Category Archives: Snapshots in History

Obsoletusvocabularium…  Up with Archaism!

English is relatively young, as languages go. Like a sponge, it absorbs words and meanings from other languages, then squeezes them out in a similar (or widely different) form.  In other words, English is a survivor; it has survived the attempts to destroy it by the Danish Vikings, the French (Normans, aka Vikings disguised as French), and the Germans. These historical encounters give me high hopes that it will survive the age of the Cell Phone.  With each skirmish, it has come out stronger, more versatile and more flexible.  When the Pilgrims packed up English and crated it off to the New World, it was locked, as it were, in a time capsule. British English absorbed a few bad habits from the French before they thought better of it and distanced themselves during the French Revolution, but in the meantime, contentious pronunciation differences to that time-capsule relative over the Pond had crept in and persist to this day. One example: The American pronunciation of schedule (/skedju(e)l/) is from the original Greek pronunciation, which was used in Britain for onk-years until they took on the fancier French-ified pronunciation of /shedju(e)l/.  For a fascinating glimpse into how Modern English was formed, William Caxton (~1422-~1491) is your man.

While English pilled through the pockets of invaders stealing loose grammar, we also lost a few words along the way:  Some words are known to us in one form but not the other, while other words have been lost altogether due to a more convenient absorption or form arising.  You know of disgruntled (adj.), but what about gruntle (v.) or disgruntle (v.)?  And dis– in this particular case is not used to form the antonym of gruntle, but means exceedingly gruntled.  And I don’t know about you, but conject as a verb makes more sense than “conjecture” to me.  And shall we vote to bring back “Oliphant,” as J.R.R. Tolkien saved it from extinction through his use of it in Lord of the Rings?  What about pash (n.), contex (v.), or spelunk (n.)?  We know of fiddle-faddle, but what about plain ol’ “faddle” (to trifle)?  Some, admittedly, are not missed; toforan is better served with heretofore, in my humble opinion (IMHO).  Needsways is a Scottish word, obsolete in England and America perhaps, but alive and well north of the Border.  There are some deliciously eccentric words which deserve resuscitation, such as loblolly, bric-a-brac, sulter, pill (v., to plunder, pillage – ought to come in handy, that), quib, bugbear, uptake (as a verb), wist (intent), or sluggy.  If Sir Walter Scott can save words such as doff and don from extinction, so can we.

Oh, and if you’re wondering about the word archaism, it means “retention of what is old and obsolete.”  So twinge your language to include these mobile words and their meanings, and revelate your intelligence! And if you’re curious, yes, Grammarly and spellcheck were going batship crazy with this post!😎

(Comic from xkcd used under a Creative Commons license)

1 Comment

Filed under Cartoon, Etymology, Grammar, History, History Undusted, Humanity Highlights, Liguistics, Linguistics, Snapshots in History

History Undusted: Code Talkers

Navajo code talkers, Cpl. Henry Blake Jr. and PFC George H Kirk, who served with the Marine Signal Unit.
Source: Public Domain

Code talkers were Native Americans from various tribes who were employed by the US military during World War 2 as radio operators; their native tongues were indecipherable to anyone listening in, and as a result, their transmissions of sensitive messages were invaluable in allied victories on every Pacific island, including Iwo Jima, as well as in Europe in decisive battles.

Codes were developed based on the languages of the Assiniboin, Cherokee, Cheyenne, Choctaw, Comanche, Cree, Crow, Fox, Hopi, Kiowa, Menominee, Navajo, Ojibwa, Oneida, Osage, Pawnee, Sauk, Seminole, and Sioux peoples. These men could transmit over open radio channels, knowing that the enemy would be unable to break their code. If a military term did not exist in their languages, a phrase was used in its place: A submarine became an iron fish; a fighter plane became a hummingbird; a squad became a black street. In all, throughout WW2, over 400 terms were developed and needed to be memorised by each code talker.

The code talkers continued to be used after the end of the war, which delayed their recognition by the wider public – until documentaries about their service finally began to emerge in the 1990s. In 2002, the U.S. Congress passed the Code Talkers Recognition Act, followed by a similar act in 2008 to honour the tribes who used their languages in the wartime service of the United States.

The use of code talkers was a socially complex one: The languages that were so invaluable to the US military were the very tools that the US government had been trying to eradicate in the name of cultural assimilation. Between 1880 and 1905, boarding schools were established, in which Native American children were taken from their families and educated; they were taught to reject their Native values, languages, traditions and anything to do with their native culture. They were punished, sometimes severely, for using their native tongues; they were forced to dress like the “white man”, and were not allowed to wear their native garments or have any vestiges of their tribes. Some 100,000 Native Americans were forced to attend such schools. Parents who resisted the kidnapping of their children were imprisoned; several from the Hopi tribe were even imprisoned on Alcatraz Island. Though most of these schools had been closed by the 1930s, the cultural and psychological damage had taken its toll on many native people groups, many of whom still struggle with their cultural identities today. At the time these young warriors were called into military service or chose to join after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, many were not even legal American citizens, yet they fought for their land and their families.

