Juxtaposition

I'd like to take a break from identifying cell organelles (yeah!...) to talk about the marvelously ironic country that is the United States of America. Flipping through the Wikipedia article on 31 January, you will discover that, on this day in 1865, the "United States Congress passes the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, abolishing slavery", yet on this day in 1876, a mere eleven years later, the country "orders all Native Americans to move into reservations". Huh.

America is a very interesting country. It's only been officially independent since 1776, yet in that relatively short time, it has risen to become the world's greatest superpower. (You could argue for days, I am sure, as to whether this is a title it retains, but it is very true to say that it was the dominant world power for almost all of the twentieth century.) A melting pot of many, many different races and religions, and containing immigrants who often arrived incredibly poor, America in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries had the potential to completely fail as a democracy, simply because of its diversity. From some countries, you had Catholics escaping persecution, other countries, Protestants and others still Jewish (and that's just counting the major European religions), yet these incredibly different groups of people managed to exist side by side once they were in America.

The sheer size of the country probably had something to do with this. There was enough room, if you so required, to pack up and move thousands of miles away from the people who were annoying you, and still be assured of land and space to call your own when you arrived there, unlike in the highly overcrowded European nations. Often, new states sprung up where people of the same religion congregated - Pennsylvania, for example, was founded (first as a colony, then later as a state) by William Penn, a very prominent Quaker leader, and the religion dominated the state's governance for decades; Utah was founded by Brigham Young, a leading Mormon and has retained that connection to the Mormon religion to this day.

Though there were instances of segregation such as these, there are other examples of many different nationalities and creeds living side by side. New York, for example, had a very diverse population simply because it was home to the largest immigration center in the country; California after 1848 had an equally diverse population because of the myriad prospectors arriving from all over the world hoping to try their luck in the gold rush.

This is not to say that the US was not without its problems. Slavery was not formally banned in the country until 1865, whereas most European countries had banned it much earlier in the century (Britain, for example had banned in 1833). Even after this point, treatment of black people, particularly in the Southern states, was often terrible - the so-called 'Jim Crow' laws continued right into the twentieth century, and the Civil Rights Movement was still (understandably) very active until over a century later, when ethnic minorities were finally granted equal rights.

Their treatment of the Native Americans was equally despicable - the forcible moving to reservations of the peoples was just the beginning of the end, with many "savages" having been treated as second class citizens since Europeans had first started coming over to the country. 

Women and other ethnic minorities were also often treated poorly, though in some cases, this was not much different to the rest of the world. Irish and Chinese immigrants were often little better than slaves, as they worked in highly dangerous occupations such as mining or building railways for an incredibly small wage, and no rights to protest, but, sadly, this was pretty much the same as the rest of the world. Though some states allowed women to vote in the late nineteenth century, the Nineteenth Amendment to the Constitution (which allowed universal women's suffrage) was passed in 1919, very comparable to most European countries. 

Obviously, the country was not perfect at all, particularly in their treatment of ethnic minorities, but it is truly remarkable that it was able to become such a dominant world power in so little time. They have often been held up as a bastion of democracy, and though clearly there are examples which can be found that illustrate that this was most definitely not true, there are plenty more examples to show that it is. Not for nothing do we still hold true the idea of the "American dream" - that a penniless man could come to the country, escape the rigid class systems of Europe, and make himself a millionaire. Naturally, these situations were very rare, but they did occasionally happen. Social class was much more fluid in eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth century  America than it was anywhere else.

It will be interesting to observe what direction the United States takes over the next few decades. Once a model of democracy, the right-wing Tea Partiers, such as Sarah Palin seem to be having more and more influence on life there - the recent shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and the other innocent victims is directly attributable to the violent rhetoric that is more and more forthcoming from certain political leaders; and the new Republican congress wants to restrict abortion still further, even going as far as redefining rape (you can be 'forcibly raped' or 'not really raped it was just a bit of harmless fun and who says a woman should be conscious during sex anyway') as if women who have been attacked haven't been through enough. Ironically, we may see, in a few decades time, the Middle Eastern countries that the US has been determined to invade in order to bring democracy to, actually being more democratic and allowing women more rights than America itself.

But who knows? I am a historian, not a fortune teller, after all.     

25 Presidents in Rhyming Couplets

A Dreadful Poem Commemorating the Achievements of the First 25 Presidents of the United States

because today is Number 25's birthday. 

American presidents number forty four,

with George Washington the first to take the floor.

(Though he didn't live in the White House

because it hadn't been built yet).

John Adams is next, a bit of a bore,

his main achievement: an undeclared war.

(It was against France - the 'Quasi War'

and basically nothing happened in it.)

Next up was Tom Jefferson, who went down a storm,

always on tip-top intellectual form.

(He wrote the Declaration of Independence

and was a polymath - Greek for "bloody clever".)

James Madison, the Bill of Rights' author

comes in as President number four[ther..]

(Look, rhyming isn't my strong point, okay?

You try finding a rhyme for 'leader of the House of Representatives'...)

James Monroe wrote his own famous doctrine

instructing Europeans to "keep out, the swine!"

(Though as I wrote earlier, he didn't exactly have an army to back him up

so it was a miracle they did, really...)

