Which would you rather Feminist edition

Hello. Today is celebrate your ladyparts day International Women's Day. This is exciting, non? I think so. There is a lot of stuff out there about celebrating the achievements of various women and, alternatively, criticizing countries and regimes which subjugate women. Having read some of this over the past few days, I started to be very glad that I am living where I am, but also when I am. I'm fortunate, I thought, that I live in the 21st century, where, at least in the UK, I am treated as a human being with human rights. So much better, I thought, than in Ye Olden Days.

Until I started reading this book. It's very interesting, as well as that rare sort of History book which is highly informative and well researched, but also fascinating for someone who only has a small interest in History. Written as a travel guide, it's literally like reading about visiting Spain, or China, or Mars for that matter. Anyway, in this book (which I'm not getting paid for the advertising of, honestly), the author talks about the rights of women in fourteenth century England.

In some ways, as people - myself included - it is very much a misogynistic society, with women controlled by men and no one wanting to change this as it is clearly God's will, as punishment for Eve's sins. Lack of understanding about general medicine meant that a lot of women died in childbirth, and as the general life expectancy was lower, women were often married at around the age of 14, quite shocking to us today. Furthermore, though rape was an extremely serious offense, it was extremely rare that a man was convicted, as it was taught that women could only conceive a child if she orgasmed during sex. If a child was conceived, she had clearly orgasmed, thus "enjoyed" the rape, and so it wasn't rape. Alternatively, if no child was conceived, there was no proof that the rape had taken place other than the woman's word, which, especially against a man in a position of power over her, was not likely to be believed.

Though forced marriages were fairly rare, they did still occur and must have been awful for the women who suffered through them. Women were also not considered free as such - even a high society woman 'belonged' to her father before she was married, then to her husband afterward.

Phew, you think, I'm glad I live now and not then.

Well, yes and no. Obviously there were huge inequalities in society, but there were some ways in which women did manage to have fairly equal opportunities. For example, women were allowed to report abusive husbands in their local church, and the men were often punished severely for their actions. Men on the other hand, were not allowed to report any violence against them by women, as if they did so, they would be perceived as a cuckold and therefore ridiculed. A backhanded reason for celebration, perhaps.

Another way in which women were more equal than we might first think was that, in the event of their husbands' death, she could take over his job or trade and make money for herself this way. For most women, this just meant continuing to farm the same fields or sell meat in a butcher's shop, but for a few notable exceptions this could leave them very rich - such as one woman from Coventry who ended up with a cloth business that was exporting its wares as far afield as Spain and earning her in excess of £800 in Medieval terms. 

Though there were a lot of arranged marriages, often men and women worked together to try hard to make it work and most came to love each other after a little while. If not, especially in the upper classes, one or both partners could take partners whom they loved - or at least lusted after.Women had the advantage of not being allowed to go to fight, and as there were a lot of wars going on during the 14th century, it greatly reduced their chance of dying whilst still young. Men who lived to an old age were looked down upon, unable to fight, they were considered no longer masculine. An old woman, on the other hand, was considered at the height of her power, full of the wisdom of the ages. 

Clearly, there was inequality in the Medieval society, and probably more so than there is in today's society in the UK. But conditions were perhaps not as harsh as one might first think, and though I still wouldn't want to live in their society, this is starting to have more to do with the large amounts of germs flying about with the Black Death and whatnot, rather than their treatment of women.  

Robert Hooke is better than you

Today marks 308 years since the death of Robert Hooke, whom I know of because of having to learn Hooke's Law for AS Physics. (The extension of a spring is proportional to the force or load applied to it, or F = ke if you were wondering.) ((I know you weren't.)) Anyway, I thought he was just that bloke who did that thing with bits of wire or whatever it was that I knew at one point but now I just vaguely recall was important somehow. But he totally wasn't! Robert Hooke did lots of things; and here's a lovely list of his top ten achievements, chosen by me:

1) Being the last of four children living on the Isle of Wight, Hooke obviously wasn't in a position to go very far in life - or so it seemed. He took 20 lessons on the organ, however, and gained a chorister's place at Christ Church, Oxford, where he was introduced to many of the leading scientific thinkers of his day.

2) Hooke was one of the very first people to use a microscope to see cells (in cork, apparently), and so gave them the name 'cell', because he believed that they resembled the small quarters monks lived in.

3) He invented the balance spring in a watch independently and fifteen years before anyone else did (though others get the credit mainly because he was didn't patent his design).

