Tag Archives: France

June 18, 2025 · 10:00 AM

A Long Dordogne Weekend

The first weekend in June, I took a much-needed break. Our home renovations, which lasted 14 months altogether, were finally finished. For a few months, I’d been looking for a suitable writers’ retreat, or a creative retreat – ones that didn’t have yoga as part of the course (I won’t go into my reasons; let’s just say I wouldn’t be able to relax in that kind of atmosphere). I’d finally found one – and it would be at a place in the Dordogne (one of the “departments”, or regions, of France) I already knew from the YouTube channel Manor & Maker. After I’d booked the course, which would have been a creative weekend around the theme of fairy tales, it unfortunately had to be cancelled. But as I’d paid for the course and flights, I decided to go anyway.

The “weekend” started off on Thursday, with the worst travelling day I’ve experienced in years: In France, workers will strike at the drop of a hat; I think they still haven’t figured out that the French Resistance and the habit of inconveniencing everyone just because they can is passé. But the Bordeaux taxis were on strike Thursday and Friday – which meant that the roads in and out of the Bordeaux airport were blocked (the police were even helping the strikers). Therefore, the airport shuttle across the city to Gare Saint-Jean (train station) was thrown off its scheduled routes. I waited in vain for the shuttle to arrive at its alternative location, and, through a succession of helpful advice (more or less – not everyone was informed about the strike and changed traffic routes as a result), what should have taken 30 minutes ended up taking 3 hours (carrying luggage). I finally arrived, then bought a train ticket (the last train of the day possible), then waited. And waited. Other trains leaving after mine popped up on the board, but not the train for Limoges (my stop would be Thiviers).

In the ticket office, the woman in charge (who spoke little English when she chose and had fobbed me off to someone more capable) had belligerence and a little-god/diva complex down to a fine art. (As the saying goes, be careful how you treat me or you’ll end up in one of my novels…) As the train’s track information didn’t pop up and still didn’t show up, I braced myself and got back into the queue to ask about it. Fortunately for me, the older French couple in the queue in front of me asked about the train for Limoges; I could follow enough of the French and body language to know what happened next: The diva answered curtly with a generous portion of rudeness added – and promptly had her head scrubbed, bitten off and handed to her on a silver platter – to the applause of everyone who’d had to deal with her already. The husband of the couple was ready to rip her hair out for speaking to him the way she had, until another ticket woman stepped in between them and tried to diffuse the situation – apparently, she had practice at it. This second woman then came out with the growing crowd of waiting passengers to see what the problem was at the information board; after several minutes on the headset with the control room (I assume), it finally popped up. Naturally, it was the farthest train track, and we had only 5 minutes to reach it! The couple took me under their wing, and we made it to our seats just before the doors closed. I finally arrived at my destination, Thiviers, around 9 p.m.

I was met there by Stephen, the Chatelain of Chateau de Saint-Germain-des-prés, and driven back to their home. What followed was a lovely, long weekend; only one other B&B couple were there, but rarely seen. I had time to unwind, work on my next novel, and spend time with Stephen and Sara (the Chatelaine) and Sara’s mother, Dee. Sara is a costume seamstress, and she was working on a Regency coat for Steve for an upcoming BBC segment at the chateau of their friends. Dee and I helped piece the pattern together, and the billiard table in their grand salon became the sewing table for the project.

Here are a few pictures from the weekend, which included a modern art exhibition at another local chateau, as well as an outdoor artisan pottery fair. Barring strikes, I’d love to go again sometime!