With that background in mind, the dedication and ingenuity of the code talkers are all the more astounding. They were often in the first wave of soldiers deployed as they were needed to pass on messages for the strategic planning and execution of driving back the Japanese from the Pacific islands. In addition to the Pacific arena, the European front also benefited from the code talkers’ ability to communicate directly with each other: Comanche code talkers were assigned to the 4th Infantry Division when it landed at Normandy in June 1944. In this context, some of the Comanche substitutes were turtle for tank, a pregnant bird for bomber, and crazy white man was their term for Adolf Hitler – a more insightful term has never been more aptly applied.

For a fascinating look into a history largely forgotten, please click on the following video recounting code talkers telling their stories firsthand as they return to the Pacific Islands with their families and find peace after decades of PTSD. The video is 1:10, but well worth the time when you can take it: Navajo Code Talkers of World War II (2018) | Documentary

Other sources:

https://eji.org/news/history-racial-injustice-cultural-genocide/

https://www.britannica.com/topic/code-talker

8 Comments

Filed under History, History Undusted, Humanity Highlights, Liguistics, Linguistics, Links to External Articles, Military History, Psychology Undusted, Snapshots in History, YouTube Link

History Undusted: Engadin Sgraffito

I know that, for most of you, neither Engadin nor Sgraffito have made you any wiser as to what this blog is about, so first, I’ll start off by explaining where and what they are, respectively.

Engadin (pronounced En-Ga-Deen) is a long, towering Alpine valley in the Romansh-speaking canton of Graubünden in southeast Switzerland. The first mention of this valley was in Latin as vallis Eniatina in AD 930; in the Romansh language (one of the four national languages of Switzerland), it is Engiadina. The river running through the valley is called the En or Inn, and it is the only river in Switzerland that runs (via Austria) into the Black Sea. The region is usually divided into lower and upper Engadin, and it is connected to the surrounding regions by several mountain passes.

The second word, Sgraffito, describes a plaster technique that is traditional throughout Engadin: Layers of plaster of contrasting colours are scratched through, creating intricate designs on the facades of buildings (many of the buildings in Engadin towns were built (or rebuilt) in the late 1500s to early 1600s). The word comes from the Italian graffiare, which means to scratch; it can be traced back to the Greek word graphein, meaning to write (from which we also get any words containing the prefix, suffix, or derivative of graph (graphite, typography, graptolite, parallelogram, holograph, etc.). Sgraffito is not only used on buildings to make them look decorative, but it also serves the purpose of making a small feature look larger; on one building, the same floor had different-sized windows, likely installed over generations; the sgraffito was used to give a more uniform look to the façade. The decorations also make a plain building look grander, giving a more opulent impression. One building, pictured below, obviously had two occupants with very different characters back when they were originally decorated…

The basic technique for architectural features is to plaster the façade with the base colour; once that has set, it is then plastered with a contrasting colour; once that has set just enough, the scratching, or carving, begins. This is also a technique used in pottery and in creating stained glass effects (just click on the links if you’d like to see how these crafts are made).

One thing to note is that many old buildings here in Switzerland have dates listed on them: Of when they were originally built, and when they’ve been renovated. Part of the history of such renovations may include fires that swept through villages, or avalanches that buried a layer, or wars, such as the Swabian War and war against the Habsburgs, and the subsequent renovation or rebuilding of the towns or individual homes. Sometimes, along with the dates, a list of past and present occupants will also be displayed, preserving their names and memories within the history and changes of the building itself.

Below are a few pictures taken in Engadin during our recent summer holidays. Enjoy! Feel free to zoom in on the pictures to see the details.

5 Comments

Filed under Articles, Etymology, History, History Undusted, How It's Made, Liguistics, Links to External Articles, Military History, Snapshots in History, YouTube Link

Who’s Who in Quotes: John Bertram Phillips

Deciding who to highlight here in this space sometimes comes down to a moral choice; some of the people I’ve investigated as a result of a quote from my collection have turned out to have lived lives that are, frankly, not worthy of my spending time and effort to share their history. One was a multi-billionaire who was a womanizer and a miser who loved tormenting people under his control. He lived a miserable life and died a lonely death. As Jesus said, “What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?” (Mark 8:36). Others, while they may have lived lives worth remembering, made strings of unwise choices that led to scandals and/or dodgy associations with corrupt foreign powers. While a quote or two from such a person might hold a grain of truth or wit, I personally find it difficult to un-see the stains behind the curtain, as it were, and so I choose to highlight lives that have something worth learning from or from those people who’ve done something worthy of our respect.

