Category: History

To Arms!

“The age of chivalry is past. Bores have succeeded to dragons.”
― Charles Dickens

Specifically, the College of Arms. I found its location entirely by accident on a long wander one afternoon and spent the rest of the walk schooling Jeff on various assorted history. He was attentive but admittedly uninterested, so you minions get the lesson instead. Which you will appreciate, yes?

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The College is one of the few remaining authoritative heraldic organizations left in Europe. It’s been in operation since Richard III and is charged with the keeping of records related to pedigree and usage of coats of arms. If you are granted a coat of arms yourself, this is the institution that would develop it and store the history of the family. Historically one of the most important tasks of the College was to mediate the legal battles of who got to claim and wear which coats of arms and symbols.

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This is done in the fantastically named Court of Chivalry. But don’t get too excited, there’s precious little jousting. Like I said, the battles were mostly legal to resolve disputes about heredity. And if you know your British history, heredity can be ridiculously complex for something that held the entire system together.

For example, the head of the operation is the Earl Marshal, a hereditary office held by the Dukes of Norfolk. Though every single Duke has descended in some way or another from Edward I, there have actually been multiple creations of the title. The family that’s held the title since the 15th century are the Howards, who are the second most historically powerful and ranked clan of British peerage after the Royal Family. The family is also the most historically prominent Catholic family in Britain, no mean feat after the various Reformations, Counter Reformations, Civil Wars, and various Acts of Parliaments to limit Catholic rights. By an Act, no Catholic can become monarch, which is why we got the German Hanover family and all their various Georges in the 18th century. The government had to bypass 50 people with a better blood claim to the throne in order to find a suitable Protestant in George I who could not speak a word of English at the time.

Something that I found fascinating in learning more about the College (why, what do YOU do on the weekends?) was that contrary to almost universal popular belief, coats of arms are not technically held by a family. They are held by an individual or a corporate body like a guild. So if you think there’s a coat of arms associated with your family, bad news. You’re probably one of the many twigs on the family tree who isn’t entitled to claim it.

See? Interesting!

Historical Headdesk

“Everyone loves a conspiracy.”
―Dan Brown, The Da Vinci Code

I was volunteering in a museum over the weekend when a visitor couple asked for some information about other sites of historical interest nearby. I started rattling off good spots and historic homes nearby and recommended Dr. Johnson’s house.
“Who was he?” the very nice lady asked.
“Writer and creator of the first notable dictionary in the English language. He and several of his associates were some of the great literati of the 18th century.”

They gave me a funny look but said thank you and walked off.

Which is when my brain caught up with my mouth to realize that while I certainly had intended to say “literati,” what came out was in fact, “Illuminati.”

No idea where it came from (unless it was implanted in my brain by lizard people/aliens/subversive entities of another ilk entirely). Well done, C., you have officially contributed to the problem that brought us Dan Brown and National Treasure.

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History, Hydras, and Gardening

“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”
― John Muir

I recently toured the Garden Museum, housed in a deconsecrated church that abuts Lambeth Palace (traditional home of the Archbishops  of Canterbury), for a post over on The Thrifty Homesteader. Head on over for more about the history of the church–lots of interesting dead people–but there were some extra shots I wanted to include since I found the space and the garden delightful. It’s perfectly appropriate to me to find a museum of gardening housed in a church in Britain!

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When I say abuts, I mean it!

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A casual walk by the crypts to the front door.

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With a cheerful greeting at the end!

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The cafe in one of the church aisle–which, architecturally speaking, is not the central passageway up the center of the structure. Tea beneath the memorials!

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Palm trees and cherubim, an atypical pairing.

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I mention this in the other post, but all the plants were labeled with the year of their first written description, and often a quote from a British writer or person of note.

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The real treat of the churchyard garden is the tomb of the Tradescant family, who were noted botanists and gardeners to the royal family. The family patriarch traveled widely to collect bulbs and seeds and his son continued the tradition in the New World. Both were early naturalists and predate Darwin by nearly 300 years, eventually they opened the family collection as the very first public museum in Britain. The sarcophagus is highly, highly unusual for the age when, in spite of the rise of science and humanism, death was still very much the realm of the spiritual and divine. And yet the symbolism of his tomb is not religious at all but shows the scope of his travels and scientific encounters, include ruins of the ancient world and exotic flora and fauna.The crocodile on the bottom left is fantastic!

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Another side of the tomb with a somewhat more typical death symbol of medieval and renaissance Europe…and a hydra. Which is only strange until you learn that hydras were often symbols of botany in that even if you trimmed or cut off heads, they grow back.

London Snapshot

“We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”
― Winston Churchill

Britain’s in the midst of honoring the first year of WWI this year, but this monument is one of my favorite wartime memorials in London. A little vague, still deeply appreciated.

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A handbook was issued to American GIs stationed in Britain during WWII that cautioned them how to behave to British women. It pointed out how most of the women they encountered, whether in uniform or out, had been at war a lot longer than they had and had already sacrificed time, skills, labor, and lives to the cause. They had mobilized to grow food, work in factories, provide medical and military service, run businesses, protect communities, and perform critical work to keep the nation together. As such, the handbook stressed they deserved to be treated respectfully as comrades in arms. So say we all.