John Adams' son, John Quincy, was five

well - they had to keep the family name alive!

(The Quincys were a political dynasty

which means they get cities in Massachusetts named after them, and stuff...)

Andrew Jackson's next - and what a meanie!

The things he did to the natives were quite unseemly.

(If you want to know more, check out this book

it's really good, but quite depressing, so ready your tissues...)

Martin Van Buren isn't really known for much,

though was the first President whose parents were Dutch.

(He also is thought to have popularized 'OK'

though when he used it, it was to describe where he came from - Old Kinderhook.)

President Harrison lasted but thirty two days,

dying of the flu, that terrible malaise.

(His death sparked a bit of a consitutional crisis because no one knew what to do

but obviously they sorted it out because the US is still running...)

Successor John Tyler was very unpopular when

he ignored his party's principles as President ten.

(They later excluded him from the party, and most of his cabinet resigned

but it was a bit late by then.)

Polk increased the land mass by twenty percent

but only secured one term as President.

(He won most of what is today California, Arizona and New Mexico

in the peace treaty at the end of the Mexican-American War.)

President twelve, Zach Taylor, was the last Whig

but ate poisoned cherries, thus ending his gig.

(Which was quite unlucky really,

he escaped death as a soldier in many wars, and then...that?!)

The VP took over - Mr. Millard Fillmore

who opposed allowing slavery in territories gained in war.

(Which made him very unpopular in the South

where rumblings of the Civil War were already starting.)

Franklin Pierce, number fourteen, was loved at first,

then became considered one of the worst.

(Though most contemporary historians agree that he was just out of his depth

with the US descending further and further into war and chaos.)

James Buchanan did not have a wife

and his Presidency was marred by strife.

(Not that, you know, I'm suggesting those facts are related

I just couldn't find a rhyme for Buchanan...)

Lincoln delivered the Emancipation Proclamation 

which some say caused his assassination.

(Everyone talks about his being the most loved leader of the US

which is clearly a posthumous accolade because he was so loved at the time that someone shot him...)

 Andrew Johnson led the country through post-war reconstruction

but ultimately, this led to his own destruction.

(He'd been a military man during the war and wasn't really cut out for politics,

ending up the first President to be impeached.)

President Grant had been a military hero

but when he left office, his popularity was zero.

(This was mainly due to lots of scandals when he was leader

and severe economic depressions, which always tend to be a bit of a bummer.)

Nineteenth on the list is Rutherford Hayes,

a President known for his liberal ways.

(He spent one term encouraging and laying the groundwork for meritocratic government

then stepped down and spent his life promoting educational reform. Nice chap.)

James Garfield's Presidency was also cut short,

and his killer was dealt with by the Supreme Court. 

(He wasn't killed by the bullet of his assassin, but the infection that developed afterwards.

He was moved to the sea, in the hope it would aid his recovery, where locals laid a train track for him to get there in a matter of hours!)

The VP, Chester Arthur, took over, as was the norm

soon becoming "the Father of Civil Service reform".

(Which, you know, I'm sure was a very good thing,

but it isn't really very exciting, is it?)

Grover Cleveland became President Twenty-Two

the only one to serve non-consecutively, too.

(Bugger, this means I have to come up with more rhymes

which is a challenge, when he didn't really do much. What rhymes with 'boring'?)

The Twenty-Third President was Benjamin Harrison

who admitted six states into the Union.

(North & South Dakota, Montana, Washington, Idaho and Wyoming

if you were interested.)

Now we're back to President Grover Cleveland

Whose second term wasn't really all that grand

(It was full of economic panics and depressions,

which ruined the Democratic Party and led to Republican landslides.)

The final President for us to see

was the last of the nineteenth century - William McKinley

(about whom I know two facts:

today was his birthday, and the high school in Glee is named after him.)

  

Proud & Prejudiced: Female writers in the early nineteenth century

For Christmas, my lovely friend Christina got me a copy of the novel Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. I've never read it, nor indeed any other of Austen's works, and I haven't seen any of the film or TV adaptations of it either, but the copy she bought me is an absolutely beautiful book (look! It has swans on! Or at least, I think they're swans... And it's gold! What's not to love?!) and Christina insisted that I simply had to read it because it would revolutionize the way I looked at love and I figured that since so so many people rave on about it, it can't be all that bad, so I'm reading it. And it is pretty interesting. 

It's not the first thing I would have picked up in a bookshop, so I'm glad it was given to me because there isn't much chance I'd have read it otherwise, and it's actually quite good. For something that was written at the beginning of the nineteenth century, it's still very readable, and the love story itself (yeah, I'm yet to finish it, but I'm pretty sure of exactly who is going to end up betrothed to whom...) is a fairly timeless one.

By which I mean to say, 'Thank you very much for this gift Christina, I'm actually enjoying it'. But I'm not an English student thank God not that they aren't completely lovely people; I just loathe most poetry and I have no idea how to analyse a text, so I couldn't tell you about the writing styles and the hidden metaphors and whatever else it is that write-y people bang on about. Not that you would want to read my analysis of a half-read book anyway. No, I'd much rather talk about the book's author, Jane Austen herself, as today in 1813 was the day the book I've been rambling on about was first published.