3 Comments

Filed under Images, Links to External Articles

Tagged as Bordeaux, Chateau de Saint-Germain-des-prés, Dordogne, France, French Strikes, Gare Saint-Jean, Manor and Maker, Stephen and Sara, Weekend Get-Away, Writing Retreat, YouTube Channel

December 19, 2024 · 6:09 PM

Humanity Undusted: Paris Catacombs and the Les Ux Secret Society

This week’s adventurous tale is a proverbial rabbit hole; diving into it takes us past the problem of Paris’ 18^th century dilemma of dealing with the “explosive” issue of overfilled cemeteries, which forced King Louis XVI to take action: Bury them deeper. Following this problem and its solution into the ground, so to speak, leads us into the massive (1.5 km long) ossuary (bone depository) of Paris. Once you reach the ossuary, which contains the artfully arranged skulls and bones of some six million residents (around three times more than the actual population of central Paris, which as of 2023 was 2.1 million…), you aren’t officially allowed to go any further – because above your head is the bustling city of street cafés, boutiques, and historical buildings. And when someone buys a house up there, they are actually also buying the land on which it stands – which includes their section of the underground maze of mining tunnels and caverns; venturing beyond the official section makes you an intruder on private property or breaking and entering an actual shop – but more on that in a moment. The message above the entrance to the ossuary reads, Arrête! C’est ici l’empire de la Mort. (“Halt! This is the Empire of Death.”). That warning doesn’t stop it from being one of Paris’ most popular tourist attractions.

The tunnels, now known as The Catacombs, were originally dug far outside of the small 13th-century city when Lutetian limestone was mined as a local building material (any town or city with a distinctive architecture owes its appearance to whatever was available locally when it was founded – whether wood, stone, thatch or brick). Though no one knows with certainty, as the mining resources were eventually exhausted and the mines abandoned, an estimated 350 kilometres of tunnels undermined the city, which covers some 32 square kilometres beneath Paris… a city beneath a city, as it were.

And yes, buildings have occasionally been swallowed; in 1774, about 30 metres of a street disappeared into a cavern below. This led to the formation of the Générale des Carrières (IGC), an office created in 1777 by King Louis XVI to oversee the mapping and maintenance of the catacombs. During the French Revolution, many things got lost and fell out of collective memory, including the underground map.

*Paris Catacombs Map – Inspection Générale des Carrières, 1857, Pulbic Domain*

Throughout the years, the tunnels have been put to various purposes, aside from the macabre: Mushrooms were cultivated there; beer was brewed, wine aged, and Chartreuse liquors were distilled down there by monks in the 17^th century. The city beneath the city had no prime real estate overhead for businesses, and many took advantage of the free space, making access for their customers through the various access points throughout Paris. It also served the French Resistance during world war 2, even though the Nazis also used a section of the tunnels. Now, let’s go back up out of the rabbit hole for a brief moment.

Remember that I wrote officially allowed? Well, a secret maze of tunnels is too much to resist for the adventurous, called cataphiles. But there is a secret society at large down there, too.

When you think of a secret society, you might think of the Luminati or something else sinister; but the Les Ux would be more akin to Robin Hood. The story goes that in 1981, a group of kids were talking after school, and one of them mentioned that he could break into any building in Paris; in fact, his next target was the Pantheon. They didn’t believe him, and so they all went down together – and found out just how easy it was to go wherever they wanted. The Pantheon, which was the tallest structure in Paris until the Eifel Tower was constructed, vacillated between being a church and a secular building several times over its history, depending on the political regime, and it finally became a secular structure in 1885 under the Third Republic. It now is a mausoleum, with famous residents like Marie Curie, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas and Voltaire; but it is also a museum, an art exhibition hall, hosts school events and lectures, and is linked to a section of the catacombs – which is where the group of school friends began their adventures.

During one of their nocturnal outings, the group stumbled upon a narrow passage full of electrical cables; following those, they found themselves in the basement of the Ministry of Communications. No security stopped them and they were able to explore at their leisure. In a drawer, they found the motherlode: A map of the entire catacomb structure. That changed the course of their lives, and they eventually became known as the Les Ux, short for “urban experiment”. These individuals, unknown to anyone but themselves, specialize in safeguarding Paris cultural goods – stepping in when the government can either not afford to or doesn’t care enough to preserve something of cultural or historical value. They seem to think that, unless it’s a big-ticket attraction like the Mona Lisa, things get neglected. For instance, the mission statement of one branch of Les Ux is to reclaim and transform disused city spaces for the creation of zones of expression for free and independent art.

