Ricochet is the best place on the internet to discuss the issues of the day, either through commenting on posts or writing your own for our active and dynamic community in a fully moderated environment. In addition, the Ricochet Audio Network offers over 50 original podcasts with new episodes released every day.
Quote of the Day–On Learning History
William the Conqeror
WILLIAM THE FIRST was the first of our kings,
Not counting Ethelreds, Egberts and things,
And he had himself crowned and anointed and blest
In Ten-Sixty-I-Needn’t Tell-You-The-RestBut being a Norman, King William the First
By the Saxons he conquered was hated and cursed,
And they planned and they plotted far into the night
Which William could tell by the candles alight.Then William decided these rebels to quell
By ringing the Curfew, a sort of a bell,
And if any Saxon was found out of bed
After eight o’clock sharp, it was Off With His Head!–Eleanor and Herbert Farjeon
The rest of this little poem goes through each strike of the bell, one through eight, at the end of which all the Saxons are tucked up in bed, “in a deuce of a state.” I know it by heart. It’s the first poem in a marvelous little book, Kings and Queens, by Eleanor and Herbert Farjeon (early twentieth-century British siblings with a knack for churning out reliably popular children’s stories, poems, and songs). Eleanor is best known outside the UK for the hymn “Morning has Broken,” which put Yusuf Islam (AKA Cat Stevens) on the map in 1972. Oh well. It’s a pretty song. The rest of Kings and Queens covers every monarch since William with an equally historically accurate and easy-to-memorize little poem. “John, John, bad King John, Shamed the throne that he sat on,” and so on. It was a very early, and a favorite, book of my childhood.
For reasons I can’t quite recall (they say that short-term memory is the first thing to go), I signed up for this “Quote of Day” gig (it’s a thing we do on Ricochet) on the spur of the moment, just a couple of days ago. And as I was mooching around looking for inspiration and something to write about, I found it, and when I did the above poem thrust itself unbidden into my consciousness, although I don’t think I’ve thought about it for more than half-a-century. (I’ll tell you why it “apparated,” as Harry Potter might say, in a minute.)
But before I get there, I’m going tell you a bit about how I began to learn history.
It certainly wasn’t in the classroom. I didn’t wait till I was six or seven or eight. (Do they even teach history at those ages these days?) My elementary school education was spotty, took place on three different continents, and went completely missing for a year, during which I was the reluctant and ill-tempered beneficiary of my mother’s rare and half-hearted attempts at home-schooling, the benefits of which I have no memory at all. But I survived, and by the time I started Junior High School, the family had settled, for keeps, in the United States, and I’d picked up and scavenged enough facts and knowledge to fake it until I could finally make it, which I eventually did.
I began to learn history from books, at first from books which were read to me, and later, from ones I read and treasured myself. From poems, like the one I recited above, or others by Kipling, Browning, and Longfellow. Some from antiquity, some anonymous. From stories and novels by Scott, Kipling, Sutcliffe. (Later, when I became interested in the genre I call the ‘tasteful bodice ripper,’ from Heyer, Seton, DuMaurier.) Everywhere I looked, there were books.
And I learned history from family: from Dad, from my grandparents, and from my great-grandmother. I learned about a time in the world I couldn’t remember, but they could (some such recollections, related to me by a relation or family retainer who lived through them, go back as far back as about 1875, almost 150 years ago–before there were telephones, when Queen Victoria still had decades to go on the throne, the Franco-Prussian War had just ended, and William Ewart Gladstone was Prime Minister, sandwiched as he was in between the two terms of Benjamin Disraeli.
And I learned bits of history from songs, sad ones, funny ones, songs about the first World War, about the Civil War (both of them, mine and yours) folk songs about the days of Robin Hood, or about the Four Marys or the six wives of Henry VIII (“With her head tucked underneath her arm, She walked the bloody tower . . .”). And I’m a walking encyclopedia of popular songs of World War II–“We’re going to hang out our washing on the Siegfried Line” (“Daddy, what’s the “Siegfried Line?”–There were two, one in each World War.) Hard to stump me on songs of the Second World War.
