Friday, 30 April 2010

Anne Boleyn: Fatal Attractions (2010)

Claire at The Anne Boleyn Files offers a great review of the controversial new biography Anne Boleyn: Fatal Attractions, written by Professor G.W. Bernard of the University of Southampton, whose previous works includes the highly pro-Henry VIII book, The King's Reformation.

I am hoping to do a short review of this book myself at some point, but I doubt I will be able to do better than that posted today by Claire on her fantastic website, which recently very kindly featured my article on Anne Boleyn's birth.

There has been some excitement in the British newspapers about there finally being a biography which "proves" Anne Boleyn was guilty of the crimes for which she was put to death in 1536. However, it turns out that the subject-matter of Professor Bernard's book is a good deal less certain than they - or he - would like and he certainly does not argue that she committed incest with her brother, Viscount Rochford.

Claire's conclusion of Anne Boleyn: Fatal Attractions is a very fair one, all things considered: -

"Bernard finishes his book by saying that the Anne Boleyn he has presented is not the Anne who held Henry off for years, who inspired the break with Rome, who had a leading role in the English Reformation and who was the innocent victim of conspiracy. Instead, he explains how he has tried to “recover the historical Anne Boleyn” by reviewing all of the evidence. Although I do not agree with many of his theories, I have to applaud Bernard for his endeavours and for putting together such a good book. I’m glad to say that I can enjoy a book and respect Bernard’s views without agreeing with him. My Anne is still an innocent Anne and a victim of an awful miscarriage of justice."


You can read the full review here.

Thursday, 29 April 2010

Did a volcanic eruption in Iceland help cause the French Revolution?


Historical novelist and blogger, Elena Maria Vidal, comments on the theories that a large volcanic eruption in 18th-century Iceland may have helped bring about the French Revolution of 1789.

British Royal Records and Trivia



The Longest-Reigning Sovereign in British history was Queen Victoria, who ruled from the age of eighteen in 1837 until her death at the age of eighty-one in 1901. With a reign of just over 63 years, Victoria narrowly beat the previous record-holder, her grandfather, King George III, who ruled from 1760 until 1820. The longest-reigning monarch in world history was Pepi II, who was Pharaoh of Egypt for 94 years, coming to the throne as a 6 year-old and dying a centenarian.

The Shortest-Reigning Sovereign in British history was Lady Jane Grey (1537 - 1554), who was Queen for just under a fortnight in the summer of 1553. A great-granddaughter of King Henry VII, Jane was pushed onto the throne by her dying cousin, Edward VI, who didn’t want the throne to pass to his Catholic half-sister, Mary Tudor. Jane reluctantly accepted, under pressure from her parents and her religious convictions, but she was overthrown nine days later when Mary, the rightful heiress, seized the throne and Jane was executed a year later, at the age of seventeen.

The Oldest Ruler is the current Sovereign, Queen Elizabeth II (b. 1926), who is 84 years-old. Her Majesty passed the previous record-holder, her great-great-grandmother, Queen Victoria, in 2007.

The Oldest Member of the Royal Family was the late Queen Mother, mother of the current Queen and widow of King George VI. Born Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon in 1900, the Queen Mother died in 2002, at the age of 101.

The Oldest Royal to come to the Throne in Britain was the Duke of St. Andrews, who became King William IV at the age of 64 in 1830. Nicknamed "Sailor Bill" because of his love of the navy, he was the younger brother of King George IV, who had died childless.

The Youngest Royal to come to the Throne anywhere in the British Isles was Mary, Queen of Scots (1542 - 1587), who became reigning Queen of Scotland at the age of just six days old, following the sudden death of her father, King James V. In England, the record-holder was King Henry VI (1421 - 1471), the son of King Henry V and Queen Catherine de Valois, who came to the throne at the age of only nine months in 1422, following his father's death on military campaign.

The tallest British monarch was King Edward I, who ruled from 1272 to 1307 and who stood at 6ft 3in in height.

Tuesday, 27 April 2010

The Last Empress of China


The Mad Monarchist's blog carries a very interesting post on the life of the last Empress of China - perhaps best-known to many in the West thanks to the heartbreaking performance of actress Joan Chen in the 1987 movie The Last Emperor (above, on the right.)

The trailer for The Last Emperor can be seen here.

Monday, 26 April 2010

Why is our reality TV so vulgar and boring?


I have just finished reading a fantastic article by British actress and style icon, Joan Collins, best-known for her role as the scheming and glamorous Alexis Carrington in the 1980s soap opera Dynasty, as well as for acting opposite Bette Davis in The Virgin Queen, Richard Burton in Sea Wife, Gregory Peck in The Bravados, Paul Newman in Rally 'Round the Flag, Boys!, Bing Crosby in The Road to Hong Kong, Oliver Reed in The Big Sleep and These Old Broads, with Elizabeth Taylor and Debbie Reynolds.

Miss Collins is by no means a prude, but everything she writes about today's television and its attitudes I agree with 100%. She is not saying that everything on television should be like Lark Rise to Candleford, nor is she saying that all reality TV shows are ipso facto disgusting, puerile, artificial or stupid. She is not an intellectual snob, who hates things just because they are either popular or populist; she is not saying that everything has to be high-brow and impenetrable to the ordinary man in order for it to have some value. There's nothing wrong with something being fun for fun's sake - just look at shows like Glee, which isn't gritty, grimey, issue-y or even particularly realistic - just sheer fun. Thank goodness! You can engage with popular culture without being stupid about it - just look at movies like The Devil Wears Prada, Mean Girls or The Blind Side. All populist subjects but with really smart, sassy scripts behind them. Not everyone is an intellectual, or wants to watch brilliant and worthy movies on heavier subject matter.

However, it's a shame when so much in entertainment panders to the lowest common denominator - people's stupidity. Shows with phenomenal scripts and intellectual subject matter like Mad Men, Frasier, The West Wing, Rome and The Wire do (or did) phenomenally well - so why are we all so afraid of seeming clever?



Like Miss Collins, I'm not saying that vulgarity is just to do with sex on television, it isn't. (There wasn't a single sex scene in the entire seven series of The West Wing; there barely failed to be one every seven minutes in Rome.) Vulgarity is something much worse and more insidious - it's about people being sloppily dressed, lazy, tacky and, worst of all, revelling in not being "a smart arse," or "posh". And what they mean by that, in a nutshell, is that they're proud of being stupid. Anyone who has seen the vast sea of inadequacy that annually crashes over Big Brother or the loud-mouthed, self-indulgent morons of Britain's Next Top Model will know what I'm talking about.

Whatever happened to wanting to look our best and to be charming, elegant, clever, funny, interesting or even talented? When did talent become the option, rather than a necessity?

Anyway, I enjoyed reading Miss Collins' article tremendously. It was published in today's Daily Mail and can be read here.

Sunday, 25 April 2010

The Northern Ireland Rich List

Despite being one of the smallest parts of the United Kingdom, Northern Ireland has always been amongst its wealthiest on average, even during the days of the Troubles. To this day, it apparently has the highest ratio of Mercedes Benz cars to people anywhere in the western world - including Germany.

Lord Belmont in Northern Ireland has posted a list of the Top 10 Richest People in Northern Ireland. Usually, I'm not too interested in the "Rich Lists," but in this case, from the point of view of my novel Popular (published by Penguin, February 2011), the list would apparently place the fictitious Anthony Harper, father of lead character, Meredith, as the fourth richest man in Ulster.

Saturday, 24 April 2010

Next Week



A bit like my Holy Week posts, from next week (May 1st) I will be posting on the fall of Anne Boleyn (above), beginning with her last public appearance on May 1st following through to her death on May 19th - covering her arrest, her imprisonment, her trial and the fates of those accused alongside her.

Wednesday, 21 April 2010

Marie-Antoinette's Adopted Children


American novelist, Elena Maria Vidal, profiles a lesser-known aspect of the private life of Marie-Antoinette, Queen of France, the heroine of Miss Vidal’s first novel, Trianon.

Whilst many people know that Marie-Antoinette and her husband, King Louis XVI, were the parents of four children – Marie-Thérèse (1778 – 1851), Louis-Joséph (1781 – 1789), Louis XVII (1785 – 1795) and Sophie-Hélène (1786 – 1787) – few know that the Queen actually adopted several impoverished children and their story is told here on Elena Maria Vidal’s superb blog, Tea at Trianon.

Monday, 19 April 2010

The Fethard-on-Sea Boycott: Ireland, 1957


Irish journalist Tim Fanning has just published his new book The Fethard-on-Sea Boycott about a notorious sectarian dispute in Ireland in the late 1950s, concerning a Catholic father, his Protestant wife and their two young daughters. The events were previously dramatised in the controversial movie A Love Divided (1999) and Mr. Fanning’s well-reviewed book has re-ignited interest in the scandal which rocked Ireland - north and south - half a century ago. Having had the book recommended to me, I did some research into the original case and the story of the boycott is truly a fascinating one.

