Category Archives: History Undusted

January 17, 2024 · 7:16 PM

History Undusted: Keys

Some people collect things like stamps, postcards, or coins. I’m drawn to unique doors, locks, and keys.

Keys are something everyone has; whether it’s a house key, a car key, or an inner door key. Modern keys come in several forms: Lever (usually used in padlocks or furniture), pin tumbler, dimple, computerized laser (often used in cars), Nutech, cross, skeleton, barrel, transponder, cards, Abloy, and many more.

We tend to think of skeleton keys as antiquated, but here in Switzerland, even modern room doors within a home have skeleton keys for their locks (though we use dimple keys on main doors). Even though they’re still used, skeleton keys are one of the oldest forms of keys in history. The Romans had elaborate keys that were nearly as wide as they were long, but they already had the typical ringed head we think of when we think of a skeleton key; it made it easy to slip in a finger and pull the key out of the lock.

Roman Key Latch as old as 1st Century AD – Metmuseum

The oldest key found was in the ruins of Ninevah (the capital of ancient Assyria), going back to around 4,000 BC. It was a simple wooden prodder inserted into a hole in a door to lift pegs within a wooden bar used to hold the door securely from the inside; it could only be secured from the inside and was easy to open with any pegged stick. This type of wooden pin lock was common in ancient Egypt, but they’ve also been found in places like Japan and Scandinavia. It is alluded to in the Bible in such passages as Nehemiah 3:3,6,13-15 or Isaiah 22:22-23.

Ancient wooden peg key lock

The Romans improved on the idea and began making brass and iron keys with the ground-breaking technology of projections (wards) inside the lock that required a specific combination to be opened, thus requiring a specific key. The warded key outlasted the Roman Empire itself by more than a thousand years. Though these locks were easy to pick, no major advancements were made in the design until the late 18th century, when Robert Barron invented a new locking mechanism that we essentially recognize as the tumbler lock. Joseph Bramah improved further on the design a few years later, using a cylindrical key with patterned notches that aligned with the metal slides within the lock. The Bramah lock is still used and sold today (after finishing this article, take a moment on Google Images to search “Bramah lock” – you’ll see a wide range of old and new examples).  In 1818, Jeremiah Chubb improved the design by adding a retaining spring that held back a tumbler when shifted by the turn of the wrong key; this prevented not only the bolt from being lifted but indicated that someone had tried to pick the lock; they were known as detector locks.

Over time, many more improvements and refinements followed, until today’s key styles are so varied that a comprehensive list would be lengthy – there are variations within categories of keys; some cars today no longer even require a key to start. But to adapt the old adage of “where there are horses there are horse thieves”, where there is a lock there will be a lock pick. Even keyless cars are not theft-proof.

How many keys do you use daily? How have key styles changed in your lifetime?

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January 5, 2024 · 2:51 PM

Insatiable Fascination

Throughout history, people have always been fascinated by thinking beyond their own known world; before widespread writing and reading, ancient cultures thought about their own mortality (which, in some ages, wasn’t that far off) and the afterlife. Various cultures prepared for the afterlife in their own ways: The Egyptians removed organs and embalmed the rest, making sure to send on the heart & co. in separate jars (except the brain – who’d need that in the next world?), then sent them on their way with an army of servants (killed for the occasion); the Vikings buried their most honoured dead within a ship with their favourite animals and servants (ditto). Other cultures built pyres to send their loved ones up in smoke.

When writing came along, at first it was used to capture the past and the natural world, ala Pliny the Elder; poems, sagas, verbal tales and folklore began to be recorded; we have such writings still with us today: The Greek Epic Cycle, the Orkneyinga Sagas, the Heimskringla, the Poetic Edda.

The first novel came along only 1,000 years ago: The Japanese epic The Tale of Genji was written by a woman, Murasaki Shikibu; novels were, for several centuries more, considered on the bottom rung of the literary hierarchy ladder, far behind “serious works” like history. Ironically, Mark Twain referred to history as “fluid prejudice”; it was nearly always recorded by powerful (white) men – hardly ever by a commoner, a member of an ethnic minority, or a woman. The interpretation of events was firmly in the hands of the conquerors. Because of that fact, for instance, we know more about Rome’s version of ancient Britons (Picts, Celts) than we do from their own artefacts; most Celtic and Pictish art is found outside of the UK – many carried off by the Vikings, but that’s another tale. Hollywood has helped perpetuate some of those ancient Roman notions (think of a blue-faced Mel Gibson in Braveheart).