Everywhere I looked, there was history. And I never seemed to be at the center of it. As time went on, I began to see myself as a very small cog in a very big wheel that had been turning for thousands of years before I was born, and would continue doing so for thousands of years after I was gone. All in all, and even before I got to school, I think that sense gave me a wonderfully healthy perspective on my place as neither more, nor less, important than those who had gone before, than those who would come after, or than those who were present with me in the here and now. It’s an upbringing and a worldview that I think is largely missing among today’s young people, and that makes me sad. Because it was a lovely way to grow up, it’s a lovely, connected, relaxed feeling, and I wish they had it too.
Speaking of those who have gone (some considerable time) before me, but to whom I can feel the connection, October 14 is the anniversary of the Battle of Hastings. William the Bastard, natural son of Robert of Normandy and his mistress, Herleva, defeated Harold II (Godwinson) of England on October 14, 1066, had himself crowned William I of England on Christmas Day, founded the House of Normandy, and ruled until 1087 when he died, apparently as a result of an injury from the pommel of his saddle (ouch).
Accounts of the all-day battle differ, but many speculate that Harold’s army may have been victorious had the king not been killed, possibly by an arrow to the eye (that part may be apocryphal). What’s not apocryphal is that the fight went out of his troops when Harold fell, and William cruised to an easy victory.
And the course of British history was changed forever. On this day, nine-hundred fifty-two years ago.
The Bayeux Tapestry depicting the Battle of Hastings in 1066.
*An excellent bit of light reading history on William the Conqueror by one of the queens of the ‘tasteful bodice-ripper’ genre is The Conqueror, by Georgette Heyer. Probably too girly for some of you alpha-males, but a fun read. (I’m not ashamed to admit to reading Georgette Heyer, since her book, An Infamous Army, about the Battle of Waterloo, was required reading at Sandhurst for decades, just for its closely-researched description of the battle itself. Still may be, for all I know).
Published in History
As far as I can tell, there is no way to format poetry. I’m going to try it now.
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
See, it doesn’t work. Those lines should be single spaced but when you hit the return key, it double spaces. Also, ideally, poetic lines should be indented farther right than normal, but hitting the tab key doesn’t do anything.
I’m also disappointed that I can’t select a portion of a post to comment on. When I try to select a portion, it selects the entire remainder of the page.
I’m using an iPad. No snarky remarks, Arahant.
But, that may be the problem.
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
Try holding down the Shift key when hitting Return.
It does wonders, I assure you.
As for indenting, that is more difficult. About the only way that has been left to us is with the Quotation funcion:
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
Hey, holding down the shift key works!
Now for indentation:
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
That didn’t work. Pressing the quotation marks above causes the line to jump to the right, but as soon as I release the quote thing above, the line jumps back to the left margin.
But I’m happy to know about the shift/return.
Thanks again, Arahant. If Ricochet is not paying you big bucks, they should be.
Nope. I pay them, just as you do.
Quotes, and Selecting are ugly on the iPad. I feel your pain. Blame Steve Jobs.
I can’t blame Steve Jobs. Steve Jobs is a god. A spiteful, mean-spirited, cruel god — but a god nevertheless.
Arahant, someone should be paying you. Your service to Ricochet is invaluable.
Aaaand, we should mention that William was the first British monarch to be crowned in Westminster along with all the subsequent monarchs except that piker who married the American divorcee…
I think I have that right. I was paying attention a little on the tour.
There are no bucks left over for Arahant. I get them all.
Edward VIII wasn’t crowned at all, I don’t think. Not sure about the other stat. Sounds right.
Nope, it’s @max. She is a volunteer as are all of the Mods. Max started that way. I have no idea if his salary is paid up-to-date, though.
Well, you get what you pay for, as they say.
@She What do you think of Michael Wood and his take on the Anglo-Saxons and how the Normans brought at least a temporary darkness? My problem is that he reminds me too much of Tony Blair, which is altogether unfair I realize.
I’ve heard of Michael Wood (who looks unsettlingly like Tony Blair, I agree), but I’ve not read or seen his take on this. So, I’ve ordered the Kindle version! Stay tuned.
(In this house, we don’t believe, too much in the “Dark Ages,” stuff.)