On a wet Saturday morning of April 1957 in the southern Irish town of Fethard-on-Sea in County Wexford, some local people spotted the family car of their neighbour, Sheila Cloney (30), accidentally backing into her own gatepost, before speeding off out of the town. In the back of the car were Mrs. Cloney’s two daughters – Eileen (6) and Mary (3). Their journey was the 176 miles to the Irish border with Northern Ireland.

When Sheila’s farmer husband, Seán, returned from work that evening, he was confused as to his wife and daughters’ whereabouts: he called over to Sheila’s parents, who lived nearby, but they had not seen her. Then, he visited her siblings, who also lived in the town – but, again, they had no idea where Sheila was and assumed that she had been at home with the children all day. Eventually, Seán reported Sheila, Eileen and Mary as missing to the Garda Síochona (the Irish police) and a search was started for the missing Cloneys.

At the age of thirty, there was nothing about Sheila Cloney that would have led anyone to think she would cause a scandal by fleeing her hometown without telling her husband or her parents. Like her husband Seán, Sheila had been born in Fethard-on-Sea, the daughter of a local cattle dealer and his wife. Along with the rest of her family, Sheila was raised as a member of Fethard-on-Sea’s small Protestant community – attending the local Church of Ireland, until she moved to Britain in her early 20s, finding work as a domestic servant in London shortly after the Second World War.

It was in London that she met her future husband, Seán Cloney, another inhabitant of Fethard-on-Sea, who had grown up on a farm one mile from Sheila’s and who had been over in England attending the funeral of an ex-pat relative in Suffolk. Hearing that a girl from back home was living nearby, Seán did as good Irish boys are supposed to and made the effort to go and call on her. Seán and Sheila began courting and fell in love, but because he was Catholic and she was Protestant, they decided to keep their budding relationship secret from their families back home in Ireland. When news leaked that Seán was “going” with a Protestant girl, his parish priest, Father William Stafford, retaliated by banning him from any of the Catholic recreational societies in the town – beginning by expelling Seán from the Catholic amateur dramatic society (the only society he had requested to join.) Deciding that if this was as bad as it was going to get they could probably learn to cope, Seán and Sheila were married in a civil ceremony at a registry office in London on October 8th 1949.

But Ireland being Ireland meant that news travelled fast and two months into their marriage, another parish priest was dispatched to track down the young couple and talk to them about the role Catholicism should play in their marriage. On the issue of converting to her husband’s faith, Sheila Cloney refused point-blank. Seeing that there would be no persuading her about joining the Catholic faith herself, the priest then asked if she would at least consider marrying Seán in a second ceremony – this time, a Catholic one – for the sake of her husband’s family back home. Sheila was reluctant even at this request, namely because doing so would require her to sign the Church’s Ne Temere decree, by which she promised to raise any children from the marriage as Roman Catholics, but Seán apparently assured her that even if she did sign the Ne Temere, any children they had together would have as much a Protestant upbringing as a Catholic one and when they reached maturity, they could decide for themselves which denomination to attend. Sheila signed, the Nuptial Mass was celebrated and, a few months later, Seán and Sheila Cloney returned to Fethard-on-Sea to live together as man and wife.

The problems in their marriage began a year later with the birth of their eldest daughter, Eileen. With Sheila still lying in recovery from the birth, the nuns who worked in the nursing home immediately took baby Eileen away to receive a Catholic baptism. Sheila was angry at this, although apparently accepted that the nuns had probably been doing it with the best intentions in the world and had been unaware of Mrs. Cloney's wishes on the matter. However, just to be sure, when she became pregnant again the following year, Sheila specifically requested that any child she had would not immediately be baptised a Catholic. A second daughter, Mary, was born in 1953 and, again, this time deliberating ignoring the mother’s wishes, the nuns took the child away to be christened by the local priest.

When it came to Catholicism, Sheila Cloney’s back was now well and truly up and she was worried over the fact that her husband Seán had not prevented the nuns in taking both of their daughters for baptism at the maternity home, despite his earlier promises about the children's religious upbringing. Between the baptism and the children beginning school, the issue simmered but as their eldest daughter, Eileen, reached the age of five, it once again reared its head - with a vengeance. Sheila feared that if Eileen was sent to the local Catholic school, all chances of her being able to make up her own mind when she was older would be gone, since on top of receiving a Catholic baptism, she would also receive a Catholic education, which would entail going through First Holy Communion and Confirmation, as part of the school ethos. On the surface at least, Seán Cloney agreed with his wife that this would be a step too far and for a few months, they debated what exactly to do about Eileen’s education. Aside from the religious issue, Sheila Cloney was also in favour of home schooling for children and she wanted this system of education for her children.

Sunday, 18 April 2010

Happy Birthday, Jenny

Yesterday, my beautiful sister Jenny turned 18 and since we're goyam, today we can say "You are a woman."

Jen, it's hard to pick out which memory to write about here and since there's no way I can do our beloved (accurate) impersonations of all the Kardashians one after another, I thought I'd just make a list of 18 of our finest moments: -

1. The time when I was swinging you round by the arms on the beach, got bored and let go (I don't remember this - but Ashleigh assures me it happened.)

2. The time you decided to sing "We are Golden" by Mika into my camera phone in the thickest Malone accent imaginable.

3. The time we baked a White Chocolate Vanilla Cheesecake for Mother's Day

4. The time you and Shane spent 7 hours trying to sew the hole that had been made in our trampoline's safety net - and it was literally the worst sewing in the world. Its mistakes could have been seen from space and I didn't have the heart to tell either of you until several days later.

5. "Hey you guys."

6. That hideous bus trip to Stranraer, when I got such bad cabin fever I head-butted you - for my own amusement.

7. "The Lost Prince"

8. Making Mel tea and toast in our kitchen last night

9. When you were off school for almost two months and we spent literally hours at a time on the sofa watching the "Desperate Housewives" box-set

10. Our secret Haagen-Dazs sib munch-fests watching the geekiest movies of all-time

11. That computer game we got years ago set in Ancient Egypt. You couldn't pronounce the character's name, so you re-named her "Toot-a-loop." Many times at 2 a.m. we'd enter the study to see you frantically clicking the mouse, screaming, "Run, Tootaloop! Run!!"

12. Those videos we made of how everyone in the family looks when they wake up first thing in the morning and then got told off by Mum for "bullying"

13. You seeing the "Eclipse" trailer for "Twilight" for the first time and crying with excitement at hearing Edward Cullen's voice again.... you are a trooper.

14. That AMAZING photograph of us on the rollercoaster in Canada - with Lynsey in the front of the cart squealing with happiness and you and I pulling EXACTLY the same pose of horror mixed with tears mixed with nausea behind her.

15. The photograph of us on the log ride in Canada, which Mum made us go on about four times to get a nice one of the family - she gave up after the fourth go when we still looked like we were about to projectile vomit and die.

16. Our mutual love of napping, interrupted only for you to take one of your 28 daily phone-calls to or from Oscar.

17. The secret trip to Ballymena under the aliases "Constantine Moncreiffe" and "Anastasia Beaverhausen."

18. "Eh.... don't you forget, it was me and Gareth that made up bleh-bleh. You're just a thief. A comedy thief!"


Happy birthday, Jen!


All my love,

Your brother x

Saturday, 17 April 2010

Catherine Howard's Jewellery Collection


"The King had no wife who made him spend so much money in dresses and jewels as she did."
- The Chronicle of King Henry VIII

Catherine Howard was the fifth of Henry VIII’s six queens and one of the two who ended her life upon the scaffold. A teenager when she married the King, Catherine was Queen of England from July 1540 to February 1542 - only seventeen months - and the last three of those months were spent under house arrest – firstly in a disused convent and then in the Tower of London, where she was eventually executed on a charge of adultery. A younger niece of the powerful Duke of Norfolk, Catherine was about 15 when she was sent to Court as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne of Cleves. There, she attracted the attention of the King, who was 49 and already massively obese. Following a speedy royal divorce, Catherine and the King were married at Oatlands Palace in Surrey on July 28th 1540.

The eventual tragedy of Catherine’s downfall and her doomed love affair with Sir Thomas Culpepper overshadows more or less everything else about this fatally clueless teenage queen. Calling her a bimbo seems a bit harsh; it’s probably fairer to say that Catherine was a fun-loving teenager, who thought only of today and never of tomorrow. "Consequences" apparently seemed an alien concept to her. It’s impossible not to feel very sorry for Catherine in the end, but also impossible to disagree with one of her biographers who wrote: “She enacted a light-hearted dream in which juvenile delinquency, wanton selfishness and ephemeral hedonism were the abiding themes.”