In fact, we don’t even know what the Picts called themselves – the term derives from the Latin Picti, first seen in the writings of Eumenius in AD 297. It can be interpreted (dangerous words) as “to paint” – but there is no evidence that any people groups in northern Britannia painted themselves. Picts is simply a generic term for any people living north of the Forth-Clyde isthmus who fought the Roman Empire’s advancements into their territories. Again, the ink of history flowed from a Roman stylus.

Even Jane Austen herself didn’t begin publishing her novels under her own name. She was a single young woman – for shame that she would dare stain the male-hallowed ground of literature. The saga of how she got published speaks to her tenacity and the support of her family. But she got the last laugh, becoming famous within her (short) lifetime, and she is far better known today than any of the stuffy old men who wrote “proper” books of her day.

The insatiable fascination with other perspectives than our own explains why novels are so popular today. They take us into another time, place and situation, leading us through a story that, if written well, we can relate to and perhaps learn something from. In 1726, Jonathan Swift gave us Gulliver’s Travels. Though he originally wrote it as political satire, to “vex the world rather than divert it”, we know it still today. The fascination with someone being a giant in one land and a miniature in the next grabs our imagination; he travels to floating kingdoms, to an island of immortals, a la Death Becomes Her, and a land of talking horses.

Book Nook (Instagram repeat)

In the age of internet, visual arts have expanded as far as the global imagination can span: Not only paintings or drawings, but even crafts take us into another perspective. I recently saw a series of images in which people have taken the humble walnut shell and turned them into tiny worlds with bookshelves, ladders, lamps, beds and creatures. Book nooks are popular, too: A tiny village, street, or room within the space of a book on a shelf. Science fiction art takes us off-planet.

Films are visual perspectives that take us into other worlds, times and places: When George Lucas showed us a “commonplace” bar scene on Tatooine in the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars, he blew our minds and kicked off a new era of visual storytelling. Avatar took us to another planet and another perception of reality, all the while being an allegorical tale of ecological care vs. abuse. Somewhere along the way, sometime in your life, I’ll bet you’ve been fascinated by a different perspective, whether presented to you through a book, a documentary, a sermon, a play, a film or a conversation.  What did you learn from that encounter? How did it change you, or help shape your perspective? And what is your favourite “escape”: Films, books, visual arts, or music? Please comment below!

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November 24, 2023 · 11:19 PM

History Undusted: Jumièges Abbey

Jumièges Abbey is one of the oldest Benedictine monasteries in Normandy; to dive into its history is akin to diving down Alice’s rabbit hole. For instance, I could say that the abbey was sponsored by the Frankish Queen Balthild, as she persuaded her husband, King Clovis II, to donate land to the Frankish nobleman Filibertus in order to found an abbey. But to know who she was, ah, that is where the intrigue begins.

Who and where were the Franks, when were they a thing, and what are they to us today?

Who, where and when: They were a Western European people who began as a Germanic people along the lower Rhine (which flows from Bonn, Germany, and ends up in the North Sea at the southwestern corner of the Netherlands), along the northern frontier of the Roman Empire. During the Middle Ages, they expanded their scope of rule as the Western Roman Empire began to collapse, and they imposed their power over many post-Roman kingdoms and beyond. That’s the crux of the matter though, as with any political history, it’s far more complex than that. The Franks are distinguished into two main groups by historians: The Salian Franks, to the west, and the Rhineland Franks, to the east.

In the mid-5th century, The Salian king, Childeric I, was a commander of Roman forces against the Gauls, most of whom Childeric and his son, Clovis I, conquered in the 6th century. Clovis was the first king of the Franks to unite the Frankish tribes under one ruler, and he founded the Merovingian dynasty – which ruled the Frankish tribes for 2 centuries. Clovis, in essence, is known as the first king of what would become France. As a side note, the Frankish name of Clovis is at the root of the French name of Louis, borne by eighteen kings of France.