There are books and website a-plenty out there about her, so I'm not going to waste time filling you in on facts about her birth, death or daily life - instead, I'm going to attempt to put her writing into context: how, as a woman in the early nineteenth century, did you get published?

With great difficulty, it appears. Pride and Prejudice was not Austen's first published novel, and had in fact been a work in progress for many years prior to it's publishing, but when it finally went to print in 1813, it did so anonymously and only after Austen's brother, Henry, had persuaded Thomas Egerton to publish the novel. Her books, once published, remained steady sellers; they were often reviewed favourably and were fashionable amongst the elite aristocracy of the early nineteenth century, but despite this success, Austen was not persuaded to 'come out' as the author of the books, and when she died, in 1817, her achievements as a writer were not mentioned at her funeral, though the 'extraordinary endowments' of her mind were.

Austen was not the only female author in the nineteenth century and beyond to hide behind a veil. Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, which was first published a year after Austen's death in 1818, had the first few editions of her book published anonymously; Charlotte Bronte wrote under two pen names - Lord Charles Albert Florian Wellesley and Currer Bell,  the name which appears on early versions of her most famous novel, Jane Eyre. 

It wasn't until much later in the nineteenth century that authors such as Louisa May Alcott were able to print under their own names as men were - Little Women was published in 1868. Though Alcott herself was a passionate advocate of women's suffrage - she was the first woman to register to vote in the state of Massachusetts - there are some schools of thought which say that she was only published because her novels were deemed 'mere' women's books. Her semi-autobiographical stories were seen as fairly trivial, and not radical enough to be threatening to most men, who in the nineteenth century, and beyond had a firm idea of where women 'belonged' - and it was not in the publishing house. 

Clearly, this is not something I agree with at all, but I can at least understand where most of these men were coming from. They had been brought up in an incredibly patriarchal society, which firmly believed that women should not be involved in business of any description - some even believed that educating women beyond the basic skills needed to write letters or perhaps speak a little French was too much. They were a product of the society they had been brought up in; it took a World War and the womens' suffrage movements of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to show them how wrong they had been in their ideas, and fortunately for us today, there would be no need for a female author to publish anonymously or under a male pseudonym, because we no longer live in such a sexist society.

Except, a few years ago, around the turn of the millennium, I remember listening to a radio interview with a female author, who was asked why she had used a pseudonym (of sorts) to publish her (very well selling, and well written) books under. The author replied that she had been advised that publishing her stories, which had been written to appeal to neither boys nor girls specifically, under her obviously female name might turn boys off reading the books - young boys wouldn't want to been seen reading a book written by an (eurgh!) GIRL. Her publishing house advised her that she should at least attempt to make her name less obviously feminine, in order to appeal to a male fanbase. 

So she did, choosing to publish using her first initials and surname - 'J' and 'K' and 'Rowling'. It's such a remarkably progressive society we live in.     

15 Reasons Why Wars Are Utterly Stupid & Daft:

15 Reasons Why Wars Are Utterly Stupid & Daft:

A list which came about because I am in the middle of revising for my final exam on the history of warfare, a topic I loathe, and the only interesting facts I manage to find about the battles are ones that are far to trivial to write about in an essay

and

because I like lists a lot. 

1) Shoes are important:

The Battle of Gettysburg, in 1863, remains the largest battle ever to have been fought on American soil. Ever. And do you know why it came about? Confederate General Robert E. Lee's army had no shoes, and when they found themselves outside the small Pennsylvanian town of Gettysburg, they thought to themselves, 'Oh hey guys, these Northerners have lots of shoes! Let's go raid the town for them!'. So they did. Where they happened to bump into the massive Union army, and realized that they'd better start fighting. The Confederates lost the battle, sadly, so I don't think they got any shoes at the end of it all. Sadface.

2) No really, they are: 

My friend Phil told me this story: during the Crimean War, the British were hopelessly disorganised, and decided to send all the left boots down to the Crimea on one ship, and all the right ones on another. And one of the ships sank. You couldn't make it up...

3) Actually, the whole of the Crimean War was a bit of a farce: 

I feel a bit bad making fun of the Charge of the Light Brigade, because so many people died, which is obviously a horrible thing, and would've been devastating for their families and everything, but the whole thing was completely preventable. British cavalry were given the order to charge up the 'Valley of Death', waving their swords about, whilst the Russians blasted them to pieces with cannons on all sides, thinking the British must be drunk.

4) To be honest, most nineteenth century wars were totally ridiculous:

Take the Franco-Austrian War of 1859, for example. It's a fairly insignificant one, in the grand scheme of things, but one thing it is famous for is the fact that the French had the bright idea to utilize the new railways to get their troops to the battlefield fresh and ready to fight, whereas the Austrians went on a two week march to get there. Anyway, the Austrians eventually cottoned on to this train business, and sent their reserve force to the next battle this way. Except they got off at the wrong station and completely missed the battle. Really.

5) And if they weren't missing battles, they were being inadequately prepared:

So a few years later, in 1870, the French were fighting the Prussians, and they had this amazing new weapon, called the matrielleuse. It was a forerunner to the machine gun, so if you were into slaughtering innocent soldiers, it should totally have been your weapon of choice. The Prussians should have been completely wiped out, but they weren't, because the French soldiers hadn't been trained in how to use their new gun, so it was effectively completely pointless.