From the moment she became queen-consort in 1540, Catherine Howard busied herself with re-inventing female fashion at the royal Court. The influence of Henry’s late wife, Jane Seymour, could still be felt in the heavy, hair-covering English headdresses she had insisted upon (left). The French Ambassador noted with approval that the new Queen demanded a return to the Parisian fashions favoured by Anne Boleyn, meaning that the attractive bejewelled French hoods were once again in vogue. (Right)
Every day, Queen Catherine appeared in a new gown and she delighted in flaunting the gorgeous collection of royal jewels which were now hers by right. Apart from the collection itself, accumulated by past queens over several generations, Catherine also had the use of dozens of extra jewels given to her as personal presents by her smitten middle-aged husband. She was given beautifully ornamented jewellery boxes to house her new collection and clocks made of silver and gold to decorate her apartments. For her neck, Catherine was given a rope of flawless pearls at Christmas, a golden choker with her initials engraved in diamonds, four diamond necklaces, jewel-studded crosses for her bodice and beads of delicately crafted gold imported from Spain. One of the Queen’s personal favourites from her collection was a heavy golden broach her husband gave her to mark the Feast of All Saints, with scenes from the life of Noah carved in ruby and diamond upon it.

Catherine also owned a collection of breathtakingly beautiful books, which she used as fashion accessories, rather than for reading. One of the books was a pretty golden piece with a small clock set inside its cover, another was decorated with 27 rubies and 43 pearls; there was another edition bound in white, green and blue leather, with sapphires on every side and 8 decorative rubies on the cover. Generally, these books hung from the Queen’s waist upon a gold or silver chain. The only books Her Majesty owned for practical use were two for Mass, a small copy of the New Testament and another book of Scriptural verse – all essential in a Court where religious observance played such a large part of people’s daily lives.

When the winter snows came (winters in the 16th century were generally much colder than they are today, and summer was much, much hotter), Catherine’s wardrobe was enlarged accordingly. She was particularly fond of a gorgeous sable muff lined in black velvet to keep her hands warm when she and her husband went walking in the frost-covered palace gardens. The sable fur itself was decorated with dozens of bright red rubies, arranged in clusters, and it hung from the Queen’s neck on a chain of gold and pearl.

For the first eight months of her marriage, Catherine Howard lived in a world of glittering make-believe, going from one day to the next in a spirit of defiant decadence. After a childhood spent at the mercy of her father's financial mismanagement, Catherine now had unlimited funds to finance her every caprice and there was no-one to tell her when to stop. Standing in the centre of a vicious, intrigue-ridden Court, in which one queen had already been executed and two more divorced, the teenage Queen (who was essentially devoid of the will to scheme or to harm anybody else) chose to surround herself with sycophants and favourites who enabled her to live out a life of feckless, self-indulgent extravagance. Heedless to the seething resentment other courtiers felt at her family's monopolisation of royal favour, the rebellion by Papal loyalists in the north, the diplomatic crisis with Scotland and the sectarian tensions crippling England's political classes at the time, nothing mattered to Catherine beyond the next party or the style of a new dress. However, as the months wore on, Catherine could not escape the fact that, at night, when the jewels, furs, silks and satins came off, she was married to a fat, vicious, temperamental megalomaniac who was old enough to be her grandfather. She was bored, lonely, afraid and disgusted and, in the end, she tragically, stupidly but perhaps understandably chose to please herself with something much more dangerous than gorgeous jewellery.

When the time came and her liaison with Thomas Culpepper was uncovered, Catherine's magnificent jewels were taken from her and inventoried by Sir Thomas Seymour, who carried them back to the King. Eighteen months later, they would adorn the neck of Henry's sixth wife, Katharine Parr, and after that his daughters - Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth. In the next century, Anne of Denmark and Henrietta-Maria of France, both queens of England, would wear some of the pieces that had once sat around Catherine Howard's unluckily attractive frame. But the jewel collection, in its entirety, did not survive much longer than Catherine herself - Katharine Parr had little use for the more ostentatiously Catholic pieces of Catherine's collection and she also had goldsmiths change all the initials from "H" (Howard) to "P" (Parr.) Mary and Elizabeth had many of the pieces melted down or recast into more fashionable or elegant pieces, as did Anne of Denmark and Henrietta-Maria. By the time the Civil War came in 1641 - exactly one hundred years after Catherine had last worn the Queen's Jewels - much of the collection had already been altered and during Britain's brief experiment with republicanism in the 1650s, the last pieces vanished entirely.

Thursday, 15 April 2010

Life in 1st Class onboard the "Titanic"


No section of the RMS Titanic is more famous than its 1st-class quarters, with room for 905 passengers in 416 cabins, staterooms and private suites. They have been immortalised down to the tiniest, accurate detail in the movie Titanic (although the actual behaviour of 1st-class is probably better summarised in the 1950s epic A Night to Remember.) At a time when upper-class Americans still felt that Europe was the epicentre of culture and style and so lengthy annual visits to London, Paris, Monaco and the French Riviera were felt to be necessary and with more and more members of the European élite having relatives in America and Canada, the time had never been better for expanding the 1st-class section of the new breed of "floating palaces." Having witnessed the enormous sums of money wealthy Americans were prepared to pay to travel in comfort onboard the German passenger ships, with their lavish “Luxe Germanica” style of decoration, the White Star Line knew that its new flagships – the Olympic, the Titanic and their patriotically-named sister-ship, Britannic, would have to be able to compete in terms of opulence and comfort. Realising this, the company made a decision not to go after the Blue Riband – the prize offered for the fastest crossing of the North Atlantic by an ocean liner – a prize currently held by the Mauretania, the 32,000-ton flagship of White Star Line’s greatest rivals, Cunard. Rather, they would concentrate solely on size – whilst the Mauretania and her sister, the Lusitania, could cross from Liverpool to New York in five days, the Olympic and Titanic would take six. However, they would be half-again as large as the Cunard sisters, weighing in at 45,000 and 46,000-tons each and the extra space devoted to their passenger accommodation would begin to lure the highest-paying passengers away from Cunard.

Prior to her sailing the English newspapers had dubbed the Titanic’s maiden voyage as “the Millionaire’s Special,” due to the unusual number of multi-millionaires occupying her first-class quarters. This was an especially rare occurrence in an age when even some of the wealthiest members of the European aristocracy, particularly in Britain, could live in considerable luxury in four or five houses on several hundred thousand pounds.

The ship’s wealthiest passenger was Colonel John Jacob Astor IV, one of the richest men in America, who was returning from a European honeymoon with his new wife, Madeleine; other captains of industry ensconced in the ship's suites included steel tycoon, Benjamin Guggenheim, the middle-aged Mr and Mrs. Strauss, owners of Macy’s Department Store, New York, and distant relatives of the Holocaust diarist, Anne Frank (1929 – 1945) and J.B. Ismay, Managing Director of the White Star Line. Elsewhere on the passenger list, from the world of celebrity, there was the jeweller Henry Blank, historian Archibald Gracie, professional tennis player Richard Williams, best-selling novelist Jacques Futrelle, English fashion designer, Lady Lucille Duff-Gordon, her American rival, Edith Russell, and movie star Dorothy Gibson. The political and aristocratic types also made a strong showing: the Countess of Rothes had a parlour suite on C-Deck, as did Christopher Head, the former Mayor of Chelsea; Californian politician, Dr. Washington Dodge was travelling with his wife and child, travelling with friends was Pierre Maréchal, the noted French aviator, and Major Archibald Butt, a military adviser to the President of the United States was returning home after having been in Europe for a 6-week vacation, carrying out one official engagement - an audience with the Pope. (The Major was lost during the sinking and his body was never recovered and so an empty grave was accorded for him in Arlington National Cemetry, Virginia, with a distraught President Taft delivering the eulogy.) And, of course, considering it was a White Star ship, there was the requisite smattering of Ulster’s Protestant Ascendancy, led by the ship’s designer, Thomas Andrews (his elder brother, John, was Prime Minister of Northern Ireland from 1940 to 1943.)

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Life in 2nd Class onboard the "Titanic"


Second-class was the smallest passenger class on the Titanic, with room for 564 passengers, a similar size to that provided on her sister-ship the Olympic, whose accommodation was more or less identical to the Titanic's. Like 1st Class, 2nd Class stretched the depth of the ship, running from the Boat Deck to F-Deck. During the voyage itself, the main entrance to 2nd Class was reached by a door on the Boat Deck, just beneath and behind the ship’s fourth funnel. This was also the area of deck given over for 2nd class recreation during the voyage.