The person I’d like to highlight today is John Bertram Philips (1906-1982), best known for his translation of the New Testament and part of the Old Testament into modern English. This work wasn’t done in a stuffy theologian’s office, but in the bomb shelters of the London Blitz of World War 2. During that war, he was the Anglican vicar of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Lee, London, and he realized that the young people in his church had difficulty relating to, or understanding, the Authorized Version of the Bible, aka the King James Bible, which was first published in 1611*. By the mid-1940s, English had changed fundamentally, and it has continued to grow and adapt; the older version of the biblical translation was and is (for most people) stuffy and unrelatable. [For those of you wondering which version of the Bible is most accurately translated from the original Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic texts, the NIV Bible adheres most closely to them; 2011 saw a major revision to the NIV translation, based on recently published critical editions from biblical scholars.]

[*The history of how The King James Bible came to be the king’s Bible is long and sordid, littered with spies, political intrigue and betrayal, ending in the gruesome martyrdom of William Tyndale, whose translation was basically appropriated after his death, which is ironic, as he was tried because his translation was illegal…”unauthorized” by the Holy Roman Empire political elite… but that’s another story.]

Encouraged by his friend, C.S. Lewis, Philips published the first section of the New Testament, starting with Paul’s letters to the churches, in 1947, with the Gospels following in 1952. The final compilation of the New Testament was published in 1958. In the 1960s, he translated and published parts of the Old Testament, though this was never finished within his lifetime.

As a minister and translator, a communicator at heart, it’s no wonder that there are numerous quotes taken from his writings, sermons, and letters written during his lifetime; in some ways, like Tyndale, he was ahead of his time in his understanding of God and our relationship with Him. As the saying goes, we today see further because we stand on the shoulders of giants. Whether or not you believe in God, if you live in any nation with Judeo-Christian foundations, you benefit from those shoulders in more ways than you know.

If you’d like to read more about the life of this complex man, who struggled with clinical depression most of his life and yet remained firm in his faith, please click on the link to an article titled, A Bruised Reed Firmly Planted.

Without further ado, here is a selection of quotes from John Bertram Phillips:

  • The refusal to be committed and the attitude of indifference can, in fact, never be neutral.
  • Christianity is not a religion at all but a way of life, a falling in love with God, and through him a falling in love with our fellows (fellow man).”
  • Christ is the aperture through which the immensity and magnificence of God can be seen.
  • God is not discoverable or demonstrable by purely scientific means, unfortunately for the scientifically minded. But that really proves nothing. It simply means that the wrong instruments are being used for the job.
  • All poetry and music, and art of every true sort, bears witness to man’s continual falling in love with beauty and his desperate attempt to induce beauty to live with him and enrich his common life.”
  • It is refreshing and salutary to study the poise and quietness of Christ. His task and responsibility might well have driven a man out of his mind. But He was never in a hurry, never impressed by numbers, never a slave of the clock.”
  • You can throw the whole weight of your anxieties upon him, for you are his personal concern.” (from his NT translation)
  • There is… no easy answer to the evil and suffering problem and no easy road to its solution. But Christ tackled the matter radically and realistically by winning the allegiance of a few men and women to a new way of living…They were to be the spearhead of good against evil.”
  • Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. It is, in fact, the one thing that still stands when all else has fallen.” (from his NT translation)

3 Comments

Filed under History, History Undusted, Links to External Articles, Military History, Quotes, Research, Snapshots in History

Etymology Undusted: Ducks and Drakes

Today’s phrase, playing at / making ducks and drakes, refers to skipping stones across a water surface, much like the image of a waterbird coming in for a watery landing. By 1614, the meaning had come to be associated with squandering or throwing one’s money away needlessly, much like stones were tossed away in stone-skipping.

The first written evidence of the phrase was in 1585, The nomenclator, or remembrancer of Adrianus Junius, translated by John Higgins:

“A kind of sport or play with an oister shell or stone throwne into the water, and making circles yer it sinke, etc. It is called a ducke and a drake, and a halfe-penie cake.”

These two terms also appear in nursery rhymes; the first, found in A History of Nursery Rhymes (1899) by Percy B. Green, where he mentions that this rhyme was repeated when skimming stones:

A duck, a drake, a barley cake,
A penny to pay the baker;
A hop, a scotch, another notch –
Slitherum, slitherum, take her.

