scandanavian suffix every time they give their address.
But even if you defer to the idea that at heart, you're a Saxon, then you have to address the fact that the Saxons were themselves immigrants, the first of whom came in the 5th century under invitation from - who else? - the British.
The British needed help because they were under attack and lacked military support from the central government. Where was this central government? Rome - because at that time "the British" were Romans, and had been for four hundred years. The Romano-British feared foreign attack and brought in Saxon mercenaries to defend the island, but they ended up out-staying their welcome.
Rome's occupation of Britain may feel like it's in the intangibly distant past, but their legacy is left in our road maps, our city layouts and our primary religion. Despite it happening two thousand years ago, the Roman immigrants fashioned our embryonic civilisation.
The Britain which the Romans entered was one dominated by Celtic culture - and who are the earliest Brits, if not the Celts? After all, the term "Briton" in a historical context refers to the Iron Age Celtic people as if they were the first.
The Celtic people seemingly have their most undiluted modern-day descendents clinging to their related languages in the England-shunning corners of Wales and Scotland. But unfortunately, even the Celtic culture is a foreign import. Britain started thousands of years before the Celt's ideas swept the land.
If there was any such thing as a native Briton, then perhaps we can pin that label on those men and women who lived here in Mesolithic and Neolithic times. There are very few big artefacts which tell the tale of our island before the waves of new ideas began. Those men and women who began the development of Stone Henge some 10,000 years ago are amongst the earliest people we might call "original" Britons.
Quite how much of their DNA is in us today, and how much foreign DNA we have is a question for another day, but the fact remains that Britain is a nation formed from the migration of new people, languages, technologies and philosophies.
It would be extremely unlikely if the 21st century was the era in which this stopped.
Of course we are not alone in moments of thoughtless hypocracy but it is striking that so many Britons take such a strong view on the idea of continential Europeans and others coming into our island, given our history. The idea of "a Briton" or "the English" is so complex that many comments on modern immigration are slightly ridiculous, since we are born from wave after wave of immigration reaching back three thousand years.
For a start, the word "English" originates from Germany. My town has a Viking name. My surname is of Swedish origin. My best friend at school's surname was of Dutch origin. My girlfriend's surname is Irish. And locally, it was the Irish who made the biggest recent impact.
My nearest big city is Liverpool, a key location in the creation of the British Empire. At the time this city was pouring money into the Industrial Revolution, a massive percentage of the population wasn't English. By 1850, a quarter of Liverpudlians were Irish - something which is heavily underlined by the fact that until that period the Scouse accent did not exist. The distinctive slurring consonants of the maritime city were born out of the influx of the famine-struck immigrants and the blending of dialects from further afield. Until the 19th century, a Liverpool accent was the same as many other Lancashire brogues - until immigration created the Liverpool we know today.
Probably the most shocking example of social remodelling in our island's history came at the hands of France - not only in the hundreds of years of nobility and cultural influence we absorbed when we became a French nation, but in one awful act which came three years after conquest. William, Duke of Normandy ensured that the English could never raise an army against him by annihilating villages, crops and animals across hundreds of miles of the country. Directly and indirectly, an estimated 100,000 Britons were killed in the north of England.
The void left in authority was filled by the Norman administration, whose DNA permeates the English aristocracy to this day. The settlers which were brought in to fill the towns were from far and wide and the linguistic impact of this continental influx can be registered in the fact that a third of the words used in English today are of French origin.
The endless invasion of Britain down the centuries makes it impossible for most individuals to know who were the Goodies and who were the Baddies in any battle in our history. As a Englishman, I've always had the notion that William was the Bad Guy when it came to Hastings, but the reality is that the society we now live in was forged by three hundred years of Norman rule.
So when you meet someone from abroad, are you really a Briton observing a foreigner? Or are you in fact the fruits of the invader, standing in the land conquered by your unwelcomed ancestors?
Just prior to his infamous defeat at Hastings, King Harold of England had repelled some other foreign invaders. At Stamford Bridge the King of Norway, his Icelandic allies and others came to challenge the English King but were ultimately defeated.
Another great victory for the English, right? It doesn't seem quite so straight forward when you realise that one of the defeated foreigners was King Harold's own brother, Tostig, and our great English Harold was actually of Germanic stock, and his father was a powerful lord under the Danish King Cnut.
In the late 9th Century, the vast easterly swathe of Britain was a Viking nation - known as the Danelaw. Since the year 800, attacks from Scandanavia had befallen the coastlines of Britain but a longer-lasting impact was made by the succession of peaceful Danish settlers. Through means of war and political manoeuvring as much as their number, roughly half of modern England fell under control of Denmark and Cnut the Great.
This Viking state clashed repeatedly with the kingdom which lay to the south and west: Wessex. Wessex was a Saxon Kingdom which with which a modern Englishman is likely to side when discussing Saxons versus Vikings. But the idea that the Vikings were "kicked out" by our heroic Saxon ancesors doesn't seem quite so relevant if you live in the north.