Now, back to Queen Balthild (AD 626 – 680): Sold into slavery as a young girl, she was beautiful and intelligent. She served in the household of Erchinoald, the mayor of the palace of Neustria to Clovis II. Her master, a widower, wanted to marry her, but she hid herself from his sight until he married someone else (apparently the household of servants was numerous enough to enable her to avoid her unwanted suitor). Perhaps through Erchinoald’s notice of her, she came to the attention of Clovis II, who proposed to her and was accepted; hiding herself away may have been a political tactic to gain a higher rank with the king than with the mayor; According to the Vita Sancti Wilfrithi by Stephen of Ripon (written around AD 710), Bathild was a ruthless ruler, in conflict with the bishops and perhaps responsible for several assassinations. Some historians interpret Queen Balthild’s association with founding monasteries as a way of balancing or neutralizing aristocratic opposition to her rule. By installing her own bishops and donating lands for abbeys, she strengthened her own power as ruler (she was regent during the minority of her son). To put that in proper perspective, she was no different than most male counterparts of her day. [I could go off on a tangent about how adjectives differ when applied to the male or female state of affairs (a man is ambitious; a woman is pushy or ruthless), but I won’t. Yet.] From most accounts, however, she was pious and humble. Whichever way you butter that croissant, in ca. 860 she was canonized, thereafter to be referred to as Saint Balthild…

In 654, Balthild gave a parcel of royal land to Philibert, or Filibertus, on which he founded the Notre Dame de Jumièges. His main spiritual influence was that of the Irish monk, Columbanus (who founded several monasteries in the Frankish and Lombardi kingdoms).  The abbey flourished until the Viking invasions of 841 (Remember Rolf Ganger?), which caused disruptions to its first momentum, but it soon began to prosper again. The church itself was rebuilt between 1040 and 1066; it was dedicated on 1 July 1067, with none other present than William the Conqueror, Duke of Normandy and King of England (1066 and all that). The patronage of such a nobleman ensured the abbey’s success.

Jumièges Abbey was, like any abbey of its time, a veritable town. The church was only the heart of the community; there was a 14-acre enclosed park, terraced gardens, the abbatial manor, a bakery, landscaping to evoke biblical scenes, a hostelry, the 14th century “Charles VII” walkway (a covered walkway between the Notre Dame and St Peter’s church, named after the fact that Charles VII and his favourite mistress visited the monastery), and the cloister.

The next major disruption was from 1415, when the monks were forced to regularly seek refuge in Rouen as the English occupied Normandy during the Hundred Years’ War. The abbey eventually recovered and began to flourish again, until the whole province was plunged into the chaos of the Wars of Religion (1562-1598), resulting in the population’s decimation and famine. In 1649, the abbey was taken over by a Benedictine congregation, when some of its former glory was revitalized. Having survived all of that, its ruin came at the hands of the French Revolution, when it was sold as a “national property” and turned into a stone quarry (seen only as a source of ready-cut stones). At last, its historical value was recognized in the 19th century, putting an end to its wanton deconstruction.

When we visited the abbey last summer, its grandeur, although only ruins today, is still evident; when it was at its height of prosperity, it must have been an awesome sight to behold! In the photos below, which I took during our visit, you can see evidence of the various phases of destruction and reconstruction. Enjoy!

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November 15, 2023 · 4:21 AM

History Undusted: Rolf Ganger, Viking Outlaw and Founder of Normandy

How does a rabble-rousing Viking end up causing a war centuries after his death (as if stirring up trouble during his lifetime wasn’t enough fun and gigs)? Read on… this is going to be a quick, deep dive into history, so buckle up!

Firstly, let’s start with Rolf Ganger, aka Rollo, Rolloun, Rollon, or Hrôlfr – depending on which language you read. On his tomb, the Latin version of his name is Rollonis (see image).

Tomb of Rollonis (Rolf) Ganger, the first ruler of Normandy, in Rouen Cathedral (He’d probably roll in his grave to find himself so simperingly portrayed…!)

The Heimskringla is a collection of ancient Norwegian sagas about Norwegian kings and rulers, written by Snorri Sturluson (great name, by the way) around AD 1230. It tells us that Rolf was the oldest legitimate son of Earl Ragnvald, best friend of King Harald Harfager (“Fair Hair” – a nickname given to him by the Earl due to Harald’s thick, fair hair), who was the first king of Norway, reigning from ca. AD 872 to 930. It tells us that Rolf was so hefty that no horse could carry his weight; thus, he had no choice but to walk everywhere, from which Ganger, his second name derives (I cannot find a direct translation of the meaning of the name, but Germanic languages have similar words: In German, “gehen” means go or walk; “gangart” means gait, or way of walking).