 

6) Still, at least the French actually had an army:

After Charles II was restored to the throne, Parliament wanted to control his actions as they were afraid he'd do what his father had done, and plunge the country into Civil War again. Their solution, therefore, was to pay for and control the Navy, whilst allowing Charles an army only if he promised to pay for it himself. (Which, y'know, doesn't seem like the brightest move ever - 'Of course you can have an army! Just as long as you're in total control of it, not us! That'll ensure you won't try to attack us or anything...') In the end, Charles didn't attack the MPs (he was too busy partying and being a closet Catholic, two things which totally go together...) but for many years, the English army wasn't officially recognised as such, and the country at least technically had no army. 

7) However rubbish and unofficial the English army was, at least it wasn't full of sheep:

So the Civil Wars themselves were very complex, and their origins even more so, but one of the reasons they occurred was because Charles I needed money from Parliament for a war he was fighting in Scotland - the Bishops' War. In this war, England and Scotland were fighting over Bibles (as you do...), but the English army was much larger than the Scottish one, so the Scottish generals found themselves in a bit of a quandary. They decided that if they could trick the English into thinking their army was much larger than it was, they might be unwilling to fight them - and this plan turned out to be a good one. They did indeed manage to trick the English, by padding out their ranks with sheep, whom the English thought were...particularly woolly soldiers? God knows how this one worked...

8) Mind you, at least they weren't being paid in wool:
During the 100 Years' War, coinage was in short supply, so the English soldiers were paid in sacks of wool. Because all a fighting bloke really wants to do is learn to knit...

9) And about that '100' Years' War business:
Yeah, it actually lasted 116 years. But looking on the bright side, standards in numeracy had improved immeasurably by the time the Seven Years' War rolled round, and that ended bang on time, in 1763.

10) Also, at least numeric names make sense:
100 Years' War, 30 Years' War, Seven Years' War - they're all fairly logical, no? War of 1812 - that's another fairly self-explanatory one. The War of Jenkins' Ear...yeah, perhaps not. Though thinking about it, it started because Captain Jenkins had his Ear cut off by Spanish coast guards, so the name isn't that daft, even if the war itself was...

11) If you thought the names of wars were daft, wait until you hear what's going on on the battlefield:
So there's a very famous miscommunication about the First World War, where some field commander or another sent a message via telegram saying, "We're going to war, send reinforcements" but this got mistranslated and ended up as "We're going to a ball, send three and fourpence", and I can kind of see how this happened but honestly, didn't anyone think to check if this was the right message, coming from, y'know, a battlefield. War does this to people...  

12) Sometimes, people switch sides in the middle of conflicts:
Have you ever watched a children's cartoon and seen one of those montages where the good guys chase the monster through a door, then you see them turning around with the monster chasing them, then next thing you know, they're chasing the monster again, and no one knows what's going on? You have? Good. Visualize that happening in real life, 'cause it did: in 1460, the Earl of Warwick invaded (I'm assuming from some far distant land, and not, y'know, the well known island of Warwickshire...) captured Henry VI and installed Edward IV on the throne. Ten years later, in 1470, Warwick invaded again (oh who knows, maybe the Midlands were suffering from a lot of flooding around that time...), this time reinstalling Henry VI. You couldn't make it up...


13) We didn't get much better in World War Two either:
So Dunkirk was this terribly disorganised thing, where a load of British soldiers were trapped on a beach in Normandy with German soldiers advancing towards them and readying their planes to fly over and drop bombs on them, so the government requisitioned every ship on the south coast, even little two or three man fisher-boats to go out and rescue them, and they managed it, securing the rescue of the soldiers trapped on the beaches. In fact, everyone was so elated by the events that Winston Churchill had to make a special radio broadcast reminding the country that this wasn't actually a victory - in fact, it was a pretty awful defeat.


14)Anyway, sometimes you don't even need to fight, you can just employ a terrible euphemism plonk your warship in someone else's harbour:
As the British did when the Portuguese threatened to renege on their promise to grant independence to Brazil. No shots were fired and no fighting happened, but a stern warning was issued, and the best ship in the Navy set sail for Lisbon just to reinforce the point.

15) And sometimes, you just need to sound convincing:
In 1823, President James Monroe issued the Monroe Doctrine to the rest of the world, which basically said "Hey you guys? Yeah, don't attack us, 'cause we'll so get you back worse". Well, I'm not sure he said it quite like that, but that was definitely the general gist of things. Anyway, Spain and Portugal, who had both been planning to continue or restart old wars, backed down completely upon hearing this. Even though, at the time, the US had no navy and a very poxy little army. So really, all you need to do is sound threatening enough!

Oh my God. Am I condoning bullying?! Oh dear...         

Unscrew the stars

Today marks the 163rd deathday of Caroline Herschel, who was possibly one of the most extraordinary women I have ever come across. Deemed by her own parents 'too ugly to be married', the middle-class girl grew up in Hanover, Germany, ensured that she was well-educated and used her spinsterhood to her advantage - the time she would have spent caring for her husband and any children they may have had was spent studying space, and she eventually ended up being more famous than her brother William, also a keen astronomer. She produced two astronomical catalogs which are still in use today, and on top of all this, was a professionally-trained soprano, despite being a mere four foot three inches in height. Basically, she's another woman who makes me feel hopelessly inadequate, hoorah!