The group, now a full-fledged underground movement, is divided up into teams with seemingly nonsensical names: The Mouse House (an all-female team of infiltrators), La Mexicaine De Perforation (in charge of clandestine artistic events and underground shows), and the Untergunther (specializing in restorations); they also have teams that specialize in things like running internal messaging systems and coded radio networks, a database team, and a team of photographers.

Some of their exploits include restoring a forgotten metro station, a 12th-century crypt, an old French bunker, and a World War 2 air raid shelter. One member, likely from the Mouse House, wrote a detailed report about a particular museum’s security, telling them how many ways she could have broken in and stolen had she been so inclined. She then infiltrated the museum and left the report on the desk of the museum’s head of security. He went straight to the police to press charges. They refused to pursue the matter.

They built an entire cinema complex in the catacombs, complete with a bar and restaurant, where they are thought to have held film festivals for several months or even years before being discovered by the police in a random training exercise. When the police returned to remove the cinema, everything was gone except a note which read, “Don’t try to find us.”

Les Ux has held many events within the Pantheon over the years, including parties and art exhibitions – all vanishing, and leaving the place cleaner when they left, before the museum opened the next day. One night, a team member (from Untergunther) decided to take a closer look at the broken Wagner clock, which hangs over a prominent entrance within the building. Their most public restoration (that we know of so far) was, of course, an embarrassment to the management of the Pantheon: One of the members, Jean-Baptiste Viot, was a professional clockmaker; the team snuck in for nearly a year to restore the clock. They built a secret workshop (complete with armchairs, bookcase, and bar, which they nicknamed the Unter and Gunther Winter Kneipe – German for winter boozer!) high up in the dome of the pantheon, and carried out the clock work by night. Once it was done, they knew that the clock would need to be wound regularly to continue working – so they broke protocol and met with the museum director to tell him the good news. He promptly pressed charges… but there are no laws in France about repairing an expensive clock at their own expense, and the case was dismissed with the comment, “This was stupid!” The museum director hired someone to break the clock, presumably to avoid the hassle of winding it up regularly, and also out of spite for losing his case and his face; the person refused to damage the clock, simply deactivating the mechanism. Les Ux snuck back in to let the clock chime over the days around Christmas, then went back in and removed a component to prevent any further damage the next time spite struck. I’ve read that since that time, the clockmaker of Untergunther has actually been hired by the Pantheon to maintain the clocks.

We only know of a fraction of their activities, of course, because they don’t publicise their accomplishments or events. Below are a few links if you’d like to read more on this fascinating topic! I hope you enjoyed this little exploration as much as I did!

Here are a few links to articles, if you’re interested in learning more:

Meet Paris’ Secret Underground Society (Youtube video)

The Fight Between Cataphiles and Underground Police in the Paris Catacombs

Paris’s new slant on underground movies (with a member interview, explaining how they pulled off the cinema complex)

3 Comments

Filed under Articles, History Undusted, How It's Made, Humanity Highlights, Links to External Articles, Military History, YouTube Link

Tagged as Alexandre Dumas, Catacombs, Cataphiles, Europe, France, French Resistance, French Revolution, Inspection Générale des Carrières, King Louis XVI, Les Ux, Links YouTube, Map 1857, Marie Curie, Mining, Ossuary, Pantheon, Paris, Restorations, Robin Hood, Secret Society, Underground Societies, Victor Hugo, Voltaire, World War 2

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-5^th 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 6^th 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 14^th 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 19^th 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!

2 Comments

Filed under Articles, Etymology, History, History Undusted, Military History, Snapshots in History

Tagged as Benedictive Monastery, Childeric, Columanus, Filibertus, France, Franks, French Revolution, Gauls, Hundred Years' War, Jumièges Abbey, King Clovis, Middle Ages, Normandy, Queen Balthild, Rold Ganger, Roman Empire, Salian dynasty, William the Conqueror

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!