Harald Harfagre, First King of Norway – Statue in Haugusund, Norway

He was rowdy, even by Viking standards. Heimskringla records that he plundered most of the East Sea (likely referring to what is now the region around the Baltic Sea). Then, “One summer, as he was coming from the east on a Viking’s expedition to the coast of Viken*, he landed there and made a cattle foray. As King Harald happened, just at that time, to be in Viken, he heard of it, and was in a great rage; for he had forbid, by the greatest punishment, the plundering within the bounds of the country. The king assembled a Thing**, and had Rolf declared an outlaw over all Norway.”

*Viken was a region that lay over the modern border between Norway and Sweden.

**To assemble a Thing means to gather a council or general assembly. These still take place in some parts of Switzerland, as well as on the Isle of Man and in Scotland; the Icelandic Althing is considered the oldest active, surviving parliament in the world, dating back to the AD 900s. The first detailed description of such a Thing was made by Tacitus, a Roman historian and senator, in AD 98; the oldest reference to a Thing is inscribed on a stone near Hadrian’s Wall, dated as early as AD 43.

According to the Heimskringla, Rolf, now banished from Norway, headed toward the Hebrides, and from there to “Valland” [In Norse legend, Valland is the name of the part of Europe which is inhabited by Celtic and Romance peoples, and Snorri Sturluson mentions it several times as the Old Norse name for Gaul, which was a region of Western Europe first clearly described by the Romans, encompassing present-day France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and parts of Switzerland, the Netherlands, Germany, and Northern Italy, and covering an area of around 494,000 km2.].

Arriving in Gaul, he did what he did best – went a-Viking, plundering and pillaging and “subduing for himself a great earldom”. He populated it with his own best rabble of Norsemen, which the French called Normanz, literally “north men” which quickly led to the Anglicized term Normans (similar to the word for the people group and language, Norse).

One of the places known to have been invaded by the Vikings in AD 841 is the Jumièges Abbey, which is along the Seine River on its way to Rouen, which they also ransacked. At some point (around AD 885), Rolf also raided Bayeux, carrying off a woman, Popa (whose lineage is unverified – later historians for the duke may have sanitized her parentage to legitimize their son’s noble lineage, as she was married “more danico”). She gave birth to his heir, William Longsword. When Rolf and his gang were all done hacking their way through towns and villages along the Seine, they eventually made their way back to Rouen, where he established the Duchy of Normandy in AD 912.

So, how did Rolf cause a war centuries later? Well, his son, William Longsword, fathered a son, Richard the Fearless (who became ruler of Normandy at the age of 10 when his father died). Richard’s son was called Richard the Good, and he became the father of Robert the Magnificent and grandfather to the illegitimate William the Bastard, who became known as William the Conqueror (a sword seems to have cleared up his illegitimacy quite neatly) – from whom all the subsequent English kings descended. Now to the crux of the matter: William, descendent of Rolf Ganger, fathered English kings, who thus claimed their right to the Norman throne by connection, birth, rank… in short, any excuse for raiding was still in their blood. Rouen was one of the largest and most prosperous cities of medieval Europe, and (as mentioned in my last post) was made wealthy through textiles and trade along the Seine River and beyond. Rouen became the focal point of the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453) because of that pesky connection. So now ya know!

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November 8, 2023 · 10:40 PM

History Undusted: The Great Clock of Rouen, France

Last summer, my husband and I rented a privately-owned motorhome in Caen, France, and travelled around Normandy for 10 weather-perfect days. One of the places we had on our short list to see was the city of Rouen, a region with a long and rich history. One icon of the city is a clock. Not just any clock. The Great Clock of Rouen.

Rouen was a pivotal location in the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453 – calling it the “Hundred-and-Sixteen Years’ War” is more accurate but not as catchy, though the name is likely based on the fact that there were periods of fragile truces); the central conflict was the English claim to the French throne. In the context of this war, Joan of Arc became a victim of male chauvinism and political expediency. But that’s another story.