Caroline Herschel, 16/03/1750 - 09/01/1848

Herschel was one of six children born to Isaac and Anna Ilse Herschel, a middle-class couple from Hanover, Germany. Isaac was a keen musician, and took a job as a bandsman in the Prussian Army, encouraging his children - including Caroline - to become well-educated not just in the sciences and maths, but also in music. However, in 1760 when she was 10, she contracted typhus, a disease which left her growth stunted (she never grew taller than 4'3") and her body physically deformed. Her own father believed that she was too ugly to ever marry, and her mother discouraged her education after this point, believing that she would be more suited to becoming a house servant, which she did from the time of her father's death in 1767, until 1772, when she accepted an invitation from her brother to go and live with him in England.

Because the King of England (George II) was from Hanover, the two countries were united, and the citizens of Hanover were granted dual-citizenship, so William Herschel (Caroline's brother, who was 12 years older than her) had moved to England in 1766, he had found it easy to set up a house in Bath, from where he taught music and organised various concerts. When she arrived, William tutored her in singing, and she became such a good singer that she was the principle soprano of many of the concerts her brother organised, and was even offered a job as a singer in Birmingham, though she declined this.

Despite being talented musicians, both the Herschels' real passions lay in the field of astronomy. William not only enjoyed spending nights looking through telescopes at the stars, but also making his own telescopes. It was Caroline, however, who ultimately proved better than her brother at crafting the instruments - she possessed incredible dexterity and patience and was willing to spend many hours making the devices. As well as this, she taught herself how to properly record the observations her brother made in the style that the key astronomers of the day used. As this work was fairly mundane, her brother encouraged her to start using the telescopes herself, and during the 1780s and 1790s, she discovered many comets, becoming the first woman to do so. 

In 1781, William discovered the planet Uranus (though he initially believed it to be a comet) and was invited to name his discovery. His initial choice of 'George' in honour of the King was overruled in favour of 'Uranus' (after the Greek god of the sky, Ouranos - making it the only planet whose name comes from Greek mythology), but the King was clearly flattered enough to offer him the position of chief astronomer to the royal family. A few years later, in 1787, Caroline was awarded £50 per year by the King to work as William's assistant - an important milestone, as it marked the first time a woman was paid for scientific work.

When William married in 1788, the amount of work he did reduced, but Caroline's output increased, as her brother's wife was able to take over the general running of the household, freeing up more of her time to study space. As well as continuing to discover comets and nebulae, she produced the Catalogue of Stars - a rather dull, but incredibly useful piece of work. With stars being discovered left, right and centre, it was often impossible to tell if your 'new' star had already been spotted by someone a few years ago, especially as the previous catalogue that had been used to confirm new discoveries was many years old. In 1798, the Royal Society published her new catalogue, which contained all the stars from the previous list, with erroneous recordings removed, as well as 560 new stars. 

After William's death in 1822, Caroline returned to Hanover, though she continued to correspond with her brother's son, John, who was also a prominent scientist. In 1828, she was awarded the Gold Medal for Science by the Royal Society (the first of many awards); the next woman to be awarded the medal was Vera Rubin in 1996. She herself died in 1848, aged 97, and though it was true that she never married as her parents predicted, it was because of this that she was able to become one of the very first female scientists to gain international recognition for her work.    

Everybody's Gone Serfin'

A few months ago, I wrote about the crisis (of sorts) that led up to the Battle of Hastings, with various people thinking that they were the rightful heir to the English throne after Edward the Confessor's death, which happened today, in 1066. I was going to give you 10 Interesting Facts About Edward the Confessor, seeing as it was him who died today, but I...um...couldn't find that many facts. And they weren't actually that interesting. So instead, I present to you 10 Interesting Facts About William the Conqueror, in the hope that you might find some of these more interesting.

1) "Harold, your Kingliness? Um, I know you've just fought that massive battle at Stamford Bridge and all - and well done for winning, especially as you were fighting your brother, it can't've been easy, but I think you ought to head back down to the south coast, because another fleet of invaders have just landed..."

"Bugger. Who are they?"

"Oh, just some Normans, led by William the Conqueror..."

"William the Conqueror?!"

"Don't worry, it's just a nickname..."

This wasn't how it happened at all. Mostly because William's nickname was bestowed upon him posthumously - during his lifetime he was known as Bill the Bastard (but not to his face), due to the fact that he had indeed been born out of wedlock - his father was the Duke of Normandy before him; his mother, a maid. And also possibly because he did things like nailing people's tongues to planks of wood when they disagreed with him...

2) When Wills arrived on the south coast, he immediately tripped and fell over onto the beach. In a time where people were obsessed with omens, this could have gone down very badly, but according to numerous (Norman) biographies, he turned smiling to his men, and declared "You see - I already have the soil of England within my grasp!". Which is a lovely story and everything, but it's also a quite well told one, too. When Julius Caesar landed in England in 54BC, he was supposed to have done the exact same thing.