Entering the stairwell in 2nd Class, passengers saw the walls and staircase fashioned in heavy mahogany – the kind of sombre British good-taste that dominated the aesthetic in Titanic’s 2nd Class. (Below) Along with her sister-ship, the Olympic, the Titanic was also the first liner to offer an elevator for her 2nd Class passengers (the German liner, Kaiser Wilhelm II, had been the first to introduce an onboard elevator in 1903, but prior to this it had been a luxury reserved only for first-class passengers.)


Although the staircase and the elevator ran up to the Boat Deck, it was solely to provide passengers with access to the deck during the day, or in case of an emergency. With most of the Boat Deck being taken up by internal machinery and most of A-Deck by the 1st Class public rooms, the 2nd Class public rooms did not begin until one reached the male-only Smoking Room on B-Deck (decorated with leather arm chairs and oak panelling, much like a gentleman's club.) It was into the vestibule outside the Smoking Room that 2nd class passengers boarded the Titanic at port, after ascending the gangplanks from the dock or the tender, and it was here in the Smoking Room, during the course of the Titanic’s voyage, that Lawrence Beesley, a Cambridge graduate now teaching Science at an all-boys private school in London, befriended Rev. Carter, an Anglican vicar and Oxford graduate, falling into conversation with him about the respective virtues of their two universities. Later, the two men had coffee in the library with the Reverend’s wife - both of the Carters were tragically lost in the disaster and Beesley later wrote, in a simple, heartfelt way: - “They were good people and this world is much poorer by their loss.”

Descending the staircase, or taking the elevator, to C-Deck, one could reach the 2nd Class Library. Unlike the Writing Room in 1st Class, which was ladies-only, the Library in 2nd Class was for both men and women, with a variety of armchairs, tables, writing desks and sofas set around a room dominated by a large mahogany bookshelf. Since there were no cafés in 2nd Class, it was here that tea or coffee was served to passengers during the afternoon – or, if they preferred, they could take it on the Boat Deck. (Below.)


Cabins in 2nd Class, like 3rd Class, usually consisted of bunk-beds, unless one booked a single-person cabin. Like 3rd Class, there were no private toilets for each individual cabin, although there were sinks and shaving or make-up mirrors for passengers. (Below, right.) Unlike Steerage, the bed linen was changed every day rather than every week by the ship’s stewardesses, when the passengers were taking dinner in the Dining Saloon, which was a large room on D-Deck, just below the Library, which could sit all 564 2nd Class passengers at a single seating.

Like many other transatlantic liners at the time, Titanic’s second-class passengers sat at long tables which were bolted to the floors in case of bad weather at Sea. The chairs, which were also bolted down, were mahogany swivel-chairs and passengers were assigned a seat at the beginning of the voyage at one of the Saloon’s many, long tables – meaning that they would be eating with their fellow passengers, the majority of whom they would probably not know. This kind of seating and eating arrangement had, until fairly recently, been the norm even in 1st Class on Atlantic liners – particularly on the German liners who had launched the trend for luxury super-ships in the first place.

The food served generally received strong praise from both travel journals and passengers – on the Sunday evening of the Titanic’s voyage, diners in the 2nd Class Saloon were offered a choice of consommé, tapioca or breaded haddock to begin with, followed by either curried chicken with rice, spring lamb with mint sauce or roast turkey with cranberry and possible sides of green peas, purée turnips, boiled rice and either boiled or roast potatoes. Pudding was plum pudding, American ice-cream, wine jelly or coconut sandwiches, and for afters, assorted nuts, fresh fruit, cheese, biscuits and coffee were provided by the stewards.



Titanic’s 2nd class passenger list generally consisted of what had recently been dubbed “the leisure classes” – upper middle-class professionals who now had sufficient amounts of disposable income to travel in their spare-time and to do so in comfort. In terms of the price discrepancy between Titanic’s three classes, the situation was not dissimilar in terms of percentage leaps between those offered today on, say, a Virgin Atlantic flight. The difference between an Economy and Premium Economy seat is considerable (usually about 50-60% more), but the difference between Premium and Upper is enormous (between 400-800% on average.) The average cost of a one way second-class ticket on Titanic was £12, four times more than the cheapest ticket available but only 50% more than the most expensive third-class ticket. However, the jump from second-class to the cheapest cabin in 1st class – which were usually situated on A-Deck near the Grand Staircase – was more than double and the most expensive suite in 1st class (the private veranda suites on B-Deck) cost seventy-two times more than a 2nd-class ticket.

Despite the huge discrepancies in price, 2nd class onboard the Titanic was generally favourably compared to 1st class onboard many other smaller ships operating the transatlantic route between Europe and America – the SS New York, for instance, which the Titanic had a near-collision with in Southampton, or older White Star ships like the Oceanic and Teutonic. School teacher, Lawrence Beesley, who I mentioned earlier, had nothing but good things to say about the ship, even in the wake of the disaster, writing movingly in his memoirs: -

"When arranging a tour round the United States, I had decided to cross in the Titanic for several reasons – one, that it was rather a novelty to be on board the largest ship yet launched, and another that friends who had crossed in the Olympic described her as a most comfortable boat in a seaway, and it was reported that the Titanic had been still further improved in this respect by having a thousand tons more built in to steady her... Think of the shame of it, that a mass of ice of no use to any one or anything should have the power fatally to injure the beautiful Titanic! That an insensible block should be able to threaten, even in the smallest degree, the lives of many good men and women who think and plan and hope and love – and not only to threaten, but to end their lives... One impression remains constant with us all to-day – that of the deepest gratitude that we came safely through the wreck of the Titanic, and its corollary – that our legacy from the wreck, our debt to those who were lost with her, is to see, as far as in us lies, that such things are impossible ever again. Meanwhile we can say of them, as Shelley, himself the victim of a similar disaster, says of his friend Keats, in ‘Adonais’: - Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep – He had awakened from the dream of life – He lives, he wakes – ‘Tis Death is dead, not he; Mourn not...

Sunday, 11 April 2010

Life in 3rd Class onboard the "Titanic"


With this week marking the 98th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, I thought I would blog a little about life onboard what was arguably the most famous ship in history - perhaps even more so than Noah's Ark.

Built in Belfast as the second in a trio of sister-ships for the White Star Line, to operate the lucrative transatlantic run between Southampton and New York (via Cherbourg in France and Queenstown in Ireland), the Titanic was the largest ship in the world at the time, eclipsing her 1-year-old sister ship Olympic by just over 1,000-tons. (The cause of the weight gain between the two sisters had been extending one of the 1st class restaurants, enclosing the front half of the A-Deck Promenade, adding two larger suites with their own private verandas in 1st class on B-Deck, adding a Parisian café for 1st class passengers and making various adjustments to the 1st class bathrooms, such as installing extra marble baths and cigar holders next to the sinks.) Had she remained afloat, however, the Titanic would only have held the honour until May 1913, when a 52,000-ton German liner, Imperator, was launched into service for the Hamburg-Amerika Line.

Although White Star realised that enormous sums of money could be made from providing the most luxurious 1st class accommodation onboard its flagships, as with all the transatlantic companies, a huge percentage of their profits would came from the booming immigrant trade between Europe and America, with most of the immigrants travelling in 3rd class – sometimes known as “Steerage.” Europe was already over-populated by 1912, particularly in its cities, and it was a place that had not altered much since the Congress of Vienna. To many it seemed that to triumph and become a man of enormous wealth when one was not born into it was the exception in Belle Époque Europe, not the rule. But America, on the other hand, was a vast continent, under-populated, new in comparison to the “Old Countries” and brimming with opportunities – either real or imagined. So, like the Olympic, the Titanic was designed to capitalise on the surge in transatlantic migration with room for 1,134 3rd-class passengers.

Unlike the slightly melodramatic view of impoverished but inexplicably cheery 3rd class passengers offered in James Cameron’s Titanic, the Olympic and Titanic’s steerage accommodation was both of a higher standard and therefore a higher cost than most other 3rd class cabins on smaller ships or upon White Star's German rivals. (The cheapest 3rd class ticket cost as much as 3-4 weeks’ wages for a skilled labourer.) The result was that the White Star Line’s 3rd class clientele was usually upper working-class or lower middle class. A typical passenger would have been the likes of Frank Dean, who had purchased 3rd class tickets for himself, his wife and their two young children, when he decided to emigrate to join relatives in Kansas, where he could open a tobacco shop, much like he had in London.