4) He was an extremely talented artist - the picture on the right is a copy of his drawing of a louse - who drew pictures of anything he could find to stick under his microscope. 

5) He built a lot of specialized equipment for himself and other prominent scientists of the day to use when experimenting, one of the most famous examples being his invention of the vacuum pumps Robert Boyle used during his gas law experiments.

6) He was a well-known architect of his day, with building all over London being made to his specifications (though sadly few survive today).

7) He also built some of the first telescopes, and used them to study the planets, becoming an expert on the rotations of Mars and Jupiter.

8) After the Great Fire of London, in 1666, Hooke was asked to be one of the city's official Surveyors, tasked with assessing the damage caused by the fire, and the cost of repairs - an important job, given that 70,000 of the city's 80,000 inhabitants had their homes at least partially destroyed.

9) He was one of the first people to put forward an argument for biological evolution from looking at fossils - a very risky argument in the seventeenth century, given the status of the church.

10) Hooke argued with Isaac Newton about laws of gravity. And not many people can say that.  

A biography of Handel

Yesterday, it was the 326th anniversary of the birth of George Frideric Handel and today is the 300th anniversary of the first performance of Rinaldo, an opera he composed which also happened to be the first Italian opera written for the London stage. I think the universe is hinting to me that it is time I wrote about Handel (which, handily, is code for "I really like lists").

10 Facts About George Frederic Handel:

1) When he was born, Handel's father was already 63, and had high hopes for his son. He envisaged a career in law for the boy, but it soon became apparent that he had an enormous talent for music - and not only this, but he enjoyed spending hours playing instruments. Georg Handel Sr. was so alarmed by this development that he strictly forbade his son from going near any musical instrument, but Handel Jr. was having none of this. He somehow found a way to sneak a clavichord (a kind of early keyboard) into an attic room at the top of his house, and he would creep up there at night when everyone had gone to bed, to teach himself how to play.

2) During Handel's early teens, he took a trip with his father to go and visit his half-brother Carl, who at the time was a valet to Duke Johann Adolf I. Legend has it that whilst he was there, the Duke overheard him playing on the church organ, and was delighted by what he heard. This helped Handel to convince his father that he should be allowed lessons in composition and keyboard technique, and so he studied under Friedrich Wilhelm Zachow. During this time, he played for Frederick I of Prussia, and met many contemporary composers, including Bononcini and Telemann.

3) In 1702, Handel went to the University of Halle to study Law as his father had wished, but did not enjoy it. After only a year, he dropped out and became instead a violinist at the Hamburg Opera House. Between 1705 and 1708, he wrote and possibly directed four operas which were performed there.

4) Handel met a member of the famous de' Medici family around 1706, and accepted their invitation to spend some time living in Rome with them. At the time, operatic music was banned by the Papal States, so instead he composed choral music for the church for performances in the city. He continued, however, to write operas which were performed elsewhere in Europe, including Agrippina, which had a then unprecedented run of 27 performances, and was the object of much critical acclaim. 

5) In 1710, Handel became Kapellmeister to the man who was soon to become King George I of England, and so moved to London when George did, in 1714. A Kapellmeister was a man who was in charge of music-making, and so Handel's role for the rest of his life was to compose as much music as possible, something he did to great aplomb.In July 1717, the Water Music was performed for the first time along the Thames, where it went down a storm. At around this point also, Handel decided that he was bored of composing operas, and ignored them entirely for about five years.

6) Fiscally, Handel was very lucky - he invested in the famous South Sea Company in 1716, but managed to sell his stocks in 1720, before the bubble burst, leaving him a very rich man. During his lifetime, he was heavily involved with charities, and gave much money to the Foundling Hospital in London, as well as to charities which helped impoverished musicians and their families.

7) His time in Britain can be split into three main periods. Between 1719 and 1734, he was employed by the Royal Academy of Music, during which time he continued to compose at an extremely fast rate. Some of his most famous works from this time include the operas Giulio Cesare and Rodelinda and Zadok the Priest, which he was commissioned to write for the coronation of George II, and has been been performed at every coronation ceremony since.

8) After his contract at the Royal Academy ended, it was expected by many people that Handel would retire; instead he chose to start a new company with his friend John Rich at Covent Garden Theatre. From 1734 until 1741, he composed whilst Rich directed, introducing many more theatrical elements to the performances for some of the first times. During this period, in the summer of 1737, Handel, aged 52, suffered a stroke. It was assumed he would never be able to perform, let alone compose, again, as the illness had seemed to affect his understanding, but he took himself off to a German spa town, where he would spend many hours a day in the hot baths. He was able to give impromptu piano recitals to the surprised costumers of the spa, and by the following year was well enough to return to composing in London.