The mechanism of this clock was built in 1389. Let’s put that into perspective: That’s over 100 years before Columbus set out to discover a western passage to the East Indies and inadvertently discovered America; Richard II took over as king of England; it was made during the Hundred Years’ War; Joan of Arc would have seen this clock on her way to her execution (by burning at the stake). It was made more than 190 years before our modern Gregorian calendar replaced the Julian calendar, in 1582.

The mechanism deserved not only a grand position, but a grand façade: The Rouennais aldermen decided that the town needed a clock, and the construction of a tower to house the clock took 9 years; the architect was Jehan de Bayeux, though the tower was completed by his son in 1398. The original designer of the clock’s facades, Jordan Delettre, was no more (whether he died or was removed is unknown), and it was completed by Jean de Felain, who became the first “governor of the clock”, maintaining it in exchange for a home in the clock’s tower. Towers and wars came and went, and the clock survived; it was moved to its current location in 1410, now housed astride an ornately carved stone archway.

The clock faces (on both sides of a stone archway and connected to a central mechanism shared by both) are 2.5 metres (over 8 feet) in diameter, and each has only a single hand, tipped with the depiction of a lamb, which shows the hour; moon phases are indicated in the 30 cm oculus above the clock face, which makes a full rotation every 29 days. The face depicts 24 rays of the sun surrounded by a dark blue starry frame. A hand which shows the day of the week is located in an opening at the base of the dial, with each day represented by a different Greek god: Diane as the moon (Monday), Mars (Tuesday), Mercury (Wednesday), Jupiter (Thursday), Venus (Friday), Saturn (Saturday) and Apollo (Sunday).

Although the mechanism of the clock still works, it has been powered by electricity since 1928, and the tower itself was renovated in the late 1990s.

Underneath the clock in the centre of the archway, the coat of arms of Rouen can be seen: It depicts the Paschal lamb on a red background (the official colour of Rouen); it is held by two angels (if you look closely at the angel on the right, you’ll notice that its head is on wrong; it is thought to be due to disgruntled construction workers – obviously an age-old problem…). Beneath the arch are elaborate bas-reliefs of Jesus as the Good Shepherd caring for his flocks; the clock’s hand, the coat of arms and the reliefs all echo the importance of textile and wool trade to the city. One clock face alone has at least 15 sheep (zoom in on the picture of the clock and see if you can spot them all!). Next to the clock is a Gothic belfry tower built in the 14th and 15th centuries which houses the bells connected to the clock, which ring on the quarter-hour.

Rouen is a survivor: It has outlasted Viking raids that travelled up the Seine River, the Hundred Years’ War, the Religion Wars of the Renaissance period, the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, the French Revolution, and even World War 2; the latter damaged nearly half the city, and shrapnel and bullet scars can still be seen in façades. The cathedral’s stained-glass windows were shattered by a WW2 bomb and were subsequently reconstructed using the fragments, creating jumbled images that reflect its history and its survival.

For me, the clock must really be seen within its context to truly appreciate it; it’s surrounded by wonky Medieval buildings which are three or four stories tall and built when plumb lines and uniformity were still futuristic concepts. They were built out of timber, as there is abundant forest nearby but no stone quarries.

The clock adorns the arch over the Rue du Gros-Horloge (“Street of the Great Clock”), which runs between the Gothic cathedral, made famous by Claude Monet (who painted over 30 canvases centred on the cathedral), and the old market square, where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. Perhaps ironically in light of the latter event, the street just off of the clock’s archway is called Rue Massacre…

Though I do not speak French, I know that in French, clocks today are referred to in the feminine form, la horloge; but prior to the 18th century, clocks were masculine; so, the great clock of Rouen, in French, is still Le Gros-Horloge.

Below are a few of our holiday photos: They include the cathedral’s jumbled windows and the clock from various angles, as well as a few of the wonky buildings. Enjoy!