The “barley cake” is “halfpenny cake” in this 1916 version of The Real Mother Goose:

A duck and a drake,
And a halfpenny cake,
With a penny to pay the old baker.
A hop and a scotch
Is another notch,
Slitherum, slatherum, take her.

In 1626, it is mentioned in the play Dick of Devon:The poorest ship-boy Might on the Thames make duckes and drakes with pieces Of eight fetchd out of Spayne.”

Many cultures share the simple pastime of stone tossing, with their own terms for it: American English, skipping stones; British English, skimming stones or ducks and drakes; in Scottish, Skiting or Skliffing; in Irish, stone skiffing. In French, making ricochets (faire des ricochets); in German, stone flitting (Steinehüpfen); in various languages such as Bulgarian, Greek, Latvian and Lithuanian, their terms refer to frogs rather than ducks. In Japanese, cutting water. In Norwegian, fish bounce (fiskesprett). In Portuguese, either water shearing (capar a água) or making tiny hats (fazer chapeletas). The list goes on and on!

The oldest reference to the pastime goes back to the 2nd century AD by the Greek scholar Julius Pollux; in the 3rd century, Marcus Minucius Felix (a Latin writer) mentions children skipping shells on the beach.

Today, of course, it has become a serious competition for some. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, the record for the number of skips is 88, held by Kurt Steiner; the furthest distance for men is 121.8m, made by Scotsman Dougie Isaacs, and 52.5m for women, thrown by Nina Luginbuhl from Switzerland.

The next time you’re out at a lake or shore, toss a stone and remember the long and colourful history of ducks, drakes, frogs, fish, hats and water!

Leave a comment

Filed under Etymology, History Undusted, Liguistics, Linguistics, Snapshots in History

The Fascinating History Behind the Fraktur Typeface

Last Sunday at church, a friend filled an entire room with her late father’s books, setting up an impromptu book shop. I chose several books, most of which are in Fraktur typeface, known to some people as “Gothic” or “Old German”. I enjoy reading such books because they offer a snapshot of a cultural way of thinking. The books I chose were printed between 1877 and 1940. The latter date is significant, as you’ll soon see.

First of all, let’s clarify a few terms: Though many people think of font and typeface as interchangeable, in fact, they refer to two different aspects of a writing style. Typeface refers to a particular style of lettering (e.g. Times New Roman), while font refers to the variations within that style, such as size and weight (CAPS, bold, italic, etc.). Another term we know but may not fully understand is Serif: This refers to the small stroke or line attached to the larger stroke of a letter; an example would be an A with “feet” at the bottom of each down-stroke. Sans Serif simply means “without Serif”.

The first moveable-type printing press, designed by Johannes Gutenberg in Germany around 1440, was based on the ancient Roman design of a screw press used to press wine or oil, which in turn went on to be used to press designs into cloths. He was likely familiar with intaglio printing and may have done some work himself in copper engraving.  These designs and uses likely fermented in his inventor’s mind into what became the revolutionary turning point of literacy. Gutenberg’s original typeface was called Donatus-Kalender; the metal type design was itself a form of Textura (more on that in a moment).

Donatus Kalender
Example of Blackletter (Source: Wikipedia)

This original family of typefaces was known as “Blackletter”, aka “Gothic scripts”, with the height of popularity peaking around the 14th to 15th centuries. The ancestor of the Blackletter was called the Carolingian minuscule, a calligraphic standard of handwriting widely used in the medieval period, when literacy began increasing and a need for books in a wide range of subjects began to be in demand. It is thought to have been developed in the mid-770s by Benedictine monks north of Paris in the Corbie Abbey, famous for its scriptorium and library. The minuscule itself was derived from Roman Uncial as well as Irish Insular script, which was developed in Irish monasteries and spread throughout Europe.

Carolingian Minuscule
Roman Uncial
From the Book of Kells, an example of the Irish Insular script

The family of Blackletter typefaces included Early Gothic, which was a transitional script between the Carolingian miniscule and Textura (the most calligraphic form of Blackletter); Schwabacher was a form popular in early German print typefaces (it became widely known with the spread of Luther Bibles from 1522), in use from the 15th century until it was eventually replaced by Fraktur around 1530, though it was still used alongside Fraktur for emphasis, much like we use bold or italic today.

Schwabacher Typeface
Textura Typeface

Another blackletter typeface developed between 1470 and 1600: Antiqua. This typeface’s letters were designed to look like the handwriting of ancient Roman documents, with the letters flowing together, strokes connecting them in a continuous line, whereas Fraktur was distinguished by having letters “fractured” – separate from one another. The Antiqua-Fraktur Dispute deserves its own article, so stay tuned!