5 Comments

Filed under Articles, Etymology, History, History Undusted, Links to External Articles, Quotes

Tagged as Duchy of Normandy, English Kings, France, Gaul, Harald Harfager, Heimskringla, Hundred Years' War, Kings of Norway, More Danico, Normandy, Normans, Norsemen, Norway, Quotes, Raids, Rollonis Ganger, Rouen, Snorri Sturluson, Things, Viken, Vikings, William Longsword, William the Bastard, William the Conqueror

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 14^th and 15^th 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 18^th 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!

5 Comments

Filed under History, History Undusted, Military History, Science & Technology, Snapshots in History

Tagged as 1389, Architecture, Claude Monet, France, French Revolution, Great Clock, Gros-Horloge, History, Hundred Years' War, Joan of Arc, Normandy, Rouen, Roune Cathedral, Vikings, Wool Trade, WW2

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!

3 Comments

Filed under Etymology, History, History Undusted, Military History, Quotes, Snapshots in History

Tagged as American Revolution, Ancien Regime, Celtic Tribes of Switzerland, Coffeehouse Culture, Confoederatio Helvetica, France, French Revolution, Guillotine, Habsburg, History Undusted, Invasion of Switzerland, Mark Twain, Military History, Napoleon, Quote, Reign of Terror, Roman Era, Spain, Swiss Confederacy, Switzerland

December 15, 2019 · 6:38 AM

History Undusted: If World War I were a Bar Fight

History can be confusing sometimes, especially if it’s distant – beyond our own experience. Who’s who, who did what, and what the consequences were can all seem a bit vague. The analogy below, put into a relatable context, may help you visualize an important bit of world history; I don’t know who came up with the original piece, but it’s brilliant! I’ve made several additions here and there, but otherwise, it’s someone else’s work – if anyone knows who originally came up with this analogy, please let me know so that I can give credit where credit is due!

If World War I were a Bar Fight

Bar Fight, World War 1

Germany, Austria and Italy are standing together in the middle of a pub when Serbia bumps into Austria and spills Austria’s pint. Austria demands Serbia buy it a whole new suit because of the new beer stains on its trouser leg. Germany expresses its support of Austria’s point of view.

Britain recommends that everyone calm down a bit.

Serbia points out that it can’t afford a whole new suit, but offers to pay for the cleaning of Austria’s trousers. Russia and Serbia look at Austria. Austria asks Serbia who they’re looking at. Russia suggests that Austria should leave its little brother alone. Austria inquires as to whose army will help Russia make them do so.

Germany appeals to Britain that France has been eyeing Britain, and that it’s unwise for Britain not to intervene. Britain replies that France can look at whoever it wants to, and that Britain has been watching Germany too, and what is Germany going to do about it? Germany tells Russia to stop looking at Austria, or Germany will render Russia incapable of such action anymore. Britain and France ask Germany whether it’s looking at Belgium.

Turkey and Germany go off into a corner and whisper. When they come back, Turkey makes a show of not looking at anyone.

Germany rolls up its sleeves, looks at France, and punches Belgium and Luxembourg, who had been minding their own business at the end of the bar. France and Britain punch Germany; Austria punches Bosnia and Herzegovina (which Russia and Serbia took personally); Germany punches Britain and France with one fist and Russia with the other. Russia throws a punch at Germany, but misses and nearly falls over.

Japan calls from the other side of the room that it’s on Britain’s side, but stays there.

Italy surprises everyone by punching Austria. Australia punches Turkey and gets punched back. There are no hard feelings, however, because Britain made Australia do it.

France gets thrown through a plate-glass window, but gets back up and carries on fighting. Russia gets thrown through another one, gets knocked out, suffers brain damage, and wakes up with a complete personality change.

Italy throws a punch at Austria and misses, but Austria falls over anyway. Italy raises both fists in the air and runs around the room chanting. America waits until Germany is about to fall over from sustained punching from Britain and France, then walks over and smashes it with a barstool and pretends it won the fight all by itself.

By now all the chairs are broken and the big mirror over the bar is shattered. Britain, France and America agree that Germany threw the first punch, so the whole thing is Germany’s fault. While Germany is still unconscious, they go through its pockets, steal its wallet, and buy drinks for all their friends.