9) His later life produced some of his most prolific works. On 13 April 1742, 26 men and five boys put on the first performance of the Messiah, a piece that remains as popular today as it was on first performance. A few years later, in 1749, he wrote the Music for the Royal Fireworks, and when it premiered, over 10,000 people attended. This was to be his last major composition - in August 1750 he suffered serious injury in a carriage accident and a couple of years later, he went blind. He survived until 1759, when he finally died on 14 April.

10) He was given a state funeral in Westminster Abbey, and over 3,000 mourners attended. His works had been incredibly popular, and though in the nineteenth century they were to fall out of favour, in more recent years he has regained his popularity. He never married, and in his will he left most of his possessions to his niece Johanna, though his art collection was auctioned posthumously. Often referred to as the "musician's musician", Handel was a favourite of Bach, who attempted to meet him on several occasions but was always unsuccessful, and later Mozart and Beethoven, who described him as, "he master of us all... the greatest composer that ever lived. I would uncover my head and kneel before his tomb".     

A history of Valentine's Day

Even when single, I've never really minded Valentine's Day that much (I quite enjoy it in fact - you get all sorts of two-for-one deals on love hearts, and they are the best sweet ever) and that is mostly for one main reason: the original Valentine's Feast Day was to celebrate the Valentines (there were at least three) who were early Christians murdered for their beliefs by the Romans, which is possibly the least romantic thing I've ever heard. So anyone who tries to tell you some myth about how Valentine was a spurned lover who wrote a card to the daughter of the jailer who was imprisoning him for...something (I don't know, these myths aren't always very well written...) and this signifies the old adage that 'love conquers all, even death' and this signifies...er...something, is a liar.

Or, you know, something. One has to be a little bit bitter, after all. Keeping up appearances, and everything.

Anyway, despite these rather gruesome beginnings, St. Valentine's Day did eventually become associated with romantic love in the 14th century, when Geoffrey Chaucer wrote a poem commemorating the engagement of King Richard II and Anne of Bohemia (fun fact: they got married when they were both just 15 years old). A century later, in 1415, the first Valentine's card was sent, by Charles, duc d'Orleans, to his wife whilst he was imprisoned in the Tower of London. One hopes it was a good message, because he was to be kept captive for a further 24 years, and by the time he was released, his wife had died (so, naturally, he married again, as soon as he was set free). 

Cards became more and more popular in the following centuries - in the 16th, it was popular to send your lover a handmade card decorated with cupids, hearts and bows; in the 18th, one could begin to buy into the commercialized Valentine's Day, either by sending a lover one of the first printed cards or by transcribing a verse from Valentine Writers - a book of standard rhymes and greetings (how awkward would it be if you and your paramour sent each other the same poem, whilst hoping to convince each other that you were being original?); and by the 19th century, postmen were claiming a special allowance for their extra loads on the day. Also in the 19th century came the first mechanical Valentine's cards, my favourite of which had a figure that rolled it's eyes and stuck out its tongue when opened.

Today's traditional red rose first became part of the day's celebrations in 18th century France, with people imitating the love tokens given to Marie Antoinette by King Louis XVI. Coincidentally, red was also the colour their clothes became stained when their heads were chopped off by the French people in 1791.

Love hearts were invented in 1933, produced in a factory in Star Lane, in London, though they had to move out during the Blitz. They relocated to a disused mill in Darbyshire where they remain in production to this day.

Thank God. 

Now you're just being daft

Here's another example of utter ridiculousness. I'm beginning to think that that's all this subject is. (Then I remember that my friends are doing things like Maths and Physics at university and I sort of feel a bit better. Ish).

But honestly, this is completely ridiculous. 

Today, according to wikipedia you might know, is St. Scholastica's Day (she's the patron saint of nuns, convulsive children and is invoked against storms and rain, apparently) and so, in 1335, when a riot occurred in Oxford on this day, they imaginatively called it the St. Scholastica's Day Riot. At least they thought to capitalize it...

The cause of the riot is depressingly mundane. Two young students of the university were drinking in the Swindlestock Tavern, when they decided that the ale they were drinking was not of the highest quality. Deciding, after several pints of said poor quality ale (I guess they had to check if it was all bad?), that this just would not do, they complained to the taverner. As so often happens, though, their complaints perhaps did not come across as they initially intended; words were had and things ended up with the taverner being beaten up by the two students.