The theory behind providing higher levels of comfort for its 3rd class passengers was, predictably, a commercial one for the White Star Line. Whilst many shipping companies showed no real interest in making provision for genuine comfort for its steerage passengers, since they were emigrating and were therefore unlikely to be “return” customers, White Star Line knew that many immigrants were later joined by their family and friends from the homeland and so by making sure their journey to the United States was as enjoyable as possible, White Star Line hoped they would recommend travelling on the Olympic or Titanic to their acquaintances, thus increasing the company’s future profits.

Third class passengers onboard the Titanic had access to a smoking room (male only), two dining rooms (above, divided in two by one of the ship’s bulkheads) and a general room, which functioned as a cross between a lounge and a nursery, although in the evening it became the recreational area. (It is there in the movie Titanic that Jack and Rose dance at the céilidh – although in reality, 1st class passengers were no more allowed to wander down to 3rd class than 3rd class were free to walk about 1st class.)

Cabins in 3rd class consisted of bunk beds for between 4 and 6 people, with a sink at the far end of the room and some small wardrobe space. An excellent reconstruction is pictured left from the Titanic Museum in Branson, Missouri. Private toilets in the ship's cabins were unheard of and not even available in 2nd class and so large, clean, public toilets similar to what we might find in restaurants were provided, along with showers and baths. Food onboard the ship was simple but plentiful. The dinner served to 3rd class passengers on Sunday April 14th, destined to be the ship’s last day afloat, consisted of rice soup, fresh bread, biscuits, and roast beef with gravy, sweet corn, and boiled potatoes, followed by plum pudding, sweet sauce and fruit.

At the time of her maiden voyage, which began on Wednesday April 10th 1912 in Southampton and after a collection of Irish passengers on the following day, the Titanic set out for New York with 708 3rd class passengers. Three days later, twenty minutes before midnight, the ship was involved in a side-on collision with an iceberg, which opened 300ft of the 882ft liner to the sea beneath the waterline. Two hours and forty minutes later, the ship disappeared beneath the waves with the loss of approximately 1,500 lives. As everybody knows, the percentage of 3rd class passengers saved, compared to those in 1st and 2nd class was appalling – of the 462 men in steerage, 75 survived; 76 of the 165 women escaped, along with only 27 of the 76 children.

The enormously high percentage of 3rd-class casualties led to the myth that they had been deliberately detained below deck until 1st- and 2nd-class passengers were boarded into the lifeboats. A version of events which was most memorably dramatised in movies like A Night to Remember and TitanicA Night to Remember did, however, show that the passengers were eventually allowed up on deck, once the crew realised the ship was actually sinking, rather than just going through a temporary evacuation.

It is true that, at night, many gates in the ship were locked and that tragically this impeded the movements of some 3rd class passengers in trying to reach the Boat Deck. However, the real reason for the high percentage of 3rd class casualties was a lot less sinister, but none the less tragic: the 3rd class quarters were the cheapest onboard and, as such, they were located in the bottom section of the ship. As I have said, for some time after the collision, many members of the Titanic’s crew were unaware exactly what had happened – even some of the officers did not seem to know that the ship had suffered a fatal blow and it was not until an hour or maybe even an hour and a half after the collision that a list in the ship became truly noticeable. It therefore not only took the 3rd class passengers far longer to reach the lifeboats than the other passengers because of where their accommodation was, but they were also hampered by the fact that many of their stewards and stewardesses failed to impress upon them the gravity of the situation the Titanic was in.

Investigating the claim that it had been malice rather than incompetence which led to so many deaths in 3rd class, the British Enquiry into the disaster, chaired by Lord Mersey, concluded: -

“It has been suggested before the Enquiry that the third-class passengers had been unfairly treated; that their access to the boat deck had been impeded; and that when at last they reached that deck the first and second-class passengers were given precedence in getting places in the boats. There appears to have been no truth in these suggestions. It is no doubt true that the proportion of third-class passengers saved falls far short of the proportion of the first and second class, but this is accounted for by the greater reluctance of the third-class passengers to leave the ship, by their unwillingness to part with their baggage, by the difficulty in getting them up from their quarters, which were at the extreme ends of the ship, and by other similar causes.”

When news of the Titanic disaster broke in Belfast, I can vividly remember my great-grandfather telling me when I was younger that in the Protestant working-class areas of the city, he could see grown men who worked in the Harland & Wolff shipyards, standing in the street crying at the loss of the “Great Ship.” He could still remember the song they sang to commemorate the loss and, at the distance of eighty years, the pride he took in his family having worked on the Titanic and her sisters was palpable.

The Titanic’s sister ship, Olympic, continued in service for the White Star Line for the next twenty years, continuing to turn great profits and eventually being joined in the 1920s by two new running mates for the transatlantic run – the 56,000-ton Majestic and the 34,000-ton Homeric. On most of her sailings between 1911 and 1934, when the Great Depression began to strangle the luxury liner trade, the Olympic regularly sailed with most of the cabins – in all three of her classes – booked.

Mean Girls (2004)


“I know she's kind of socially retarded and weird, but she's my friend... so, just promise me you won't make fun of her!”
- Regina George (Rachel McAdams), Mean Girls (2004)

Unlike most other movies in its genre, Mean Girls isn’t about some faux-ugly teenage girl who, with the help of a hardened jock who falls inexplicably in love with her once he gets bored of dating the cheerleaders, suddenly becomes beautiful, radiant and beloved, all the while simultaneously and paradoxically proving that it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Instead, Mean Girls is a tongue-in-cheek comedy-drama about a 16 year-old girl called Cady (Lindsay Lohan), the child of two travelling academics, who is about to go to an American public high school for the first time.

There, clueless, plaid-wearing Cady is befriended by the indie kids, Janis and Damien (Lizzie Caplan and Daniel Franzese), who explain to her how the pecking order at North Shore High works. However, since she is a “regulation hotty,” Cady soon attracts the notice of North Shore’s manipulative Queen Bee, Regina George (played superbly by Rachel McAdams.) Spurred on by her indie friends, who want Cady to gather information on “the Plastics,” so they can laugh together later about the popular girls inane lifestyle, Cady reluctantly begins to eat lunch with at Regina’s table, hang-out with them and, bit by bit, she becomes sucked into the intoxicating, gossip-riddled world of the teen it-crowd – including falling for Regina’s ex-boyfriend, school sexpot Aaron Samuels, (Jonathan Bennett) and stirring up trouble between Regina and her brilliantly played sidekicks - “totally rich” Gretchen Wieners (Lacey Chabert) and “the dumbest girl you will ever meet,” Karen Smith (Amanda Seyfried.)

Now, I absolutely love Mean Girls – unsurprising, I know. Yes, I hate the ending, but then, who doesn’t? But long before Tina Fey was famous for her side-splittingly hilarious impersonations of Vice-Presidential contender, Sarah Palin, on Saturday Night Live ,she was critically acclaimed for writing this funny, bitchy exposé of high school cliques and popularity contests. (She also plays the schools Maths teacher, Miss Norbury.) Sadly and probably quite dysfunctionally, Mean Girls makes me miss school and the glory days of secret house parties, sexuality panics, dress code fears, crash dieting, needlessly overcomplicated scheming and the endless deliciousness of being slightly ridiculous on a daily basis – oh... to be 17 again. Also, another very good movie. (See what I did there?)

Thursday, 8 April 2010

Bette and Joan: The Divine Feud


"It seemed to me that each one coveted what the other possessed. Joan envied Bette's incredible talent, and Bette envied Joan's seductive glamour."
- George Cukor, Hollywood director

I have just finished reading a fantastically entertaining book about old Hollywood, called Bette and Joan: The Divine Feud, by journalist Shaun Considine. The book, which I bought last week, was first published in 1989 and it has been in print ever since. It chronicles the forty year-long feud between two of the greatest stars Hollywood ever produced - Joan Crawford and Bette Davis. Considine, a respected New York journalist, first became intrigued at the idea of doing a joint biography of the two women when he interviewed Bette Davis in April 1973. Somehow hearing that he had spoken to Davis about the only movie they had ever done together - the psychological thriller Whatever happened to Baby Jane?, Joan Crawford called Considine at home to give him her version of her relationship with "Miss Davis." Over the next sixteen years, whilst working on other projects, Considine interviewed hundreds of people who knew the two women and what is so brilliant about the book is that he often quotes disagreeing sources one after another. Unlike the sexually-explicit David Bret biography Joan Crawford: Hollywood Martyr or the viciously critical Bette Davis by Barbara Leaming, Shaun Considine's book isn't trying to push any one thesis or version of the actresses' lives, he's just trying to give us all the information and let the people involved tell it in their own words. It's like a cross between celebrity magazine, a newsreel and a history book. So I, naturally, loved it.