Antiqua Typeface (Source: Wikipedia)
Fraktur Typeface (Source: Fonts in Use)

The Habsburg Emperor Maximillian I (1459-1519) was King of the Romans* from 1486 to 1519 [the title of king was used by the kings of East Francia, the territory later referred to as the Kingdom of Germany, from the time of Henry II (1002) to Joseph II (1764)]. The king commissioned the artist Albrecht Dürer to create a series of woodcut engravings of the Triumphal Arch [Though many are familiar with the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, it is only one example of this ancient Roman architectural feature used as a free-standing structure (rather than the Greek version, which was used within a structure such as a temple).]. These engravings would be used to create what we would recognize today as essentially wallpaper, though its purpose was more of a statement of power or propaganda (read personal marketing) commemorating his nobility, generosity, and military conquests – an incongruous combination, if you ask those conquered… The final composite of printed papers stood nearly 3 metres (12 feet) high and was only one part of a series of three enormous prints commissioned by the king.

Albrecht Dürer’s The Triumphal Arch, for Maximilian I

 The Fraktur typeface was designed in the 1530s by Hieronymus Andreae, a German woodblock cutter, printer, publisher, and typographer closely connected to Albrecht Dürer. The typeface was made to decorate the arch, telling the stories of the figures depicted throughout. The typeface became popular in Europe and was in use in the German-speaking world, as well as areas under its influence (Scandinavia, Central Europe, and some eastern European regions), into the 20th century. Specifically, Fraktur was in use in German until 1941, when it was actually banned (which places one of the books I purchased on Sunday within one year of the end of the era of Fraktur!). The atmosphere that led to that ban arose from the dispute mentioned above. Once the Nazis were defeated, the ban was lifted, but Fraktur never regained its widespread popularity after that, though you can still see it occasionally in pub signs or various forms of ads, like beer brands.

I just pulled two books from my library shelves: One is an English book originally printed in 1895, with my book being printed in 1915; the other is a German book printed in 1892. The typefaces are widely different: The English text likely used the French Oldstyle, while the German book uses Renaissance Fraktur for the text body, while the end pages act as indexes and use a variety of blackletter typefaces, such as Muenchner Fraktur, Antike Kanzlei, and Enge verzierte Altdeutsch. To see examples of the typefaces mentioned here, please click on the link for Fonts In Use.

I hope you enjoyed this jaunt through history! Nearly every name mentioned, every typeface, and every event deserves its own undusting. Next time, we’ll deep-dive into the dispute that lasted well over a century!

3 Comments

Filed under Articles, Etymology, History, History Undusted, Humanity Highlights, Images, Liguistics, Linguistics, Links to External Articles, Military History, Signs, Snapshots in History

What Rubber Ducks Tell Us about the World

Before we dive into today’s topic, let’s talk about two of my favourite words: Flotsam and Jetsam. I just love the way they sound! The way I understand them, the difference between the two is intention: Flotsam are things unintentionally donated to the sea – things washed overboard from a ship, or things blown off land by a storm. Jetsam is rather something intentionally jettisoned – if a ship needs to lighten its load to avoid sinking, for instance; in the case of the great garbage patches, it is a mixture of both: Without proper disposal systems in place, such as municipal garbage disposal, or education in ecological footprints, social debris is simply tossed and forgotten. But it ends up somewhere, often finding its way to the ocean through rivers and streams. And this leads us to the topic of ocean currents.

Today’s topic is a fascinating dive into a world of global trade; research has shown that around 90% of international trade is carried by shipping containers, and the World Bank statistics show that in 2019, nearly 800 million were shipped annually; given the increase over the past few years in online shopping, I can imagine that figure is by now significantly higher. The unit used for measuring how much a ship can carry is TEU (Twenty-foot Equivalent Unit); the chart below shows the adaptation of ship sizes over the years, driven by global trade:

Now, imagine a shipping container stacked at the top of a pile that’s the height of the actual ship; add to that ocean swells and waves. I’ve been on ships in the Atlantic facing waves so high, I could count fish through my window. I’ve been on ships in the “Sailor’s Nightmare” – the Pentland Firth passage between Scotland and the Orkney Islands – which is characterised by rough bathymetry (the underwater equivalent to topography) and extremely high currents (which also ricochet and collide off of the coasts of the islands and Scottish cliffs), tossing anything on the surface like a leaf in the wind. The World Shipping Council estimates that, over the past 16 years, an average of 1,500 containers have been lost at sea annually. Every year, the contents of those containers are carried along until the container is breached by either corrosion or impact. Then the contents are carried by ocean currents; where they finally make landfall depends on where they entered the ocean. If you were marooned on an island and tossed out an SOS in a bottle, it could make landfall anywhere between two and one hundred years – or never, if it’s caught in a gyre (more on that later). A message in a bottle was found on a beach in Norway that had been sent off 101 years earlier.