There is only one fish and chip shop in London

“Alive without breath,
As cold as death;
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail never clinking.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

At least, one worth knowing. The Golden Hind, named for Sir Francis Drake’s famous ship, is 100 years old and has been serving acclaimed fish and chips for the entire time. It’s an absolute culinary landmark in London and a required stop on any gastronomic tour of the city.
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The shop itself is not grand. The tables and chairs are beat up and wooden, I’m not entirely sure they all matched, and the crockery is utilitarian. The cash registers are straight out of the 80s and the decor is minimal and mostly involves photographs from the city area in the early 20th century. Don’t let that fool you. There is almost always a line to get in, and you need to go in slightly off-peak hours to guarantee a seat.
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The plaque detailing the ownership of the Hind.

The only major deviation in the menu is the type of fish you can serve, and the sides that can accompany your main course. I recommend the cod, which along with haddock is the traditional choice. The fish slabs are absolutely massive, I could barely finish a third of mine on our last visit, it was easily the length of my arm from fingertip to elbow. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t order the chips, though. Slather those suckers in vinegar and get stuck in!

A midnight slaughter, Titus Andronicus after dark

“In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;
Rome’s readiest champions, repose you here in rest,
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms,
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!
― William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus

It is a truth universally-enough acknowledged (ie, by Katarina) that the very best poetry I ever wrote happened in 8th grade and involved a tongue-in-cheek examination of all the misery and slaughter in Shakespeare’s plays. As I was of tender years at the time, my poem did not contain anything of Titus Andronicus since I’d yet to encounter it. In fact I’d never seen a production of it until a couple weekends ago when Jeff and I trotted off to The Globe, about half an hour’s walk from where we live (I know, my life is such a trial…) for this season’s midnight matinee.
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I’m pretty sure I first heard about the midnight production from the indomitable Kerry over at Planes, Trains, and Plantagenets, though I don’t remember precisely in what context, but I leapt at the chance for tickets this year. ‘Round midnight we convened and flooded into the theatre, feeling very Tudor-ish.
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The production itself was very well done. It was incredibly well acted, especially the disturbed and disturbing role of Lavinia who is traumatized (understandably) nearly out of her humanity. Titus is a hard play for me because while I can handle sex and violence in my entertainment, I don’t do well with sexual violence. Of all Shakespeare’s various victims, to me Lavinia is without question the most victimized and her whole narrative, though important, is incredibly difficult to watch. The direction gave her some wonderful moments of self-realization and justice…though of course her end is pretty terrible. Hats off to Flora Spencer-Longhurst for a powerful performance. Tamora was played by Indira Varma, of Game of Thrones fame (seriously, GoT actors are all over the London Shakespeare game), and William Houston absolutely nailed the role of Titus.
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The director made excellent use of the audience and groundlings, bringing much of the action out into the pit itself to use the audience to portray the Roman mob or Gothic hordes as needed. Titus’ entrance involved being carried through the audience in triumph while the crowds cheered his victory.

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Minions, it was fantastically gory! By my count, at least four people fainted and had to be carried from the theatre.

Perhaps that’s too enthusiastic a review? I can’t help it. The staff had an amazingly effective system in place. Something horrible would happen on stage, one of the groundlings would wobble for a second before going over, a staff member would make their way into the pit and stand guard while signalling the medic team, who would assemble and quickly cart the senseless, hapless individual away. Like unto the violence itself, there was a sort of method that was admirable and cynical at the same time – how meta!

The Globe, true to its roots, tends to do highly stripped down productions set-wise. It gives things an authentic Tudor feel on the one hand, but also makes their use of 21st century special effects downright eerie. When there is no complex set or costumes to distract you with their modernness , the scene where Titus lays his hand down to be hacked off in order to save his sons’ lives is horribly realistic. Let’s just say that intermission heavily involved mopping up the stage blood and gore from the first half of the performance. It was terrific fun!
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Our view, which admittedly did not suck in the slightest, offered a great sense of the stark design of the stage.

We didn’t get home until nearly 4 a.m., and it being summer in London which is a lot further north than a lot of people realize, the sky was already starting to get light as dawn approached. That Sunday was a bit long, but completely worth it, and I absolutely plan on repeating the occasion next year. Alas, it probably will not be nearly as bloody.

Shallow and deep all at once

“I do not wish them [women] to have power over men; but over themselves.”
― Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman

A friend sent me one of those silly Buzzfeed quizzes, which I decided to take for fun. “Which is your patron saint?” However, when one of the questions turned out to be…

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…given my longstanding personal conflict, I couldn’t help but smile.

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I guess I’ll take it.

Emails With Friends: Revolution and the Humblebrag

When you’re both cultural heritage employees and history types.

“Patrick Henry’s birthday is may 29…I am so bummed that I missed out on sharing a bday with the loudest, most out-of-control founding father by a mere TWO DAYS.”

“Have I ever casually mentioned that my family’s 40 acres contains the pathway that PH walked daily to get to his first law job…incidently located in the town where my parents now live? Which he was eventually elected to represent in the Virginia House of Burgesses at the start of his political career? Never? Not even casually? If so, a lapse on my part.”
– Katarina and C.

We need to talk about the spectacles atop his head in this etching. It’s either absent minded or avant garde for the times. I lean toward the latter.