To fill people in on the general story, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford were considered the Queens of Hollywood's Golden Age in the 1930s and 1940s. Both commanded enormous salaries and lived a life of unprecedented luxury and glamour. With the rise of television in the late 1950s, they struggled, before both re-inventing themselves as Queens of expensive Horror and psychological thrillers in the 1960s. They were both (allegedly) born in the same year - 1908; they both won at least one Oscar; they were both married multiple times; they both adopted children; both struggled with alcoholism in their later years; both spoke their mind and both were not afraid of fighting back against the often cruel and vicious male studio bosses who controlled the lives and careers of everyone in the Hollywood at the time. And they both hated each other. "I have never been anywhere, all over the world," said Davis (above right), "where they haven't asked about Joan and me. I don't mind it. I find it interesting. But I have always wondered. What do people think they see in us together? After all, we had nothing in common."

Over the course of her six decade career, Bette Davis appeared in 121 movies, beginning with her performance in The Bad Sister in 1931 and finally ending with Wicked Stepmother in 1989. She won the Oscar for Best Actress twice - firstly for her role as an adulterous actress in Dangerous (1935) and then as a scheming Southern belle in Jezebel (1938.) She was nominated eight more times – for her performances in Dark Victory (1939), The Letter (1940), The Little Foxes (1941), Now, Voyager (1942), Mr. Skeffington (1944), All About Eve (1950), The Star (1952) and Whatever happened to Baby Jane? (1962.) But lost to Ginger Rogers, Joan Fontaine, Greer Garson, Ingrid Bergman, Judy Holliday, Shirley Booth and Anne Bancroft, respectively. Her performances as Elizabeth I in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939) and The Virgin Queen (1955) and as the Empress Carlotta of Mexico in Juarez (1939) were also highly critically-acclaimed, by both critics and historians.

Tuesday, 6 April 2010

The Age of Anne Boleyn


“But to come to her death... She was convicted and condemned [and] she was not twenty-nine years of age.”
- Jane Dormer, Duchess of Feria (1538 - 1612)

“She would have been around thirty-five when she died, middle-aged by Tudor standards. Life had not been kind to her, and stress had aged her prematurely.”
- Alison Weir, The Six Wives of Henry VIII (1991)

A mistress of King Louis XV of France always insisted that there was only one rule in polite society that could never be broken - and that was that you should never ask a pretty woman her age. So, it seems a tad impolite that for years historians have been trampling over such niceties, by debating back and forth about the age of Henry VIII's second wife, Queen Anne Boleyn. But then, as with so much about Anne Boleyn, it may not be appropriate, but it's certainly important.

The issue of Anne Boleyn's age is one which is particularly important to me, because a research paper on the subject was one of those I submitted when applying to Oxford. In the course of recently researching my own biography of Anne Boleyn, which I believe may take me the next five or six years to complete, I returned to that paper and began to research in-depth the issue of Anne's birth. It is my conclusion that the current chronology of Anne's childhood that we have been given by most historians is utterly wrong and highly misleading. Anne Boleyn was, I believe, born six years later than most modern historians suggest - not in 1501, but in the summer or autumn of 1507.

Since parish records were not kept in England until later in the 16th century, we only have exact birthdays for Henry VIII's two foreign-born wives - Katherine of Aragon, who was born in Spain on December 16th 1485, and Anna of Cleves, who was born in Germany on September 22nd 1515. For his English wives, historians have had to use comments about the ladies' generic age and appearance, ambassadorial reports, family wills and even funerary details to try and guess the birth date of Jane Seymour (?1507 - 1509), Catherine Howard (?1521 - 1525) and Katharine Parr (?1512 or 1514.)

Of course, had Anne Boleyn lived out a normal life-span, the issue of when exactly she was born would have become less and less important with the passing years. For example, had she lived to the same age as her Irish grandmother, Lady Margaret, and died at the age of 83, Anne would have lived well into the reign of her daughter Queen Elizabeth and would have died sometime around the time of the Spanish Armada. By that point, Anne would have been the Queen Mother and her influence in politics, perhaps still considerable, would have been so long-lasting that the issues concerning her early rise to power in the 1520s would not have mattered so much. Furthermore, had she been properly buried her date of birth would perhaps have been recorded on the tomb.

But Anne Boleyn did not live into her eighties and she was buried in an unmarked grave. Yet, it matters very much to what we know about her, her marriage and the English Reformation that we accurately date her birth. Was she a young woman of eighteen when the King first began to pursue her or an accomplished, mature lady of twenty-five? Was she twenty-eight at the time she was executed or was she thirty-five? Because if she was 28, as one of her stepdaughter's ladies-in-waiting claimed, then the reasons behind her execution become infinitely more sinister - at 28, Anne Boleyn was still undeniably in her childbearing years. Yes, she would have been at the tail-end of them by Tudor standards, but she would have had at least four or five more years before she was considered infertile, and so the idea that it was just her "failure" to produce a son which led to her death in 1536 suddenly becomes a good deal less convincing and the idea that it was her husband who orchestrated her monstrously unfair death becomes infinitely more likely. However, if she was 35, then she was already practically middle-aged by Tudor standards and it becomes far more likely that the entire reason for her destruction was politics pure and simple, with Anne - and to some extent, perhaps, maybe even her husband - being victims of a savagely brilliant process of character assassination, lies, manufactured hysteria and a ruthless palace coup organised by the King's chief adviser, Thomas Cromwell.

This much about Anne Boleyn's life is certain - we know that she was sent abroad for her education in 1513, that she returned to London as a débutante in 1522, Henry VIII asked her to marry him in 1527, she was crowned queen and became a mother in 1533 and she was executed in 1536. If one follows the 1501 argument, then she was 12 when she went abroad, 21 when she came back, 26 when she was engaged, 32 when she was crowned and 35 when she died; the alternative scenario has her leaving England at 6 and returning at 15, betrothed at 19, crowned at 25 and dead at 28.

Sunday, 4 April 2010

Easter Sunday


"They returned from the tomb and reported all these things to the eleven and to all the rest. Now they were Mary Magdalene and Johanna and Mary the mother of James; also the other women with them were telling these things to the apostles. And these words appeared to them as nonsense, and they would not believe them. But Peter arose and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen wrappings only; and he went away to his home, marveling at that which had happened."
- The Gospel according to Saint Luke, Chapter 24

Of all Christianity's many relics, none is more famous, nor more controversial, than the Shroud of Turin, kept for centuries in the Roman Catholic Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist in Turin, Italy. Contrary to popular belief, the Vatican neither endorses nor rejects the authenticity of the cloth which, for centuries, has been venerated as the burial cloth of Jesus Christ. When shown under strong light, the Shroud reveals a haunting imprint of a crucified man in his early-to-mid thirties, the body bearing literally hundreds of wounds from scouring, the forehead pierced multiple times and the hands and feet pierced by nail-sized wounds.

For almost the last half-century, however, the Shroud has been a byword for religious hokum amongst the intelligentsia. Carbon dating tests carried out on the Shroud with the Vatican's permission concluded that the Shroud dated from the 14th century and, as such, was nothing more than a clever forgery. The insistence of those, like textile historian Dr. Lemberg, who argued that the intricate stitching on the back of the Shroud was utterly unknown in medieval Europe and dated from either the 1st or 2nd century AD, was ignored. So too were the queries of those historians who pointed out the technology to actually forge something as intricate and life-like as the Shroud was non-existent in the Middle Ages; a fact corroborated by forensic pathologists who argued that the anatomical details on the figure in the Shroud tally with everything we know of the physicality of death by crucifixion, facts which most people in the Middle Ages did not know due to a life-time of gazing at usually-inaccurate crucifixes. However, the carbon dating on the Shroud which placed it to over a millennium after the death of Jesus Christ was held to be incontrovertible and, for many - myself included - the fact that it was impossible for the Shroud of Turin to be genuine was more or less self-evident.

As with many things, I was rather jolted out of this complacency at Oxford by a tutor who, when I made an airily dismissive comment about the Shroud's authenticity, responded: "Ah, but what about the stitching? What about the folding patterns? What about the blood?" The blood? "Yes, the blood; it's AB. Common enough in Palestine at the time of the Crucifixion. Practically unheard-of in early modern Europeans. They couldn't have know that to 'fake it,' could they? And yet it's all over the Shroud. All over it." What about the carbon dating, I asked swiftly. "Yes, I've often wondered about that. Of course, it's equally possible that they made a mistake and simply analysed the polymers left on the Shroud from the last time it was exposed to the air for a prolonged period of time - which would be the 14th century. Still, I suppose it could be the most ingenious fraud in history, couldn't it? Anything is possible."

The Shroud's track record amongst the written sources, however, is not great. There is no evidence of it being in existence prior to turning up in France in 1360, but evidence or not, the sheer emotional impact of the dead, ghostly imprint on the Shroud was such that once it did come to the Faithful's notice it asserted a collective hold on the hearts of pilgrims that it was never, really, relinquished.