So what does that have to do with rubber ducks? In 1992, a shipping container with a consignment of what has been dubbed Friendly Floatees – 28,800 yellow rubber ducks, red beavers, blue turtles and green frogs – was washed overboard (along with 11 other containers) into the Atlantic. Because they are designed to float on water, they have survived at sea for an amazingly long time. Seattle oceanographers Curtis Ebbesmeyer and James Ingraham, who were working on an ocean current model, OSCUR (Ocean Surface Currents Simulation), began to track their progress; and those wee toys went on all kinds of adventures: Ten months after they broke free, some began showing up along the Alaskan coast; some showed up in Hawaii; some went to see the site of the Titanic sinking before getting frozen into ice, eventually emerging again and travelling to the US eastern coast, Britain and Ireland, making landfall around 2007. The researchers contacted coastal regions, asking beachcombers to report their finds; they recorded findings and began to accurately predict where landfall would occur. Over the years, the ducks and beavers had faded to white, but the blues and greens had retained their colours.

Flotsam and Jetsam have played key roles in helping researchers understand not only how ocean currents travel, but also how the areas known as garbage patches, oceanic gyres, are formed and retained by the swirl of ocean currents. Currently, five patches are known; many of the rubber ducks are likely caught in such currents, so we may hear about more white ducks finding their way to beaches in the coming years.

So the next time you see a rubber duck, think of all the adventures its siblings have been on!

If you’d like to see for yourself how ocean currents work, click here for an interactive map; just click on any area of the map to see how and where the currents carry debris from that point.

6 Comments

Filed under Articles, Etymology, History Undusted, Images, Nature, Research, Science & Technology, Snapshots in History

Tasteful History: Hot Cross Buns

This “History Undusted” has a tasty twist: I’ll dive into the history behind this food popular throughout the English-speaking world and Commonwealth nations, and then I’ll include a recipe if you’d like to try it yourself.

Pompei Bread, AD 79

Hot Cross Buns can be traced back to the medieval period, though scoring the top of breads has been practised for thousands of years; a bread, found in the ashes of the volcanic eruption that wiped out Pompei, shows scoring – likely to make the portioning of the loaf easier; it’s a precursor to the sliced bread we know today. Early Hot Cross Buns used this knife-scoring; the version we recognize today was first introduced in 1361 by Brother Thomas Rocliffe, an English monk at St Alban’s Abbey, who made what he called the Saint Alban’s Bun; he distributed the baked goods to the poor and pilgrims on Good Friday. Many foods can be traced back to a specific holiday: For instance, when you think of a Christmas meal, wherever you are in the world that celebrates Christmas, specific combinations of dishes come to mind that you probably don’t eat at any other time of the year.

During the medieval period, the crossed buns would be hung from the rafters of houses for an entire year, believing that they would ward off evil spirits. During the 1600s, the Puritans put an end to that practice, and Queen Elizabeth I even banned the sweet breads, consigning them to consumption on Good Friday, Christmas, or at funerals (bad luck for the deceased, who missed the excuse for the treat). By the 18th century, it had become firmly associated with Good Friday. To give you a taste of history, click here to watch a short video from the York Castle Museum.

Today, all kinds of versions are on the market year-round, from the traditional, to chocolate, to Cheddar cheese and marmite.

So, without further ado, here’s a traditional recipe you can recreate for yourself.

Hot Cross Buns

To watch this recipe’s creation, click here. Below, I’ve listed out the ingredients and basic instructions, as used in this video by Chef Jack Ovens.

1½ C. (375 ml.) whole milk – heat the milk until just warm on the stove or in the microwave on short bursts, until around 104°F/40°C.

In a mixing bowl, add 1 Tbs./9gr. Dry yeast & 2 tsp. out of ½ C. sugar (the rest will be used later); pour in the warm milk and whisk until combined. Set it aside for 10 minutes to allow the yeast to feed off of the sugar. A froth will form, which means the yeast is active.

Add in 4 ¼ C. (640 gr.) bread flour

the rest of the ½ C. sugar

1½ C. sultanas (raisins) (you could substitute ¼ C. with candied orange for the traditional version)

2 tsp. ground cinnamon

2 tsp. ground allspice (cloves, for the traditional version)

The zest of 1 large orange

1 egg, beaten

50 gr. melted, cooled unsalted butter

¾ tsp. sea salt

Mix all of this until thoroughly combined – either using a mixer with a dough hook, or by hand.