Naturally, this was not an experience he enjoyed, and he decided that the only way to make up for it would be to organise a gang of locals to take on the students, which he swiftly did. He first approached the Mayor of Oxford for help, who asked the University's Chancellor to arrest the two students who had attacked the taverner. When it was made clear that this was not going to happen, a riot took place that lasted for two days and left around 30 locals and 63 students dead. This was probably going a bit far over a few drinks...

Eventually, the dispute was settled, after the King got wind of the Mayor of Oxford, John Barford riding into the countryside and calling for men to slay and smite the students, and ordered an investigation. A charter was drawn up, which stated that the Mayor and town councilors had to 'march bareheaded through the streets every year on St. Scholastica's Day and pay a penny for every scholar who was killed'. They were often pelted with makeshift weapons and jeered by the students whilst doing this, so naturally by 1825 the Mayor had gotten a bit of sick of the practice and refused to participate. After 470, no one from the university really bothered to complain, and the whole thing was dropped.

However, 600 years later, it was decided that the hatchet should finally be buried, and on 10 February 1955, the Mayor of Oxford was awarded an honorary degree by the University, and the University Chancellor was made an honorary freeman of the city.

This, naturally, made up for everything. Yes...     

Mary Queen of Scots[land]:

Today marks 424 years since the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots. You may be wondering why she was executed, and if you were, you'd be in luck, because I have read some books and I can now tell you why (I'm training to become a proper historian, and I believe that all I have to do is read enough books and stroke my beard thoughtfully enough and I'll be there). If you're not wondering why she was executed, you might want to stick around for the less gory bits, or perhaps go and eat a biscuit, or listen to a song that has my name in. Lovely.

Anyway, Mary, Queen of Scots. Born Mary Stuart, she was crowned Queen Mary I of Scotland at the ripe old age of six days (her father had died in battle), and in an episode which didn't really do much for stereotypes, the male courtiers in charge of the ceremony made a right mess of things, trying to get the baby to grasp a three foot sword and a scepter at the same time. Determined to ignore this rather poor start, they quickly arranged for her to become bethrothed to the French Dauphin (sadly, just a Prince and heir to the French throne, not the French Dolphin, as I initially misread, which would have been much more exciting) and packed her off to France.

There, Mary grew up, into an apparently tall and beautiful woman, who was capable of speaking French, English, Latin, Spanish, Greek and Italian. This proved a problem when the Dauphin snuffed it, and eighteen year old Mary headed back to her home country, where she couldn't understand a word her people were saying to her through their thick accents. However, this was soon to become the least of her troubles, as she was a strict Catholic, whereas most of the Scottish were ardent Presbyterians (like the Puritans, but with less general jolliness) which was to have dire consequences in years to come.

Anyway, Mary decided on returning to the country that she would like to get married again, which everyone thought was a splendid idea until they saw her choice of husband - the deeply unpopular sort-of contender for the throne Lord Darnley. Within two years, however, Darnley had managed to become equally unpopular with Mary herself, when he burst into her bedchamber with 20 men and murdered her private secretary in front of her, whilst she was heavily pregnant.

By this point, Mary decided that they were a bit beyond Couples Counseling, and arranged for her new lover to strangle then blow up her second husband, marrying him shortly after. This, ultimately, led to her undoing. There has never been any solid proof that Mary arranged or had any part in Darnley's murder, but there was enough implication there for her marriage to the supposed murderer to disgrace her enough that she had to abdicate and flee south into England and the arms of her cousin, Elizabeth I. 

Mary had thought that Elizabeth would support her in a sort of "we Queens had better stick together, eh?" way, but she was to be sorely disappointed. England and Scotland had been enemies for too long for the Queen of England to suddenly forget all their previous history together and help her cousin, and besides - she was a Catholic. This was quite a headache for Elizabeth. Keeping Mary in the country would make her a very visible rallying point for Catholic assassination plots - here was a ready made Queen just waiting to be stuck on the throne! - but deporting her meant that she would probably use the opportunity to muster an army and invade England. Executing her was not an option initially, as Elizabeth, whose own mother had been killed by her father, was very opposed to the ideas of both regicide and killing a cousin.