Now, this implies that either the man writing William's biography (and it would have been a man  - only monks were taught how to write) was very old, and getting his invaders mixed up, or that he heard the story and thought it would sound very nice in his book, as well obviously showing just how much God was on the side of the Normans, so bunged it in anyway, illustrating beautifully how History is always written by the winners.

(Of course, it could be that William had heard the story, and tripped and fell anyway, but managed to 'recover' from it by remembering what Caesar had said and repeating it to his troops. That could indeed have happened...)


3) As any fool knows, when History is not being written by the winners, it's being stitched by the winners - the classic example of this being the Bayeux Tapestry. The Tapestry, which is over 70 metres long, was commissioned by William's half-brother, Bishop Odo, and an incredibly detailed account of the events in it can be found here. It is an incredibly detailed and incredibly biased account of the lead up to the battle and the battle itself, sewn a few years after it had taken place. Today, it is on display in a museum in Bayeux, but there is a replica copy in the Museum of Reading, made during the Victorian times. It is identical to the original, except for one small scene on the original, which contains a naked man (no one's quite sure why). When the Victorians were restitching the new copy, they gave him a pair of blue shorts.

4) William liked to build things. One of the first things he built was an abbey - or rather, he instructed an abbey to be built on the site where Harold had been killed, which wasn't at Hastings at all. Instead, it was at a place called Senlac, which is a yoghurt for women with bowel problems the Saxon name for a place the Norman's rechristened Battle (displaying stunning creativity). I guess we always call it the Battle of Hastings because the Battle of Battle sounds rather daft...

5) He also built lots of castles. LOTS of castles. The most famous one is probably the Tower of London, though this took a few years to complete. In contrast, the first, at Pevensey was completed within eight days of the Norman conquest - though William probably had a couple of mates helping him with this one. The Motte and Bailey castles served as far more imposing structures than the previous Saxon ones had been, and were the Medieval status symbols, reminding the serfs who their new overlords were.

6) Speaking of the Serfs, it is worth noting that William had a far greater effect on their lives than people initially think. So their lord changed - what was it to them? They still didn't get paid for their labour regardless of whether they were being ruled by a Frenchman or an Englishman, so how could the invasion have had any impact on them? 

The Normans bought in new rules about the ownership of serfs. Whilst it was made illegal for them to be bought and sold at a market, the Anglo-Saxon system of a serf wandering around the country until he found a place he could work was abolished and they were legally tied to the land they worked on, which proved a bit of a bugger if a disaster struck there - sudden flooding for example - as they were forced to remain there and basically starve. 

New rules were also put in place, however, which allowed the serf to complain about any grievances he might have to the local lord. But as the grievances were almost always about the local lord, I can't imagine that this happened too often.

7) Something else which William brought with him as a special gift for the serfs was the class system - well, sort of. The peasants who worked the field spoke Anglo-Saxon English; the Norman knights and barons and churchmen (at least, the higher up ones) spoke French. Obviously these days we all speak English, but a lot of our class system is still influenced by the French language.

For example, pig, cow and deer are all English words, but pork, beef and venison are derived from French - whilst the animal is still rolling around in its own muck, it's English, but as soon as it's served as a meal, it's French. It may not surprise you to learn that our swear words all have Anglo-Saxon derivatives, rather than French...

8) William did a lot of things at Christmas. On Christmas Day 1066, he was crowned King in Westminster Abbey and on Christmas Day 1085, he came up with the really wild and exciting and Christmassy idea of performing a giant tax assessment on the country. 

9) This tax assessment deserves an entry of it's own, as it was of course the Domesday Book. A scribe in each village wrote down every single thing that was in the village and his list was sent down to Winchester for one monk to copy into one enormous book. Whilst the monk did manage omit his own village, he did stick the whole thing online so it's swings and roundabouts, really. The books are actually two separate books - or they were originally - Greater Domesday and Little Domesday. Little Domesday was (obviously...) the bigger of the two, and contained only the information they had collated about East Anglia. Once they saw how much detail they had gone into for this one area of England, the scribes realised there was no way they could finish in time for the deadline unless they cut a few corners through the rest of the country, which is why the other entries go something like: "Cornwall - tin. And fudge." or "Lake District - lake. Lake. Small pond. Bit bigger pond. Lake"...

10) Perhaps the best has been saved until last, though. William died in the summer of 1087 - as was his wont, he had been burning down a town in Normandy when his horse trod on a hot ember, recoiled and threw him off. William died of internal injuries soon after. Whilst he was being buried, a man burst in, demanding monetary compensation for the land that William had supposedly stolen off his father. As there were a number of rather angry looking locals supporting this man, Henry, William's son, hurriedly paid him off and the final acts of the service got underway.

This involved lowering William into his custom built sarcophagus. He was too fat. His body burst open, internal organs spilling everywhere, and the stench of rotting flesh filled the church.

On that note, I bid you farewell. 

War of Dried Fruit...oh wait

I am not the best person in the world at spelling, and rely heavily on computerized spellcheckers to ensure that my work is not riddled with errors. So when I read that on 4 January, 1903, Topsy the elephant was killed in the War of Currents, I immediately envisaged a couple of sultanas bravely facing an onslaught by a handful of raisins. In my defense, I should like to point out that the idea of AC and DC currents going to war with each other is just as nonsensical as dried fruit fighting (though in the interests of balance, fairness and embarrassing myself, I should point out that it was only after reading that Topsy was killed by Thomas Edison, via electrocution that it dawned on me that this particular war may have more to do with currents than currants...).