Dust your workspace with flour, turn the dough out and knead for 8-10 minutes. Shape it into a smooth ball. In a greased mixing bowl, place the dough and cover with a warm, damp tea towel and allow to proof for 1 hour, or until doubled in size. When it’s risen, punch the dough a few times to remove the air; dust your workspace with flour and tip out the dough. Knead the dough to remove any air bubbles, then shape it into a log around 60 cm / 23 inches long. Slice that in half, then roll each section to a log to 40 cm / 15 inches long.

Slice each half into 6 even pieces; form each into a ball, tucking the edges underneath.

Line a deep-sided baking tray with parchment/baking paper, and lay your balls of dough in rows of 3 by 4. Cover with an oiled piece of plastic wrap to allow the buns to rise without sticking to a towel. Allow to proof for 40 minutes.

While it’s proofing this final time, preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F

To make the dough for the crosses:

½ C. /70 gr. bread flour

95 ml. cold water

Whisk these together until it forms a piping paste.

In either a piping bag with a 3mm nozzle or in a plastic bag with the corner snipped off, spoon in the dough and pipe it across the rows of buns, making sure to cover to the edges of the buns.

Bake for 20-22 minutes, rotating the tray halfway through. A few minutes before the buns are done, in a small bowl, mix:

½ C. / 110 gr. caster sugar

150 ml. boiling water

Mix with a pastry brush until the sugar is dissolved. Remove the buns from the oven and glaze them with the sugar water – just enough to cover each. This will give a nice crunch to the crust of the bun. Allow them to sit in the tray for a few minutes, then transfer to a wire rack. Slice, butter, and enjoy!

Leave a comment

Filed under Food History, History, History Undusted, Snapshots in History, YouTube Link

Who’s Who in Quotes: Will Rogers

Will Rogers is one of those larger-than-life characters who seemed to have had his fingers in every pie imaginable: Born in November 1879 as a Cherokee Nation citizen in the Indian Territory now known as Oklahoma, he was the youngest of eight siblings, only three of whom survived into adulthood. His mother died when he was just ten years old. By the time he was 20, he’d begun appearing in rodeos, and in 1902 at the age of 22, he and a friend moved to Argentina to find work as gauchos (a skilled horseman, hired by ranchers in many South American countries). When their adventure failed, and they’d lost all their money, Will couldn’t bear to ask for money from home, so he took a boat to South Africa, where he was hired as a ranch hand. His career as a trick roper began there, as he joined the Texas Jack’s Wild West Circus. From there, armed with a letter of reference from Texas Jack, he moved to Australia and joined the Wirth Brothers Circus as a rider and trick roper. By 1904, he’d returned to the States and performed in the St. Louis World’s Fair, then began using his riding and roping skills in the Vaudeville circuits; he was often billed as The Cherokee Kid. His natural humour hit a chord with audiences, who loved his frontier twang of an accent coupled with his off-the-cuff wit and commentary on current events; he built his later career around that talent.

In 1908, he married Betty Blake, and they had four children; three survived into adulthood, all of whom went on to have careers in the public eye in one way or another.

By 1916, Rogers was a featured star in Ziegfeld’s Follies on Broadway; from there he branched off into silent films; at that time, most films were made in or around New York, which allowed him to continue performing on Broadway. The New York Times syndicated his weekly newspaper column, “Will Rogers Says”, from 1922 to 1935; he also wrote for The Saturday Evening Post; this progressed into books – over 30 of them. He also hosted a radio program, telling jokes and discussing current events with his simple, disarming humour.

Click here to see a short, 3-minute video showcasing some of his amazing rope tricks.

He was an avid supporter of the aviation industry, and he took many opportunities to fly to his various engagements. In 1926, while touring Europe, he saw how much more advanced the commercial services were there in comparison to the States; his newspaper columns often emphasized the safety and speed of travel aeroplanes offered, which helped shape public opinion about the new mode of transport.

In 1935, Wiley Post, a famous aviator of his time, proposed flying from the West Coast to Russia to find a mail-and-passenger air route, and Rogers asked to go with him in order to find new material for his newspaper columns. Post’s plane was modified for the long flight, and floats were added for landing on water. On 15 August, they took off from Fairbanks, Alaska, for Point Barrow, a headland on the Arctic coast. Bad weather hindered their ability to calculate their position, and, after landing in a lagoon to ask directions and taking off again, the engine failed at low altitude and plunged into the lagoon, killing both men. Rogers was 55.

In such a short life, he left a huge legacy in many fields of entertainment and helped shape public perspectives on politics and civil responsibility. He was a household name in the early 20th Century and a trusted voice during the Great Depression, identifying with the struggles of the average American and holding a mirror to politics with his witty satire.