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September 30, 2022 · 3:55 PM

History Undusted: Spiez Town, Church & Castle

Let’s take a virtual tour of a beautiful little castle on Lake Thun, here in Switzerland: Spiez Castle is a grand but pocket-sized edifice that sits on a spit of land jutting out into the lake, with the town of Spiez surrounding it. The area has several substantial bronze- and iron-age settlement sites, which shows that the area has been rich in natural resources and populated since time immemorial. The town and its church were first mentioned around AD 762, when Bishop Heddo of Strasbourg disposed of the church and tithes in his will. In AD 933, the King of Burgundy, Rudolph II, had Spiez castle built, and soon the Freiherr of Strättligen settled there. [Freiherr was a rank of nobility within Germanic-speaking areas that would have roughly translated to the English rank of baron.] Sections of the current shield walls and tower were built in the 12th century, and though the town was originally located within the castle walls, by the 13th century it had outgrown the walled enclosures. The small church, which is on the castle grounds, is one of the twelve Lake Thun churches mentioned in the Strättliger Chronicle [a Swiss dynastic and national history of the rulers of Bebenberg and Strättligen and their lands and churches – all within canton Bern, covering from AD 1100 through 1464].

The castle changed hands numerous times, whether through political manoeuvring or through dynastic extinction. Last week, my article touched on the French invasion of Switzerland; After that 1798 French invasion and the creation of the Helvetic Republic, the von Erlach family lost the rights to hold the lands as well as their jurisdiction over the village, but retained ownership of the castle until 1875. In the church is a panel in Latin about the titles of the baron von Erlach and of (who I assume was) his wife, Johanna Graffenried (from another noble family in Berne), with the family crest (see the images below).

This past summer, my husband and I toured the castle and the church; it was an awe-inspiring feeling to know that we were walking where people have walked for well over a thousand years; where nobility and peasants, servants and pilgrims have stood, walked, talked, lived and passed. Here are a few impressions of the castle, church and the views we enjoyed, and I hope you enjoy, too.

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September 20, 2022 · 5:15 PM

History Undusted: The Age of Revolutions

This past summer, my husband and I rented a motorhome and travelled around Switzerland; we tend to prefer nature or museums to overly-touristy attractions. One of the places we visited was Spiez Castle. Before I tell you about that, however, a little historical backdrop is necessary, so buckle up and enjoy the ride!

Everyone’s heard of the French Revolution, which began in May 1789: It was a struggle to become free from the heavy yoke of an elitist monarchical regime, quasi out of the frying pan and into the fire of the Reign of Terror – during which many of the original rebels, in a twist of morbid irony, also had their heads removed by Monsieur Guillotine; it ended in November 1799 with the abolition of the Ancien Régime and the creation of constitutional monarchy (not far from where they started) and the French Consulate (which lasted nearly 5 years until the start of the Napoleonic Empire in May 1804).

But what many people might not know is that the French Revolution was internationally both influenced and influential. Modern “small world” effects are not modern at all; even in ancient times, people had international news: Travelling merchants and traders, messengers, signal towers (such as those the Romans used along the British frontiers), and even smoke signals, all conveyed news. When the French Revolution began, there was already a growing political dissent spreading throughout Western Europe; the English “coffeehouse culture” enabled men to gather in small groups and discuss business and politics; this concept travelled to America, and the discontent culminated in the American Revolution, starting in April of 1775. The French people watched and learned. The British government naturally became wary – they were losing the American colonies to the Revolutionary War, which they finally lost in September 1783. The Americans were supported during that time by France and Spain (the two main long-term enemies of Britain), so the British were hemmed in by threats to their own social order from both the east and the west, and they had well-founded fears of the discontent sparking revolt in the dry tinder of their own oppressed ranks.

And now we come to Switzerland: To understand the Swiss backstory in a nutshell, which does no justice to a history that began in the Palaeolithic Age or further back, let me sum it up: The Old Swiss Confederacy was an alliance between independent small states, starting on 1 August 1291 with the “Rütlischwur”(an oath of allegiance between the cantons of Uri, Schwyz and Unterwalden), which date is considered by the Swiss to be the birth of the nation (though history is more complicated). As the French Revolution was beginning to wind down, Napoleon Bonaparte, then a French general, pressed the French Directory (the then-current French governing committee) to invade Switzerland. The atmosphere within the Old Swiss Confederacy was tense, fearing that the French Revolution would spill over with or without direct French military involvement. At the invitation of a French-speaking faction in Vaud (then part of Canton Berne), 12,000 French troops invaded through Vaud on 28 January 1798, and for the next four months, battles were waged between the French and the Swiss “Loyal Legions”. It ended in May with the swift collapse of the Swiss Old Confederacy.  