Lying sealed in a magnificent silver ark in the Cámara Santa ("Holy Chamber") of the Cathedral of San Salvador in Oviedo, north-western Spain, is another piece of cloth associated with the events of Easter. But this piece of cloth has attracted far less attention than the Turin Shroud. It is known as the Sudarium of Oviedo: a sudarium (Latin for 'sweat-cloth') would have been placed over the face of dead Jews in the time of Christ. In the case of those who died from Crucifixion, it would naturally have caught the blood and sweat of the dying man and, true to its claim, the Sudarium holds small pools of blood congregated around the nasal area, with the sweat and blood stains trailing off around the beard-line of the victim. Unlike the Shroud, however, there is no imprint. (The Sudarium would, in any case, not have stayed on the body for as long as the Shroud.) The Sudarium is simply an ancient, blood-stained piece of cloth, folded over in two unlike most of its kind because whoever it wrapped had died in a state of extreme shock, the head lolling onto outstretched arms already racked with rigamortis by the time the Sudarium was placed over the face.

In a further divergence to the Shroud, the documentary evidence about the Sudarium is a lot stronger. It is first mentioned in a European source by Antoninus of Piacenza, a 6th century Christian pilgrim, who saw the Sudarium being venerated in a cave of the Monastery of Saint Mark the Evangelist, just outside Jerusalem, where, according to locals, it had been kept for several hundred years. Such was the pious love accorded to the Sudarium that it is virtually impossible to believe that it had been forged recently. Moreover, its fame was such that despite being left untouched it was already under the careful watch of the Church hierarchy in Constantinople.

Forty-four years after Antoninus prayed in the presence of the Sudarium, the Persians invaded Palestine. Fearing that the Holy Relic would fall into the hands of non-believers, the monks and the Byzantine hierarchy arranged for the Sudarium to be smuggled out of the fallen province and it commenced its wandering, after the monks charged with its safe-keeping fled south. Moving through northern Africa, they eventually crossed at the Straits of Gibraltar and brought the Sudarium to the Kingdom of the Asturias, the first kingdom on the Iberian peninsula to convert to Christianity. There, the Sudarium was stored in the silver ark which it continues to rest in today and, in the next generation, a Holy Chamber was built for the relic by King Alfonso the Chaste. The Chamber today is part of the Cathedral of San Salvador and for the last thirteen hundred years, the Sudarium has called the Cámara Santa of San Salvador home.

Not long after the Shroud of Turin, the Sudarium too was carbon-dated. The result? That it dated from the 7th century, and no earlier. Yet, we know from the writings of Antoninus of Piacenza and from Byzantine writers that the Sudarium was already old in the 6th century. Perhaps, as one of the dons had suggested to me was the case with the Shroud, the carbon dating of the Sudarium had picked up only on the bacteria left by the last time the relic was properly left in the open air for a prolonged period of time - the 7th century - when it was smuggled from Palestine to Spain.

On the surface, the Sudarium's claim to authenticity - especially in the documentary sources - is much stronger than the Turin Shroud's. Moreover, there is absolutely no evidence in any written source that has survived (and those on the Sudarium are extensive) which places the Sudarium and the Shroud (which would have formed two parts of the same funerary equipment if one believes both their legends) together, at any point in history. Not in the writings of Antoninus of Piacenza, the first European to see the Sudarium, or any subsequent saint, writer or historian since has there ever been a source which even hints that the Shroud and the Sudarium met each other in Palestine, Africa, Byzantium, Spain, France, Italy or the Hapsburg Empire. As far as the written evidence goes, we know the two never met at any point after the sixth century AD.

Today, the Sudarium of Oviedo lies in its magnificent silver reliquary near the tombs of Saint Eulogius, one of the forty-eight "Martyrs of Córdoba," Saint Leocadia of Toledo, Saint Pelayo, King Fruelo the Cruel and three queens - Queen Munia Lopez, Queen Teresa of León and Queen Jimena de Pamplona. Every year, it is exhibited to the faithful on Good Friday, then in September on the Feast of the Triumph of The Cross and once more on the Feast's Octave in October. Then, for the rest of the year, this mysterious, bloody piece of cloth slumbers in the silver ark that was built for it by a pious king over a millennium ago.

And, in one of those rare sets of occurrences which science deplores and history loves, there is one final piece of information of the Sudarium of Oviedo which is perhaps worth considering: the fabric the Sudarium is made of, the geographical origin of the cloth, the type of stitching around the edges and the blood type which stains it? They are all exactly the same as those on the Shroud of Turin. To all intents and purposes the Sudarium and the Shroud, which history tells us never met and science tells us never could have met, may as well have been cut from the same piece of cloth.

Maybe they're both the most ingenious works of fraud in history.

Who knows?

Anything is possible...

Saturday, 3 April 2010

Black Saturday


“May angels lead you into paradise;
May the martyrs receive you at your arrival,
And lead you into the Holy City of Jerusalem.
May a choir of angels receive you, and,
With Lazarus, who once was poor, may you have eternal rest.”

- From the 'In Paradisum' section of the Requiem Mass for the Dead

In certain parts of Ireland, the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday is sometimes referred to as "Black Saturday," because of the custom of visiting the graves of loved ones on the day when Christ was buried in His own tomb. Personally, I think the Russian Orthodox name for the day - "The Great Sabbath" - is more lovely, but "Black Saturday" is perhaps the name I am more familiar with.

As in Ireland, throughout Christendom the Great Sabbath is often kept as a day of remembrance and many people's minds naturally turn more to contemplating death on this day, much as it might on the Feast of All Souls on November 2nd.

As I was thinking about this day and how different people cope with death and loss, I remembered a deathbed letter I had once read by a 17th century princess that - along with the final letters of Katherine of Aragon, Marie-Antoinette and Bartolomé Blanco Márquez - probably rank as the most moving farewell letters I've ever had the pleasure to read.

The letter in question was written by a 70 year-old German princess, Elisabeth-Charlotte, who had spent the last fifty years of her life as a member of the French Royal Family, by marriage.

Born Elisabeth-Charlotte van der Pfalz in 1652, daughter of the Elector Palatine, Elisabeth-Charlotte was related by blood to most of the German royal and aristocratic houses. At the age of nineteen, she was placed into an arranged marriage with Philippe, Duc d’Orléans, the younger brother of King Louis XIV of France. Elisabeth-Charlotte, nicknamed “Liselotte” by her family, was required to convert from Lutheranism to Catholicism under the terms of the marriage contract – although, in later years, some doubted the sincerity of her conversion, noting that the princess did not seem particularly enamoured with her new religion. (She once complained that the Latin Mass was “nothing but vowels, like aaa eee ooo iii, which is enough to make one burst out of one’s skin with pure impatience!”)

Religion aside, Philippe and Liselotte were an ill-matched pair; her new husband was one of France’s most gifted and brilliant military leaders, but he was also a homosexual, and had for years been in love with the Chévalier de Lorraine. He had also been married before, to the late Princess Henriette-Anne of Great Britain, with whom he already had two daughters – Marie-Louise (the future Queen of Spain) and Anne-Marie (the future Queen of Sardinia.) Henriette-Anne had been beautiful, gracious, sophisticated and charming, the unacknowledged queen of Versailles society; Liselotte was, by her own admission, fat, boisterous, ugly and cursed like a sailor.

Yet, somehow, despite the personality clash, the marriage between the flamboyant, glamorous French prince and the earthy, no-nonsense German princess seemed to work and, by the end of their lives together, they had become firm friends, if nothing else. Taking her marriage vows seriously, she never took a lover or betrayed her husband in any way and he, in his turn, gallantly protected her from the intrigues launched against her by the glitterati of Versailles. In time, she even came to tolerate his love affairs, gamely telling one of her husband’s male lovers: “You are welcome to gobble the peas, for I don’t like them.”

Despite her unattractiveness and his sexuality, Philippe and Liselotte also had three children together – Alexandre, who died young, Philippe, the future Regent of France, and a daughter, also called Elisabeth-Charlotte, the future Duchess of Lorraine and grandmother of Queen Marie-Antoinette.