The modern Geordie accent's sing-song intonation mimics the Scandanavian language which spawned it, and anyone living in town or village ending -by, -thorpe, -toft, -holme, -kirk or -thwaite is writing a Scandanavian suffix every time they give their address.
But even if you defer to the idea that at heart, you're a Saxon, then you have to address the fact that the Saxons were themselves immigrants, the first of whom came in the 5th century under invitation from - who else? - the British.
The British needed help because they were under attack and lacked military support from the central government. Where was this central government? Rome - because at that time "the British" were Romans, and had been for four hundred years. The Romano-British feared foreign attack and brought in Saxon mercenaries to defend the island, but they ended up out-staying their welcome.
Rome's occupation of Britain may feel like it's in the intangibly distant past, but their legacy is left in our road maps, our city layouts and our primary religion. Despite it happening two thousand years ago, the Roman immigrants fashioned our embryonic civilisation.
The Britain which the Romans entered was one dominated by Celtic culture - and who are the earliest Brits, if not the Celts? After all, the term "Briton" in a historical context refers to the Iron Age Celtic people as if they were the first.
The Celtic people seemingly have their most undiluted modern-day descendents clinging to their related languages in the England-shunning corners of Wales and Scotland. But unfortunately, even the Celtic culture is a foreign import. Britain started thousands of years before the Celt's ideas swept the land.
If there was any such thing as a native Briton, then perhaps we can pin that label on those men and women who lived here in Mesolithic and Neolithic times. There are very few big artefacts which tell the tale of our island before the waves of new ideas began. Those men and women who began the development of Stone Henge some 10,000 years ago are amongst the earliest people we might call "original" Britons.
Quite how much of their DNA is in us today, and how much foreign DNA we have is a question for another day, but the fact remains that Britain is a nation formed from the migration of new people, languages, technologies and philosophies.
It would be extremely unlikely if the 21st century was the era in which this stopped.
Monday, 15 August 2011
The Viking In You
I'm preoccupied with our national ideas of who "we" are when we study, for example, Saxons versus Vikings. I'm sure that in school I was taught that "we" were the Saxons, and the Vikings were evil invaders. However if, like me, you have a surname of Swedish origin live in a town with a Danish name and support the only football team in England with a name of Viking origin, it's hard to really see how "we" are the Saxons.
What England owes to Scandinavia is born out in the language and it was one particular word which caught my attention today: Husband.
We take this word for a married man from the Old Norse húsbóndi.
This is interesting in itself, but the component halves of that Viking word are also understood today, and this reveals the true meaning of the word:
A hús is a “house” and a bóndi is a "dweller" or "freeholder", connected to the word binde, as in "tether".
Thus a "husband" is quite literally a man bound to his house.
This is just one example of a huge number of Scandanvian words which permeate our language.
The word "timid" in Old Norse is skjarr, which gives us the word "scare", and if a Viking were to refer to a person as "gentle" then they would say mjúkr, which became our word "meek". If he were referring to his butcher's meat would talk about his sláter - from which we get "slaughter". If something was "unjust" it was described as rangr - which gives us the word "wrong".
Many of our most basic actions are described by Viking words - For example: get, give, kill, run, sprint, strive, take, talk, thrive, thrust and want. Our plural pronouns (they, their and them) are entirely Scandinavian in origin.
So, next time some fellow (from félagi) tries to explain that the birth (from burðr) of England came when the Saxons defeated the Vikings, you may want (from vanta) to raise (from rísa) the point that our heritage does not seem (from sæma) so clear-cut (from kuti)!
What England owes to Scandinavia is born out in the language and it was one particular word which caught my attention today: Husband.
We take this word for a married man from the Old Norse húsbóndi.
This is interesting in itself, but the component halves of that Viking word are also understood today, and this reveals the true meaning of the word:
A hús is a “house” and a bóndi is a "dweller" or "freeholder", connected to the word binde, as in "tether".
Thus a "husband" is quite literally a man bound to his house.
This is just one example of a huge number of Scandanvian words which permeate our language.
The word "timid" in Old Norse is skjarr, which gives us the word "scare", and if a Viking were to refer to a person as "gentle" then they would say mjúkr, which became our word "meek". If he were referring to his butcher's meat would talk about his sláter - from which we get "slaughter". If something was "unjust" it was described as rangr - which gives us the word "wrong".
Many of our most basic actions are described by Viking words - For example: get, give, kill, run, sprint, strive, take, talk, thrive, thrust and want. Our plural pronouns (they, their and them) are entirely Scandinavian in origin.
So, next time some fellow (from félagi) tries to explain that the birth (from burðr) of England came when the Saxons defeated the Vikings, you may want (from vanta) to raise (from rísa) the point that our heritage does not seem (from sæma) so clear-cut (from kuti)!
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