The Battle of Neuenegg, 1798 – Graphics Collection, Central Library, Zürich

However, the French Directory needed a solid neighbour, a buffer zone along their eastern borders, not a loosely associated collection of small states; they tried to steer toward a re-establishment of national unity with a Paris-drawn constitution, but on April 1798, Swiss cantonal leaders proclaimed the Helvetic Republic, with new legal structures that abolished feudal rights within individual cantons in favour of a national unity. A few battles later, and coalition armies waging war in and around Switzerland against France, eventually left Switzerland as a sovereign, neutral nation; it has remained so ever since, despite two world wars.

An etymological side note on the Latin name of the Swiss Confederation (Switzerland), Confoederatio Helvetica: Helvetia is the female personification of Switzerland, found on nearly every coin, much like Lady Liberty of America. The name derives from Helvetii, a Celtic tribe that inhabited the Swiss Plateau since before the Roman Era. The earliest reference of the name is dated to ca. 300 BC, written in Etruscan on a vessel from Mantua (located in Lombardy, Italy). By the time the Romans arrived, they were well-established tribes governed by noblemen; the Roman historians tended to refer to anyone not Roman as “barbarian”, which tends to skew modern understanding of the peoples they conquered; it was perhaps their way of justifying invasions against peaceful, intact civilisations. Naming no names, but R—– is repeating that same shameful tactic today; there’s nothing new under the sun.

It’s easy to overlook the complexities of historical events or view them from only one nation’s side; after all, as Mark Twain once wrote, “The very ink with which all history is written is merely fluid prejudice.” History’s angle is in the hands of those who wrote it – if they were Roman, everyone else was barbarian; if they were English, the Scottish / Irish / Indians were backwaters in need of a guiding stick, and so on.

So, now that you know a bit more about the history in and around Switzerland, I’ll highlight Spiez Castle next!

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June 14, 2022 · 12:29 PM

History Undusted: William Caxton (the father of English as we know it today)

I’ve been trying to blog the last few weeks, but to do so, it helps to be logged in to WordPress – and it kept logging me out every time I switched to my site. I finally found the solution this morning, so here I am!

One thing I’ve been ruminating about is the etymology of everyday words; words come from somewhere, and I’ve always wondered what word(s) were used before a word came along. There are famous examples of invented words that never stuck, such as Lewis Carol’s “Jabberwocky“, but what I’m referring to are common words. What did they use before the word “egg” came along? The word itself comes from Old Norse, eggys, eggja, or egge, but before the common spelling was decided on, every English dialect in Britain had at least a couple of different spellings of the word!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) is sometimes credited with having created upwards of 1,700 words, but many of those were likely already in circulation – he simply wrote them down in his plays. Some words accredited to him are: dishearten; dislocate; auspicious; obscene; monumental; majestic; accommodation; amazement; dwindle; exposure; bloody; countless; courtship; impartial; gnarled; gloomy; generous; reliance; pious; inauspicious; bump; frugal; submerge; critic; lapse; laughable; lonely, suspicious, and many, many more.

But long before William Shakespeare drew breath, there was another William who influenced English in profound ways, and yet his name is little known today: William Caxton. Born around 1420, he was a merchant, printer and the first English retailer of books; he introduced the printing press to England, set up in Westminster, 1476. Though he published many books, the first book he is known to have published is The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer (1340s – 1400); that work alone is credited with influencing both the English language and literature, as it shows a clear correspondence between the rhythm of written English poetry and the cadence of spoken English. Chaucer is also known for having looted the French language, bringing into English such words as governance, paramour, difficult, dishonest, edifice, and ignorant, to name a few. Chaucer was aware of the wide variety of English dialects, which we would never recognize as English today, and he was anxious about the confusion of languages in Britain and that his work would be able to be comprehended in the future. In his poem, Troilus and Criseyde, he bids it a poignant but troubled farewell: “Go, litel bok . . . And for ther is so gret diversite In Englissh and in writyng of oure tonge, So prey I God that non miswryte the [thee]. . . . That thow be understonde, God I biseche!”