Living in retirement as a widow at the palace of St.-Cloud by the time this letter was written, the 70 year-old princess had written thousands of letters back to her relatives in England and Germany over the last half-century. This, the last letter she ever wrote, was to her half-sister, Louisa. Like Liselotte herself, it was sincere but unsentimental; there were no promises that she would change her lifestyle and have a "Road to Damascus"-style change if God spared her life and she showed no fear or undue hysteria at the prospect of dying, without quite giving up on the idea of life either: -


Saint Cloud,
3 December 1722

Dearest Louisa,

The news of my health today will not, I expect, please you at all. I am getting more miserable day by day, and this may well come to a bad end, but I am, thank God, ready for everything and only beg God Almighty to give me patience in the great pain I must suffer day and night, not only because I am so horribly weak but because I am increasingly miserable all over. Whether I will get out of this God alone knows; time will tell, but I have never been as sick as this. The weather here is not bad, but today it is starting to rain, just a little drizzle. I do not think that any kind of weather will be able to help me now. Time, dear Louisa, will soon show what is to become of all this. If I get out of this you will always find me as I have been all along. If God calls me to Himself, you must take comfort in the thought that I die without regret or sorrow, happy to leave this world in the hope that my Redeemer, who has died and risen for me, will not forsake me and that since I have kept my faith in Him, He will have mercy on me in my last hour. In this trust I live and die, dear Louisa! For the rest, it will have to be as God wishes. Many people complain about coughs and colds now; I am sicker than that and getting worse day by day... Here they are bringing me another of your welcome letters of 21 November, number 83, but I cannot possibly answer it, I am just too sick ... But if God grants me life until the day after tomorrow, I shall answer it; all I can say for now is that until my end I shall dearly love you.

Liselotte.

Friday, 2 April 2010

Good Friday


“Now there stood by the Cross of Jesus, His Mother, His Mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary, called The Magdalene.”
- The Gospel according to Saint John, Chapter 19

"What must have been her gifts, who was chosen to be the only near earthly relative of the Son of God, the only one whom He was bound by nature to revere and look up to; the one appointed to train and educate Him, to instruct Him day by day, as He grew in wisdom and stature?"
- Cardinal John Henry Newman (1832)

Good Friday, the day which marks the Passion and Death of Jesus Christ, has been the subject of many excellent spiritual reflections and one in particular that I would recommend is posted on Elena Maria Vidal's blog Tea at Trianon .

Since the significance and emotion of Good Friday as an event has been covered elsewhere, I would like to briefly focus on a secondary figure in the Passion narrative: - Christ's mother, the Virgin Mary. She stood at the foot of the Cross on the day her Son was tortured to death, showing heroism and the depths of maternal love in being with Him, even when we cannot imagine what pain that sight must have cost her. It is perhaps revealing that, with the exception of the loyal Saint John the Evangelist, none of the other Apostles had braved attending the Crucifixion and the only people who were there were "the Three Marys" - Christ's mother, aunt and follower, Saint Mary Magdalene, who would earn the later sobriquet of "Dulcis Amica Dei," for her loyalty ("Sweet Friend of God.")

Many years earlier, when she was a young mother, the Virgin Mary had visited the Temple with her Son. In an astonishing breach of etiquette, an old man, a temple prophet named Simeon, approached her and by-passed her husband, Joseph, to speak directly to Mary herself, pointing to her Son and then to her, saying: "Behold! This Child is set for the fall and rise of many and as a sign to be opposed - and a sword shall pierce your own soul - so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed!"

Some of my coreligionist friends have insisted to me that Mary was nothing but an ordinary woman. I'm sorry, but she was nothing of the kind. Leaving aside how any Christian could possibly look at the woman who God chose from the women of all-time and all-places to be the earthly mother of His Son and still call her "ordinary," at whose intercession Christ performed His first recorded miracle, and even if we do not consider the extraordinary story of her life, which is without equal in human history, how many of us could possibly have carried on with the courage to live and love and believe, when we had a dread prophecy like Simeon's hanging over our head for decades? How many of us could have continued to praise God's Name, knowing that He had given us a child whose destiny was to die?

Neither in life nor in character could the Virgin Mary be, by any stretch of the imagination, called "ordinary." To echo the Archangel's words, she was, in every sense, a lady who was truly "full of Grace" and on no occasion did she show the greatness of her heart and mind more than on Good Friday, when she gave what the poets call 'the last gift of love' - grief - and stayed with her Son, even in extremis, and then, when it was all over, she sat and cradled His dead body in her arms, symbolising the pain and loss of any mother who has ever lost a child.

Thursday, 1 April 2010

Maundy Thursday


“This is my commandment: that ye love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this – that he lay down his life for his friends.”
– The Gospel according to Saint John, Chapter 15

Maundy Thursday, the fifth day of Holy Week, is known by a variety of names throughout Christianity - including "Holy Thursday," "Covenant Thursday," "Great and Holy Thursday," "Green Thursday," and the "Thursday of Mysteries," which is perhaps my favourite name for the day. The name by which it is most famously known in the English-speaking world, however, is "Maundy Thursday," which comes from the Latin word "mandatum," which is the first phrase of the above passage from the Bible, when Christ spoke to the Apostles at the Last Supper, saying: “This is my commandment: that ye love one another, as I have loved you." (Or, in Latin, "Mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos".)

Known as "Maundy Thursday" throughout the Anglo-Norman world, the Thursday of Holy Week is a busy day scripturally - for it marks the Last Supper (and thus the institution of Christianity's most important Sacrament - Holy Communion), Jesus's sorrow in the Garden of Gethsemane, the "Judas Kiss," Christ's arrest, His brutalisation by the Sanhedrin's soldiers and His first interrogation.

Historically, Maundy Thursday has given rise to a number of interesting traditions and practices. Bulgarians traditionally paint their Easter Eggs on Maundy Thursday, whilst Swedish children dress-up and go "trick or treating" in search of money or sweet for Easter Sunday. In the Philippines, where Holy Week is celebrated with special intensity, all newspapers cease publication between Maundy Thursday and Black Saturday, whilst most businesses also close down, going into a form of mourning, and in Slovakia, Luxembourg and the Czech Republic, Catholic churches cease to ring their bells until dawn on Easter Sunday. Many Christians also go on a form of pilgrimage on Maundy Thursday, moving between seven churches across the course of the day - a practice which has its origins in Rome, where, on Maundy Thursday pilgrims progress between Saint Peter's itself, the Papal Archbasilica of Saint John Lateran, Santa Maria Maggiore, the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls, San Lorenzo fuori le Mura, the Basilica of the Holy Cross-in-Jerusalem and San Sebastiano ad Catacumbas. In 2000, Pope John Paul II changed the final church from San Sebastiano to the Sanctuary of the Madonna of Divine Love, but most pilgrims still prefer to visit San Sebastiano, as their ancestors have done for centuries.

Perhaps one of the most interesting Maundy Thursday customs originates here in the United Kingdom, when the monarch bestows alms or "Maundy Money" on a group of pensioners - one for each year of the Sovereign's life. A special church service is held in a cathedral in either England or Wales, where the Queen hands out specially-minted coins to a group of pensioners, who have been invited to the service by local authorities. (In 2008, the Maundy Thursday service was held in Northern Ireland for the first time, at Saint Patrick's Cathedral, Armagh.) The custom itself dates back to the time of King Edward I, who ruled England from 1272 until his death in 1307. He was also the conqueror of Wales, hence the custom of using Welsh cathedrals for the Maundy services as well. From then, until the deposition of King James II in 1688, the main part of the tradition was for the monarch to humble his- or herself by washing the feet of the twelve local paupers who had been gathered for the service, along with bestowing generous amounts of charity upon them. The washing of the feet was done to imitate Christ's act of loving humility, when He washed the feet of His own apostles at the Last Supper. Bearing in mind how filthy the feet of a pauper in the Middle Ages would have been, the royal Maundy traditions indicate just how passionate a hold Christianity had over the hearts and minds of people in that era. One of the most diligent practitioners of the Maundy Thursday washing of feet was apparently Queen Elizabeth I (r. 1558 - 1603) and it was from her reign that we owe an image of the custom being carried out, painted by the great female artist, Levina Teerlinc. Elizabeth who, as ever, wore black to church during Lent, had a white apron tied around her waist by a lady-in-waiting and would kneel at the paupers' feet, washing them with water from a silver ewer and bowl, whilst dispensing a large amount of alms to them - the precise amount of which had been set during her mother's time as queen. Elizabeth, who was a devout Anglican, would "take her almost mystical role in this ritual very seriously".

In its original form, the practise was last carried out in England on Maundy Thursday 1688, by King James II, a pious but unpopular Roman Catholic and his lovely Italian queen, Maria-Beatrice of Modena. When James was deposed by his Protestant nephew, William of Orange, the washing of the feet on Maundy Thursday was discontinued by the new King, who apparently regarded it as sentimental nonsense of little practical value to any 'real' Christian. Aside from anything else, "people skills" were not one of William's strong points and he was uncomfortable around strangers and it was William's wife and co-ruler, Queen Mary II, who instituted the current tradition of the money being handed out to the elderly, rather than the poor, which continues to this day.
Related Posts with Thumbnails