So let's dive right in to battle, shall we? The war of currents (sometimes known as the 'war of the currents', because Historians are crazy and wild like that), began in the late 1880s, when alternating current (AC) was invented and decided to go to war with direct current (DC).

When Thomas Edison invented the lightbulb, he used the electricity created by DC to make it work. DC works by having a constant current flowing through a wire in a similar manner to the way water flows through a pipe - how much water you have in your bucket (lightbulb) at the end depends on how fast the water flows through the pipe and how long it's been flowing for. In terms of electricity, this worked really well if you had a light switch on the wall and a lamp a few metres away that you wished to light. You could even share your electricity source with your neighbours, and they could have light too! It was all rather jolly.

There were, however, some significant problems with the system. If you wished to transfer power from its source at the power station to your home, you would need metallic cables which conducted electricity to do so. However, it took a lot of volts to light a bulb, and do the other things electricity was used for, and DC cannot be altered - if you need a high voltage at the end, you have to have a high voltage at the start, and keep that voltage high whilst the electricity travels to its end point. This proved slightly problematic, as if the current had to flow for distances greater than a mile, the wires would get so hot (due to the wasted heat energy being produced) that they would often melt and stop working. 

Edison's solution was to install lots of wires which ran over shorter distances (leading one observer to point out that this left the city of New York looking like a spider's web) but this proved dangerous, as during high winds or severe snowstorms, common in autumn and winter months, the wires would fall, electrocuting the people stood below them. In a particularly severe three day storm in March 1888, around four hundred people were killed this way. It was clear that the system couldn't continue for much longer.

Luckily, a very clever scientist named Nickola Tesla invented Alternating Current (by methods that, if I attempted to explain them, would result in my brain leaking out of my ears, so please just take my word on this one). AC, as the name suggests, alternates - sometimes it's positive, sometimes it's negative. For example, if an alternating current of 50 volts were to be measured using a oscilloscope (a fancy voltmeter), it would produce a sine wave that started at 0 volts, went up to 50, came back down to 0, went even further down to -50, came back up to 0, then further up to 50 again, and so on. 

Whilst this was very interesting to scientists, the main benefit that AC has to us all is that this enables it to be transformed - which basically means it starts off at a very high voltage at the power station, before immediately going through a transformer, which uses magic physics to lower the voltage significantly, but not the power produced from it, which means that the cables no longer heated up and melted, and power could be sent over huge distances. It was clear to everyone that this was a Jolly Good Thing Indeed, and preparations were made to switch over to AC, so that hundreds of lives could be saved, as well as many, many miles of copper cables.

Edison, however, had other ideas. He had patented the DC system, as was busy making huge amounts of money off it. He knew, though, that Tesla's invention was much better, and would soon make his old system obsolete, and therefore did everything in his power to discredit it. He claimed that it was a terribly dangerous thing - "a torrent rushing violently over a precipice" - and electrocuted animals with it to demonstrate its great danger, which is where the story of Topsy the elephant comes in.

(This is actually a really sorry tale - it made me weep, but then, anything to do with animals dying will do that... Topsy was an elephant who was kept in a zoo to perform for people, but by 1903 she had killed three men - one of whom had tried to force a lit cigarette down her throat. For this reason, she was deemed too dangerous to live, and was electrocuted using 6,600 volts of AC  by Edison, in an effort to demonstrate its dangers. He even filmed the event, and the footage is available on Wikipedia if you want to view it, but please don't - it's quite distressing...)

Tesla took the admirable stance of not saying anything derogatory about his rival and using just his own invention to prove how it was the best one to be used to provide electricity for the country. In 1897, the organizer of the Chicago World Fair asked Edison to supply the electrics for the event, and Edison agreed, requesting $1,000,000 to cover the costs of cables. Tesla approached the organizer, saying he could do it for half the price, and managed this feat. Edison was so annoyed that he banned Tesla and his sponsors from buying lightbulbs which he had patented. 

The damage to Edison's invention had been done, however. Once people saw that Tesla's alternating current was much cheaper and safer than using direct current, the switch was made, and within 10 years of the Chicago World Fair, 80% of American electricity was produced using AC. 

Which is all terribly interesting, but I'm a bit disappointed at the lack of dried fruit pummeling each other...         

Aftermath

5 July, 1945. The war in Europe was over, and Britain had emerged the 'victors' of the Second World War, along with the other allied nations. For the first time in over a decade, the country prepared to go to the polls, to decide who would be the new Prime Minister. 

Leading the Conservative Party was Winston Churchill, the man who had led the country through the war and whose party had been in charge before the outbreak of the war. He was a hero - hailed as the man who had held together the uneasy alliance between Communist Russia and highly capitalist America, as well as providing a well needed morale boost for Britain with his now infamous speeches about fighting the Nazis on the beaches with blood, sweat, toil and tears, and so on.