Everyone went home, leaving Germany to pout on the floor planning on how to get even.

Originally posted on History Undusted, September 2015

15 Comments

Filed under History, History Undusted, Military History, Snapshots in History

Tagged as America, Austria, Bar Fight analogy, Belgium, Bosnia, Britain, France, Germany, Herzegovina, History Undusted, Humor, Humour, Italy, Japan, Luxembourg, Military History, Russia, Serbia, Turkey, World History, World War 1

October 17, 2019 · 1:41 AM

History Undusted: The Colour of Carrots

Unless you’ve been living under a rock all your life, chances are you’ve eaten carrots. Orange through and through, they can be eaten sweet, as in a carrot cake, or savoury with dips or in a stew. But where did they come from? Have they always been orange? The short answers are Central Asia, and nope.

Carrots - Carrot-Museum-co-uk

Carrots, which likely originated in the Himalayas and the Hindu Kush ranges and spread along the Silk Road, were white/ivory wild roots gleaned for their leaves and seeds – much like their genetic relatives of coriander and parsley, and it may be that the products of these plants were used medicinally, like many other plants and herbs.

They were first cultivated as a food crop in the Iranian Plateau and Persia, and even today the centre of diversity remains in the region, in Afghanistan. Long before they were cultivated, the wild varieties had become widespread throughout Europe, as far back as 5,000 years ago, though fossilized pollen has been identified as belonging to the carrot family in the Eocene period (55 to 34 million years ago).

These little roots have approximately 32,000 genes, which is more than you and I do; and just two of those genes are recessive, creating a build-up of alpha- and beta-carotene. Over a thousand years ago, purple and yellow varieties began to appear, and around 600 years ago, the orange variety began to dominate the market, appearing in Spain and Germany around the 15^th or 16^th century.

One apocryphal theory is that the orange coloured carrots were cultivated by the Dutch in honour of William of Orange, a 16^th century commander who fought against the Habsburg dynasty; even if this legend isn’t true, the orange carrot did become associated with William of Orange, and during the 18^th century, the noticeable display at market stalls was considered to be a provocative political gesture in support of William’s descendant, who had been driven from the English throne. The distaste for the political figure didn’t stem the taste for the root, however, and they grew in popularity. Most modern orange carrots descend from a strain grown in Hoorn, Holland; today’s carrots, more vivid orange, contain 50% more carotene than those of 1970. Modern carrot breeders continue to refine the carrot, improving flavour, colour and texture, as well as reducing bitterness and enhancing sweetness.

Though other varieties of carrots are making a comeback, the beta-carotene and vitamin A which causes the deep orange was thought to improve eyesight (that is a misnomer). This led to a diversion tactic of the British during World War 2: They claimed that eating carrots improved night-vision and that their pilots ate carrots to have that advantage; it was misinformation spread to hide the Royal Air Force’s development of radar technology from the Germans. Aside from the propaganda ploy by the military, carrots were a staple in the diets of the British, who used the humble root as a sweetener and a vegetable staple, and was promoted for health benefits. Food rationing tightened the Brits’ belts, but the carrot came to the rescue; it was a common, home-grown staple, and could be used as a substitute for restricted items as it was not subject to rationing. Carrot was even used as a secret code word, broadcast by the BBC in French to the French Resistance, to warn of the impending D-Day landing in Normandy: On the 4^th of June 1944, several messages that seemed nonsensical to listeners were broadcast, including, “les carottes sont cuites, je répète, les carottes sont cuites!” (“The carrots are cooked, I repeat, the carrots are cooked!”) This gave the resistance fighters the signal to carry out their plans to sabotage railway and telephone lines. Carrots were the last vegetables added to a stew; if they were already cooked, it meant that the plans were set – no going back. Normandy landings began the next day, 5 June, which led to the liberation of France and the ultimate defeat of the Nazis.

The word carrot was first recorded in English around 1530 and was borrowed from Middle French carotte, originally from the Indo-European root *ker– (horn), probably due to its horn-like shape. At the time, carrots (white) were visually similar to parsnips, the two being collectively called moru (from the Proto-Indo-European word mork (edible root)); the German for carrot is Möhre).