Therefore, she did what politicians have done for centuries since, and launched an inquiry. After much faffing and paper pushing, it was concluded that Mary should be kept captive in various different castles around the country. At first, probably at Elizabeth's assistance, her captivity was a fairly enjoyable experience - she was provided with plenty of clothes and comfortable furnishings, daily meals and was even allowed a few servants and ladies in waiting. The English queen's assistants, however, were not happy with this. Aware of the huge wars between Catholics and Protestants that were occurring on the continent, they believed that the only way to be rid of the 'threat' of the Scottish queen was to have her executed on some trumped up charges.

Elizabeth deliberated, for nineteen whole years. Eventually, "evidence" was found that strongly suggested Mary was plotting with other Catholics to have Elizabeth assassinated and replace her on the throne, and Elizabeth had no choice but to have her put to death. Many historians these days believe that much if not all of the evidence was fabricated, but at the time it was deemed substantial enough that Mary was put on trial, convicted of treason, and set to be executed. 

The execution did not go to plan. It took two or three blows for the axeman to completely sever her head; when he finally managed it and held it up by her hair, it dropped out of his grasp and rolled away, as what he was really gripping hold of was a wig, and after all that had taken place, the watching crowds were horrified, then presumably very relieved when her dress started whimpering and moving, and a small lapdog ran out of the clothing. Lovely.

It was not, it has been noted, a very dignified affair.    

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. 

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.  

A Tax on your Strangeness

So on New Year's Eve, 1695, a window tax was introduced in England. This was, literally, a tax on windows (but not, as I first misread, widows...). In honour of the fact that this was not nearly the weirdest thing to have been taxed, here is a list of 10 very odd taxes.

1) Window Tax:

Now, I am quite a fan of windows. They allow me to, y'know, see stuff that's outside without actually having to go into the outside, which is quite nice, especially when it is snowing or raining. They also are a very good means of keeping bugs and other unwanted objects away from my personage. Of course, being a modern, twenty-first century type, you know this already, and I am sure you are a fan of windows too. In 1695, many of the rich men and women of England also were fans of windows. 

 

However, when their King, William III decided that, under the Act of Making Good the Deficiency of the Clipped Money (yeah...that...uh...), windows should be taxed, the elite of England decided to brick up their windows so they wouldn't have to pay the tax, which is, I suppose, one way of getting around the problem. The tax itself had been introduced because the government was in need of money, but unable to pass a law which allowed them to collect a simple Income Tax, as  it was believed by many that disclosing your personal income to the government was an act of unacceptable intrusiveness into your personal liberties (an excuse I fear wouldn't go down too well today with HM Revenue and Customs).

The rate of tax was 2 shillings per house, with houses with more than ten windows incurring a variable rate of tax, and wasn't repealed until 1851, when 'House Duty' was introduced. 

2) Beard Tax:
In England, in 1535, King Henry VIII introduced a tax on beards. This was actually quite a clever idea to raise money - obviously the King and his government needed money, but it was often hard for them to raise it. However, anything that the King was seen to do or wear suddenly became highly fashionable, as people were keen to show the ruler what an excellent idea His Majesty had had in choosing to play bowls/wear clogs/learn the lute and so on. So naturally, when Henry grew a beard, those of his courtiers who were able to immediately followed suit (imitation is, after all, the sincerest form of flattery). Henry then introduced the tax, knowing that no one would dare shave off their beards in case they were seen as being against something the King believed in - which was a pretty clever way of thinking, actually.

The tax was variable, and those with more income paid more, rather that those with larger beards paying more. However, when Elizabeth I reintroduced the tax a few years down the line, she taxed every beard of more than two week growth, which must have been very hard to measure, though I'd imagine that 18 year old weedy boys managed to get away with not paying it for several years...

3) Beard Tax, the sequel:
The beard tax was introduced again in 1705, but this time by Peter the Great of Russia. All men with beards were required to pay a tax, and carry around a token which stated that they had indeed paid their tax. The token was inscribed with two phrases - "the beard tax has been taken" (fairly self explanatory), and "the beard is a superfluous burden". The tax had been designed to encourage Russian men to get rid of their beards, as Peter believed that their hirsuteness meant that they weren't as forward-thinking as other Western European countries, and Russia could only become truly modern when the men were clean shaven like their clean-shaven fellow Europeans, which is a real shame.