Leading the Labour Party was a man called Clement Attlee. The uncharismatic leader was fighting the war hero at the height of his popularity. In the previous election before the war, the Labour Party had won a mere 154 seats. It was clear to everyone what was going to happen; throughout the campaign, newspapers, foreign ambassadors, members of the public - even members of the Labour Party itself - were positive that the Conservatives would win the election with the greatest of ease. Britain went to the polls on 5 July (although Churchill himself could not vote, due to having forgotten to register), then the country patiently waited three weeks for the result (they had to count the votes of hundreds of thousands of troops, many of whom were still fighting the war, some as far away as Japan, where World War Two was still ongoing).

Life carried on as normal. The News of the World printed a front page article stating that Churchill and the Conservatives had a working majority; and the leader himself flew out to take part in the Potsdam Conference (a meeting between the presidents of Russia and America, which divided up the map of Europe after the fall of the Nazi Regime, where large chunks of Eastern Europe were handed over to the Russians in return for Western Europe keeping Greece, the supposed center of western civilization). The results of the election were expected on 26 July, so on this day Mr. Churchill flew back to the UK, not even bothering to pack properly. Stalin and Eisenhower expected to see him return within a few days.

What happened, therefore, was completely unexpected. Labour won 393 seats; the Conservatives a mere 197. They had just under 50% of the vote - 49.7%, to be precise. Why? Who was Clement Attlee, and how had he - the rather unassuming, uncharismatic Deputy Prime Minister of the Second World War Coalition to Churchill's war hero - managed to win such a great victory?

Attlee was born on this day in 1883, in Putney (London), one of eight children. He studied at a private London school until the age of 18, when he won a place to the University of Oxford to study Modern History (hooray!). His first job, from 1906-09, was working as the manager of a charitable club for working class boys, which was run by his old school. Previous to this, he had been quite a conservative man, but what he saw there convinced him that only significant income redistribution by the state would suffice to lift these children out of poverty, and he therefore became a socialist, joining the Independent Labour Party.

He became involved in local politics, and supported a lot of the more left wing proposals by the Liberal government which came just before World War One - he famously rode a bicycle around the southern counties of England in the summer of 1911, explaining their new National Insurance Act. During World War One, he served in the military (he was heavily involved in the Gallipoli Campaign, which gave him much respect for Churchill as a military strategist), but quickly returned to politics after the conflict was over, becoming mayor for one of London's poorest boroughs. 

As mayor, he implemented many socialist policies, such as forcing the slum landlords to spend much more money on ensuring that their properties were habitable, and also wrote a book, The Social Worker, where he famously wrote that "Charity is a cold grey loveless thing. If a rich man wants to help the poor, he should pay his taxes gladly, not dole out money at a whim". In 1922 he was elected as an MP, and he became leader of the Labour Party in 1935, always remaining very much on the left of the party. 

This inherent leftiness was very appealing to the country in July 1945, though it was his endorsement of a report that had been written a few years previously by a rather old Civil Servant which probably really won the election for him. Sir William Beveridge was commissioned in 1941 to write a report on 'Social Insurance and Allied Service', a task so monumentally boring that he put it off for a whole year, then sat down and wrote something completely different to what the original memo had suggested. 

Beveridge proposed that, after the war, the British government set about making a national insurance scheme, old-age pensions, family allowances and a national health service available to everyone in the UK, stating that the nation needed to be freed of the five evils of 'Want, Ignorance, Disease, Squalor and Idleness'. The health service, he declared, would be free to all at the point of delivery and available to a person "from the cradle to the grave".

Upon reading the report, Churchill and the other leading Conservatives agreed that the report was a rather nice idea in theory, but in practice would be so monumentally expensive to actually implement that they immediately dismissed it. However, someone in the Ministry of Information didn't get the 'yeah, we're ignoring this one' memo, and thought that it would make a rather nice morale boost for the country.

It did. After being published, it quickly became an immediate bestseller, translated into seven different languages (though I can't actually find a list of what these languages were - I can hardly imagine a typical working class man wanting to read the report in, say, Latin, or worse - German.) and a special pocket edition was produced for troops and resistance fighters. And in the run up to the election, in the summer of 1945, the Labour Party basically adopted it as their manifesto. 

They also promised a return to full employment for all the troops who had fought in the war. This was of particular concern to them, as when their fathers had returned from fighting in World War One, there had been very few jobs available, and unemployment amongst ex-soldiers was rife.  The depression of the thirties was seen as the Conservatives' fault, so Labour, led by Attlee promised that they would help the British to 'win the peace, as well as the war', something which was popularly believed not to have happened after the First World War. 

Of course, it wasn't Attlee who was directly responsible for bringing in the new National Health Service - that monumental task fell to Aneurin Bevan in 1948 - but his principle of Britain as a Welfare State remains to this day, though it is weaker during times of Conservative rule. Attlee also continued his progressiveness after his government had fallen from power - in 1955 he was elevated to the House of Lords, and three years later he established the Homosexual Law Reform Society with Bertrand Russell, a group which aimed to decriminalize being gay, and after nine years of campaigning, succeeded. Sadly, Attlee did not live long enough to see this victory, dying in October 1967, but his post-war reforms live on today, a legacy which earned him the title of Greatest 20th Century Prime Minister by a poll in 2004.