For more information than most people could possibly use in their lifetime, check out this link to The Carrot Museum, my main source of information for this article (along with the Economist).

The next time you sit down to a good vegetable stew or a plate of crudité and dips, think of the grand history of the humble carrot.

6 Comments

Filed under Articles, Etymology, History, History Undusted, Links to External Articles, Military History, Research

Tagged as Britain, Carrot Museum, Carrots, D-Day, Etymology, Food History, Fossils, France, French Resistance, History Undusted, Holland, Links, Military History, Normandy, Royal Air Force, The Economist, Varieties of Carrots, William of Orange, World War 2

July 6, 2019 · 10:32 AM

History Undusted: A Grain of Mustard

Mustard My husband and I once discussed mustard (as one does). Specifically, he had been on Google Earth and mentioned that he saw rapeseed fields near Dijon; I replied that they were more likely to be mustard fields. He was under the impression that mustard was a bush, or a tree, and we wondered if there might be varieties of the plant that ranged in size, especially if left to grow wild. And thus, a bit of research into the mustard plant ensued (naturally).
First, a bit of history on Dijon mustard: Originating in 1856, the first Dijon mustard was made by substituting green (unripe) grape juice for the more typical vinegar, though today that unripe grape juice is a spade called a spade, white wine. Surprisingly, 90% of the mustard seed used in local Dijon production comes (mainly) from Canada – so those yellow flowering fields near Dijon could be rapeseed after all!

Dijon, France doesn’t just make the eponymous mustard, but has dozens of speciality Dijon Hand-Painted Jar mustards; when travelling through a few years ago, we picked up jars of orange mustard, fig mustard, lavender mustard and tomato mustard. They often come in hand-painted pots, though plain glass jars are common as well. The word mustard itself comes from Old French mostarde, which comes from Latin mustum, meaning “new wine”. This may also be related to a Swiss-German term Most, meaning apple juice that’s nearly fermented; it’s often sold in the autumn from farmer’s shops, if they have an apple orchard from which to produce it.

Mustard seeds come in white, brown or black. White seeds contain fewer volatile oils and so are milder than brown or black. Years ago I consulted a doctor for remedies I could recommend to singing students who often struggle with sore throat issues; she told me to have them put 1 teaspoon of dark mustard seeds into a hot foot bath and soak the feet for 10-15 minutes; the mustard oils draw out the infection.

Mustard, as a condiment, was likely first made in Rome, appearing in cookbooks as far back as the 4th or 5th centuries. They probably exported the seeds to France (Gaul), and by the 10th century monks were experimenting with recipes. Grey-Poupon was established in 1777 between the partners Maurice Grey and Auguste Poupon.

So were those French fields rapeseed or mustard? Well, actually, both: Rapeseed is a bright-yellow flowering member of the family Brassicaceae (mustard or cabbage family). While both rapeseed and mustard are harvested for their oils, they are as similar as mustard is to cabbage; rapeseed oil is the third-largest source of vegetable oil in the world, while mustard seeds are usually prepared as mustard condiment (though mustard oil is also popular in cuisines such as Indian).

Now we know!

Originally posted on History Undusted, 17 August 2015

5 Comments

Filed under Etymology, History, History Undusted, Research

Tagged as Ancient Rome, Dijon, Etymology, France, Gaul, History, History Undusted, Latin, Mustard, Rapeseed

January 10, 2018 · 2:35 PM

History Undusted: A World War II Love Story

Once in a while I come across amazing stories; this one is truly one of dedication, perseverance, love, and gratitude.

Peggy and Billie Harris were married just 6 weeks before he was sent off to war as a fighter pilot over Nazi-occupied France in the Second World War. Six decades later, Peggy finally found out what happened to him, no thanks to her own government. Deep gratitude to, and a friendship with, a small French village is just one result of her amazing patience and quest for the truth. Click on the picture to hear about this amazing story. (9½ minutes long, 3-part story)