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...     

The Port Wine Treaty

You know how you sometimes come across utterly, utterly ridiculous events in History? I think I may have just found one. Another one... Basically, I've just been reading about a treaty to end a war, which seems to be mostly about wine. WINE.

Now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with wine at all. But to sign a treaty promising an alliance based on the sale of wine...did no one stop to think that this would go down in History as something future generations might find slightly strange and somewhat amusing? No one at all?
 

The treaty in question was the Methuen Treaty, and it was signed on 27 December, 1703 by the countries of Portugal and England, and it wasn't totally about wine. At the time, there was a big war going on (the War of Spanish Succession) and all the big European powers were fighting it out to see who would become 'top dog'. The country of Portugal, whilst obviously a source of great importance and national pride to those who lived there, wasn't a big European power, and so consequently wasn't considered that important to the other countries. However, they did have a few good exports (namely wine), so they weren't going to be completely ignored by the other countries.

When the War of Spanish Succession broke out, in 1702, the Portuguese allied with the French, which basically meant that the French promised to protect them from attacks by the British navy (the French navy, whilst better than the Portuguese - which from some reports, seems to have consisted of two rowing boats and a dinghy - was not as good as the British, which was truly a force to be reckoned with, so Portugal's request for protection seems fairly understandable). 

However, the British kept sailing really close to Lisbon on their way to and from Cadiz, and the Portuguese were understandably upset when the French did nothing to stop them. Believing that they were untrustworthy, Portugal soon entered into negotiations with Great Britain to switch sides. (Because obviously, the way to counter untrustworthiness is to be even more untrustworthy!) This was very appealing to the British, as they believed that the war could be won much more cheaply and easily if they were able to use Portugal's deep-water naval ports to attack the French ports at Toulon, so the MP John Methuen was sent as an ambassador extraordinary to Portugal where he negotiated the treaty.

The treaty had three main parts. Firstly, it established the Alliance's war aims. Despite the fact that, at the time of the treaty, the war had been going on for a year or so, no one had thought to write down - or even officially state - why they were fighting, so the treaty duly noted that the purpose of the war was to secure the Spanish Empire for the Austrian claimant, the Archduke Charles, with whom Britain had already made an alliance, which was A Good Thing because it reminded everyone in the Alliance whose side they were on this time. 

The second part of the treaty was to do with the actual military part of the war - it established that Spain would become the main theater of war, and established things like the number of troops each country would provide - which again, is a very important thing in a war, and something you'd've thought they would have thought about earlier on in the conflict.

Finally, it 'regulated the establishment of trade relations between Britain and Portugal', or, in layman's terms, ensured that the British could keep drinking. Before the war, France had been supplying Britain with wine, which a lot of people found very agreeable. However, when they went to war, the French stopped trading with the British, and so no one had anything to drink, which many people felt was a Very Bad Thing. Now, the Portuguese realised that, as they had a wine industry, they would be able to fill this gap in British lives, but they were also scared that, when the war was over, the British would just revert to trading with the French and they would be stuffed. An agreement was come to, which stated that all trading between Portugal and Britain would be tax free, so the wine which was being imported would be able to be bought much more cheaply than any the French tried to sell. (Though technically, they were selling Port, rather than straight wine, which lead to a massive market for the drink in Britain, a fact which my Grandmother remains eternally grateful.) 

This makes sound economic sense and everything...it's just a shame that the treaty became known as the Port Wine Treaty, and no one in the country remembered anything about the parts which actually related to the war...

London Calling

17 October seems to be a somewhat deadly day for Londoners, so, if you are one, I implore you to be extra careful today. I hope this didn't make you panic, as I may have exaggerated slightly there - the number of people killed on this day is pretty low. It's more that the circumstances of their deaths are unusual to say the least...

Firstly, we shall take a trip to 17 October 1091 - though I'd advise you to bring your wellies and possibly a change of clothes, as we're about to experience one of Britain's largest storms - so large, in fact, that it was actually a tornado. It was the earliest recorded tornado on mainland Britain and still holds the record for being the severest. Winds exceeded 200mph and caused London Bridge to fall down, as well as around 600 houses and the church of St. Mary-le-Bow. Astonishingly, records claim that only two people were killed as a result of the storm (reckoned to be a T8 category tornado, for those to whom that may mean something). 

Of course, this being medieval England, everything happened for a reason because God was displeased, and boy, did God have his reasons for being displeased. The King  at the time, William Rufus, the second son of William I (a.k.a the Conqueror), was a bit of a dodgy chap and there were many of his actions which may have resulted in God being pissed enough to send a tornado London's way. He allowed his soldiers to do as they pleased in Britain and lead by example - stealing from churches to fund his extravagant lifestyle of hunting and feasting. He also removed the Archbishop of Canterbury and other religious leaders who disagreed with him and mocked those who decided to go on Crusade, saying that they were engaging in a pointless waste of time and money. It is easy to see why people believed he wouldn't exactly be in God's best books...  

Fast forward a few hundred years, and we're still in London, even though now it's 1814. You could still do with having your wellies and waterproofs with you though, in case you get covered in beer. I am ashamed to say that I initially laughed at this story, but actually it's pretty horrible because it involves eight people dying, three of whom were children. But it should still be filed under 'what a way to go', I think...

The eight were killed on this day in 1814 when several vats of beer in a brewery on Tottenham Court Road ruptured, spilling more than 323,000 imperial gallons  into the street and causing the basements of the houses on the road to fill up with beer. The brewery was taken to court over the accident, but in the end did not have to pay the damages as the event was ruled an Act of God. I shall try not to draw any conclusions about God from this...

Many people rushed out onto the streets (the accident happened in one of the slums of London, so there were a lot of people around) with pots, pans and any other receptacles they could find to prevent the beer from going to waste, whilst others simply lapped it up where they were standing (or lying, after a while...). The final casualty came a few days later, in the form of a man who died from alcohol poisoning, who had clearly tried very hard to stem the flow. A hero, of sorts...