However, because William Caxton chose to publish Chaucer’s work, we still have it to this day. Caxton was also the first to translate Aesop’s Fables into English (1484). Although he was not a great translator and sometimes simply used the French word “Englishified”, his translations were popular; because of that, he inadvertently helped promote Chancery* English as the standard English dialect throughout England. (*Chancery refers to the dialect used by the officials of Henry V’s government). Thanks to men like William Caxton and those who followed, refining and shaping the language we know today, we are able to enjoy a standard English spelling and grammar structure that is understood around the world; there are still regional and national dialect differences, but we can be understood wherever in the world English is used.

If you’d like to learn more about this topic, one book I can highly recommend is Melvyn Bragg’s The Adventure of English (The Biography of a Language); it’s available in physical form, e-book, and audiobook.

William Caxton

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April 29, 2022 · 7:11 PM

History Undusted: Rabbit Holes & Licorice Candy

This week, I did a major shopping at a couple Asian food stores; I stocked up on the ingredients I know, and some I didn’t; I like to get things I’ve never heard of, and do a bit of research on how to use it in cooking; things I picked up in that category are Iranian Kashk, which is a tangy fermented, yoghurt used as a condiment; canned palm hearts, which make a nice topping on desserts; and fermented black beans, which can be used in a variety of Asian dishes, including in a black bean sauce. I also bought several fresh vegetables and herbs to dehydrate and turn into a greens powder for adding flavours to dishes (I have a more usual greens powder with standard greens, like cauliflower leaves, spinach, etc. that I use daily).

One of the herbs I used was acacia leaf: When I opened the package, a pungent, sulphur-like smell hit me, and I wasn’t sure I’d use it. But when I began de-leafing it (much like you would thyme, though carefully as it’s got some vicious thorns!), it began to smell like mint! As I added lemongrass, Thai water spinach and other herbs, you can imagine the cacophony of fragrances in my kitchen – which filled the house as they dehydrated.

So what does this have to do with licorice? Well, one of the fresh herbs I also processed was Thai basil; I’d never used it before, and when I opened the packaging, a wave of anise- or licorice aroma hit me. And as usual, that set my mind off, thinking about the history of licorice!

Licorice is a flowering plant native to parts of Asia and Europe; its scientific name, Glycyrrhiza, comes from Greek and means “sweet root” (the linguistic roots are related to words like glycerine and rhizome); it is the ingredient that gives the signature flavour to black licorice, though today anise oil is often used as a substitute because the Glycyrrhiza can have toxic effects if ingested too much.

In looking into the history of this flavour, I came across a fascinating documentary: Ostensibly, it covers the history of the Switzer Licorice candy company. But in truth, it’s a fascinating historical insight into the history of Irish immigration, social unrest, the Irish famine, Irish revolution and exile, union labour foundations, World War 1 through the eyes of a family, the economic upheavals of war, rations and the company’s creative solutions, the history of sugar, post-war recovery, the Great Depression, the American Dream, candy-making, the rise of a family from Kerry Patch (the Irish ghetto of St. Louis, Missouri) to the suburbs, the history and development of St. Louis, and the demise of a family company resurrected by later generations. All in a 55-minute video!

 To watch this fascinating slice of history, click here. To check out the company’s website, click here.

I hope you enjoy this short history, and while you’re at it, enjoy a piece of licorice!

Image Credit: Switzer website (see link above)

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March 2, 2022 · 10:21 PM

History Undusted: The History of Money in the American Colonies

Today we’ve got a variety of ways to make financial transactions: Online payment, cheques (checks), cash (coins or bills), debit cards, giros (UK), credit cards, bitcoins, Twint, and probably a dozen other ways. But when did it all get started? Why are there ridges or texts on the edges of coins? What did people use before coins were widely spread enough to be a viable means of transaction? I’ve written about the history of shillings before, and ancient payments using hack silver, but the complications that arose across the Atlantic between the British crown and the colonies of America, before they won their independence, is as fascinating as any thriller. It’s a tale of laws passed to stranglehold the colonies into submission or to stop an artery bleed of silver across the ocean, and loopholes and nooks and crannies found to carry on with business anyway.

For a fascinating video on the topic by Jon Townsend, an 18th-century reenactor and specialist with a great YouTube channel, just click on the image below. Enjoy travelling back in time!

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