Here are a few of his famous quotes:

  • Be thankful we’re not getting all the government we’re paying for.
  • Even if you are on the right track, you will get run over if you just sit there.
  • Everything is funny, as long as it’s happening to somebody else.
  • I don’t make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.
  • My ancestors didn’t come over on the Mayflower, but they were there to meet the boat.
  • Live so that you wouldn’t be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip.
  • The only difference between death and taxes is that death doesn’t get worse every time Congress meets.
  • The trouble with practical jokes is that very often they get elected.
  • There’s no trick to being a humorist when you have the whole government working for you.
  • This country has come to feel the same when Congress is in session as when the baby gets hold of a hammer.
Will Rogers

2 Comments

Filed under History, History Undusted, Humanity Highlights, Quotes, Snapshots in History, YouTube Link

History Undusted: Shop Signage

I’m fascinated by a few aspects of architecture in particular, such as doorways, knockers, unusual features such as sundials on the sides of buildings, mural paintings (here in Switzerland, these are sometimes hundreds of years old), and shop signage – you’ll see the latter even in the smallest town here.

This past summer, my husband and I rented a motorhome and travelled mostly in eastern Switzerland. I would say that 90% of my photos were of shop signs! I find that if you focus in on one topic, you’ll begin to see that thing everywhere.

Known as commercial signage or trade signs, such symbols of a shop’s products have been used as far back as ancient Egypt. As many people were illiterate, the pictorial shop sign not only advertised what was for sale in a shop but also distinguished the shops with similar items. By the mid-15th century, English laws even required shops that sold ale to hang a shop sign out; it made inspections of the quality of the ale easier. Some signs were temporary; for instance, if a woman made more ale or bread than her family could consume, she would put out a sign to sell the surplus and thus earn a bit of money. In the narrow streets of medieval towns, signs might be so large as to nearly touch the building on the other side of the lane, and they could become a hazard to passing horsemen or coachmen. By the mid-16th century, regulations were passed to limit the size of signage, and the securing of the sign to the building to avoid it endangering passersby. In Britain, hanging signs were eventually phased out in favour of what were are most familiar with – a flat sign denoting the store along the space above the front windows. But here in Switzerland, shop signage is everywhere – not just old, but also newer additions.

The development of the signs, including elements of guilds or heraldry symbols, led to competition between blacksmiths to create the most elaborate ironwork. The signs evolved from simple displays of ware to symbolic representations of a shop owner’s name or a heraldic connection or patronage of royalty (e.g. a crown). Examples might include shoemakers displaying a shoe or gilt boot, bakeries displaying bread, and haberdasheries displaying a needle and thread or a coat.

Here is just a fraction of the signs I photographed during our holidays, with brief explanations:

The building from which this sign hangs was built originally in 1664, and renovated to the current form in 1830. It was originally an inn/tavern on one side, and a forge (blacksmith) on the other. The Raven, as a tavern, took its symbol from the legend of St. Meinrad (797-861 AD); he was a hermit who rescued two young ravens from a sparrowhawk and raised them in his hut in the Finstern Wald (dark forest). In 861, he was murdered by two robbers; when they realized what they’d done, they fled to Zürich, but the crows followed them into a tavern and attacked them; the others present thought it unusual, so they took the men captive; they confessed, and were executed. The raven became a symbol of inns along a pilgrimage road; it was sometimes combined with a wine jug and bread.

The Hotel Santis sign has a few symbols: The wine is an obvious reference to a tavern, pub or inn; the pine cone is an interesting addition: It was the symbol of the field sign of the Roman legion stationed in Rhaetia in 15 BC, and hence it is used as a heraldic charge (an emblem on a shield). It may have been included in this sign to proclaim a good place for soldiers to eat or sleep, or as an advertisement that it was protected under a legion or unit of the military at a time when such protection would have been welcome. The bell symbolized a pilgrimage or an invocation of guardian angels over a premises.

I think this is fairly clear – it’s a bakery!

This building is a pharmacy; the front of the building is a beautiful example of the mural painting I mentioned earlier; these panels represent the herbs and flowers used medicinally. The saying painted toward the right side reads: Vielerlei Kraut gegen Leibesnot, aber kein einzigs wider den Tod (Many herbs against bodily pain, but none against death).

This symbol denotes a carpenter’s shop.

This café sign would be clear from any stagecoach stopping for a break and horse change what could be expected inside. The figures are dressed in traditional Appenzeller clothing.

And lastly, here’s a traditional sign with a modern addition: It’s a hunting lodge, or inn that serves wild game meat. Next to it, peeking around the corner, is a figure from a toy shop.

 I hope you enjoyed this little excursion!

10 Comments

Filed under Articles, Etymology, History, History Undusted, Linguistics, Military History, Signs, Snapshots in History, Translations, Virtual Tours