4) Cooking Oil Tax:
Now, anyone who has seen the pyramids or Tutankhamen's death mask knows how much the Pharaohs liked their extravagances, but even though they were considered literal Gods on the Earth, they still had to find the money to pay for all the jewelery, fancy palaces and eyeliner. Possibly the strangest way they thought would allow them to collect this money from their subjects was to tax cooking oil - or rather, force their citizens to buy cooking oil only from the Pharaohs themselves. The scribes (Ancient Egyptian taxmen) would go round to all houses to ensure they were using enough oil and, in possibly the oddest twist, refuse to allow them to recycle the used oil, instead binning it and forcing the people to buy new, Pharaoh-approved oil.

5) Hat Tax:
By 1784, it had become apparent that the Window Tax in Britain was not enough to keep the country afloat, and so new methods of taxation were introduced. The government, led by William Pitt the Younger, once again tried to introduce an Income Tax, but were once again prevented from doing so by a public who believed that this was an outrageous infringement on their right to privacy, and so decided to introduce a tax on hats.

This isn't actually as absurd as is sounds. The theory was that, the richer you were the more hats you would own, and the better quality these hats would be. Whereas a poor person might have just the one hat, which wasn't of a very good quality (and so wouldn't have to pay very much tax at all), a member of the aristocracy would have a lot of very expensive hats, and so would have to pay a lot of tax. The problem with this, though, was that it was very unpopular, and apparently led to people insisting that what they were wearing on their head wasn't actually a hat at all, so they wouldn't have to pay the tax ("Oh, this? It's not a hat, no not at all...it's er...a kilt! Yes, a kilt. I'm embracing my Scottish heritage! Och aye, and all..."). 

6) The 'anything-but-Income-Tax' Tax:
As people were so very unwilling to admit their income to the taxman, the government of the eighteenth century introduced many taxes on various household items, in an attempt to raise revenue this way. Some of the items they taxed included taxes on building materials such as wallpaper and bricks; taxes on leisure items, including dice and almanacs and taxes on clothing and make-up, such as glove tax, perfume tax and hair-powder tax (though the Royal Family and their servants, and clergymen were exempt from paying this particular tax). The British people responded to this by not purchasing any more hair-powder, and walking around with very greasy hair for a good number of years, until someone worked out how to invent shampoo.

7) Urine Tax:
Not a tax on those who produced it, but on those who sold it on (er, of course...). In ancient Rome, it became very easy for the owners of public toilets to sell on the urine they collected to tanners and cleaners, who used the ammonia in it (yum...). Officials noticed how rich the toilet owners were becoming, and, on discovering why, introduced a tax on urine.  

8) Salt Tax:
As salt has so many uses in our lives, it has always been taxed, in India as much as anywhere. However, when the British took over India as part of their Empire they raised the tax extortionately. From 1858, the Indian people were forced to pay an incredibly high rate of tax on their salt - something which continued for another 80 years. During March 1930, Gandhi led the first Salt March to Dandi. This was his very first non-violent protest against British rule of India, and though it didn't actually do anything about the Salt Tax, it did help to increase the levels of awareness of the Indians' plight, and gave them international support for their campaign for independence.


9) Artistic Exemption:
This, in fact, is the opposite of tax - in 1969, Ireland brought in a rule which stated that income derived from the sale of art (books, music, paintings, sculpture, film and so on) was exempt from taxation, allowing us to perpetuate the image of a starving artist. The act was introduced to allow artists who had fallen on hard times to recover more easily, but ended up being a bit of a problem when it became apparent in the mid 2000s that Irish rock group U2 were paying no tax on their millions. The law was modified so that only those artists with an income of less than 250,000 euros were exempt, and Bono and co. moved their savings to the Netherlands, so they ensure that they still didn't have to pay tax. Huh. 

10) Poll Tax:
A Poll Tax is very popular with governments because it can be implemented at any time, very easily, and is very unpopular with the public because it can be implemented at any time, very easily. In the 1980s, Margaret Thatcher tried to introduce the tax, but was thwarted by the rioting and protesting of the public who were outraged at it's unfairness. (Anyone who doesn't think it's fair should imagine that I have 100 gold coins and am asked to pay just 1 in tax; whereas you, who have only 2 gold coins, are also asked to pay 1 in tax, and then consider its fairness...) Though they may have gotten their History a little bit confused ("Yeah! We're rioting in the spirit of the revolting peasants of thirteen-something who didn't want a Poll Tax either so they forced Queen Victoria to sign the Magna Carta and that's why Henry VIII broke with Rome!") but I can't fault them for their passion, and they did help strongly contribute to the ousting of Thatcher as PM, so it definitely wasn't a bad thing.